Raya 8

1478 - 8 - 22  Raya 8

When Raya returned from another hunt, she found a few wagons sitting along the trail leading up to their short town wall.  Sten and four other guards were present, as well as Lotha, Viker, and Councilman Cavthur, speaking with the owner of the caravan.  It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was starting to set.  At the entrance to the town, the light from the sun framed the North Rise and left them in a warm shadow.

She approached quietly, but with open hands.  At Raya’s belt hung a number of rabbits and birds she had caught, each in a leather wrap to keep blood off herself.  The Councillors were speaking with the new arrivals.

“It’s our new supplies, after all,” Lotha was saying.  “We can’t keep them out here overnight.”

“Very well,” Cavthur decided.  He was a man with a square jaw, forehead, and shoulders, and he was completely bald.  “Viker, you’ve been given a seat to handle exactly this.  Make certain they don’t get in the way of anyone else’s business.”

“Of course.  Jarei, this way, please,” Viker said.  The leather tunic he wore seemed out of place beneath the openly draped orange robe he now wore as a Councilman.  He smiled and waved two fingers at Raya, but then went back to business.  “And please, be quiet.  It’s most gentle folk’s dinner time.”

Cavthur walked slowly away, but nodded for Raya to catch up to him.  They walked together down the gentle decline and past the guardhouse.  They had never gotten along, and Raya had heard rumours that Cavthur had opposed their decision to go ahead with refugee support even after the whole town Council had agreed.

“Is everything going well?” Raya asked, hesitantly.

Councilman Cavthur nodded.  “Sure it is.  Those are the first run of supplies for the homeless district,” he said.  “We haven’t really finished planning where the refugees shacks will go.  This town isn’t ready for it.  There’ll be one crime, committed by us or by them, and it’ll shake this town to its bones.  I’ve lived here my whole life, Raya, same as you and your folks.  We always disagreed on one thing.”

“What’s that?” Raya asked, not wanting to say what she was thinking about the sour old man.

“Olston is a mine.  A hole in the blasted ground.  Sooner you all realize that, the better…”

Raya shook her head.  “I’m going to go the other way,” she said.  “Maybe Olston could be more if there weren’t people saying it can’t be.”

“Mark my words,” Cavthur said, but Raya just kept walking.

As the sun became a golden sliver on the distant horizon, Raya headed back home.  To the south, she could see a storm on the Highlands, rolling across the inland.  Most inland storms were dry thunderstorms, with strong winds and the occasional sprinkle.  In the rays of fading sun, she couldn’t see any rain, just the twisting clouds.  She hoped some rain would come soon, to fill the watering holes with a fresh cycle again.

She went out to her cabin first, to hang the animals she’d caught.  A hook through each foot, and a nip with the knife to start the draining.  She propped open the window as she always did, and then turned to leave the tiny hunting closet.

Their yard was too shadowed to see with the sun in her eyes, but she knew the way with ease, the two dozen paces from her work hut to the back porch of her house.  She wondered if Novar was home, as she reached the steps up to the porch, but froze at the sound of his voice.

“Raya,” he said.

She stepped up onto the porch and paced to the right of him until the sun wasn’t blinding her.  It shone against the right side of her face and the left side of his.  She was surprised to see her brother’s face such a mess; his hair was dishevelled, his eyes red, and his nose dripping.

“Novar?” she asked, and stepped closer.

“Stay there,” he said, quietly.  His hands were in his lap, but she couldn’t see anything else in the darkness.  “And don’t go into our room… Tella’s in there.”

“Oh,” Raya said.  “I can sleep on the living room cot tonight, if you want.”

“You’ll have to,” Novar muttered.  “Curses.”

For a moment, they listened to the gentle hubbub of Olston; the voices of the nearest dinner party a few houses over, the whizz of grass bugs and the flap of the occasional bird.  “Is everything alright?” Raya asked.

“What do I do?” Novar asked.  “What do I do now…”

“You’re scaring me,” Raya said.  “What’s wrong?  Why are you out here, why isn’t Tella with you?”

“She’s dead, Raya,” Novar said.  He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and she almost lost her footing when red streaked across his scalp.  “Gods, what have I done?  What do I do now?”

Stricken, Raya yanked open the back door, the loud hinges admitting her to the inside of her house.  Her parents door was closed; there was no sign of them.  She threw open the other room’s door, into the bedroom she and Novar had always shared.  Her foot kicked something.  The candlestick that had always sat beside her bed left a red trail as it rolled away from her.  It’s tangent was halted by the body.

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