Stumbling through the doorway, my robes drip with sweat and muck.
Off.
I undress. My pile of damp garbs squelches against the floor.
Throwing on my brown overalls and collapsing onto my bed, I wrap one arm wrapping around Tim and shut my eyes.
---
"Wake up."
My shoulder shakes.
"Des, we need to go now."
Something tugs on my arm.
I roll over. Flashlights scratch up the room like sharp nails.
Captors?
My heart kicks with adrenaline and from under my pillow, I snatch the hatchet and hold it up.
"Where are they? Tell me, boy!" I shout.
"Woah, woah! I just wanted to go to the showground with you. It's starting soon—we have to go quickly."
"I can see the flashlights, do you take me for a fool. They are coming." The words spit from my mouth.
"What flashlight? Did you have another vision?"
I glance around the room.
Morning? But it was dark. And I just lain down.
Approaching Tim, fast, I stare into his open pupils. Looking back, he flinches slightly, but I look further inside. Two wild red orbs blink back rapidly. Bloodshot. Wrecked. Pale, with mud-streaked across a face I barely recognise.
I remember one scene. A fall. Was that me?
Collapsing back onto the bed, I shield my face with my forearm and sob silently.
Did I do that? Was that really me? Who am I? What does he see in this man called me?
Running wildly, Tim hugs at me tightly.
"Why are you crying? Is it because of me, something I did?"
I wipe my tears, holding his face.
"It isn't you. It's me." Sniff.
"But I can't help you feel better." He tightens his grip around me. "Was it because I wanted to go to the showground? We don't have to go."
No.
"You are already perfect, Tim. Don't ever think otherwise because of me or my failures. Sometimes we have times where we feel bad, that isn't on you, so don't ever feel responsible."
Standing up, his legs hover off the ground as he keeps clutching at my neck.
Pull yourself together. He can't see you like this.
Holding him around me, I force my well-practiced smile.
"Lead the way," My voice speaks, steadier than I feel.
"But?"
"We will make it in time, I won't hear another word."
I march out the house, fatigue drags down my legs.
"Would it be easier if I let go?" He asks, staring at me from my side.
"No, not at all."
I step forward.
Then again.
With each stride, my hips twist and my spine arches.
The balls of my feet begin tingling incessantly.
Blisters from dragging.
Shh. Don't think about it.
My toes continue onward, still carrying some splintered stones from underneath their nails.
Ignoring this, discomfort, I trudge with heavy feet. Over rocky mounds and the clover fields with nothing but the kid to direct me.
My hair blows, dandruff falls in my eyes.
Blinking, my vision burns, tearing up to clean the mess, all before I it comes into view.
A clay-covered field, activity bustling, people forming around as a crowd swarming around a podium.
I bend over. My legs shake but I manage to place Timothy onto the ground.
"You good?"
Collapsing onto the hardened ground, my ears strain.
"It's just my bad leg from earlier, nothing to worry about."
"Des? You sure it's all alright?"
I press my forehead deeper into the padded dirt. "Yeah. Just catching my breath."
Liar.
Nodding at me, he then turns to watch the scene, his energy transforms into something contagious.
"Quiet. It's starting." the crowd shushes.
"I can't hear it," Tim jittering as he speaks pokes his head from atop mound.
Crawling closer, I do the same, observing the show.
"First topic: TheNear-Extinction Of The Pluffer." The announcer's voice carries with the humid stench.
A gasp ripples through the crowd.
"Why is this even happening?"
"They are so cute."
"Must be the Norts!"
The announcer voice fills up the open space:
"Both the representative of House Hutches and the beast management guild have commented on this crisis and its impact on spirit-meat prices."
A muffled yell, filled with complaints.
"Silence!
They had this to say:
'We cannot ignore their role in the ecosystem. Pluffers are the food, the life-blood of our western spirit-animal market, especially the oceanic kind. Once we lose pluffers, their predators starve and the zerg breed. Then everything else will collapse.
This is no small problem, and it will only make your lives harder.
Many black-trading thugs dealing in kidnapped zerg have been caught slaughtering baby pluffers.
This is an unforgivable cruelty.
Only obtain your zerg from safe, authentic sources. Only House Hutches can honestly assure you, that our zerg sales do not harm the environment or animals in any possible way. We train better, source better, and sell better.'"
"Sell better my ass, I lost money because of you."
"Shut up."
More voice raise over the crowd.
"'Support your local community. Buy House-official produce.'"
The crowd begins yelling over each other. Words about ecosystems, about cruelty and about demons.
Demon. Is that what I am now?
A Killer.
I've killed before but, this time was different, this time, I made the choice.
My shoulders stiffen. Quickly I check to see if he'd notice.
Good, he didn't.
His attention watches the rowdy crowd in amusement.
Giggling too.
I should be happy. This is what I moved for. Him smiling like that.
So why does it feel like this...
Like I'm watching him through a window?
No.
More like I'm watching another person watch him through the window.
...
The announcers words cut through the clearing once more.
"Their Head Tamer also said this and I quote what is written here:
'It sickens me to my core that people would even buy illegal zerg. Their deplorable actions will ruin our livelihoods and hurt struggling families. If you catch them, call them what they really are: Demons. Their deeds make these desperate times even harder for the common folk.'"
"You hear that, fellow gamblers? We're officially demons now."
A loud cheer erupts. Another group boos.
"Taking our money, taking our pluffers—learn respect you demonic beasts!"
"Learn to grow a beard first!"
Laughter booms, but the boos strike back just as hard.
Tim, covering his ears laughs to himself.
Someone small too far to see walks away stamping their feet.
Wait… is that Marcus?
He actually looks angry.
"Next topic: The Northern Refugee Crisis."
Furthest in the back and closest to us, someone spits into to the dirt, then treads it in.
"The Protection Board has heard your concerns and delivered them directly to the Sky Palace. Many citizens fear northerners taking jobs or spreading their so-called demonic bloodlines. This is what Cardinal Valiard wished to say regarding this matter:
'Our faith teaches redemption. Northerners must be allowed entry, our doctrine will not be abandoned. It is the principle of our beliefs. Remember, Demons are not bred from blood. It is their minds that are corrupted. This only makes them more dangerous.
Worry not, we have inspected their spirit cores before they are allowed admission into your communities. However, if you see any suspicious behavior from a northerner, do not hesitate to report it immediately so we can keep you and your family safe from potential harm. Fearmongering will not be tolerated.'"
What in the word does that mean?
The crowd grows agitated.
"Damn Nort's taking all our work!"
"And they ain't doing anything about it!" a woman yells, hiccuping, taking a sip from her drink.
"You heard the man, it's our faith. I'll follow the heavenly word to earn my reincarnation."
"Ain't gonna give us more money."
"Hear hear."
People clap loudly and whistle.
"I wouldn't trust a northerner with my life."
"Brother, you are a northerner." Someone points out.
"That was my dead mother, not me. I inherited my skin and my passion from my fellow mort's in the mines."
"Rightly so."
A few more nods.
"I'm just glad someone has the balls to finally admit us half descendants are not the same kind of people as them."
"True words!"
"Shut up, all of yer's I'm trying to hear!" Francis pipes up from the front, they fall silent.
"Final topic: Food Shortage."
"Lousy farmers." A man throws their bottle into the distance.
Should I be tolerated too?
The voice continues.
"Patriarch August Yin of House August has spoken. Grain prices have drastically risen because farmers have grown lazy and complacent. The luxuries provided by transcendents, namely: Protection from demons, protection from bandits, secure jobs, stable markets are all taken for granted."
"Our Beloved August has long criticised landholders for hiring northern labourers, arguing that reliance on these outside workers has weakened the discipline of simple labour.
He said this.
'Guided by the Grand-Experts, we have reached our final conclusion.
If harvests fall short, quotas must rise.
We can only sell what is made. It is unfortunate that those indulgent and greedy, 'filthy farmers' cannot provide what we, the community, desperately need to eat.
Their hypocrisy is clear.
They hire northerners and line their own pockets.
Only they are to blame.
We believe in redemption, but tolerance for the sloth of the refugees will not be extended any further.
They have thinned out our pride as men and it is blasphemous.
Remember, farmers only profit off of your hunger, not from your fullness.'"
"Fuck Farm-ers!" a voice shouts
"Fuck Farm-ers!" a group cheers.
How confusing. How ungrateful.
Talk down to me instead. I'm the one who deserves it.
Two people brawl to the ground before they are pulled apart by some burly bald men.
"Clear out! The announcement is finished. We need this space."
The cheering dies down.
An awkward cough.
Those two stand up and back away.
Followed by the rest of the hundreds of people.
They disperse, kicking up dirty oranges as they carve their paths into the clay, going on with their day like nothing even happened.
Tim tugs on my sleeve, staring at me.
That was interesting, right?" He looks up at me, smiling.
"Yeah. Very... educational." The words dry my tongue as they come out.
"Des? You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That thing. Where your face goes like this."
All the excitement leaves his face and he stares at me blankly.
I blink.
"Sorry, buddy. Just thinking bout some stuff."
"About what?"
About whether I'm still the person you think I am. Whether I'm too dangerous to hang around you.
"About the sky. Doesn't it look like it might fall one day?" I answer.
He grins.
"So that's what's made you so worried all these days. Silly the sky can't hurt us"
We walk back, his hand in mine leading me.
"Where are you taking me?"
"There's somewhere I need to go." he pulls me along.
He trusts me completely.
This thought should comfort me.
But does it?