Rami

Chapter 15

I reach Druslyr the following morning.  My thoughts are slurred and distorted by fatigue.  My shoulders ache under the strain of my pack.  I walk with my head bowed, the sun beating down on my neck.  The wind ruffles my hair.  My footsteps clatter against the ground.

The street I come to is broad and cobbled, surrounded by storefronts.  Dawn fills the town with shifting copper light.  A swirling mist plays tricks on my vision.  A few people are already up: I see a woman opening a store, a beeswax candle clutched in her hand.  Two men are pushing a wagon filled with timber.  Small children chase a cat down the street.

The swiftest way to reach Birra must be by train, so I decide to search for the railway station.  

Druslyr isn't as crime-ridden as Arl, but it's a large town with many winding streets.  By the time I find the station, the mist has faded.  It's unbearably hot; sunburn stings my cheeks.

The railway station is a sprawling building of red brick and shingle roofs halfway up a steep hill.  I step onto the balcony.  Carvings line the door.  Nobody is watching me, but I can hear a buzz of conversation through open windows.

I knock.  No one answers, so I step inside.  

The place smells of dust and scented wax.  Sunlight pours in through the windows.  Merchants and nobles in fine clothes are sitting around tables, drinking and laughing.  A clock is mounted against one wall.  Beyond all of this is a massive, torchlit cavern filled with train tracks.

I'm painfully aware of how I must look: a filthy child with knotted hair and a torn, bloodstained cloak.

I choke down the urge to run and approach a man behind a mahogany counter.  A cigar hangs between his teeth.

"Excuse me, sir."  I force the words out of my mouth.

"What d'you want?" he says.

"Can I buy a train ticket to Birra?"

I suck in my breath and wait for his answer.  The clock's ticking grows loud in my ears.

He laughs.  "How much money have you got?"

"About twenty silver coins."

"It'll cost you fifty.  Sorry, kid."

I stare at my feet, a hundred ideas racing through my mind.  I could steal a ticket, or perhaps sneak onto the train.  I could even beg for passage.  

My finger snake into my pocket.  The coins are cold to touch.

The baherst whimpers from my pack.

"How much for food?"  I blurt out.

"Ten for a bowl of stew."  He must see the look on my face.  "Look, I could sell you Quaryn breadcakes for one coin each."

"Alright," I say.  I drop a few filthy coins on the bench. "Two, please."

A few minutes later, I sit down at an empty table and dig the breadcakes out of a paper bag.  I offer one to the baherst.  Its whiskers twitch.  Slowly, tentatively, it nibbles at the crust.  

I smile and bite into my own, then almost gag.  It tastes like mud.

I hear footfalls.  A shadow creeps across the table.

I jerk up and stare at a dark haired boy.  He's watching me with narrowed eyes.  A train ticket is scrunched up in his fist.

The baherst raises its head and snarls.

"What are you?" he says.

I hesitate.  The question seems absurd.  "A lightning gatherer."

Annoyance flickers across his face.  "Fine.  I guess you had no reason to tell the truth."

He turns to walk away.

The baherst hisses.  Its fur is fluffed, its teeth are bared and its claws dig into my arm.  It's behaving the way many animals do, if I come too close.  Most animals are frightened of me.

Could he be a changeling?

The door creaks open, and the stranger walks out into the sunlight.  He doesn't even look back.

"Wait-" I say, then clamp my mouth shut.  What am I thinking?  Even if I'm right, he'll try to kill me when he finds out who I am.

The boy's voice crashes inside my skull:

I know you're one of us, but I've never seen you before.  Why should I trust you?

A shudder runs through me.  I grip the edges of the table, and my knuckles whiten.  The taste of vomit fills my mouth.  The railway station is flooded with sunlight, but for a moment everything fades into shadowy afterimages.

I blink hard.  Colour returns.

I'm just in time to see the boy shake his head, pull a hood over his face and calmly walk away.

*        *        *

It's noon.  I come to a jetty beside the lake.  A ruined factory overgrown with moss and creepers towers above me.  Larks scream.  A weeping willow casts shadows over the water.  Roots strangle the earth beneath it.

I sit down, weary, still shaken from the morning's encounter.  My toes dangle.

I open my pack, set the baherst down and take out my glider parts.  I can never reach Birra with the money or supplies that I have.  If a freak thunderstorm blows over Druslyr, I want to be ready to take advantage of it.  

I replace a few bent cogs and oil the steering mechanisms until they gleam.  After that, I check the sail.  One edge is torn.  I dig a needle and thread out of my pack and start sewing it back together, taking care that the knots are firm.  If the thread unravels mid flight, I could easily fall to my death.

I squint and lift the fabric onto my knees.  Uncertainty plagues me.

I have to leave this town, but I feel trapped.  Lost.  I have no food and precious little water.  I need more money, and for all I know, the next thunderstorm could be months away.

Meg needs me.  I'm certain of it.  What if she doesn't have much time left?  I wince at the thought.  My heartbeat quickens and I bite my tongue so hard it bleeds.  I have to focus.  I have to think.

I finish mending my sail and stare out at the lake, willing myself to come up with an answer.  No idea presents itself.  I sigh, stow the glider parts in the bottom of my pack and dig the letter from my pocket.

"Kathire," I whisper, reading the name at the top of the page.  It's unusual, at least in Quaryll.  Have I heard it somewhere before?

Whoever it is, she never received this message... 

I scrunch it up and stuff it into my pack, my breath shallow, frustration welling inside me.  I kick at the water.  It splashes and casts a thousand twisted, broken ripples.

*        *        *

That night I sleep in an alleyway, hunched against the brickwork of an old building.  The Baherst is curled up in my lap.  I hug my knees to shield us both from the cold.  It bothers me that even after several days, the poor creature's wounds don't appear to be healing.  

Darkness falls.  I squeeze my eyes shut.  I'm awake for hours, and when I finally sleep, the same dream plays again in my mind.  I'm a young child, waiting for Nico to come home from gathering lightning.  Too late, I realise that the person beside the fire isn't my grandmother.  It's Meg.

I try to call her name, but as soon as she turns to face me, she rots away.  Nothing remains but a skeleton.

My eyes tear open.

I scream.

I can't bare to stay in this town any longer.  Sparks crackle at my fingertips.  I gather the baherst in my arms and slip my pack over my shoulders.  My head is throbbing, my heart is hammering.  Fingers of grey light show that dawn is close.  People will wake soon.  I don't have much time.

I reach a decision, clench my teeth, and head for the station.