Alisiyad

by Sarah R. Suleski

  Pillari returned his attention to her, seeming to ignore the spoon. “That’s a very complicated issue.” He looked absent for a moment. Then he finished; “Most people don’t drink from the Chaiorra River. It’s not . . . safe.”

  She tapped once more and halted. “You mean we’re gonna be sick?” her voice rose nervously. But Russ didn’t feel sick. Not anymore.

  “If you were going to be sick I think you would know by now.” Pillari smiled with a hint of grimness in his eyes. “Unmistakably.”

  Liseli relaxed a little, but then Ivira said, “I thought people died. You said I’d die if—”

  “I don’t want you trying to drink the water, Ivira,” Halla stopped her. “These are otherworlders. Perhaps they are different from us.”

  Currun snorted and made a comment to Oan in Adayzjian. But Russ felt a sense of realization, as if a question he hadn’t thought to ask had suddenly been answered. He didn’t have any idea what was up with the river, but the comment reminded him of the feeling from the day before. How he’d been standing at the edge of something vast and alive, way out of his control, but aware of him. Willing to be aware of him. That was different. The experience had been confusing and chaotic then, but the longer he was able to think about it the more it felt . . . right. There were other worlds out there; home was another world, just one of many. How many more were there? Excitement inched over him. What if you never had to go back?

  He shook his head. Liseli and the Alisiyans had been talking, and he’d missed what was being said. Damn it! That often happened, when his mind wandered, and most times he didn’t remember to listen until someone was yelling at him. Then they accused him of being slow or stupid.

  “ . . . I don’t get it, how can it be toxic to people but not animals?” Liseli was saying.

  “That is a mystery.” Pillari held up his hands and shook his head. “It is cursed, but if we knew the exact manner of it, we could make it right again. We simply do not know.”

  “So what do you drink?” Liseli arched her eyebrow in disbelief.

  “Well water, rainwater, or water from lesser rivers and streams,” Pillari explained patiently. Obviously, Russ directed the thought at Liseli, wishing she wouldn’t try to play the manager. He noticed that Halla had gotten up and was working on the tent to their left, with the help of Oan and Currun.

  Liseli looked thoughtful, then just said, “That’s weird. Really weird.”

  Pillari cracked a smile. “I suppose it is. We have become used to it — it is a way of life.”

  Liseli tilted her head to the side and stared at her bowl as if to find answers there.

  “Would you like more oatmeal, Liseli?” Martilia offered.

  Pillari stood up. “We had best be going soon,” he said. “Finish off the pot.” He walked away toward the third tent.

  “I’m okay,” Liseli declined, “it was good.”

  “There’s only about one or two servings left.” Martilia swirled the ladle around in the pot. It scraped against the bottom. “Are you sure?”

  “One’s okay . . . ” Liseli said without much conviction. “Russ will have a third helping though, won’t you?”

  One little bowl? She must not want to eat just because Pillari said so. Huh. “No, you go ahead. I’m gonna . . . help with the last tent,” he put his bowl down and got to his feet before she could protest. As he walked toward the tent he glanced back to see her holding her bowl out to Martilia. But she was watching him with her mouth set in a line. Liseli was the only person he knew who would starve herself just to be stubborn. Making her have seconds was worth the look.

  “You need help?” Russ asked.

  Pillari glanced up at him, then nodded. “Bring the mule over here,” he said, pointing toward the second mule. Currun, Oan and Halla were loading the other tent onto the same mule Currun had used for his tent, but Pillari’s tent was the largest of the three. As Pillari unfastened the covering Russ could see more supplies inside.

  “’K,” he agreed, trotting off toward the grazing animal. “Hey there, boy . . . girl . . . thing, whatever you are,” he greeted it. It flicked an ear but otherwise ignored him. A rope hung down from its neck, and he reached out for it. The mule lifted its head and looked at him, incredulously. It didn’t move when he tugged on the rope.

  “C’mon.” Russ yanked harder. “Your master wants you. Don’t look at me like that.” The mule brayed and settled itself back on its haunches. Great, just great. “Please?”

  He became aware of laughter behind him. One of the voices unmistakably belonged to Liseli. He tried to ignore it, but it made his neck flush. He pulled as hard as he could, but the mule dug in and glared at him malevolently. He wondered, with a sinking feeling, if Pillari had assigned the task to him with this in mind. Russ dug his heels into the ground and leaned back, determined to make it get up.

  It flattened its ears and brayed again, then suddenly lurched forward and rose to its feet. Oh shit, Russ knew what would happen a split second before he slipped and fell hard on his backside. The mule tossed its head and stomped further out into the field. Laughter erupted loudly behind him, but only from the children. When he pulled himself to his feet and glanced up he saw that Pillari was busily dismantling the tent, but Currun was watching him — and his expression was somewhere between contempt and amusement. Russ wouldn’t look in Liseli’s direction. He self-consciously picked some burs from his jacket, and glowered at the mule.

  Oan trotted up to the mule, grabbing its rope and yanking it forward. He smirked at Russ as he walked the animal past, leading it to Pillari. Russ followed, trying to look nonchalant, smiling about the humiliation. Currun turned away shaking his head. Liseli had stopped laughing, but he still didn’t look her way. He could imagine what she was doing — hands on her hips, thrust to the side, head tilted, mocking smirk, a little shake of the head. You’re so lame, Russell. He didn’t want to see it. No, he wanted to. He peeked over at her, and saw her helping Martilia dismantle the tripod the pot had hung from over the fire. So she wasn’t even looking anymore. Well. That was good.

  “Um,” he cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

  Pillari rolled the collapsed tent polls toward him. “Use that rope, there, to fasten these together at the ends. Tie it tightly so they cannot slide out. Then ask Oan to help you secure the bundle to the mule.”

  “Okay.” Russ retrieved the coil of rope Pillari had indicated, then crouched down by the poles. He supposed that if he’d been a Boy Scout or gone to camp he’d know some special, fail-proof knot with a name to use. But no — he’d been out camping just that once, when he was ten . . . . That was a long time ago, and knot tying had not been one of the things his father had taught him on that trip. He smiled to himself mirthlessly as he straightened the wooden poles into a cluster. His father had taught him some stuff about fishing; baiting hooks and filleting fish, but that was about it. Well, that, some guitar chords, and how to leave town. Guitar around the campfire. Gee, brings a tear to the eye. Russ shook his head; this was no time to be mulling over that load of crap for the millionth time.

  Oan was standing over him. “You’re not doing it right,” the boy said. “You’re letting the poles slide around.”

  “Sorry. Could you hold them still for me?”

  “Here, you hold them, and I’ll tie the rope around them,” Oan directed, descending on the poles impatiently. Russ shrugged and let him take the rope. He gripped the poles and watched Oan work for a moment, before his eyes wandered back up to see what Liseli was doing.

  She was rubbing the muzzle of the other mule, and talking to Martilia. Liseli was touching a dirty old pack mule. Petting a mule. He stared. She was paying more attention to Martilia, but the mule seemed to be enjoying her absent stroking . . . but of course, who wouldn’t? He sighed and looked back down at the poles, wondering what she was saying to the woman. And he wondered again why Liseli had kissed him. Well, if she’ll pet a mule, why not? Seriously. Maybe you’ve gotten really
lucky and she likes ugly, dirty creatures now. It had been in the back of his mind for the past half-hour, even while most of his attention had been taken up with meeting the Alisiyans. He wondered if he should have kissed her back like he had. Hell yes. You never know if you’ll get a chance like that again. Or maybe he’d just guaranteed that he wouldn’t have another chance. It was very confusing.

  Oan was trying to wrench the poles away from him. “I said let’s put them on the mule, now,” the boy’s voice cut back in.

  “Oh. Okay.” Russ let go and stood up. Oan gave him a strange look as he hoisted the poles up and carried them toward the mule, which Pillari had begun to load with packs and bundles. Russ followed behind him, trying to look and feel purposeful.

  As they were lashing the poles to the other packs on the mule, Currun approached and stood on the other side of the animal. “So,” he said, “tell me, Russell Markson, what kind of a man are you in your homeworld?”

  Russ fumbled with a leather strap, and Oan thew him an annoyed look. “Um . . . .” Russ’s mind went blank. “Well, I’m . . . I work at a fast food place, the Burger House. And um . . . .”

  “What is a ‘fast food place’, exactly?” Currun crossed his arms and shifted his weight, looking as he were settling in for a long, detailed explanation.

  “Oh . . . it’s where people go to eat food. And we make it fast,” Russ stammered.

  “You mean, like an inn.” Currun nodded.

  “I guess.”

  “So what kind of an innkeeper are you?”

  Russ stared at him helplessly. What kind? What was he supposed to say to that?

  Currun tried again; “I am one of the Erykumyn. You are a Markson . . . what kind of family do you come from? What is your ancestry? Was this ‘Mark’ a man or god of power?”

  “A what?” Russ faltered, then chuckled nervously. “Well, I, um, don’t really know if there was a specific ‘Mark’ or anything . . . I mean, it’s just a . . . name. But if there was I don’t think he was a . . . .”

  “I see. So you are from the peasantry?” Currun raised an eyebrow.

  “There’s not really a ‘peasantry’ in America . . . but if you mean are we dirt poor, I guess so. We don’t even have a computer,” admitted Russ, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, my mother has a laptop, from work, but we don’t . . . ” he drifted off, realizing that Currun didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. “Anyway, I think we’re called lower middle class. We all have jobs.”

  Currun smiled briefly. “And what of your . . . companion?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl. What kind of family does she come from?”

  Russ felt like he was treading water and sinking fast. He glanced over to Liseli with a pained expression, then answered; “She works at the same place I do. I don’t really know anything about her family.”

  “Ah. She is a servant of your family? A maid at the inn?” Currun deduced.

  “Hah!” Russ laughed before he could catch himself. “No. I mean, my family doesn’t own the Burger House, Mr. Berdilo owns it. Liseli and I both work for him.” He hoped that Liseli wasn’t overhearing any of this. She probably was. She was looking at them.

  “So you are both servants at an inn, you’re not an innkeeper at all.” Currun sounded as if he were accusing Russ of being misleading.

  “I never said I was an innkeeper. And I don’t work at an inn, it’s called a restaurant,” Russ said, knowing it probably wouldn’t make any difference to him.

  Oan finally spoke up. “Granamae’s family were innkeepers.”

  Currun paused, looking for a brief moment as if Oan had caught him off guard. “That’s right,” he recovered, nodding. “That is very right, Oan. Her family owned the inn.” He darted a glance over Russ’s shoulder, and Russ turned around. Pillari was standing behind him, staring at Currun with his arms crossed and his fingers tapping against his arm.

  “Are we ready to leave?” he asked dryly.

  “I am.” Currun sidled away from the mule. “Let’s leave then, shall we?”

  “Let’s.” Pillari strode forward and took the mule’s reins. As Currun returned to the other animal, Liseli left its side and gave him a wide berth. She walked up to Russ.

  “What was that all about?” she asked in a low voice. The Alisiyans began to lead their mules away, but walked slowly and glanced back. She was standing close to him, so that she could speak quietly enough for the others to not overhear. A little too close for clear thinking, but he tried.

  “I dunno,” said Russ, “he just want to know our . . . social class, I think. He asked me if my ancestor was a god.”

  “Ha,” Liseli uttered a short laugh, and despite having done the same thing earlier, Russ felt like she’d punched him in the gut. She was laughing at him, not Currun.

  “I know.” He shrugged. “But that was about it. He wanted to know what we do for a living, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, don’t go telling them everything about us.” Liseli turned and began to follow the Alisiyans. “At least not until we find out more.” She waved at Russ to walk next to her. “And if you didn’t like his questions, you should have fought back. Ask him what he does for a living, what social class he comes from.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Anyway, I found out something.” She smiled as she looked ahead.

  “What?”

  “They have a brother, Arlic Erykumyn, and he’s actually the mayor of this city we’re going to. He runs the festival and everything.”

  “Martilia told you that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Her family were innkeepers.”

  “That’s nice,” Liseli said, in her like I care tone. “We’re invited to stay at the mayor’s house. And Halla made it sound like he would really want to meet us,” she looked at the ground thoughtfully. “I guess it’s something to do with us drinking the water. I’m not sure I like that . . . it’s weird. But anyway . . . we’re invited. Well. They didn’t really invite, it was more like . . . it wasn’t even a question.”

  “Sounds good,” said Russ.

  “Uh, yeah . . . ” Liseli didn’t sound convinced anymore. “But you know, if their brother is the mayor . . . how come we’re walking? Don’t you think they can afford horses, or carriages?”

  “Maybe there aren’t any horses here.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Russ. If there are mules, there are horses. Mules are what you get when you cross donkeys with horses,” Liseli flipped her ponytail to the side with an aggravating, enticing little flick of her head. Sometimes when she did that her curls would hit him, but not this time. He felt disappointed.

  “I thought it was the other way around.”

  “No. It isn’t.”

  “Huh. So you think that means their brother isn’t really the mayor?”

  “Noooo . . . . I don’t know.” Liseli shrugged and smiled wryly. “It’d be nice if they had horses; I’m sick of walking, walking, walking. I don’t know why anyone would do this if they could afford better . . . .”

  “You could ask them. About the horses, I mean.”

  “I might. Anyway, keep away from Currun, would you?”

  Russ knew she was saying that he couldn’t handle Currun’s questions, so he didn’t reply directly. Instead he asked, “What about the others?”

  “Martilia’s nice. And Halla’s okay. Pillari and Currun are . . . they might be okay, but watch out for them. I don’t know what to make of them yet.”

  Russ stifled a smirk at the way she rattled off her verdict. “Okay,” he said. “What about Oan and Ivira?”

  “They’re kids.” She looked at him as if he’d asked about the mules.

  Russ shrugged.

  “Come on.” Liseli grabbed his arm, pulling him along, “let’s walk with Martilia and Halla.”

  Chapter 7 ~ Mules, part 2

  Towards noon they came to a lone well standing at the top of a hill. It was an anc
ient looking ring of worn stones, surrounded by tall grass and grown over with lichen. Oan rushed forward and began to pull at the rope hanging down into the dark hole.

  Russ and Liseli were last to the well, and by the time they got there, the Alisiyans were occupied with settling down a temporary camp to eat lunch and have a rest. Liseli lifted herself up to sit on the side of the well, then looked down at her dangling feet. Russ grabbed a rope and started to pull up a bucket. She watched him silently, too tired to say anything at the moment. He set the bucket on the edge and looked at her. “You want a drink?”

  She titled her head to the side. “Wouldn’t it be funny . . . if we can drink from their poisoned river, but the well water they drink kills us?”

  “Uh . . . .” Russ paused, then looked down into the bucket. “Want to find out?”

  “Mm-hm. I’m thirsty.” Liseli dipped her hands into the water, cradling a drink between them as she lifted them up. She began to bend down, but then she got an idea, and looked up at Russ with a smirk. “Test it for me first,” she said, carefully extending her hands toward him.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, go on.” She nodded toward her hands. She knew it was silly. Stupid, even. But she wanted to see if he’d do it; and know that he wanted to.

  Russ looked at her warily, then darted a glance at the onlookers. Finally he twitched a little half-smile. “Huh. Okay . . . .” He cupped his hands underneath hers and bent down to drink. She felt his lips brush against the palms of her hands as the water trickled out between her fingers.

  He lifted his head and grinned crookedly. He looked so silly when he smiled like that. She’d missed it since that morning.

  “Water’s safe,” he said after a moment.

  Liseli felt a little embarrassed, now, and looked down self-consciously as she wiped her hands on her pantlegs. Russ silently dipped a ladle into the bucket and extended it toward her. “Here.”