No days you can borrow
No time you can buy
No trust in tomorrow
It’s a lie...
~Don McLean
Almost a year passes. I’ve not forgotten my promise to Cobe, that I would leave Kirn as soon as possible, but I feel needed here with the Flame, and it’s a feeling that I like. That I need. Lisla is determined to get me out of here, though, because she promised Cobe, too. But things are hard here, and the Guardians grow crueler and harder to avoid with every passing week. Lisla said that all we’re waiting for is a message from Kaythos, where she’s arranged a place for me to stay, with a small thief gang like the Flame, called Mistmirk.
I know another reason why she wants to get me out of here so badly. Cobe told her my secret, about me being a shifter. She knows what the Guardians would do, not only to me, but to her and those in the Flame, if they found out. She cares about me, but there’s a different law here on the streets from that which governs Kirn’s “honest” citizens. Protect yourself and your gang. Or die. Even though Lisla made me a part of the Flame, they all see me as an outsider. A liability. Few will be sorry to see me gone.
I’ve learned a lot since Cobe has died, and truly I am a child of the streets now. It’s a cruel, hard life, but I’ve learned the way to survive. You don’t let yourself care. Harsh? I suppose so, but you only have one life to lose. And I’m not going to lose mine.
It’s been lonely here, since Cobe died. I can’t believe how much I miss him, how I miss the little things about him. The way he smiled, and ruffled my hair, how he called me “precious,” how he made me feel normal...wanted...loved. A father he is...was...and forever lost. The gods are cruel, so cruel, and we are but their playthings...but this is one toy that isn’t going to give them any amusement.
Lisla says I’m growing up far too fast for any child, even one off the streets. But after Cobe died, something in me snapped, and I cannot be a child anymore. Not inside. I hate this accursed city, I hate the Guardians, I hate them all. It’s wrong...so wrong...but they cannot see that.
Lisla finds me in the marketplace, working my shift, and signals me with hand signs to “run home.” Her expression is not concerned though, and she adds a few more, something about “journeys.” I nod briefly and slip out of the market through a side street, taking a rather roundabout route back. The last thing I need is anyone following me, and finding out our location. The streets are home to greatest duplicity.
Lisla meets me just outside. It looks as though she’s been running, for her hair is damp, and her scarf crooked. When she speaks, her voice is low and urgent. “Rois,” she says softly, her blue eyes darting around to make sure no one is eavesdropping, “I’ve gotten word back from the Mistmirk in Kaythos. You’re to leave as soon as possible, and they’ll take care of the rest once you get there. I think the Guardians are starting to suspect there’s something strange here, anyway, so we need to get you out of here by nightfall.” I check the sky. Two hours to say farewell to my...dare I call it home? She continues, “I’ve already made up a small bundle of supplies for you, food, water, and a map. You’ll be fine once you leave the city gates, and it should only take two days to get to Kaythos. Okay?”
I nod weakly, a bit overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all. “I...I see.”
Lisla regards me for a moment, her head tilted to the side, a lock of dark hair falling over one eye. “You’ll do fine, Rois,” she whispers, suddenly and fiercely, and reaches down to pull into a brief hug. “Fare well, child.” A sad little smile touches her face as she straightens up again. “Be ready to leave in two hours,” she says softly, slipping back into the shadows. Another moment and she’s gone.
It’s several minutes before I can move again, much less think. I slowly move off down an alleyway, letting my feet take me where they will, uncaring of where that might be. After a short time, I look about, and realize I’ve unknowingly walked back to the Tallian Sector, and right down the street I used to live on, when Cobe was alive. It seems like so long ago, I think to myself. But has been less than a year. Oh, Cobe, if only how you could see how things have changed...
I stop in front of the house we lived in then, just a few months ago, and sit down on the doorstep. Do my eyes play tricks on me, or are there still bloodstains there from that terrible day when everything changed? The front door is boarded over, but the lock on the back door is ridiculously easy, and within a minute or two, I’m inside.
Memories hang in the air as thickly as the dust that covers everything. There’s no furniture or other items left inside, and my footsteps seem to cause loud echoes in the abandoned house. It’s too quiet, and too cold. The small hearth looks dark and cold, and all the rooms seem dank and miserable. I wish I hadn’t come. There’s nothing left here for me, and I shouldn’t try to live in the past...but the present hurts too much, and the future is dark and hopeless.
I slip back out into the streets, and start walking again, my feet leading me toward the marketplace. I stop in front of the shop where I was abandoned. Was it really only two and a half years ago? It seems like a lifetime. Absently, I wonder what Mother and Father are doing now, before I angrily shove the memories of them out of my mind. The sting still hasn’t left.
The shop still sells pottery, although it has changed hands a few times, and seems smaller and dingier than it did the day a four year old child was deserted by the door. Or is it my imagination? Time spent as a gutter child does much to change one’s point of view.
The marketplace is mostly empty now, as most people go home, to warm fires, happy families, and hot suppers. I wonder, at times, what it would be like to live that way, so content and secure, but I suppose I’ll never know. It seems too quiet here, as the vendors close down their stalls and leave for the night. One musician is still standing on a street corner, playing a soft song on his violin that sings mournfully of loneliness and sorrow. He gives me a sad little smile as I pass, and I nod in return.
My wanderings lead me now to a place I never thought I’d visit again: the gallows. The square is silent and abandoned, and the shuffling of my feet sends hollow echoes ringing throughout the area. The rope swings in a light breeze, creaking, creaking... I climb up onto the scaffold itself, resting a hand on the rough timbers. I stand on tiptoe and my fingers brush against the rough hemp of the thick rope. The trapdoor groans ominously under my slight weight. Death clings to this structure, in every aspect of it.
If I stand very still and let my mind wander, I can see it all as it was that day: a cruel man in blue sits on that platform on the north side. A small child, face streaked with tears, is held fast in the grip of one of the guards standing beside him, screaming with horror. A slender young man in the dull, threadbare rags of those who live on the streets stands on the scaffold, the noose around his neck, his thin face tragically proud and noble, dark hair blowing in the wind. His sad eyes are fixed on those of the child on the platform, and he smiles that crooked smile one last time as a man robed in black pulls a lever. The screams...
Someone seizes my arm, and I whirl around in terror, fearful of who might have found me here. But it’s only Jerren. He beckons silently for me to follow, then turns to leave, walking toward the western gate of the city. I catch up after a moment, after saying goodbye to a time that is behind me now...forever.