by Kaye Jeffreys -
Gritty wind is hard to breathe, even through a face mask. And boots are heavy to walk in. In fact, you don't really walk in them. It is more of a trudge. And Jereth trudged down the street in Adagio. Once he arrived at the pub he pushed against the heavy door and went in.
"Shut the door," some lady called from behind the counter. That must be Maddie.
Jereth did as she said then moved the goggles from his eyes to his forehead and removed the mask from his nose and mouth.
A man at one of the tables stared at him. Jareth turned away and found his own table. The man was familiar but Jereth didn't take a second look.
The man got up, threw a coin onto the counter and left.
Jereth didn't sit for long. The door opened again and two people walked in. Lessie spotted him immediately, "Jereth!" she ran to him and gave him one of her famous bug hugs.
Her eyes were red and her face smudged, just like everyone he'd seen landside. "I can't believe you are here. I'm so glad to see you."
Jereth smiled. "It's good to see you." Then he turned to Carter and extended his hand, "And you too."
"Jereth." Carter shook his hand but kept a guarded expression.
Lessie put her hands on her hips. "You better have a good reason for abandoning the cat I gave you."
"Neenah? She likes my brother way better than me." Jereth pulled out a chair for Lessie.
Lessie sat. "Yeah, right. Jereth, you look great."
"I wish I could say the same about you." Jereth motioned for Carter to sit by Lessie.
"After a while you'll look like us. Are you ready to get grit in your eyes and nose?"
"I already have it in my teeth." He wasn't kidding.
Lessie laughed. "That will teach you to keep you mouth shut when you breathe."
Then it hit him. He remembered who the man was.
"What is it?" Lessie put her hand on Jereth's arm.
"Nothing." Jereth glanced at the table where Jax sat moments ago.
"Liar. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I did. Some guy I know from Avenir was in here."
"So?"
"So, he's supposed to be dead."
Lessie shrugged. "Probably just someone down here who looks like him."
"Probably." Jereth grimaced. Too bad he wasn't smart enough to fake his own death. Then he wouldn't be looking over his shoulder for his father's thugs.
Showing posts with label maddie vlox. Show all posts
Showing posts with label maddie vlox. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Alive
by Kat Heckenbach -
Mary leaned over the rail of the crib and kissed Jacey’s tiny forehead. The peach fuzz along the baby’s hairline clung to her skin, damp with sweat, but her angelic face was completely relaxed.
“If only your daddy could have seen you.” Mary gazed at Jacey in wonderment over the features that looked so much like Jax. A perfect replica, even down to the arch of her eyebrows and the dimple that played in and out on her left cheek as she smiled in her sleep.
She sighed and left the room. The kids would be home any minute and she hadn’t even figured out what to cook for dinner. Granted, having an old friend stop by had been a worthy excuse. She smiled as she sorted through the conversation she’d had with Tomika, recalling how good it had felt to talk to someone about Jax without feeling like “the criminal’s widow.”
As she walked across the living area, chill air hit her skin. She stepped toward the environmental control panel next to her bedroom door, but as her gaze passed the open doorway she froze. Something silvery glinted on her nightstand.
What is that?
She crept into the bedroom, chills running up her arms. Atop her journal lay a triangular piece of metal. It looked like a knife.
No, as she got closer she realized it was too wide to be a knife and had no real handle, but it looked deadly sharp. She reached the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, tears burning her eyes as she read the word “Mary” carved into the metal in Jax’s signature scrawl.
Jax…
She slid from the edge of the bed and landed on her knees, her hips sinking until she was sitting on her heels. Her hands found their way into her bangs and her torso rocked back, forth, back, forth, tears streaming her cheeks and dripping from her chin.
Jax….Oh, God, thank you…
#
The door to Maddie’s pub slammed behind Jax as he exited. His head swam from too much ale. It had been an unusually good haul today—but as his dust-encrusted boot caught on a rock and he stumbled to regain his balance, he wondered if maybe he’d celebrated a little too hard. But celebrations were something that came few and far between for him. Most days he was happy just to be alive.
Mary leaned over the rail of the crib and kissed Jacey’s tiny forehead. The peach fuzz along the baby’s hairline clung to her skin, damp with sweat, but her angelic face was completely relaxed.
“If only your daddy could have seen you.” Mary gazed at Jacey in wonderment over the features that looked so much like Jax. A perfect replica, even down to the arch of her eyebrows and the dimple that played in and out on her left cheek as she smiled in her sleep.
She sighed and left the room. The kids would be home any minute and she hadn’t even figured out what to cook for dinner. Granted, having an old friend stop by had been a worthy excuse. She smiled as she sorted through the conversation she’d had with Tomika, recalling how good it had felt to talk to someone about Jax without feeling like “the criminal’s widow.”
As she walked across the living area, chill air hit her skin. She stepped toward the environmental control panel next to her bedroom door, but as her gaze passed the open doorway she froze. Something silvery glinted on her nightstand.
What is that?
She crept into the bedroom, chills running up her arms. Atop her journal lay a triangular piece of metal. It looked like a knife.
No, as she got closer she realized it was too wide to be a knife and had no real handle, but it looked deadly sharp. She reached the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, tears burning her eyes as she read the word “Mary” carved into the metal in Jax’s signature scrawl.
Jax…
She slid from the edge of the bed and landed on her knees, her hips sinking until she was sitting on her heels. Her hands found their way into her bangs and her torso rocked back, forth, back, forth, tears streaming her cheeks and dripping from her chin.
Jax….Oh, God, thank you…
#
The door to Maddie’s pub slammed behind Jax as he exited. His head swam from too much ale. It had been an unusually good haul today—but as his dust-encrusted boot caught on a rock and he stumbled to regain his balance, he wondered if maybe he’d celebrated a little too hard. But celebrations were something that came few and far between for him. Most days he was happy just to be alive.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Debt of Gratitude
by Mary Ruth Pursselley -
There hadn’t been any choice but to send Celia to Zirconia. Well…there had been. Celeste slapped a cloud of ash loose from her canvas pack and shrugged it onto her back to begin the trek down the mountain to Adagio. She supposed she could have let her little sister stay land-side with her to grow up like the other orphaned kids in the settlement: dirty, hungry, a master thief by age twelve.
Their parents had killed themselves—literally—working to make sure Celeste and Celia never had to face that kind of life. Their mom had succumbed to ash lung only a few months before a mining accident killed their dad. Celeste had been thirteen Foundings old, and Celia just eight.
A harsh wind kicked up, and Celeste shut her eyes as it blasted her with dust. Once it subsided, she wiped the grit from her eyes, then reached back and pulled a pair of goggles from the side pocket of her pack. She fitted them snugly over her eyes, blinked a few times, and kept moving. It was getting cold. By morning it would be full winter—every bit as miserable as summer, just in a different way. At least she had a place to stay, relatively safe from heat and cold alike.
She and Celia had been evicted a week after their dad died. One of their mom’s friends, Maddie, had let them live in the back room of the tavern she owned for a few weeks, while Celeste tried to figure out what to do. It was Maddie who had suggested sending Celia to Zirconia.
It was one of the tavern’s patrons, a bug hunter named Trebs, who’d told Celeste about the buried city and the market for artifacts. It hadn’t seemed like a good idea to her, and she had said so. But Trebs fired back with a good question: what else could she do? Aside from thievery or some even worse profession, the only options were mining and hunting. He told her to her face that she wouldn’t be able to “hack it” in either one.
He’d also given her the name of a dealer who, he’d heard, was in the market for relics and artifacts. She’d decided to give it a try, and within six months she had enough money to pay for Celia’s transportation to Zirconia and the first semester’s tuition at the boarding school there. Trebs had been right.
Sure, there were times like this when Celeste crawled out of a tunnel at the end of the day, caked with crusty ash, exhausted, miserable, and wishing she’d never met Trebs, much less been dumb enough to take his advice. But the fact was, without him, Celia would be just another hungry street urchin.
She owed him one.
There hadn’t been any choice but to send Celia to Zirconia. Well…there had been. Celeste slapped a cloud of ash loose from her canvas pack and shrugged it onto her back to begin the trek down the mountain to Adagio. She supposed she could have let her little sister stay land-side with her to grow up like the other orphaned kids in the settlement: dirty, hungry, a master thief by age twelve.
Their parents had killed themselves—literally—working to make sure Celeste and Celia never had to face that kind of life. Their mom had succumbed to ash lung only a few months before a mining accident killed their dad. Celeste had been thirteen Foundings old, and Celia just eight.
A harsh wind kicked up, and Celeste shut her eyes as it blasted her with dust. Once it subsided, she wiped the grit from her eyes, then reached back and pulled a pair of goggles from the side pocket of her pack. She fitted them snugly over her eyes, blinked a few times, and kept moving. It was getting cold. By morning it would be full winter—every bit as miserable as summer, just in a different way. At least she had a place to stay, relatively safe from heat and cold alike.
She and Celia had been evicted a week after their dad died. One of their mom’s friends, Maddie, had let them live in the back room of the tavern she owned for a few weeks, while Celeste tried to figure out what to do. It was Maddie who had suggested sending Celia to Zirconia.
It was one of the tavern’s patrons, a bug hunter named Trebs, who’d told Celeste about the buried city and the market for artifacts. It hadn’t seemed like a good idea to her, and she had said so. But Trebs fired back with a good question: what else could she do? Aside from thievery or some even worse profession, the only options were mining and hunting. He told her to her face that she wouldn’t be able to “hack it” in either one.
He’d also given her the name of a dealer who, he’d heard, was in the market for relics and artifacts. She’d decided to give it a try, and within six months she had enough money to pay for Celia’s transportation to Zirconia and the first semester’s tuition at the boarding school there. Trebs had been right.
Sure, there were times like this when Celeste crawled out of a tunnel at the end of the day, caked with crusty ash, exhausted, miserable, and wishing she’d never met Trebs, much less been dumb enough to take his advice. But the fact was, without him, Celia would be just another hungry street urchin.
She owed him one.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Maddie's Pub
by Grace Bridges -
Hinges creaked. Maddie glanced up in time to see a bedraggled huntsman drag himself inside. He kicked the door to ensure the rubber seal took properly.
Good. She didn’t want more wind-borne ash in here than was absolutely necessary. Only the newbies to Eclectia’s harsh land would leave any door or window open. She’d trained her regulars well.
Maddie turned back to the open fire, fueled by scrubby brush—the only stuff that grew here. She poked at the meat stew in the cauldron, and its pungent aroma released into the room. She frowned. If only she had a potato to put in it—that would make a dish fit for a wizard. But no wizard had ever set foot in her establishment, and potatoes only grew in the underwater gardens—out of reach for any grit-breather unless he was filthy rich, but the rich folks didn’t live here. Here, they had to make do with the bitter leaves and seeds of the lavabush—both for bread and ale—and the third-grade meat plentiful in a hunting village.
She ladled stew into a bowl and made her way between the tables to plunk it before the hunter. “Here you go, Jax. Good hunting today?” He stared blankly at the food for a moment, then nodded with the weariness of one who had shot a giant beetle and hauled it back to town. Maddie knew that look very well. She gave him a friendly whack on the back, waited till he let a small smile slip out, then headed back to her kitchen across the room.
The earth rumbled and the building shook, its flexible mortar and light pulpblock walls absorbing the shocks. Maddie clutched at the counter to prevent herself from falling. Her guests looked up from their meals. The quake settled and the murmur of conversation started up again.
Maddie bowed her head for a moment before going to pour a lavabush ale for Jax. She thought she might need one, too.
Hinges creaked. Maddie glanced up in time to see a bedraggled huntsman drag himself inside. He kicked the door to ensure the rubber seal took properly.
Good. She didn’t want more wind-borne ash in here than was absolutely necessary. Only the newbies to Eclectia’s harsh land would leave any door or window open. She’d trained her regulars well.
Maddie turned back to the open fire, fueled by scrubby brush—the only stuff that grew here. She poked at the meat stew in the cauldron, and its pungent aroma released into the room. She frowned. If only she had a potato to put in it—that would make a dish fit for a wizard. But no wizard had ever set foot in her establishment, and potatoes only grew in the underwater gardens—out of reach for any grit-breather unless he was filthy rich, but the rich folks didn’t live here. Here, they had to make do with the bitter leaves and seeds of the lavabush—both for bread and ale—and the third-grade meat plentiful in a hunting village.
She ladled stew into a bowl and made her way between the tables to plunk it before the hunter. “Here you go, Jax. Good hunting today?” He stared blankly at the food for a moment, then nodded with the weariness of one who had shot a giant beetle and hauled it back to town. Maddie knew that look very well. She gave him a friendly whack on the back, waited till he let a small smile slip out, then headed back to her kitchen across the room.
The earth rumbled and the building shook, its flexible mortar and light pulpblock walls absorbing the shocks. Maddie clutched at the counter to prevent herself from falling. Her guests looked up from their meals. The quake settled and the murmur of conversation started up again.
Maddie bowed her head for a moment before going to pour a lavabush ale for Jax. She thought she might need one, too.
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