[PM to Join] Bottom of the River
Posted: Mon Oct 28, 2019 6:23 am
Late Afternoon, 28 Hamis, 2719
An Abandoned Market, Carptown
An Abandoned Market, Carptown
Faizra stood knee deep in the river, the water swirling past her, carrying with it the laughing echoes of voices raised upstream, remnants of the night before, the last traces of rainy season mud swirling out from Thul Ka into the desert beyond. It wasn’t clean, this water, not like the cool blues and greens of the Turga, Hulali’s waters; here in the city they spat in it with their factories and fouled it, but there wasn’t any other, and Faizra supposed Hulali must know what it was He had done, when He let man use his waters so.
Faizra murmured an apology to the swirling rivers for her thoughts and hummed a prayer as she worked. Her throat was still choked thick with dust, and she bent to scoop up a handful of the flowing water, to drink at least something. She went back to beating the dust from her clothing, soaking the skirt in the river water and scrubbing away at them with her hands, the muscles in her bare arms aching with the strain, her shirt and pants already drying on a rock behind her.
“Poa’naSister!” A voice called from the shore.
Faizra glanced back over her shoulder. “Ma’ehau!Go away” She called. “What’s wrong wit’ ye? Ma’ehau.” She turned her head back to her work, the hot sun beating down on her head wrap and bare shoulders, drying her breastband as quickly as the river made it wet. She knew her; a little wick girl who begged on the street with her old brother, not even an inch of height between them. She’d seen them not an hour ago, squatting on the street not far away.
“Po’ana!” The little wick girl tumbled down the bank and grabbed Faizra’s hand with her arm. “Y’ got t’ come, poa’na, pe’aplease, there ent nobody else and he’s gon’ t’ kill ‘im!”
Faizra scowled, jerking her hand away. “Yar’aka,A Mugrobi curse” she stared down at the wide-eyed little girl, and reached out and ran her thumb along the edge of the bruise that covered her cheekbone. “Bhe! Wha’s this?”
“Pe’a, pe’a, pe’a,” the girl was sobbing now; she wrapped her arms around Faizra’s upper arm and pulled – then, wild and sudden, she jerked her hand to reach for the knife at her back.
“Yaka!No” Faizra twisted. “Ne o’ that, nanabo." She cursed.
Faizra left the skirt; there was no time. She pulled her shirt on as she went, and stepped into her wet pants, and then the little girl had her by the hand and they were running along the dusty streets, bare wet feet slapping against the ground.
“He said we had t’ give ‘im our takin’,” the girl was explaining, all but sobbing as she ran. “Bu’ Soro wouldn’t do ‘t!”
Faizra burst onto the edge of the market, a cluster of half-abandoned stalls crumbling, and in the middle of it a man, a human, with a foot of height on her, was kicking at a ball of a boy curled up, his hands covering his head. A handful of other children squatted in what little shades the stalls left, watching.
The girl moaned, swaying back and forth, and sobbing, clutching at her. “’e’s dead! ‘e’s dead!”
“’e ent dead!” Faizra shook her off. “ey! Desema!Bastard” She gripped hold of her knife and stepped forward.
The human turned to look at her and spat against the ground. He wore sandals, worn old things, and there was a nasty gleam to his eyes. “Ye stay out of this,” he said, and cursed her.
The little boy was shaking, still curled up; he lifted his bleary, bloodied gaze. The girl was sobbing behind her, and Faizra scowled, locking her eyes on the man. A man like a strangling vine, big and thick, wrapping himself around the trees and crushing the life from them.
“Ent think I will,” Faizra spat. “Leave ‘em alone.”
“Ne,” The man said, slowly, and aimed another kick at the boy.
Faizra hissed between her teeth and flung herself at the man, knife glinting in her hand. It was a good hit; she struck him, and knocked him back, and she felt the jolt of the blow up her arm as the knife struck flesh – and then he twisted, and the knife went flying, and Faizra too, stumbling back with a curse and a throbbing bruise across her face. She spat bloody mucus onto the ground, clenching her hands into fists, and held, staring the man down.
“Ye’ll regret this,” he warned, softly, blood dripping steadily from the line she’d opened on his chest, and Faizra knew he’d do his best to make it so.
Faizra murmured an apology to the swirling rivers for her thoughts and hummed a prayer as she worked. Her throat was still choked thick with dust, and she bent to scoop up a handful of the flowing water, to drink at least something. She went back to beating the dust from her clothing, soaking the skirt in the river water and scrubbing away at them with her hands, the muscles in her bare arms aching with the strain, her shirt and pants already drying on a rock behind her.
“Poa’naSister!” A voice called from the shore.
Faizra glanced back over her shoulder. “Ma’ehau!Go away” She called. “What’s wrong wit’ ye? Ma’ehau.” She turned her head back to her work, the hot sun beating down on her head wrap and bare shoulders, drying her breastband as quickly as the river made it wet. She knew her; a little wick girl who begged on the street with her old brother, not even an inch of height between them. She’d seen them not an hour ago, squatting on the street not far away.
“Po’ana!” The little wick girl tumbled down the bank and grabbed Faizra’s hand with her arm. “Y’ got t’ come, poa’na, pe’aplease, there ent nobody else and he’s gon’ t’ kill ‘im!”
Faizra scowled, jerking her hand away. “Yar’aka,A Mugrobi curse” she stared down at the wide-eyed little girl, and reached out and ran her thumb along the edge of the bruise that covered her cheekbone. “Bhe! Wha’s this?”
“Pe’a, pe’a, pe’a,” the girl was sobbing now; she wrapped her arms around Faizra’s upper arm and pulled – then, wild and sudden, she jerked her hand to reach for the knife at her back.
“Yaka!No” Faizra twisted. “Ne o’ that, nanabo." She cursed.
Faizra left the skirt; there was no time. She pulled her shirt on as she went, and stepped into her wet pants, and then the little girl had her by the hand and they were running along the dusty streets, bare wet feet slapping against the ground.
“He said we had t’ give ‘im our takin’,” the girl was explaining, all but sobbing as she ran. “Bu’ Soro wouldn’t do ‘t!”
Faizra burst onto the edge of the market, a cluster of half-abandoned stalls crumbling, and in the middle of it a man, a human, with a foot of height on her, was kicking at a ball of a boy curled up, his hands covering his head. A handful of other children squatted in what little shades the stalls left, watching.
The girl moaned, swaying back and forth, and sobbing, clutching at her. “’e’s dead! ‘e’s dead!”
“’e ent dead!” Faizra shook her off. “ey! Desema!Bastard” She gripped hold of her knife and stepped forward.
The human turned to look at her and spat against the ground. He wore sandals, worn old things, and there was a nasty gleam to his eyes. “Ye stay out of this,” he said, and cursed her.
The little boy was shaking, still curled up; he lifted his bleary, bloodied gaze. The girl was sobbing behind her, and Faizra scowled, locking her eyes on the man. A man like a strangling vine, big and thick, wrapping himself around the trees and crushing the life from them.
“Ent think I will,” Faizra spat. “Leave ‘em alone.”
“Ne,” The man said, slowly, and aimed another kick at the boy.
Faizra hissed between her teeth and flung herself at the man, knife glinting in her hand. It was a good hit; she struck him, and knocked him back, and she felt the jolt of the blow up her arm as the knife struck flesh – and then he twisted, and the knife went flying, and Faizra too, stumbling back with a curse and a throbbing bruise across her face. She spat bloody mucus onto the ground, clenching her hands into fists, and held, staring the man down.
“Ye’ll regret this,” he warned, softly, blood dripping steadily from the line she’d opened on his chest, and Faizra knew he’d do his best to make it so.
Rolls