“No one’s there now,” Mack confirmed. “All of ‘em passed by about an hour ago. Ish. An hour-ish.” Scooping a pair of eggs up, he brought them to Flynn on a tin plate, placing it in his hands along with something like a fork, though longer and more concave. “Ya know what’s weird? The spoons are kinda flat.”
“You don’t say …?” Flynn asked, though flatware was hardly the first thing of this world to fill him with intrigue.
“Mack was up before either of us,” Jean said through a mouthful of egg. Flynn noticed then that she was back in her black tank top and jeans, cross-stitches mending her shirt where it had been ripped the day before.
“Well, you know, up with the sun,” Mack shrugged, cracking his own eggs into the pan on the wood-burning stove. He paused. Bothered, he added, “Sun creeps up kinda early here though.”
Flynn sniffed his plate cautiously before taking a bite. It tasted … not wholly unfamiliar, though there was a saltiness to the meat, and he wondered briefly whether it was the product of Mack’s seasoning or part of the inherent flavor of things. It had been a while since anyone had cooked for him, longer still without manipulation or deceit. He thanked Mack tersely and ate eagerly.
“Ya didn’t hear Charsy leave, I’m guessin’?”
“She said last night that she had business at the cathedral,” Flynn replied. “I infer she’s still there.”
The sizzling of eggs was the only sound until Jean finished her plate and tossed it roughly on the table in front of her, the fork rattling loudly. “So, we’ve landed. More folks than Sechal, nicer than Earth. Do we keep goin’?”
“Keep going where?”
Escaping Earth was in the end the result of happenstance and opportunity. Their egress from Sechal was deliberate, and necessary as their chances of survival there were dubious. Flynn knew what Jean meant, but he considered equally that the next world might be far worse than this one, and that this world in turn might be more welcoming. Through Chari, they might even have an option to get settled in.
“Kinda my point,” Jean said. “Anywhere else we can go?”
“There are other avenues. I didn’t pay it much mind, but I felt something last night.” Flynn looked up at the ceiling, at the walls. “Not in here though.”
“Maybe it only works outside?” Mack asked, flipping his eggs.
“Maybe.”
“Feels weird, thinkin’ about settlin’ in,” Jean reflected. “Always been on the move, always had to be. Mama said ‘always run,’ so I did.” She paused for a moment, letting the thought sink in. “Don’t really wanna run anymore.”
Flynn nodded like he knew, though he didn’t. He had always been guarded about what he could do, how people might see him for it. But he’d never before had to run, and now doubted he ever would like they had.
*
All the world was spread on the table before him. Unfamiliar landmasses coalesced, continents and islands, as if this world was not uncanny enough already. The edges of the old map curled defiantly, leading Flynn to poach several smaller texts from Chari’s stacks to keep them flat. He had found the map in a basket full of them, in the corner of Jean and Mack’s temporary bedroom, between a stack of books and a stack of books. He had no point of reference by which to read it, though. He didn’t know where to start, where he was, where he’d supposedly been. He found what were probably the southern isles and in doing so determined Cordom was somewhere on the landmass north of them, but could find neither the great city he was in now, nor which tiny island he’d presumably originated from.
What the words on the map meant, he couldn’t fathom. He sifted through Chari’s books where he could without upsetting things, looking for an index or Rosetta Stone that might help him but as it were, none existed. He was among the first from Earth to find his way here, and all he’d gleaned so far was that time was measured differently on this world. Clocks and calendars told of days that ran shorter and years that ended more quickly. The meaning of the name inscribed most prominently on the map remained a mystery to him.
Outside, children played and couples courted and soldiers kept the peace. Flynn found himself trapped, too monstrous to be let loose. There was little else to do as the day drifted on, except study Cordom through a lens, damaged and distant. Chari’s return came as a welcome intrusion. She opened her own door with a show of force that gave no consideration to anyone inside, normally having no company show such thought to.
“Oh, salutations!” she greeted while plucking texts from her satchel, placing the first on a stack right near the door.
Flynn’s eyes wavered only briefly from the map. “Welcome home.”
Chari deposited another text, with a passing glance at the map Flynn was hunched over. “That map of the world is out of date, you know.”
“The world?”
“TseTsu,” Chari replied with amusement.
TseTsu. And he didn’t even need Death herself to spell it out.
“So it is,” Flynn agreed, sliding the hardcover paperweights off and letting the map roll back up on itself.
Chari placed the last book back where it belonged before unraveling the beads along her arm, letting them drop to her hands and then setting them on the dining table, along with the sleeves of cloth they normally held in place. Her arms bare, Chari appeared more casual, relieved to be loosed of such a burden.
“How was the morning’s gospel?” Flynn asked, returning the smaller texts he’d borrowed to their intended places. “You didn’t invite us.”
Chari gave pause at the question, but seemed soothed by it just the same. “The hearts of Cordom rested in my palms.” She walked over, placing a hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my brother. I thought you tired after your long journey, and better in need of rest than preaching.”
Brother? An honorific owing to their supposed faith in common, no doubt. “Perhaps at your next interval.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, glancing down the hall, more from courtesy than expectation. “Your escorts have stepped out?”
Jean had found no ease in being trapped indoors and had decided to see the town, Mack in tow. There were insinuations that alcohol would be sought, and that loose coins scrounged from Chari’s couch would pay for it.
“There was a bit of cabin fever going around,” Flynn said.
“Well, I’m consoled you stayed,” Chari replied with a smile.
“Consoled? How would I go out?” He lowered his head. “I know you see me as a simple beastman, but who else would make such an accepting conclusion so quickly?”
Chari’s lack of faith in her people was as apparent in her silence as in the aversion of her gaze. Sorry as he felt to be set apart from other people as he’d been, he knew how to cope.
“I’ll go out after dark, when others have gone to bed.”
Chari’s sad expression faded, an epiphany dawning on her. “Flynn … what do you think people would fear of you the most?”
The terrible claws? The grizzled appearance? The wretched, pointed ears? Considering all these, Flynn gave the answer that Chari was looking for, and possibly one that would matter most. “The look of my eyes.”
Chari gestured for Flynn to wait, taking off toward her bedroom. He followed her as far as the hall entrance, extending himself over the stacked books rounding the corner, and waited. She emerged a moment later looking pleased with herself, cradling a pair of black-lensed spectacles. They were heavy, and she nearly thrust them into his hands. The copper frames were ornately curved, but gave little other room for detail. They extended far enough to cover the eyes from all sides, cutting off the wearer’s peripheral vision in the process. The metal wrapped around a pair of smoke-black lenses that utterly concealed the wearer’s eyes from any onlooker.
“I cannot change how people perceive you,” she said, “but I don’t think it will be so hard to move amongst these people as you do. If your eyes are the most inhuman thing about you, then I propose you hide them away.”
&nbs
p; After a moment’s examination, Flynn accepted the spectacles and placed them on his head. They hooked behind his crooked ears, fitting almost perfectly. Pleased at what she saw, Chari slid around him and hurried to the kitchen to fetch a basin of water. Its contents sloshed and spilled a little as she placed it on the coffee table. She beckoned Flynn over so he could examine his reflection. He was impressed, if nothing else than with the quality of the lenses; not a hint of his eyes showed through.
“These don’t seem your style.”
“They were my mother’s,” Chari replied. “She wore them when she did her work, so none might read her expression.”
Turning from the basin, Flynn walked to the window and looked outside. Even with this pitiful disguise, he knew he’d still look more bestial than any person ought. Though he wasn’t entirely convinced it would be enough, Chari suddenly grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door.
“I fathom why you’re so bashful so suddenly,” she said. “But I’ll come with you. I assure you, no one will pay you any bother with me at your side.”
And before whatever protestations he might summon could be voiced, she shoved Flynn roughly out the door, locking it behind them.
*
TseTsu’s sun bore down, as if eager to call attention to Flynn, the freak caught exposed in the open. Rationally, he knew the danger here was incomparable to Earth, yet an underlying fear remained of the malice his appearance might invite.
The priestess kept him close for more than just convenience while weaving through the crowd. Whatever fears he had of being seen were quickly muted by her presence—she was far more the object of interest than he to the many denizens of Cordom, who routinely stopped her to offer thanks or kiss her hands or proclaim how the morning’s words had brought them to tears. Chari’s smiles for her own people were gracious and kind, but it was her smiles for Flynn that interested him more. His company was welcome, true, but she looked at him more as a novelty item than an object of affection—something foreign and exotic that she could flaunt around town.
Flynn had little trouble with the role, long accustomed to playing whatever part was needed. If Chari’s contentment was the condition of his friends’ well-being as well as his own, then he would see her appeased. To those few who noticed the beast behind the maiden, she introduced him as escort or bodyguard, depending on her whim.
In the interest of showing Flynn the city, Chari led him down back roads and through alleys. Though roots sprouted and leaves sometimes piled in the paths between, it was obvious that the citizens took a great deal of pride in Cordom’s streets and were often seen keeping the ways clear and clean.
Chari led them to a main road, and Flynn took in as much as he could without looking the tourist, wondering faintly if Jean or Mack had bothered doing the same. As they came to the street, different from the one that had taken the trio to the cathedral the night before, a procession of wagons pulled Flynn’s gaze to the southeastern route out of Cordom. He could not help but consider the ease of slipping out and making his fortune in the world beyond.
Unlikely aware of the possibilities that crawled through Flynn’s mind, Chari took his arm and led him across the road. They showed some consideration to the wagons where they could, weaving away when appropriate, but the drivers gave the duo a wide berth, and Flynn knew without consultation that this tolerance was a courtesy given on Chari’s behalf.
“Are you certain it’s permissible to stand so close to me?” Flynn leaned close and asked. “I’ve seen how the people regard you.”
Chari’s expression grayed. “I told you last night: I’m the High Priestess. There is very little I cannot do.”
“If you’re certain.”
“You’re something exotic, Flynn,” she said, and with a mischievous smile added, “And I like stirring things up a little, where I can, when I can.”
Chari brought Flynn to a home across the street, leaving him to approach the entrance, whose door was entirely absent. Compared to some of the grander trees in the city, it was still comparatively young, likely planted (as far as Flynn surmised, this being how things worked) when Chari’s had been, and of similar size. A figure had been painted on each side of the door, a priest and priestess, both beaded like Chari, in prayer as though to bless those who passed through the archway.
Chari stopped in the door and turned to Flynn, smiling, waiting. Yet for all the gaiety she presented now, Flynn still saw the gray-faced Chari by his side. Unable to surrender the impression she had made, his mental image of her became locked in that visage. Putting those thoughts aside, he caught up with the cheerful Chariska—one he was certain was not entirely genuine.
The tree she’d led him into had no other occupants at the moment, but the scuffs along the floor suggested it was well traveled. Flynn shed his spectacles, unshielded eyes peering into the dark corners.
“There are those whose passion for Hapané runs so deep,” Chari explained, “that they have offered up their homes as a canvas of tribute.”
Every wall, every floor was painted, cool from being left so open and unlived in. No part of the room was left untouched, and this obsessive worship to the art and Chariska’s goddess alike chilled Flynn. The radiating woman in one scene was little doubt the goddess, but it seemed otherworldly to witness a divine being present in a court of men. She stood before them, imploring some matter as the men distant from her seemed more interested in their own small talk than her words. Hapané’s surroundings were neither cathedral nor a grown home, but a great hall of stone.
He was more perplexed by a portrait of men and women cowering on a barren hill, oppressed by tyrants aloft on great winged lizards. Which were the Saryu? The victims were the easy guess, but the portrait did little to demonize the attackers, who may have been snuffing the flame of some last rebellious force.
“Is that a dragon?” Flynn asked.
“Yes,” Chari replied, oddly morose. He decided to leave the rest to speculation.
Following the course of the river painted on the floor to a back room, Flynn found Hapané flourishing in a place of stability, between two other hallowed figures: to one side, a hideous woman with soulless eyes, overcome by plantlike growth and fungus as wild creatures flanked her. To the radiant Hapané’s other side, another female figure, one of death and decay, withering and surrounded by rotting flora and fauna.
“Are they aspects?” Flynn asked, trying to ascertain the meaning. “I mean, do they represent the goddess’s place as a bringer of life, stability, and death?”
Chari’s eyes widened, and Flynn knew he’d said something very wrong.
“No,” she insisted. “No, don’t ever say that. Hapané spares us from the terrible wild of nature and the rotting decay of the end of things. Both those things are not part of Her nature.”
Flynn looked back at the portrait. He saw Chari’s meaning, but was disappointed all the same that aspects of life would be seen as so one-dimensionally evil. From the corner of his eye, he saw Chari studying the art with a contemplative interest. He would not try and draw some conclusion about what she saw, but wondered if she’d found some new meaning she’d never seen before.
*
That the daylight waned more quickly on TseTsu may have been a service to its people, for the sun, white in the sky, beat down hot and hard. Neither the foliage nor the cool breeze did much to mitigate this, and the widest roads granted only the barest of comforts as Chari escorted Flynn to Cordom’s central square, where a great marketplace stood.
“The wagons coming and going,” she explained, “travel from the smaller towns peppered across the land to sell their farmed goods and handmade wares.”
There was no shortage of artistic worship to Hapané along the streets, though few were so dedicated as to submit their homes in the name of subservient art. Many murals showed the goddess’s hands pouring the water of life upon dying lands, while others depicted her as hooded and robed, passing in a crowd unseen but part of the people.
Chari, Flynn noted, gave each piece the appropriate amount of interest, but nothing more. There was no appreciation for the works of her kith, even those she told Flynn were new or recently begun. It may have been that she’d seen so much before that novelty was impossible to feign, but a deeper suspicion blossomed, as though Chari was simply making her rounds.
When they found their way into the marketplace, she wandered toward a baker’s stall, plucking up several loaves of bread and going on her way without more than a superficial thanks.
“You didn’t pay,” Flynn observed.
“I don’t have to.” She smiled. “Servants to the goddess are provided for.”
As she led Flynn through the marketplace, Chari reiterated this behavior several more times, taking produce and fresh meat as well. Every vendor was too happy to give her what she wanted, and she accepted with only cursory graciousness. Though he’d talked more than a few people into giving him what he wanted, and they’d done so with a smile, Flynn had never instituted a system where he could do so repeatedly. He vaguely wondered if he’d been doing things wrong all this time.
After a while, the two passed the edge of the marketplace and drew near a wide-based tree that served as a local tavern. A commotion within caught Flynn’s attention.
“It’s likely nothing.” Chari was ready to move on. “The minor tumults always are.”
Flynn moved closer and peered in all the same, and between the shuffling bodies and the establishment’s great roots, which pierced the earth like spears, he saw Jean and Mack sitting at the bar in the company of two soldiers. Mack sat on his barstool nervously, whereas Jean slouched between hers and the bar, her posture indicating something between boredom and irritation.
“It’s something,” was all Flynn said as he headed inside. Chari made to follow, but the burlap sack of food in her arms shifted and spilled when she moved suddenly, and she was left gathering things until several of her followers showed up to help and accosted her.
Jean sat up and brightened a little when she saw him enter. “Yo, Flynn!”
Outcasts of the Worlds Page 10