She cuts and her legs are freed from the flesh, but as she is looking at her new legs, she is struck in the head from above by a rock. Litaialla drops the rock with which she crushed Nareeit’s skull.
“Fool!” say the people, “Only a simpleton would kill the child before the mother. Better to kill the mother first, more so when she yet carries a large rock in her hands.” Litaialla picks up the stick, but filled with grief, she does not claim it. Nareeit’s blood flows down and into the rock of the land.
As Nareeit’s blood mixes with the rock it spreads out and covers the land with vegetation. The vegetation is ripe with fruit and from the fruit spring countless varieties of creatures, both large and small which spread across the vast new land and fill it with the gift of prey.
Litaialla, does not accept the gift with thanks, and so it is the last gift to the people on this day of gifts. Litaialla’s grief is so great that she cannot see the great power she holds in her hands but only the thing that has taken her child. So, with a great strength, lent to her by the gods through the stick, she flings it far from the new land and out to the sea. The people say nothing.
The stick sinks slowly beneath the waves. Finally, on the next day, it comes to rest in the mud by Jaaroushie who picks it up. And so did many tribes come to live on dry land.”
Snow just stared at him, waiting for… what? An explanation? “There is—”
“What was that? Was there a moral there? Don’t fish when there is murdering to be done?” she said.
“Ya, that is—”
“I rate your story one star. Too many murdered babies,” she said.
“I guess you don’t remember reading any myths and or fables in your youth? They can be surprisingly violent, and are the source of much questionable wisdom,” Max said.
“Barf,” Snow said.
On the second day of travel, not long after False Night, they arrived at the busy clifftop port city of SoChar. Traffic on the sea had steadily increased as they’d grown closer. Many large cargo vessels waited outside the floating harbor for their turn to enter and load or unload cargoes. As the tide was high, they sailed past the waiting commercial vessels into the floating outer harbor, passed through the tall gate of the harbor walls and entered the clifftop lagoon of the inner harbor. The lagoon would only be accessible for a day and a half, and so it was bustling with activity. Ships of various sizes unloaded and loaded cargo from all over Grailliyn, taking full advantage of the high sea level, while it lasted. Amongst the massive open ocean vessels unloading in the port, Max recognized one of the True North Candy ships with the distinctive ice smashing stone prow required to operate in that environment.
Though there were other ports along the North’s west coast SoChar was by far the biggest and busiest. Because of its superior facilities which consisted in part of large lifts on its tall sculpted vertical cliffs, the port could continue operations even in periods of low tide, albeit at a reduced pace. As a result, it had an excellent position on the transportation network. Numerous caravan routes began or ended in SoChar. Both soft and hard rail lines spread out in all directions connecting to other cities, towns, and villages up and down the coastal plain between the mountains and the sea, north around the coastal mountain range to the Valley region or south, eventually leading to New York itself. In addition, there were the dirigible airlines, with airships that traveled between SoChar on the coast and NaChar in the mountains. It was this transport system more than any other factor that lead Max back to his old home of SoChar, the airlines in particular.
“So, we have a day and a half to decide,” Snow said. She was standing at the windscreen, marveling at the sight of the busy port. “Otherwise we’re stuck here. But that’s really like three days.”
It wasn’t the first time Snow had mentioned how long the days seemed to her, and how days were normally counted by the number of sleeps. That was stupid of course. The proper way to measure days was the spin of the planet, not sleep cycles. Max shook his head but kept his judgment to himself.
Snow was wearing her hood again and he gave it an adjustment.
“Can you see okay?” he asked.
“As long as everything stays right here,” she said holding her arms in front of her and panning her whole body around to emphasize her narrow field of view.
“We’ll get make up and clothes, and then you won’t have to stand out so much,” Max said.
“I will always stand out,” she said. “Don’t even try to stop me.”
“You are special,” he said. “Very special.”
Due to the limited view of the hood, she missed with her punch and so only grazed his shoulder. Her knuckles scraped across his deltoid muscle in a way that somehow hurt more than a direct hit. Unaware of this fact she gave him a second punch for good measure.
“Owww,” he said.
“And soap,” Snow said, carrying on, as though no violence had occurred.
“Soap. Yes. First thing we do is rent a room, then have showers,” Max said. He rubbed his shoulder.
They had decided to continue keeping Snow’s unique appearance under wraps, if possible. The HOSaS assassin was currently only after him. Until the pair came up with a plan, it was best if no one knew about Snow at all.
Max had doubts about leaving Snow’s pod on the boat at a public wharf. When he saw just how many other similar boats were docked, he felt better about it. They were hidden in plain sight. At least until the tide dropped. He was doing one last visual check of the boat before leaving, when he noticed something, a goopy-looking substance, low on the hull. He prodded it with his finger and found it to be quite sticky. The substance resisted his attempt to retrieve his finger, stretching some as he pulled away. It was a glue that must have held the attack crab in place while he made his way out to the frozen sea from Tuk.
It took most of his remaining money to rent a room with a shower for the night. Doozer was stuffed into a sack and smuggled into their room. Snow tapped his carapace to calm him and kept his wriggling to a minimum.
“We’re brrr-eakin’ the ruuules…” Snow sang quietly as they made their way down the empty corridor to their room.
Max motioned for her to stop singing about their misdemeanor. But she only smiled in response, as though she didn’t understand. No one questioned the sound of loud purring on their short trip.
Snow was first to shower. Max argued that he’d not showered for weeks and was the smelliest, and therefore should get first dibs. Snow countered that she’d not showered in centuries, millennia maybe, and that his stink was his problem. He didn’t think that was fair, strictly speaking, but it was technically correct, which was the best kind of correct.
After showering Max shaved off his scraggly beard, making quick work of it with a ceramic shaving blade.
When he emerged from the bathroom Snow did a double take and reached for something heavy with which to club the stranger. But she soon recognized him and inspected his newly shaven face.
“You’re not a wolf boy after all. That looks much better.” She slapped his cheek in the typical Snow-don’t-know-her-own-strength way.
“Oww,” Max said.
Owing to a lack of harness, excitable Doozer was left in the room while his people went to town to sell their bag of candy-catch.
Max found a buyer quickly and, in the end, thanks to Snow, received a good price. He had been about to accept a much lower sum when Snow stepped in to haggle, increasing their price considerably. She pointed out the candy’s exceptional freshness, which was valid. But it was her natural charm, her familiar though difficult to pinpoint accent, and above all, her willingness to walk away, that Max noted as the key factor. Max was impressed. He wondered what price she could have gotten if she was able to show her face and look the man eye to eye.
Chapter 19
With script in hand, Snow walked the market, on task, scouring the booths and stalls for sets of clothes and makeup that would do the job, while making the pair of them look g
ood. Max followed in her wake while she focused on the current goal. New clothing. Both of them were in dire need of clothes. She was determined not to let fear hold her back. Fear of how huge this world was and fear of the huge crowds of people. There were just so many people here. Wherever she came from it must have been a teeny-tiny small town because none of this, hustle and bustle and large crowds, was normal.
Snow was thankful for the hood. It let her stare at all the sights in secret. She gaped at the strangeness around her. A small child ran through the stalls, yelling and carrying on as though it were not against the rules. The girl’s father jogged after her to set her straight. But his face was all wrong. Where there should have been the stern expression of a teacher ready to instruct, there was instead an open look of frustration. The onlookers nearby had various reactions. Some were amused by the child’s escape and antics while others looked on in open disapproval. All of it felt wonderfully inappropriate to Snow.
Even somewhat familiar things seemed strange here, like a man riding a bicycle down the street. The bicycle was made from wood and shell and a dozen other materials none of which contained an ounce of steel or other metal. Not that she remembered having a bicycle, but she was sure that this one was different.
There were new smells too. From the rich musky unfamiliar odors of prepared leather and shell made items, to the delicious scent of exotic spices, occasionally mixed with the more familiar new plastic smell.
The market was packed with tall people. The shortest of the other women measured only a few inches less than Snow. This too conflicted with her sense of normal. Snow was a tall woman. Very tall. She was certain of it. And yet all the evidence, the vast array of taller-than-Snow people around her, suggested that she was… Was she short? She turned and sneered at Max for not warning her. With her hood up, he failed to register her sneer. He smiled back amiably and said something she couldn’t make out over the buzz of the market. He was pointing at a market stall. The sign above the booth said, Worldwide Wigs.
The booth was filled with an astounding variety of wig styles and colors. The merchant, a woman who stood at least three inches taller than Snow, said something, a greeting perhaps. Snow didn’t understand a word of it.
Max returned the greeting.
“These,” the woman said, speaking now in accented but passable English and gesturing to the wigs on the wall to her right, “are all natural, and they come from the valley.”
The wigs appeared to be made of real hair and varied widely. Though they were mostly black and dark brown, some were lighter colors including two reddish brown wigs at the front.
“And these,” she said, pointing to the wall on her left, “are synthetics from the factories of Tawnee.” She made a flourish with her hand.
Snow looked at the synthetic wigs. Many of them were made of shiny plastic fibers in bright colors. Pink and blue and red. Others had a more natural look. Those had a wide variety, including blonde, but they were not as convincing as the valley wigs.
Snow browsed, settling eventually on a dark brown, chin length cut. Max picked up a blonde wig and put it on the counter with the brown one to pay for them both.
Snow raised an eyebrow in question.
Max gave her a toothy grin that said either, I-will-explain-later or, I-am-being-very-clever, she wasn’t sure which.
Snow hadn’t seen a whole lot of the world yet, but she was starting to understand Max’s concern about her standing out in it. Every person she had seen so far had the same mostly dark brown or black hair and light brown skin. Light compared to what? Snow had no idea. But while the shade of their skin seemed normal, familiar, it seemed strange that everybody had those same features in common.
The similarities ended at brown skin and dark hair, however. Noses varied in length and width, hair was as likely to be bone straight as it was to be in tight or loose curls. Most people were slim, and though she did see the occasional large body, Snow had to assume those few large bodied people had an excellent supply of Catch since she could not believe anyone would overindulge on the bacterial mat universal diet.
As they crossed a wide cobblestone street to the other side of the market, Snow could see a fair distance each way. The street carried on up a hill, to an area densely packed with tall, stone buildings. That was where Max had indicated they would be going later, to the theater. Amongst the blocky buildings of stone and shell were the steepled towers of churches. She was certain she had never seen anything like it, not in person. With the constant barrage of new things, she was in excitement overload. And so again she had reason to be glad for her hood, which hid the idiotic grin pasted across her stupid face. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. They purchased clothing, makeup, a fancy harness for Doozer and other odds and ends.
Along the way they also picked up a few travel brochures. The brochures, one for each of the caravan and rail lines, extolled the virtues of, as the rail brochure put it, “an intimate journey through the renowned northern landscape, infused throughout with lush flora and lively fauna. Relax on board as you travel on a leisurely route to your ultimate destination.”
The air travel brochure had essentially the same details but listed as features that could be avoided with the luxury of air travel.
Having completed their modest goals, all without so much as a hint of danger, the pair headed back to the Flotsam Inn.
Chapter 20
On their way back to the Inn, they made a stop at a busy food cart for some crispy spiced bacteria. It was a nice change from normal, and further evidence that Max had been holding out, intentionally or otherwise, on how varied mealtimes could be. Snow bought and squirreled away several small packets of spice—to avoid future flavor oppression—before they traveled the rest of the way back to the Inn.
They were both tired after the extensive shopping trip and Snow had little difficulty nodding off into the day's second sleep.
When she awoke, Doozer hopped off her, where he’d been sleeping, and scurried over to curl up in the crook of Max’s arm, who was still sleeping as usual. From the room’s wide glass window Snow could see the street corner, where stood a large stone fountain that was also a functioning water clock. It was almost Four-Three, the forty-third hour of the day and they’d gone to sleep around Three-Five, so she had been sleeping about eight hours. There was little more than two hours until “dark”. Mega was at its peak tonight, so even at its dimmest near sunset and sunrise, its disk would be about half full. At midnight, its disk would be fully lit, and if the skies were clear, Grailliyn would be as bright as a dark cloudy day, though not nearly so dreary.
“Wake up Max,” Snow said. “I don’t want to be late for the movies.”
Max moaned but didn’t move. She grabbed her pillow, winding up for a mighty strike. He still didn’t move so she swung it down hard, aiming for his back. He must have sensed the movement because at the last second, he rolled off the bed, out of the way of the incoming pillow projectile, and landed with a thunk on the floor.
They prepared for a night on the town, which would be the first test of Snow’s new non-hood-based disguise. She was patient while Max applied make up on her face, careful not to get it in her eyes or up her nose. Next, he placed the wig, wiggling it around until it was seated firmly, though not what she would call comfortably.
“Why don’t you have mirrors?” she asked.
Max pointed to the dark glass in a frame on the wall. It’s-right-there, said his face.
The glass did give a reflection. But the world it reflected was a dark shadow of the real one. There was a substantial difference between the Max in the mirror and the Max in front of her. It required a lot of light in the room before it started to resemble what she thought of as a mirror.
They left Doozer in the apartment again (popping and chittering a grumbly tune of woe and rejection) and made their way through The Flotsam Inn’s drab, oil-lit hallways to the front room. The front room itself was markedly different from the interior hall
ways. Its high, domed ceilings were adorned with fine finishes and a chandelier made from the skull of some great horned and plated beast which gleamed brightly in the gas light. The furniture too was of high quality. The sofa and chairs were framed in shell or bone, or some other whitish material, and the cushions were a deep red fabric. The Flotsam Inn’s front room certainly made a promise that the rest of the inn failed to keep.
She was nervous as they stepped outside. They walked down the busy street, dipping in and out of long shadows cast by the last bit of daylight, with night just under an hour away.
Snow felt as though everyone was looking at her. She looked around to discover that she was not wrong. Everyone was looking at her. But they only glanced before returning to the road or a friend or whatever their business was at the moment.
By the time she’d reached the end of the first block, Snow was feeling much more comfortable. She had to admit, this was a clever plan. Instead of making her up to blend in with the people around her, Max had applied the lighter colored makeup worn sometimes when going to a costume party as a theater person. An actor.
At first, she thought he was silly to cover up her pale face with pale makeup and blonde hair with a blonde wig, but Max insisted that was the key element. A synthetic wig looked like a synthetic wig. And that meant dress up. It was not newsworthy. She might not have needed the makeup at all so long as she had the wig.
Over top of the wig on her head, was a top hat. She was clothed in a bold blue suit with elaborate stitching, buttons, and trim, with a ruffled white blouse puffing out from beneath. On close inspection the suit fabric was actually dark brown, almost black. It was an array of tiny blue filaments, jutting out evenly across the fabric, that gave it a blue sheen.
Starship Relic (Lost Colony Uprising Book 1) Page 9