Neeka Featherstone

by R. J. Lucas

  Isaiah leads us further along the main path, and we come to an open-air market with people bustling about. Most of them seem friendly enough, throwing curious glances rather than hateful ones. We have no quill, so I distract a seller long enough for Braam to steal some sweet crackers. Dividing them out so we each have a few, we devour them.

  Continuing to follow Isaiah, we end up on the other side of town, where he eventually breaks into a run toward a house that must be his home.

  The home is backed up to a vineyard. I can see clusters of grapes that must be grown for the purpose of making kiju. The river runs by his home on the left, causing a small water wheel to spin. Just beyond the vineyard, a rocky, mountain landscape hugs the backside of the settlement acting as a natural security wall.

  The rest of us take our time approaching the house which gives me time to take it all in. Isaiah’s home has an ornate roof with overlapping tiles. A couple of them hang loose on the corner and need repair. There is a patch of grass in front and a little girl who looks no older than seven years, playing with a toy in the grass. Her face is fleshy and round, her skin a rich tone the same shade as the wet sand of the river. She does not smile, but squints past the sun as she hears running feet drawing closer to her. A small boy, a few years older and the spitting image of Isaiah, stands beside her.

  A woman with dark hair, curled tight into ringlets, stands in the doorway. She’s maybe a hand or two higher than me and her milky smooth skin is flawless. Her hair seems to puff out of her head like a blooming dandelion. When she smiles, it stretches from ear to ear, and I think she is the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.

  When she recognizes Isaiah, she exclaims his name, loud and clear, and runs to meet him. The children follow close behind her. The force of the embrace from his wife and children crumbles Isaiah to the ground. The reunion creates tears of joy and seems to last several minutes before Isaiah is able to gather himself enough to speak.

  “I was imprisoned with these folks, Lydia,” he says to his wife as he returns to a standing position, pulling her up along with him. “They saved my life.”

  She hugs each of us, one by one and introduces her children.

  “The youngest is Maggie and our boy is Cornelius,” she says with obvious pride.

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” I say, accepting her hug.

  Papa kneels eye level with Maggie, “What have you got there?”

  She holds up a toy for him to see. It has thin metal arms and legs and a wooden head. “It supposed to dance when you pull the string.” Maggie says, as she hands the toy to Papa.

  “Oh dear,” he replies as if the toys inability to dance is of great concern. “This poor fellow has certainly seen better days.”

  In less than a minute, Papa loops the elastic band around a post inside the mechanism and then pulls the string. The toy’s arms begin flapping around in a wild and kinetic manner.

  “You fixed it,” Maggie shouts with excitement.

  Lydia invites us in and prepares a feast. As she and Isaiah become lost in their own conversation, the rest of us stuff our faces like a bunch of starving baldagaars. Amari lifts her cup and stares at the contents within.

  “I’ve never had kiju, before.”

  “I keep a small supply tucked away for occasions such as this,” says Isaiah. “Don’t worry. It’s well hidden from the protectors.”

  “You’ll love it,” says Braam. “I had it once when a guy in my station got his hands on some. He threw a big party, and we drank most of it. The next day someone at the party turned him in and he was skinned alive. None of us realized he had stolen it from a Royal. It was a good party, though.”

  “Surely we have better stories than that,” Lydia says, her eyes darting toward the children.

  “We are but weary travelers,” says Papa, trying to steer the conversation in a more amenable direction. “I’m a maker. At least I was. I’m not sure what I am now.”

  “I’m a dancer,” I tell her and glance at Amari who smirks, knowing what I mean when I way it.

  “Dancer,” Braam laughs. “Is that what you call it?”

  “You should have seen her in the arena,” Isaiah says. “She is more dangerous than ten men.”

  “And what about you?” Lydia asks Amari.

  Amari looks terrified. She stares at the ground and grips her cup of kiju. I feel for her, knowing she struggles with being timid.

  “Go on,” encourages Isaiah. “Tell her.”

  Still, she does not speak, so I say, “She’s beautiful, that’s what she is.”

  Isaiah and Lydia smile at each other, but Braam grunts and Papa seems to wince. I wish I had not said it, but sometimes things just come out of my mouth.

  “How do you like the kiju?” Isaiah asks me and Amari, the only two who have any left. Even the children have emptied their cups.

  “It’s okay,” I say, feeling a little lightheaded. “At least it tastes better than that pisswater, krum.”

  After dinner, Isaiah shows us to the barn where we will sleep. He calls it a barn, but I’ve never seen a barn this nice. It has an upper loft that has been converted into sleeping quarters with eight beds lining the left wall. I walk over and sit down and run my hands across the soft sheets. The smell of air-dried linens excites me. It seems like forever since I’ve slept in a clean, comfortable bed.

  “Why do you have so many beds here?” I ask him.

  “Well, I’m the main producer of kiju here. I host the transit protectors that transport it to Fairebourne. They arrive on a monthly schedule in an airship to pick it up and I take good care of them during their overnight stay.”

  He smiles and I can tell he is pleased that he can offer us such amenities. Once he leaves, Papa and Braam fall asleep fast.

  I still feel dizzy from the kiju, but relaxed, and my body feels as if it is seeping into the bed like water being absorbed into a sponge. Amari’s bed is beside mine, so we have a clear and easy view of each other. She looks as relaxed as I feel. We both drift off into an exhausted and dreamless sleep while gazing into each other’s eyes.

  22 - The Queen Has Spoken

  Amari is already out of bed when I wake, and I am sad she isn’t the first thing I see when I open my eyes. I dreamed of her last night. I try to remember the content of those dreams, but it is like searching for quill in a pocket full of holes.

  I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes and turn my head to see Papa walking across the large room toward me. It always amazes me that he can move so quietly.

  “Did you rest well?” he asks, stepping next to my bed. He is already dressed and sipping hot tea with a smile spread across his face. I have not seen him this happy in a while.

  “I think it’s the best night of sleep I’ve had in…” I try to put a time frame on it, but it’s hard. “… in a long time.”

  “Any idea what’s for breakfast?” Braam asks as he stretches and works to get his body moving. Although, from the looks of his bedsheets, I would say he moved all night.

  Finally freeing himself from the tangle of bedcovers, he sits on the side of his bed, rubs his eyes, and reaches for his shirt.

  Papa hands me his mug of hot tea. It is half-finished as always. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he loves to share it with me. He sits down beside me as I enjoy the hot liquid. In our silence, we watch Braam struggle to get his shirt over his big head. He is victorious in getting his upper body clothed and looks over at us in sleepy triumph. I smile into the mug as I take another sip and wonder if I should tell him his shirt is on backwards. I decide against it and continue to enjoy a few more minutes of silence next to my Papa.

  Exiting the barn, a little later, the morning air is crisp and fresh. I breathe deeply and fill my lungs with it. The sky is turning from pink and yellow to bright blue as the sun climbs above the horizon. I pause and follow a sweet sound with my eyes.

  “Papa!” I whisper with excitement as I reach out to grasp his wrist.

  There are t
iny birds, like the ones I have seen in some of my books from the old world, sitting together on the limb of a nearby fruit tree. I gasp in childlike wonder when I realize there are also a few hopping around the base of the tree. Papa chuckles, places his free hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze.

  “There is much you have missed my child, growing up on the streets of Coghaven. The world isn’t as it once was, but it still holds many things I hope you get to see and experience.”

  Braam gives a little grunt of acknowledgement to the creatures, elbows me, and says, “I’m hungry.”

  With one last look at the birds, Papa and I lead the way to the main house.

  When we enter, we find Isiah and his family sitting on the floor, lined up from biggest to smallest, with their legs crossed and their eyes closed. The sound of their rhythmic breathing fills the room.

  “They were like this when I got here,” Amari whispers, sitting in a nearby chair.

  “How long ago was that?” I whisper.

  “A while. I woke up early.”

  “Hey. Is anyone hungry?” Braam shouts.

  Isaiah turns his head, his ritual interrupted. The children open their eyes and stare at Braam, their brows furrowed.

  “Your shirt is on backwards,” Cornelius says to Braam in a no-nonsense tone.

  Braam looks down and laughter fills the room at his expense.

  Papa apologizes for interrupting their quiet time as the four of them unfold from the floor. Lydia smiles and assures us no apology is necessary. Her tone is soothing, yet strong. It portrays a confidence and wisdom I admire.

  She makes quick work of breakfast and places it before us on the table. I’m surprised to find even after last night’s feast, I feel as if I’m starving again. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Lydia is an amazing cook, and the food is delicious. Though, it is possible the food is so delicious because I am so hungry.

  The kids play and giggle through breakfast while Amari and I tease them. I pretend I don’t know which end of the fork to hold, and Amari blows bubbles in her drink. Braam grunts at them, holding back a grin.

  “Have you given much thought to what you’ll do now that you’ve escaped Arcmire and survived the Dread Wastes?” Isaiah asks.

  “We’ll have to do something,” Papa says. “A body gets strange when it has nothing to do.”

  “You’re already strange,” I say which makes Braam laugh and nod in agreement.

  “You’ve been delivered,” Isaiah says. “Something brought you here and I think you might consider it the will of something greater than you.”

  This is the first I’ve heard Isaiah talk like this and I wonder if it’s his wife who strengthens his belief or if he dared not risk it until he knew we’d survived.

  “You should think about staying. Making a home here. The settlement could use people like you with all your skills and abilities.”

  “We couldn’t put you out,” says Papa. “You’ve already given us so much.”

  “We have the space right now,” Isaiah says. “You could use the barn until you make your own homestead. We’ll have to figure out different arrangements during kiju pickups, of course.

  “You could sleep in the bathing tub,” Maggie says with a mischievous grin.

  We all laugh, and she is tickled with herself, clearly proud of her jab.

  “We can worry about that when the time comes,” Isaiah says.

  Papa nods. “There must be some way for us to repay this hospitality.”

  “Nonsense!” Lydia protests. “There’s nothing to repay. We are happy to have you here in our home with us. Now, finish your food. I’m sure Isaiah has a lot to show you today.”

  She nudges Isaiah with her shoulder while giving him a knowing sideways glance and mischievous smile. They are squished together on the bench across from me, giving Papa the head of the table out of respect for his age. Braam is taking up the rest of their bench and looks a little like an overgrown kid. Isaiah wraps his arm around Lydia’s shoulders, squeezes her tight and kisses the side of her head. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a couple so content with one another.

  With breakfast ending, I set about helping Lydia clear the dishes. Amari kneels next to Maggie and they become lost in conversation, giggles included. The men and Cornelius are all gathered in the living space, discussing something that includes hand motions and exaggerated facial expressions. The entire scene before me is something I never imagined being a part of.

  I join Lydia at the dish tub. She clearly has a rhythm and pattern to her method which is causing the pile of dishes to dwindle quickly. Standing beside her I can’t help but admire her hair.

  “May I?” I ask, reaching my hand toward her ringlets.

  “Of course.” She says with a smile.

  I take one of the tight curls in my hand and am amazed at its perfection.

  “It’s so pretty,” I say. “How do you do it?”

  I gently tug on the curl, straightening it and giving it more length. I smile when it springs back into place. The ringlets frame her silky complexion and deep, brown eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes and gives her the look of a walking piece of art.

  I suddenly become aware of what a mess I am and how bad my hair must be. It’s been wrapped in a tight ponytail for days now and is matted and dirty.

  Lydia finishes the last dish as she speaks. “Oh, my mother taught me. We used to spend hours fixing each other’s hair. We’d make an entire day of it sometimes. You’d be surprised at the things you can create with a healthy head of hair. I remember this one—"

  She stops mid-sentence when she turns to me. I had been watching her profile as she spoke but now, she is facing me. Her eyes lock with mine as if she is searching for something within. I’m sure my expression appears somber as her talking has made me a little jealous of her happy childhood memories.

  Lydia reaches out and takes both of my hands, pulling me closer to her.

  “You never knew your mother, did you?”

  I shake my head without uttering a sound.

  She peers into the dining room where Amari is kneeling next to Maggie and asks, “And Amari?”

  I shake my head again.

  A small flash of something passes through Lydia’s eyes, maybe sadness. I can’t be sure. But it is gone in an instant and I watch as a huge grin livens up her features.

  “How about we have some girl time? Just us four girls? Right now?” she asks.

  “I’d like that,” I respond, not sure exactly what this entails, but I’m definitely interested.

  She gives my hands a quick little squeeze and steps into the space where the men can easily hear her.

  “I am sorry to interrupt your story telling, but I need you grungy guys to take yourselves out to the yard. This home is now declared a girl only space for the next few hours.”

  I watch as Isaiah takes in her statement and begins to make his way across the room without a single word of protest.

  Braam, on the other hand, looks himself over and says, “I’m not grungy and—"

  Isaiah clasps him on the shoulder as he passes and says, “Man, there is no need to argue. My queen has spoken. You will not win this.” He laughs and keeps walking, leading the way for the rest to follow.

  As they leave, Maggie lets out a yell of happiness and attacks Amari with a hug around her neck so ferocious it knocks Amari backwards and they end up in a heap on the floor.

  Braam is the last to walk through the door, and I swear he appears to be pouting. He closes the door behind him, and Lydia sets to work with a smile. I’m not even sure what is happening, so I stand and watch as Lydia lights candles and gathers different items and arranges them on the table.

  23 - The Well

  “Maggie, dear, go start the water. We are going to show Neeka and Amari what a girl’s day is all about.”

  Maggie claps her hands together, does a little hop, and runs off to the back of the house while Lydia disappears into her room. She comes
back with clothing draped over her left arm and uses her right to urge Amari and myself down a hall. She leads the way into a room we have yet to see.

  Stepping inside, I am speechless.

  The room is small and has a fireplace on one wall. It has one large window that overlooks the river with long lengths of material hanging on each side. In the center of the room is a deep, oval shaped tub made from some type of hammered metal. Amazingly enough, there is water flowing into the tub. I’m not sure how they managed that, but I’m quite sure I will have to figure it out later.

  I walk over and touch the flow of water and realize it is freezing. One look at Lydia and she points out the black pot above the fire with amusement in her eyes and a smirk on her face. The hot water is added to the tub and another pot set to heat.

  Lydia and Maggie begin singing a song I have never heard, but it is happy and bouncy. Amari is a little further into the room and I see she is completely relaxed, and her foot begins to move to the words of the song. I’m not sure what to think of this. But I like it!

  As the second pot of water heats, Maggie grabs a hairbrush, drags a stool over to Amari and climbs to stand on the stool. She begins brushing knots out of her hair, being gentle yet effective, as she and her mom continue to sing. I realize the room is beginning to smell wonderful and when Lydia pours the hot water into the tub, I see flower petals and leaves flow in as well.

  Lydia says, “It is a mixture my mother taught me long ago. Don’t worry, it will leave you feeling relaxed, and your senses heightened. Now, off with your clothes, both of you!”

  With our hesitation Lydia continues, “Girls! Don’t tell me you are shy. It is only us here and we all have the same body parts! Your tub is waiting, and we are ready to show you what a girl-day is all about!”

  Standing for a moment longer, I notice a flicker of acknowledgement in Lydia’s eyes that tells me she suddenly understands my hesitation to undress. She shifts gears so graciously, my admiration of her goes up to a whole new level.