by D. Moonfire
he froze. She was staring at him with her mouth open and eyes shimmering with tears. He gave a hesitant smile. “I really do, you know; with all my heart, Pábyo.”
He heard Gichyòbi and Kidóri stand up. He knew, somehow, that he had to be gone when either woke in the morning. But until then, they had given silent consent for the two lovers to remain in the living room.
And Rutejìmo intended to prove to Mapábyo that he loved her.
Two Months Later
The underbelly of society is far larger and more organized than anyone could imagine.
—Milifor Krum, Hidden Dangers of Kormar
Rutejìmo ran along the outer circuit of Wamifuko City, following hidden paths that circled the city and kept him away from those who still walked with their heads held high. One more delivery and he would be done for the day.
Since he started, people called his delivery route the dépa trail. There were three couriers who ran along the trail with magic, and two of them followed dépa spirits. The only difference came from the source of their power: Rutejìmo followed a spirit of the day, and the other gained power when the moon rose above the horizon.
They also worked for the same woman, a dour-faced hag who managed to know everyone in the dark parts of society. A banyosiōu just like him, she had been abandoned by the Wamifuko when she used her powers to carve out a little dominion of her own. Now, she was unseen like the others and a surprising ally.
Rutejìmo wasn’t living richly, but he had a comfortable spot to sleep in her house and enough money to buy little presents for Mapábyo. The rest of his money went into saving for the time between Mapábyo’s mail routes.
With a smile, he jumped across a chasm and landed on the far side. His bare feet dug into the ridges of the rock, and he took a sharp turn to head down from the hills and into the plains where the various clans camped when they didn’t want to enter the city. It was along the eastern side of the city, so the clans present would be ones who gained power from Tachìra. The moon clans always entered from the north or south.
Down along the sun-baked plains, he raced between two herds of sheep. The clan colors, white and red on one side and blue on the other, were as sharply contrasting as the two clans screaming at each other. Knives and swords flashed in the air with their threats.
The noise quieted for only a moment when he ran past, until they realized he wore gray and white—the colors of the banyosiōu.
His destination came up on the right, a large tent flanked by two armed guards. The clan warriors watched him with narrowed eyes when he came to a halt just outside the rope that identified their temporary territories. He turned and looked over at the rest of the warring clans, his skin crawling with the sight of so many brandished blades.
Turning back to the tents, he bowed, but said nothing.
Rutejìmo didn’t speak much anymore. The lessons he learned in the desert still held true in the city. He was unseen even when he stood in the sun. Those who still had a clan would look away from him, but it didn’t stop them from using his services. It just took him a while to learn the cues of being unseen but useful.
A herder swore at a small flock of sheep and guided them past Rutejìmo. His eyes never drifted toward Rutejìmo and Rutejìmo did the same. Not even his sheep seemed to look at Rutejìmo.
Something thudded between his feet. Glancing down, he saw a small purse. He toed it and guessed it was full from the heavy weight. Without looking up, he pulled out a thin tube from his shirt and held it at his side.
A herd of sheep came walking by, their bodies bumping against him.
He counted to three and let it go, dropping it into the animals that crowded him. He didn’t feel it hit the ground.
It took a moment for the herd to pass him. As soon as he could, he picked up the coin purse and shoved it into his pocket.
Rutejìmo didn’t know what was in the tube, and he didn’t care. He stepped back twice and turned around. The two clans were still screaming at each other, seconds away from a fight, but no one paid any attention to him. He was invisible, a ghost among the others.
He lifted his head up to the sun and smiled. The heat baked down on his face. It felt good, not only from the rush of power still coursing through his veins, but because noon meant that Mapábyo would be meeting him at Higoryo Inn in less than an hour.
With a grin, he sprinted away from the fight and between the two warring factions. The dust he kicked up blew across both groups. In a few short hours, they could be dead, still fighting, or licking their wounds, but he wouldn’t care because he would be in Mapábyo’s arms.
Rutejìmo ran in record time, circling the city in less than thirty minutes. He passed a number of couriers going the opposite direction. Most of them didn’t use magic to travel, but there was the occasional rush of a clan, or former clan, member racing by on foot or mount. In the moments when the moon rose above the horizon it was more crowded, but the current steady traffic gave Rutejìmo comfort. He had found his place in the city.
By the time he reached the western gates, he was almost jumping along the road. He slowed down smoothly and watched Shimusògo disappear between one step and another. Continuing forward, he reduced his speed until he reached his destination, a trail leading up to some rocks. He jogged up a small path that led to a flat plateau that gave him a clear view of the incoming traffic and, he hoped, the familiar sight of a plume of sand rolling with golden feathers.
He reached the top of the ridge and slowed down to a crawl. There was already someone sitting at the top. It was a clan warrior in bright yellow and green holding a spear. The warrior glanced at him but as soon as his green eyes focused on Rutejìmo, they slid away.
Rutejìmo stepped to the edge, to the side, and then sat down.
Neither spoke across the two worlds that divided them, but Rutejìmo’s muscles grew tense in anticipation of an attack. He would have moved, but the ridge was the best place to see Mapábyo approach.
The warrior did the same. Rutejìmo had never noticed it when he was just a courier, but the subtle tightening of the arms and the way the warrior shifted his weapon in reach told him enough.
Heart pounded faster, Rutejìmo focused on the roads leading into the city. He wasn’t sure if it was the warrior next to him or the hope of seeing Mapábyo coming home. She had finished two mail runs before leaving for the third. Each time, she remained in the inn instead of running back to the home valley and her parents.
He smiled and rested his hands on his thighs. A year of being without a clan didn’t seem so devastating when he was in her arms, just as two weeks felt like forever when she left for her delivery route. Sooner or later, she would have to go back, but for the next week, she was his.
The horizon in the distance began to waver. A blur formed along the road leading to the cliffs, and his heart beat faster. Panting, he strained to watch it expand into a cloud of dust tipped by a dark figure racing toward the city.
Even though he wanted to, Rutejìmo waited until he saw the boiling cloud of translucent feathers before he jumped to his feet. Jogging a short distance away from the warrior, he threw himself into a run, blasted his way across the trail, down to the road, and then accelerated to his limit.
Minutes later, they were close enough to see each other smile. Mapábyo yelled wordlessly, jumping and holding out her hand. She didn’t slow down.
Rutejìmo caught her hand, the world slowing down with a rush. When he gripped her sweat-slicked fingers, nothing else mattered.
They began to spin around. The pulse of the world accelerated with them. A liquid sensation poured out of his body and his speed blended with hers. He slowed her down while she pulled him faster. It was the final power Shimusògo gave both of them, the ability to share the momentum of their run. The warriors used it to make hairpin turns or, rarely, launch themselves a hundred feet straight up. For a few precious seconds, Rutejìmo’s heart and feet ran faster than he could ever run alone.
The world accelerated, and so
did they. Spinning rapidly like a top, they kicked off each other and shot out in opposite directions.
Rutejìmo, moving faster than he could on his own, rocketed across the sands before slowly circling to come back at her. A large plume of sand and rocks followed him, sucked in by the wake of his passing.
They came to each other again. This time, they caught each other with both hands and leaned forward to kiss. The transference of their speed sparked along their lips and then they were rocketing apart.
The two ran together for almost an hour in a meandering line across the sands and over the crowded roads. Their two trails met in kisses and clouds of dust. Rutejìmo ignored the curses they left behind. His entire world had collapsed into a single woman.
It scared him how much he looked forward to her return, but it also felt right. Mapábyo, though eight years his junior, was a good listener, and he enjoyed listening when she needed to talk. She was wonderful, not just slipping between the blankets but also simply running next to her.
They came together to kiss again.
Mapábyo grabbed his hand. She didn’t spin him, but simply directed him back down the road toward the city.
They rushed along the side of the road, past the merchants coming up to the lines and the masses of herds slowly making their way across the desert. As they approached the gate, they slowed.
Rutejìmo stopped to the side of her. He