VIPs

Predictably, Makis—that was MKS—was pretty nonplussed about the whole situation, of having a random woman who’d been shot in the leg show up at her door with an also injured—Jayla hadn’t quite healed from jumping out the first window—fugitive Asan.

“Mauram sent you?”

“Yeah…well, I don’t think she could have anticipated us being in such a state but we’d really appreciate it if you helped us, at least a little.”

She looked at us for a long moment. She was an older woman, older than Ky’cina even (who was 54 in my notes) though not quite elderly—in her late 50s or early 60s. That made me feel even worse about imposing on her, but we really didn’t have anywhere to go.

“A-Alright. Well, I can’t let you bleed out here. You can take my children’s old room.”

She let us into a small but solid house. I bowed to the doorway gods as best I could from Jayla’s back.

I’d never written much about the Genatyi; they’d just filled a blank in my world. The country itself was on the other side of the mountains to the north: The mountains were difficult to cross, and thus their country was difficult to invade. However, they were a poorer country than Ry’keth, so Ry’keth saw a lot of their trade and a lot of their immigrants. It was soft power at work.

The walls were covered with paintings, and origami birds hung from the ceiling. A love of handcrafted beauty could be seen in every inch of the place, and it was in contrast to the Ry’ke and Asan senses of beauty, which had to do with geometry and patterns. This house seemed to venerate natural objects, with flowers in a vase sitting in front of a painting of flowers and birds and sitting on a glazed tree stump with retained original grain.

“Your house is beautiful.”

“That’s something I never expected a criminal to say to me,” Makis said with a small laugh.

“...A criminal?”

“There aren’t many other people that show up to a stranger’s house, shot, with a hatchet.”

“Oh!” Jayla said. “Don’t worry—I won’t use this hatchet to hurt you—I’m just holding onto it.”

“Oh…well, if I was afraid of that, I could have shut the door in your face….so don’t worry your head about it.”

A door in the back of the living room led to her kids’ room.

“Make yourself comfortable, just don’t damage anything.”

Jayla let me go and I flopped down onto one of the beds. It was almost like a real mattress (I was pretty sure it was stuffed with straw).

There were two beds in the room, so she must’ve had two kids. I wondered where they were now. Living on their own, or in the army?

“Rest up,” Jayla said. “I don’t know how your body will heal a full-on hole, but it probably won’t be easy. At least it’s not a big hole. I’m going to try and figure out how to properly care for it. We might have to amputate your leg or something.”

“I hope we don’t,” I said, eyeing the hatchet.

“Ha ha. I was just thinking a tourniquet or something would be good, but that would hurt your leg and maybe cause that, y’know? Raise it up for now, that might stop too much blood from going to it.”

I did as I was told.

Over the next week, I stayed inside, recovering. It was frustrating. Ever since coming to the capital, I’d basically done jack shit—even though I knew so much about the enemy and their plans. One advantage of being the author was that my brain was filled with military secrets. If I could remember all the details around Ky’an’th’s military base, we could potentially get in and destroy their weapons. That tied together neatly with Jayla’s goal of not wanting anyone’s home to get blown up again, which was also what I wanted. But she wouldn’t let me do anything with a bullet wound. (As for rescuing Lil, that was a no-go too. Stupid injury.)

Jayla brought me food and helped me look after myself, as well as getting a job to pay Makis back. Makis, ultimately, was considerate and nice. She was a bit intimidated by us, but as the week went on, she opened up more and more, especially to me. One of her kids had moved out to live with his wife and that family; one of her kids was in prison. I never succeeded in convincing her that we weren’t also criminals, which in some ways made sense, because we were 100% criminals (murder, fraud, and conspiracy!).

One day, in the early morning. Jayla and I were both in our room. She was combing her hair at the window, while I was sitting on my bed eating eggs and toast.

“Hey, do you hear that?”

I strained my ears, but Jayla had better hearing than me and had noticed something I couldn’t’ve. I was about to say that, when the sound she was talking about came into earshot.

Violins, drums, manjeera, and string instruments I didn’t know. A crowd of people were playing a clamorous and mournful dirge.

I pulled myself on my arms so I could look out the window.

A parade of mourners was passing by on Main Street. Government officials and wealthy Ry’ke walked shrouded in undyed cloth. Two men walked in front, bearing a coffin on their shoulders. Behind them followed Emperor Kol, Ek’sy’kykol, the most powerful man in this world.

He wasn’t particularly tall, and his head was bowed in grief. Following funeral customs to the letter, his hair was loose, his jewelry removed aside from facial piercings. He had the appearance of a handsome young man.

He was 158 this year. This wasn’t the first empress consort he’d seen die.

Walking alongside him was Ky’sy’ana. She held his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. She was also in mourning garb, but next to him…they almost looked like a young couple, dressing all matchy-matchy for prom. Emperor Kol leaned towards her unconsciously, gaze not on the coffin of his lover but on the regal, beautiful woman next to him.

“Naomi?” Jayla said.

I turned towards her. “Yeah?”

But she wasn’t looking at me, she was watching the procession intently, and when I said that she startled, like it hadn’t been me who had called her.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just thought I saw you down there for a second…which makes no sense, since you’re over here.”

“That’s really weird.” I leaned over the railing, trying to see what she’d seen.

“Oh! It was her,” Jayla told me, “that tall Ry’ke woman right behind the coffin. Something about the way she walked reminded me of you.”

Thud.

That sound had come from behind us. The heavy noise of a crash.

Fallen in a heap on the floor was a teenage boy.

“What?” Jayla said.

The boy opened one eye, then dragged himself up; he was gangly, all skinny long limbs. He got into a sitting position and tossed his hair over his shoulder. The last of a green aura surrounding him faded away. He didn’t speak, and didn’t meet our eyes.