11: Logical Analogies

CW// Swearing

11

Iridea

UGHHHHHHHH. 

I finished all my chores; taking out the compost, weeding the garden, cleaning the dishes, ironing, sweeping, mopping, in record time just to have Evelena tell me to ‘get off your rump and don’t sit around all day’. Now, with a basket that was shoved into my hand, I’ve been commanded to fetch food and other necessary miscellaneous objects at the market. The hour is about three past mid-day which is only a few hours before the market closes. In my humble opinion, she could’ve gotten everything herself. 

Evelena’s great. Really. She’s wonderful. I’m not about to hate on my literal saviour but why, why oh why, does relaxation equal laziness to her? She’s a busy woman, making little trinkets all day for some dough. Wouldn't she like a break every once and a while? She loves reading, I should know; my reading habits are heavily influenced by her. But why is it that when I pick up a book, I’m building a ‘barren, poverty-stricken future’ for myself? It’s bombastically irritating.

Luckily, the walk into the centre of the town is short and the flight even shorter. I’m careful with my large wings when weaving between branches so I don’t end up tearing or scratching them. Believe me, major ouch. It takes weeks to heal. 

I brake to an abrupt stop on the cusp of the village where tiny cabins begin to sprout out of the tree line and towards the centre of Jemtong. Encasing the town to my left rise the Edelkohle mountains as grey, looming giants. They tower above the town, kilometres high. You’d think they’d cast a permanent shadow on the tiny town, yet, somehow the sun always finds its stubborn way around them. They aren’t my area of focus today though. My awe for them quickly expired after the first month of my life here. They’re just hunks of stone. A way that keeps the greed and ego of the Jemtonian people at an annoyingly high place.

My shoes scuff at the dirt as I make my way to the centre of Jemtong, wrapping my wings around me like some abstract cape; I’m not in the mood to be questioned or marked as unusual today. Sure, there’s constantly a debate on the existence of fey and the fey realm but the image being questioned is not the one I present. I’m an anomaly, and so is Amara. Given how I’m feeling on a particular day, I’ll let that define whether I’m a wonderful, unique creation or a monster. Unfortunately, the conditions that made me this way lean my emotions to the latter. 

Evelena’s been looking after Amara and me ever since she saved us and a whole bunch of other kids from Hyxver. She managed to find the home or a home for all the test subjects. But not us. Our dear old mom and dad had simply vanished off the face of Zyrona. As if they never existed.  So Evelena said, fuck it, motherhood can’t be that hard and courageously took on the role of caretaker for seven-year-old me and nine-year-old Amara. As you’ve probably guessed, motherhood is hard, especially when the children you’re undertaking already have personalities, beliefs, likes, dislikes, and trauma that you need to learn and deal with. Poor woman, I almost feel sorry for her.

Unfortunately, at this current moment in time, I’m not in the mood for being sympathetic. Right now, I shall feel sorry for myself. Sorry for my early and rude awakening and my continued, irritating wakening. And so, I feel miserable. Past the small houses circling the marketplace and into the marketplace itself, mumbling curses at Mr. Ostertag and my misfortune today.

The market is bustling. To my complete and utter disdain. Human sweat hangs on every storefront with shiny jewels to distract from the smell. The fountain in the middle is filled with small humans gallivanting about. I make sure to stay well back, not wanting to get my wings wet and add to my misery.

My first stop, the bakery, is surrounded by a gathering of a small crowd of people, to my surprise. They’re goggling and whispering about something that certainly isn’t Mr. Ostertag’s bread. Or pastries, if you can call them that. I try to see what the hell is going on, straining and craning my neck. Whenever I seem to find an opening a swish of a plain, boring dress or a clomp of a muddy boot blocks my path. Why are humans so fucking big? I mean, I’m not even that small; four foot three to be exact, but I guess my life has been blessed by a town with six-foot humans.

With a sigh of exasperation, I bid adieu to the ground and leap above the crowd, causing a few gasps of surprise from onlookers and the children in the fountain. Regardless, all attention seems to be drawn to a person beneath the bakery’s cover and thankfully, not me. I lower slightly so I can see what all the fuss is about and pray no idiot looks up my skirt.

The back of a tall figure with skin the colour of midnight and braided hair like the stars that embellish the night sky stands in an awfully fashionable and awfully torn-up dress in front of Mr. Ostertag. Her fist is curled on the table separating them. 

“Politely, I inquire to speak to whomever is in lead here. Can you please take me to them, or point me in direction?” Oh my goodness, I am in love with her voice. It curls and rolls in all the right places and her accent is like heaven itself. I sigh before catching myself; we are not here to get all lovey and dovey. We’re here to get food, supplies, maybe see what the hot goss is - or in this case, who - and get out.

“Lemme ask you this one more time, little lady. What’s yer actual name?” The flutter in my stomach from the girl’s voice immediately turns into disgust at Mr. Ostertag’s. Luckily, all I can see is his pudgy finger pointing at the girl over the table. I don’t want to vomit on the crowd.

The girl’s fist clenches tighter, her knuckles visibly straining even from my vantage point. Honestly, same. Mr. Ostertag is not a pleasant man nor person to have to put up with.

“My name is Stellina Lumnia, daughter of Lianora Lumnia and Verlonti Lunasa, Ki-” Mr. Ostertag cuts off these beautiful names with a scoff,

“Ach, names mean nothin’ to me here. Especially when they’re a fuckin’ prank. Get outta here.” His fat finger multiplies into four identical specimens as he waves her away, his fingers inches from her face. She reels back,

“Respectfully sir, you ju-” She sighs, “ I do not mean to offend or to prank you, sir. I apologise if my Myaner is broken. However, I would like you to direct me to whomever would know of a man with shadows…” She trails off, her head tilting upwards slightly, then continues as she presumably finds her words, “...shadows that…to destroy as he wish. I would like to find him.” She finishes hastily. A murmur arises in the crowd and grows louder as it is carried towards the back of the jumble. One thing I share in common with the people of Jemtong; we all know who that man is. The cursed one. Murderer. Purger. Night Kill. Now what has she got to do with him? It seems like a few others have had this thought as the air grows thicker with muffled insults and suspicious eyes.

“I would like one apple. And loaf of bread, if that is not too much to ask. Please.” The newcomer adds in a rushed manner like she hopes he might forget it if it is, indeed, too much to ask. Unfortunately for the newbie, Mr. Ostertag never forgets. 

“Listen here, kid. I dunno where you come from, but here in Jemtong, we’re well aware of what ye pranksters get up tuh. If you think we’ll believe this Lumnia shit, you’re mistaken and you won’t be gettin’ anythin’ from my shop.” Right. Lumnia, she mentioned that as her last name. Everyone who isn’t living under a rock knows what Lumnia is: The star elf kingdom. Long lost and decimated to the ground. 

I guess this is my cue. I don’t believe for a second she’s the star elf but I’m not about to let an absolute stranger, even with ill intentions, get beaten to the ground by these Jemtonians. I’ve been there and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Except maybe Mr. Ostertag. And hey, maybe it is the real star elf, I’m open to that one percent possibility. In that case, I’m definitely not going to let her get trampled.

Though half of my brain protests and urges me to loop back around to this shop when all is said and done, I find myself on the ground in front of the mysterious, beautiful, stranger.

“And what if she were the real thing, Jacob? You saw the anomaly as well as any of us last night.” My biggest regret right now is the rest of his body comes into view, not just his finger. This includes his smell which probably accounts for a good ninety percent of the human sweat hanging around the marketplace. He has a face only a mother could love, or at least, tolerate, with tiny swamp green eyes, eight strands of blonde hair the same colour as his peachy skin (I’ve counted), and a scowling lip with five teeth missing or succumbed to cavities (I’ve also counted them). I take an opportunity to look into the face of the person I’m saving.

Fuck.

Ok. Keep breathing Iridea.

Her eyes are a brilliant, twinkling turquoise blue and they stare at me in an adorable, quizzical way, her head slightly tilted. Her nose is rounded with a slight perk at the end and dons a faint splattering of freckles that branch out to cover her high cheekbones and smooth, pointed face. Her freckles seem to cover her entire body as they dot her long neck and disappear beneath her white dress…

Ahem.

I tilt my head back to where I assume Mr. Ostertag is standing and try to keep my eyes from trailing to her velvet, heart-shaped lips with a full bottom and…

For all that is holy, focus.

“She seems more legit than the rest of them.” I manage to rasp out, “What’s your name?” Also translated into: Please let me hear your voice again. Her eyes pierce into mine and my mind goes blank. My head feels like it is spinning.

“Stellina Lumnia. Who are these pranksters you speak that disgrace my homeland?” 

Fuck it, she’s coming with me. 

Before you berate me, it's not entirely selfish; Mr. Ostertag will actually let loose hearing that name again and Evelena is most likely the only person in this town with the information she needs. See? Logic. Also, that sigil on her forehead looks eerily familiar.

In the span of ten seconds, I turn around, slide five silver coins towards Mr. Ostertag, and quickly receive a lump of bread and four apples from a man with a bright red face. I swivel back around, pile the items into a satchel at my side, grab her arm, and push through the crowd of people who leap aside. There are benefits to being weird and unusual.

As soon as we are away from the flock, she yanks her arm from my grasp. Ok, rude, but I respect it. I didn’t exactly ask if I could touch her. Nonetheless, anger is a frequent friend of mine and we get along swimmingly. I whip around, blowing my wavy red hair out of my peripheral.

“What is your problem?” I hiss, planting my slippered feet on the cobbled floor. I immediately feel bad. Her mouth turns downward and her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. Shit, shit, shit. Abort, bad, not good Iridea.

She sniffs and wipes her tears fiercely, glancing at the people staring at her from all around.

“Where do you take me?” She spits out, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective, comforting manner.

“To someone who might be able to push you in the right direction. Isn’t that what you want?” I hate that I don’t have a middle tone. 

The girl, Stellina, pauses, lost in the image of the children prancing in the basin of the water fountain. She snaps back to attention suddenly and nods. I hold out my palm, hoping it looks like a gentle offering rather than a menacing threat.

My stomach does a backflip when she slips her slender hand into it.