Renzhies

by Mara Duryea

  Ambrian possessed natural protective walls. Beyond the north wall was the Sun Ocean. People said it used to be a desert called the Baker’s Strip, which connected Visseria to Aralia. That was why Visserian names softened the farther north a person traveled.

  The residential district was marked by tall, narrow doorways spaced one hundred or so feet apart. Numbers were carved over them. Rezh traced the canyon wall until he arrived at number fifty-four. He entered a gloomy corridor with three switchbacks.

  Every entryway had three switchbacks as protection from keesans. These winged predators’ long, thin beaks could fit where their prey could. Their tongues slithered around corners and snatched victims like a hand.

  Everyone had dug out their homes according to the mind of the digger. Sizhirin had dug his cave out like a grid. Four entrances graced each room, even the ones around the perimeter. A hallway surrounded the grid, which Rezh had dubbed “the alley.” He had spent many a play hour in the alley with his dad. Sizhirin had even constructed a secret passage leading down to the beach.

  The hallway led Rezh into the alley. He gasped at sight of his home. The once flat and low ceiling now domed over the grid. Colorful pieces of glass had been stuck into the dome to form a gaudy collage. It neither added nor took away from the light in the grid.

  Carpets so red that they seemed to glow rolled down shiny black floors. Black statues of children crouched in various corners, or flanked doors like sentinels.

  Dim mirilite glimmered in little iron cages. The walls had been overlaid with brass. The lighting was so dim that Rezh’s reflection appeared like a fuzzy shadow. Parts of the wall had been dug into enclaves where strange statues huddled. Some of them peeked into the hall.

  Rezh found himself wondering about the individual rooms. Had their ceilings been removed? He climbed atop a statue’s head to see. The rooms still retained their flat ceilings, but plated in brass. From above, the rooms appeared as brass boxes set in neat rows.

  Movement caught his eye at the end of the hallway. Hopping down, he peered through the half-light. The figure was tall and wide. It couldn’t be his dad. Sizhirin didn’t reach the fifteen feet to the top of the wall. Who else could it be?

  “Dad?”

  The figure didn’t answer.

  “Sizhirin?” said a voice behind him.

  With a startled yelp, Rezh spun around. A small Rykori woman stood there. Did he know her? She had dyed her fur orange, and her hair green with blue tips. She sported a red, orange, and pink dress knit out of yarn. Ruffles expanded her shoulders to mannish porportions and demolished her waist. The woman’s lips were redder than sunburn. Blue paint hooded her eyelids. Colorful designs marred her cheeks.

  She gazed at him in confusion. “Rezh?”

  Rezh’s brows went up. “Mom?”

  She beamed. “What are you doing home?” She threw her arms around him. “Oh, you look so different!” She smelled musty.

  “Uh…” Rezh winced. “So do you—what in Cubons happened to you?”

  She squeezed him tighter. “Oh, my, you’ve grown a whole lot.” She sounded disappointed. “Well…what are you doing here?”

  “My sakreen said I had to go.”

  She addressed his reflection instead of him. “I’m so happy to see you. Your father has business partners coming over for dinner. They will be glad to see you’re…” She looked him up and down. “You’re a little ghostly.” She tittered nervously. “I think you had better eat in your room. I have to show you my work room before you settle down, though. It’s where I made this beautiful piece I’m wearing now.”

  Rezh cringed. What was going on? What dimension had he walked into?

  “Come!” She waved him to follow her to the back of the grid. In a corner room, the bizarre woman entered a knitting nightmare of yarn curtains, a yarn bed covered in yarn blankets, yarn carpets, yarn plant holders, and yarn frames holding Rezh’s tattered artwork from when he was three. Every color was represented, especially brown and orange. It stank like an armpit.

  “You sleep in here?” Rezh couldn’t hide the disgust in his voice.

  “Only when I work late. I just can’t seem to leave this room! Isn’t it so beautiful? My friends always say it is lovely.”

  Rezh stared at the curtains that covered no windows. “You still have friends?”

  “I have so many! Many of them live with us now. Let me introduce you to Little Plupkin.”

  “What?” Maybe he had walked into the wrong cave, and this woman was just some creepy look-a-like.

  Rummaging through the bed, the Rykori withdrew a knitted white ball with a long yarn tail. A tiny gray beak poked out beneath blue button eyes. She beamed with pride as she held it out. “Meet Little Plupkin! Little Plupkin, say hi!” The woman changed her voice to sound high, and what she thought was cute. “Hi, Rezh!” She made it flutter around him and kiss his mouth. “I love you, Rezh!” She brought it back to herself and petted its head. “Now, Little Plupkin, don’t get so excited.” She shrilled her voice. “But I love Rezh! He’s so tall and handsome! He looks just like his dad!” She giggled. “Now, now, don’t you start that again!”

  “Great Cubons,” said Rezh, and hurried for the door.

  “Rezh,” said the weird Rykori, “don’t you want to meet the others?”

  “No.”

  She pouted. “But you’ll hurt their feelings.”

  Rezh made a face. “I’ll take them swimming in the river later.”

  “Oh, you will? How lovely!”

  Hopefully they would sink to the bottom and never rise again. Rezh headed for his bedroom. Had his mother lost her mind? He glanced back to make sure she wasn’t following him with some other knitted friend. Off-key singing echoed out of her room. What had happened to her? Wasn’t she still sleeping in the same room with Sizhirin?

  He reached the other side of the grid. He couldn’t hear her singing anymore. He couldn’t hear anything, not even his own footsteps on the thick blood carpet. The little statues seemed to glance at him with their wide stone eyes. He bent to examine one of them.

  Needle teeth clogged its mouth. Rags hung off its shoulders, and raggedy hair sprawled over its contorted face. It struck him with sudden force that he was examining the statue of a bloodheart. What was this doing here? Chills curdled his blood, and he hastened towards his room. What if the statue moved?

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, something slipped out of sight at the end of the corridor, where he had to go. Rezh froze where he stood. It was too tall to be his mom, or anyone else. Was it the same shadow from before?

  Rezh shook his head. This was ridiculous. His dad was an Iskerkin. There was nothing soulless here. He glanced at the statue beside him. Had it moved closer? He kicked it. Just stone. Nothing else. He commenced to the corner of the alley and entered his room.

  The small bed he used to sleep in had been replaced by a huge four-poster. The wood was black, but the sheets and pillows scarlet as rubies. The fluffy rug beneath it glowed blood red. The ornate furniture was of black telarin wood. The bottom half of the ebony walls bulged with stone carving. The top half hung with glossy black curtains, which gathered in the center of the ceiling.

  Two bloodhearts flanked each of the four tall scarlet doors. These glowed as much as the carpet. A heavy brass latch hung down their centers from the top. Mirilite twinkled over each door, and inside the statues’ eyes.

  Rezh backed out of the room, and bumped into something big. With a startled cry, he spun around, and came face to face with a big Hatrin man. His hair was blacker than the stone statues, and his blue eyes gleamed with ethereal light. He wore a beige wraparound shirt and dark pants bound with a tight black sash.

  “Rezh?” said the man.

  Rezh’s head tilted in wonder. “Dad?” How could this be his dad? The warm aura fluttering from the man’s soul was gone.

  “Rezh.” The Hatrin cupped Rezh’s cheek in one hand. “You are home.” He folded Rezh in a powerful embrace, r
esting his hand on the dark brown hair. “I have missed you. I worried for your safety every day. I feared I would receive the letter that you had fainted and would never waken.” Slight warmth flickered from the chest of ice. “I have been in darkness until this day.” He held Rezh back by the shoulders. “You are like a ghost. You look hungry. You said they were feeding you, but you look too thin.” He touched Rezh’s face. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Are you all right? What happened to Mom?” Rezh glanced at the statues. “Why did you decorate the place like this? What’s going on? Why is Mom friends with a stuffed plupkin?”

  A spasm jolted through Sizhirin’s frame. “Rezh, I…” He crushed Rezh against him. “Things changed when you went away.”

  Rezh couldn’t take his eyes off the nearest statue. “What happened? I’ll help you fix it. Maybe that’s why I came back, you know?” He looked at his dad.

  Sizhirin pinched Rezh’s ear between thumb and forefinger. “Do you think so, Rezh? Do you think you could fix what has happened? Could you reverse time and take back my soul from the abyss?”

  Rezh’s brows knit. “What?”

  Sizhirin shook his head. “Rezh, I’m glad you are home. You must stay. You must aid me. I have suffered a heavy blow. It’s nigh to killing me.”

  “Just tell me what to do! I’ll help you.”

  “Even if you are not my blood son?”

  Rezh jerked. “What do you mean?”

  Sizhirin clasped his child’s face in both hands. “I have always thought of you as my son, Rezh. I have loved you more than any father could love a blood son.”

  Rezh felt suddenly sick in the pit of his stomach. “But I am your son.”

  Sizhirin kissed his temple. “If you do not like the statues, I shall remove them for you.”

  “But what’s going on here?”

  “Not now, my son. I shall tell you after dinner. I shall tell you all. Can you wait until then?”

  Rezh nodded.

  “Good. Now wash off. I shall fetch some clothes for you. Your mother had some ready for when you returned home. Do not worry. She did not pick them out, or make them.” Sizhirin smiled. “You tremble, Rezh. It is right that you do. Now go, and I shall remove the statues.”

  “Okay. Are there any statues in the bathroom?”

  Sizhirin smiled. “No.” That strange gleam had lessened, and the fire inside him grew warmer. It still wasn’t that flourishing heat like a blaze on a cold winter night.

  Rezh headed towards the bathroom. What had his dad meant when he’d said ‘blood son’? His mother had said he looked like his dad—he repelled the thought.

  As he reached the bathroom door, it was as if a knife suspended over his back. Spinning round, he peered down the corridor. The oversized shadow peeked at him from behind the wall. Long hair dangled past its hand. Two eyes glinted before it ducked out of sight. Rezh stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He scanned the door for a lock. There had to be one somewhere.

  He ran his hands over the door. A massive azure circle in the middle of it moved when he touched it. An almost invisible runner led from the circle to a hidden latch. Rezh pushed the circle to the side and it landed over the latch with a click. Pulling the door to ascertain it was secure, Rezh faced the rest of the bathroom.

  It looked as though it had been built inside a spacious blue marble. A Kabrilor could lie in the sink with room to spare. Mirilite dotted the ceiling like stars. Half the room was the tub, which was as big as a small lake. The floor sloped into it like a real shore. Water already filled it.

  Removing his dusty rags, Rezh dropped them by the sink and waded into the water. Hopefully, nothing lurked in the blue depths. He swam out into the middle, attempting to forget the shadow. Conductor’s voice echoed through his head about his friend who needed gloves and boots down in the mines. No, no, that was just Conductor being weird again.

  His mind switched gears as once more he wondered what Sizhirin had meant about blood sons. Had his mother done something? What had happened? He shook his head free of the thought. His life should have been wonderful when he got home. Instead…

  Rezh cast his gaze to the swirling blue ceiling, the strange lake he bathed in, the too-big sink and enormous door. Why did it have to be so humungous? It would have been fun had his parents been normal.

  He washed his hair, and then ducked underwater to rinse out the soap. Several seconds later, he broke the surface. Wiping the water from his eyes, he noticed his clothes were gone.

  “What in Cubons?” he murmured. The shadow in the hall crossed his mind. His amber eyes darted to the door. Was it not locked after all?

  Scrambling from the pool, he swung a towel around his hips. He scanned the bathroom once more and spotted something pale heaped in the sink. He edged towards it just enough to look in. His clothes lay in a dusty pile, seeming to glow in the blue.

  “Gutless awiks!”

  Speeding to the door, Rezh shoved the heavy lock to the side and burst into the hall. He slammed into a yarn-clad body and toppled to the floor.

  “Oh, my!” said his mother. “What are you doing?”

  Rezh staggered to his feet and helped her up. “Was it you? Did you move my clothes?”

  The woman smiled. “Oh, hello. When did you come back?”

  Rezh blanched. “Mom! Did you move…?”

  “I think I will make something special for you tonight.” She meandered down the hallway as if nothing had happened.

  Rezh glanced into the bathroom. His clothes were back on the floor.

  3

  A Birthday Lunch

  With the towel still circling his hips, Rezh sped towards Sizhirin’s room. The statues had already been removed from the hallways, but eyes still bore into his back. He found his father’s chamber and tried to enter, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  He pounded on the smooth surface. “Dad, where are you?” He looked both ways down the corridor. The shadow was crouched atop a flat roof. Sweat broke out on Rezh’s forehead. “Dad!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow move towards him. He couldn’t be sure if it was on all fours or not. “Please, please, please.” Rezh extended his claws. If it attacked him, at least he would go down fighting.

  The door unlocked and Sizhirin opened the door. “My son, what is the matter?”

  “There’s something here.” He pointed down the corridor, but the shadow had gone.

  Sizhirin walked past him and examined the hall. “It is your nerves, child.” He smiled. “Now, you cannot run around in a towel. You will shock your mother. Her nerves have not been the same.”

  Rezh’s mouth fell open. “Of course, look at this place! Have you seen her yarn room?”

  Sizhirin chuckled. “We must allow her her whims. Now come, I have prepared your room. You will rest peacefully tonight.” He led Rezh to his room. The Berivor kept close to Sizhirin, trying to glean the waning warmth from the aura that had always secured his peace of mind.

  Sizhirin opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. “Your clothes are laid out on your bed. The statues are gone. When you are dressed, your mother will have prepared you something. I will return for you in a few minutes. Happy birthday, my son.” Sizhirin departed and shut the door. The lock clicked. Rezh started and yanked in vain at the great latch jutting down the center of the door. He tried the other three doors, but each was locked.

  “Oh, Cubons,” Rezh hissed. There was a reason Sizhirin had locked the door. He sank onto the bed and gathered his wits, lest he repeatedly dart from door to door like a panicking awik. He needed to get dressed.

  Taking several deep breaths, Rezh began to dress. He donned the pale pants and sleeveless shirt. The dark green vest was closed in the front and back, but open on the sides. Slipping it over his head, Rezh knotted a glossy green sash over it and around his hips. He couldn’t enjoy not grunging it in rags as he should have. Tossing the towel on the back of a chair, he checked the corners of the room for anything creep
ier than the décor. He even inspected the black hangings.

  Something shone on the wall behind them. Pushing the curtains aside, he stared at a small child’s picture pinned to a blood-colored wall. There were more around it. Rezh widened the curtains. The children were Kabrilors and Metirins, all along the age spectrum from zero to twenty-two. More pictures extended up the wall. Rezh glanced at the scarlet tassel in a corner of the room. He felt more than thought, what is it for? He pulled it.

  The curtains lifted. Thousands of portraits of children were tacked to the blaring walls. Rezh scanned every face, and then he spotted his eight-year-old self. The picture used to hang in his parents’ room. What was it doing here?

  The lock clicked, and knuckles rapped on the hard door. “Rezh, are you ready?”

  “Uh, w-wait. I’m almost ready.”

  Sizhirin chuckled. “Did you forget how to put on clothes?”

  Rezh let the tassel up, and the curtains slipped back down. “Kind of. I mean…well…” He waited for the curtains to stop moving before he undid his sash. “You can come in now.” He fumbled with the sash, making sure it appeared as if he were trying to use it as a belt.

  Sizhirin walked in and chuckled. “You have forgotten. Here, the sash goes over the vest.” He tied it for him so that it hung smoothly down the front.

  “Oh.” Rezh tugged his ear as if still confused.

  “No matter, my son. Come, I hope you remember how to eat.”

  “I remember that.” Rezh glanced at his fuzzy reflection in the brass walls. He glanced down the hallway for the tall shadow, but didn’t see anything.

  Sizhirin rested a hand on his shoulder. “You are fidgety, Rezh. Have no fear. You are safe.”

  Rezh ached to inquire about Sizhirin’s locking the door, but the words stuck in his throat. They reached one of the four dining room doors and entered. Bright red cushions circled an empty spot where a table should have been. Mirilite lined the walls, but shed light only in their close proximity.

  “What happened to the table?” said Rezh. “Why is it so dark in here?” He peered closely at the walls. A large portrait hung on each, but he couldn’t tell of what. More hidden children?