Star stuff, p.21
Star Stuff, page 21
He groaned when he was done and rolled off her. She grabbed her rags, pulled them over her body, and walked toward the door.
He reached toward her from the bed, naked.
"Stay." The same loneliness and pain Erry knew from her own heart showed in his eyes. "Erry, stay with me. Sleep here tonight. I have leave tomorrow, and we can fly to the cliffs, or walk along the beach, or—"
"I don't stay anywhere." She stared at him, this large, soft, weak, powerful soldier. This man who could become a dragon, who was everything she was not, could never be. "I don't stay with anyone."
She left.
As she left so many.
All those men who had wanted to save her, to use her, to feed her, to take her body, her love, to give her comfort, to take comfort from her on a dark night. Some who beat her. Some who saw her as a delicate rose, struggling to bloom from the muck, a thing to cherish, to save, to foster and watch bloom. She left them all. She left him too. She walked downhill, reached the boardwalk, and slept on the sand, and again she watched the waves, listening to them calling.
* * * * *
She sat on the beach, staring at the waves as the dawn rose around her. Normally she hid from the light. Normally as the sun rose, she would crawl into an alleyway, into her windmill, or into a cave in the cliffs, sleep and hide until the darkness. But this morning Erry sat and watched the sun rise, beads of light gleaming on the water. The tide rose, kissing her feet.
"Are you out there, Father?" she whispered.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the amulet. The silver sunburst amulet from a distant land. Her father's amulet.
"You paid for my mother with this amulet," she whispered. "You made me for a silver sun."
She wanted to toss the talisman into the sea. She wanted to drown with it. Yet she kept this memento, had kept it since her mother had died. A thing from a distant kingdom, a place without cold, without soldiers, without waves that called one to drown. A land called Tiranor, a land whence ships had once sailed, bringing silk, spices, hope. A land Erry would never reach, a land so far she could not fly there, could not hope to ever see. A dream, that was all. A dream beyond a sea that beckoned.
Maybe I should try to fly there, she thought. I can fly for a day until my strength wanes, until I fall into the water, until I sink— and then the pain would be over. I would be nothing. Forgotten. At peace.
She rose to her feet, staring at the water, clutching the amulet so hard her palm ached. The magic tingled inside her, as real as her hunger.
"Erry?"
She turned and saw him standing there.
"Rune Brewer." She rubbed her eyes. "Get the Abyss off my beach. You ain't no urchin. Go back to your cozy, prissy home."
He scoffed. "I'm as much a boardwalker as you are, Docker."
Rune was a young man, seventeen years old, a soft-cheeked boy who sometimes brought her food at the beach. He worked back at the Old Wheel Tavern, the only inn that still operated on the boardwalk. His hair was dark and just long enough to cover his brow and ears—like hers—but his eyes were softer. Not as pained. Not as haunted as she was. What did he know of life on the docks?
"You ain't no boardwalker." She snorted. "Next time you eat a pigeon, maybe you'll be like me. Rich boy. What you doing on my beach anyway?"
He came to stand beside her. He gazed into the sea with her, silent, staring. "They're leaving tomorrow." His voice was soft. "Five hundred of them. Recruitment day. And— Tilla will be among them."
Erry raised an eyebrow. "Ropemaker's daughter? Tall girl? One that walks like she got a stick up her arse?"
Rune winced. "She's my friend."
"You just like her teats." Erry snickered. "Got your own stick burning in your breeches, I reckon. Let 'em recruit her. Army would be better for her. Better than being stuck in this piss-pot of a town."
"Not when they're shipped off to war. Not when they'll face the Resistance in battle. Not when I'll lose my friend, when—"
Erry reeled toward him. "Soldiers get beds to sleep on. Soldiers get food to eat. Soldiers get to become dragons, Rune. Real dragons who can fly, blow fire, be strong." She grabbed the boy's shoulders, sneering at him. "That's better than this life we live, crawling here on the boardwalk like cockroaches, the emperor grinding us to sand. I don't feel sorry for Tilla. I envy her." She shoved him. "So stop your whining, kid. Go shove your stick into a loaf of bread and forget about the girl. Soon enough they'll draft you too, and you can both die together in battle. Better than slow death here. Better than this. Than eating shite. Than shivering in the cold. Than being weak."
She expected to see Rune rage, but his eyes remained soft. He looked down at the bruises on her limbs.
"I heard you fought Getya and her gang." He sighed. "Erry, you can't keep fighting them. They're bigger than you. There's more of them. I can't keep seeing more bruises on you."
She snorted. "Rich boy in his rich home. I don't look for fights, but I ain't gonna run from 'em either."
"Come into my 'rich home' then." He looked up at the clouds. "Hard rain's gonna fall. Come into the Old Wheel. Let me give you some breakfast. We got eggs and sausages. Real eggs! And cheese too."
Erry tilted her head. "Where you get cheese and eggs from? You're rich, but not that rich. Only soldiers get cheese and eggs."
"We had a soldier stay last night. Paid for his ale and bed with a basket of cheese and eggs. I'll share them."
She grabbed his arm and bared her teeth at him. "This ain't charity. I don't take no charity."
He shook his head. "A meal between friends."
"I don't got no friends."
"Erry!" Rune groaned. "Just come and eat the damn eggs, or I'll have to drag you into my tavern, tie you down, and force feed you."
They left the beach together and stepped back onto the boardwalk. Erry glanced around nervously. She rarely walked here during the day. The other urchins were gone, as were the beggars and whores. A scrawny dog ran into an alleyway. A few children played with a barrel hoop. An old priest tapped his cane. Erry followed Rune past empty buildings, once shops selling wool and porcelain, until they reached the Old Wheel Tavern.
The building rose three stories tall, built of wattle and daub. The timber foundation was rotting like everything else in this town, and the roof was missing several tiles. But the chimney still pumped out smoke, and life still filled this place, guttering like a candle but still casting light.
They stepped into the common room. Several empty tables stood on a scratched wooden floor. A wagon wheel hung from the ceiling, holding unlit candles—a makeshift chandelier. Casks of ale stood along a wall behind the bar, and a staircase led to an upper floor.
A black dog lay on a rug by the hearth, lazily flicking his tail. When he noticed them, he leaped up and ran toward them. Erry patted his head.
"Hello, Scraggles."
The mutt leaped up, tail wagging, and licked her. He was as tall as she was when he stood up like this, and he probably weighed more. She laughed, gently pushing him down.
"Don't knock me over, Scraggles!"
He licked her again, his entire body wagging. Erry couldn't help but laugh. Humans hurt her. Humans beat her, desired her, scorned her. But animals were still Erry's friends.
While she patted Scraggles, Rune stepped into the kitchen, then returned with a tray of food. As promised, he brought hardboiled eggs—real chicken eggs!—and cheese. They sat at a table and ate. Unlike the meal last night in the castle, Erry tried to savor every bite, to let the tangy cheese roll across her tongue, to let the rich yolk fill her mouth.
Rune ate too, only picking at his food. Silent. Hesitating.
"What the Abyss is wrong with you?" Erry glared at him. "Why are you moping?"
He put down his fork and stared at her. "I told you, Docker. Tomorrow. Five hundred youths drafted, all those who turned eighteen. Tilla among them. My best friend. It's hard to lose somebody."
Erry let out a groan so loud Scraggles started. She rose to her feet, pulled off her rags, and tossed them down. She walked toward the hearth, naked, and lay on the rug.
"Well, come on. Just pull out your stick and put it here. You'll soon forget about Tilla."
Rune stared at her, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. As if he had never seen a naked woman before. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps the boy was just a green virgin who knew nothing about hunger, about sex, about loss.
He rose from his seat, walked toward her, and knelt, awkwardly looking away from her nakedness.
"You don't have to do this. I didn't bring you here for that."
She raised an eyebrow. "You know what they say about me in the town. You know what they call me. You know what Getya called me, why she cut me. You gave me food. You offered me shelter in a storm. Here's my payment. Here's what I always pay."
Such sadness seemed to fill Rune that Erry herself wanted to cry. He walked toward a wall, took a coat off a peg, and draped it across her skinny, battered frame.
"You don't have to be this person." He touched her hair. "You can be somebody else, Erry Docker. You can stay here with us, with me and Scraggles. You can work in the kitchen. You can—"
"I can't do those things!" Now her tears did fall, and she rose to her feet, shaking. "I can't be that person! I can't— I can't stay anywhere. I can't love anyone. I can't have a home. I can't have people in my life."
"Why?" he whispered.
"Because it hurts! It hurts too much when they leave you. When they sail away. When they spit on you, beat you, kick you out into the cold. Do you know how many men offered this to me?" She laughed bitterly, tears on her lips. "How many offered me a home, a life with them, safety? How many then hurt me? My own father, Rune! My own father left us. My own mother, Rune! She took the coward's way out. Cut up her damn wrists and left me too." She was sobbing now, hating herself for showing this weakness. "You'd just hurt me too. I'd be here for a few days. Maybe a month. Only to get kicked out again. I can't love people. I'll just hurt you too. I'll lash out. I'll drink too much or scream or cry, and—"
She bit down on her words. He was staring at her with so much pity that Erry couldn't take it. She shoved past him, still wearing his coat. She burst out of the tavern. And she ran. She ran along the boardwalk, and she ran along the beach, and she ran until she finally fell to her knees in the sand.
I can't do this. I can't. I can't.
She crawled along the sand into the water, and she swam.
Welcome, Erry, whispered the waves. We've been waiting.
She let the water claim her. She sank.
She opened her eyes in the stinging saltwater, and she saw swaying seaweed, a fish, beads of light. It was peaceful down here. Her own kingdom. A place where she could be a queen, free of the pain, of the loss. The kingdom that had awaited her all her life, calling to her.
She took the coward's way out! Erry's own voice echoed in her mind. Coward. Coward.
Erry trembled, sinking in the water. Her mother had sunk into her own sea of despair, had fled too to death. Her mother had left her here.
Erry's voice echoed again.
I don't look for fights, but I ain't gonna run from 'em either.
Her lungs ached for breath. She felt herself weakening, the water tugging her, the waves welcoming her. She swam. She fought them.
She would not run. She would win this fight, too.
She kicked, swung her arms, rose higher— and her head burst out from the water. She gulped down air.
The sun shone above her—the full daylight, golden, beautiful, the sunlight she had hidden from for so many years. She had always been a child of shadows.
You don't have to be this person, Rune had said. You can be somebody else, Erry Docker.
That goddamn boy.
She swam and crawled back onto the beach, shuddering. Just a weak girl. Just a dock rat. Just the half-breed daughter of a dead whore.
A girl who could become a dragon.
She knelt in the sand, and she stared up at that fortress on the hill. The fort where soldiers lived, where they could become dragons. Where she herself could serve.
She rose to her feet, and her hands balled into fists.
They came the next day, the soldiers from the north.
They flew in as dragons, and they herded the youths of the city into the square. They stood clad in steel, swords at their sides, shouting out names. Between them, five hundred youths shuffled forward, glancing around nervously, some weeping. Cannon fodder. Recruits for the northern war.
Youths who were escaping this place.
Erry knelt on a rooftop, staring down at them. They would be sent to a northern fortress, trained in grueling conditions. They would be shipped off to battle, maybe to death. They would see blood, war, fire on the front lines.
They would fly as dragons.
"And I will fly among them," Erry whispered.
She leaped off the roof. She ran barefoot along the cobbled streets. She had never run from a fight. Never. She would not run from this one either.
You don't have to be this person.
I will be a dragon.
In the square, the soldiers of the city turned toward her, gripping their swords. The recruits stared with wide, frightened eyes. Erry skidded to a halt, smirked, and raised her chin.
"My name is Erry Docker," she said. "I believe that you forgot me."
In the cold morning, wagons rolled out of the city, holding five hundred whispering, shivering youths... and one dock rat fleeing the sea.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Etty is a character in a trilogy titled The Dragon War. If you'd like to read more about her, her first novel is A Legacy of Light.
But for now, there is one more story to tell...
* * *
Social media is a wonderful invention. But it's also full of danger. There are predators who lurk in the electronic jungle. And not all are human …
"Mister Smiley" originally appeared as a chapter in my novel Earth Machines (Earthrise 10). But I think it stands alone fairly well. For those who haven't read up to Earthrise volume 10, allow me to introduce Mister Smiley.
* * *
MISTER SMILEY
Terri spent most of her life alone.
Terri was usually in darkness.
Only the light of her monitor illuminated her pale face, a portal to a better world. A better life.
She was a shattered doll. Porcelain skin strewn with freckles like a million tiny cigarette burns. Hair the color of rust, framing her face like bars in a prison cell she could not escape. A scar. A scar cleaving her, chin to forehead, and one eye blue, the other milky white, ruined with cataracts. An eye like a galaxy in the darkness.
Every few moments, her computer went into sleep mode, and her monitor became a dark mirror. Over and over, that pale broken face stared back at her. Ghostly. Accusing. Dying in a little room in a colony far from Earth. Maybe already dead.
She was thirteen. She was Terri Emery, the daughter of a war hero, of a famous writer, of a man she had never met. And she was so broken.
She was in shadows.
She was alone until Mister Smiley came to visit.
Until Mister Smiley put a trembling smile on her ravaged face.
He came to her in the winter. The chemical storms were fiercer than ever, howling outside the concrete walls. You could never see the sky in Haven, this desolate planet in Alpha Centauri orbiting an abandoned star. During the best of weather, the clouds of methane and nitrogen gurgled and roiled, spewing their wrath upon a colony once envisioned as heaven, that ended up like hell.
But winters … winters were worse.
In winters the cold came, and the clouds thickened to block every last ray of sunlight. Winters were nine months long here, brewing a deep, potent misery, a miasma that filled the concrete canyons of Haven, that cloaked even the neon lights of brothels that beckoned for lost souls. Winters were for the strong on Haven. Winters were for pain.
The apartment rattled. Their building was built of raw concrete, thirty floors of misery, and still it shook in the wind. Her mother rented the apartment, but her mother was never home. She worked two jobs, often sleeping on the train between them. Terri was mistress of this little concrete box, queen of a moldy realm of dark magic.
She didn't go to school. Not anymore. Not after the boy had slashed her. They described it as slashed, but to Terri it had felt more like carving. Something slow. Calculating. A blade running along the side of her face, curling around the mouth, but not sparing the eye. Carving the eye. Carving upward. Carving the forehead to the bone. Finally ending only when she had screamed so loudly the teachers came.
She had shed her blood across the school that day. And he was still there. The carver. He was still waiting. Terri stayed here.
She was happy here in her little concrete box. She was queen of her realm. She had her pet moths that came to die at her lamp, companions she so lovingly saved, redirecting them toward the darkness. She had all the creatures she imagined: the gnomes inside her wall, the whispering cats of smoke under her bed, and the goblins who lived inside the radiator. They all served her.
And she had her monitor. Her portal to that better world.
And she had him.
It was the first thing he wrote to her. The words that came on that winter day. The first message from this strange companion, this god of wires and electricity.
Terri cringed to see his avatar.
It was a face. A smiley face. An emoji come to life. A lurid smile from ear to ear, toothless, deranged. The smile of some fleshy swamp bird, featherless, prepared to devour a frog. Bulging black eyes. Dead eyes. No nose. A real emoji made of real skin. Wisps of hair on the bald dome. An impossible face.
