River’s End ch 8: I Just Wanted a Sandwich

It was truly, utterly dark away from Timqé’s lantern. The rocks purposefully got in the way of my feet, and I stumbled often, scuffing my palms with fine scratches. Worn out, I soon had to sit, spine against a sturdy, companionable tree.

The wansas—the tye followed me. Seallaii-nas had excellent vision, and I could perceive the birds’ white feathers and some outline of the forest around me, but not much else.

In lieu of my sight, my second dominant sense took over, the sensations categorized under touch.

We had separate systems for detecting dampness, temperature, pressure, pain, and body orientation—all highly sensitive. This granted us the potential for gracefulness, coordination, and external awareness. It also gave us a low pain tolerance and a narrow range of comfort concerning temperature and humidity.

Every time I drifted off in sleep, the breath of some monster slid across my shoulder, though many shrieks and much flailing revealed nothing. The tree thought I was crazy.

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, a palm resting on Fredo’s pistol. Judging by my hand’s soreness, I kept a death grip on the weapon throughout my time in the river. My chain belts now acted as a makeshift holster for it.

The water had turned my hair into a massive knot, and while the snarls had secured the datapin, it was a chore to extricate. I detangled, wrung, and smoothed my sodden locks, then retwisted them into a slightly different pretzel bun. The rope-like ends hung to my shoulders.

I stared at the pin’s sparkly beads for a long time, resentment souring my heart. They had given me an excuse for adventure. I had stupidly dragged Fredo along, and now I had lost him.

The datapin’s contents were important. I only knew Shlykrii planned an attack, not when, where, why, or how. This glittery accessory would provide those details once presented to the proper device. Out here in the forest, I didn’t have any way of accessing its secrets.

Its message, not mine, could save myriads of lives, yet a wicked part of me wanted to withhold it. They killed Fredo. I should let them meet their demise.

Yet, Timqé’s words wafted through my head, too, beating back that terrible me.

If the message’s valuable enough, then the messenger’s willin’ to pay any price to see it delivered. That’s how we know the message’s important.

Just, why did the price have to be so high?

* * *

I slept at some point, and dawn awakened me, tossing light across the sky and returning color to the world. With the appearance of the day-moon, steam wafted from the ground again, carrying a wooded, primal scent.

Sans any pockets, I tucked the datapin in my shirt and washed quickly in the tepid creek, noting my turquoise top had been stained splotchy purple by Fredo’s blood. A grim reminder.

I missed him. So many times as I walked, I spotted something and started to point it out to him. ‘Do you know what this is famous for; why that flower is orange; what gigantic tree this tiny seed will become if it has just the right environment?’

Several times I cried as what he would have said recited in my head. His voice rang clearer than the cooing of the tye that still insisted on accompanying me. I wasn’t alone, not really, but I was lonely. I wanted to find others.

Yet, I dreaded doing so. Would they chase me again?

My satchel was lost in the river, so I didn’t have any of the tools or food I had packed. My stomach groaned, a pitiable sound, but I didn’t spy any edible plants. A real Grenswa-na would have eaten one of the birds, but the notion held little appeal, and I didn’t know how to go about that anyway.

The day-moon was high and my stomach very insistent by the time I reached Tils, a sprawling city with large swaths of swampy land between significant structures. Their architecture reminded me of bubbles and trees.

It was too hot, and I felt as if Harta concentrated all its attention on me alone, trying to see just how miserable it could make me. The city’s smell—that of wet sand with a faint undercurrent of fish—turned my empty stomach.

The birds still followed me, and passersby stared. Head held high, I ignored them, and no one spoke to me. I proceeded toward the city’s center, where the Office of the Royal Representative would be.

Apparently, ‘city’s center’ was not specific enough. Lost and sure I had passed the same trinket shop three times, I paused in the shade of a building, cooling my bruised and blistered feet in a stream that bubbled up from beneath the stone path.

The moon was pretty, but its sparkling radiance set a pot of hatred to boil atop my head.

The building’s shadow was porous thanks to its looped-ribbon design. Flat metal sheets curled and folded back on themselves in rising tiers. Rapid clunks came from within, and curiosity prodded me to peer into these holes.

“Hello?”

The silhouette of a buff man pivoted, a furnace raging behind him. Its ardor stung my cheeks, and I wasn’t even inside.

As the man stepped closer, his details filled in—middle-aged and Onyx with droopy, dark eyes and hair. Soot splotched his pale skin, and I couldn’t quite tell where it ended and his scales began.

“Need somethin’, Miss?”

I meant to ask him for directions to the Office of the Royal Representative. Yet, as I noted what he held—a mallet in one hand and a huge cutlass in the other, its blade glowing with heat—I retreated a pace. “D-do you know how to get to The Azure Cascade?”

“You’ren’t from around here, huh?”

“No, I live in this puddle on the sidewalk, and I never leave it.”

He laughed, a booming, melodious sound. “Brave little girl. Pass ten streets that way.” He pointed behind me. “Then turn right. It’s almost on the corner.”

“Thank you,” I squeaked with a partial curtsy and hastened in the direction indicated.

If the people of The Azure Cascade were as friendly as Timqé claimed, they could give me directions, and they wouldn’t be holding swords and hammers.

Ten streets and one right turn later, I stopped, embraced by the warm scent of fresh bread and fruit tarts. My stomach let out a mournful cry, begging me to find the source of such wondrous odors.

I tracked the scent through a glass archway into a squat building of peculiar design. Cascades formed the walls, some more opaque than others. The ceiling was glass, channeling water throughout the structure, but I couldn’t see what held it up.

A sign sitting crooked on an easel read: Welcome to The Azure Cascade. Seat yourself. Enjoy!

In a corner, I found a table with only one chair and sat, careful to do so as a Grenswa-na would, feet hidden beneath me on the soft seat cushion. Getting food first, then asking for directions seemed like an excellent idea.

“Pardon me, Miss,” a metallic voice shrilled, and I whirled, heart throbbing in my throat.

I had studied countless sketches, diagrams, snapshots, and models of the terrible machines Shlykrii used against Grenswa so long ago. Here, standing within kicking distance, was one of these renders come to life: a skeletal Shlykrii Sentinel painted an eerie, green-based white like it might have glowed in the dark.

It was different from those with Ambassador Lafdo, simpler, more primal, more menacing.

“Pardon me,” it said again, indigo diode eyes flashing and stiff jaw flapping. “You cannot sit here, so if you could kindly find it within yourself to move, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Such polite words. Weird.

I rested my elbows on the table and locked my hands together. “May I ask why I cannot sit here?”

The Sentinel scanned the dining area. I was the only occupant.

“Forgive me. Perhaps I was mistaken. Are you here with anyone?”

No, because Fredo should have been there with me.

I glared. “Why would you want to know?”

“Because it is information vital to the issue of whether you may sit here or not.” Its clawed hands waved in wide, elaborate circles.

“Would I understand you better if I were also insane?”

“I am not a psychiatrist, Miss. Please simply answer the question.”

“I...” My gaze dropped to the azure-tiled floor. “I’m with a friend.”

“Then you will wish to wait and order once your friend arrives.” It produced a small, laminated menu from an apron tied around its waist.

My gaze leapt on the booklet’s pastel blue pages edged in brown hide—a ticket to food.

As the machine turned away without offering me the menu, I snatched at it.

“No, I want to order now.”

A dreadful whine escaped my lips as the Sentinel yanked the booklet away and slapped it against its leg in another of its elaborate gestures.

“Why not wait for your friend? That is outrageously rude!”

I did not want to have an argument with anyone about why Fredo wasn’t with me, much less with a machine designed for killing.

“He’s not coming, okay!” I snatched the menu. It felt warm and slightly squishy, like broiled fruit.

Before I could open it, the Sentinel’s claws hooked over the booklet’s top. I did not let go.

“You cannot sit here. A party of two is required to sit at this table.”

“There’s only one chair.” I ripped the menu from the machine’s grasp.

“I would have gotten another chair had you needed it.” It tittered on, mimicking offense, its broad, circular gestures on repeat.

“Insane machine,” I muttered. This argument was stupid, and I refused to take part in it further.

Righting myself in my chair, which meant turning my back to the Sentinel, I opened my menu and scanned the listings hand-scrawled in blocky Grenswa-na text.

Circled at the top and traced over many times was the message: Our world-famous soufflés’re made with dwanal flour imported from Seallaii because that makes them super fluffy and delicious. If you don’t like it, don’t order it.

Perfect, I thought with a wan smile. They’re approved for Seallaii-na consumption, then, and eating them won’t make me horribly ill.

A party of three waltzed through the arch and claimed a table clearly set for five. The Sentinel deemed this more pressing than a party of one sitting at a table for two with only one chair, and it left to argue with them.

A live waiter dressed in black, baggy pants with a blue belt, a matching hat, and a shirt that was more like a net hurried over, halting next to me. “May I take your order?” He emphasized the first word with a hasty glance thrown over his shoulder at the most annoying machine in the universe.

“What smells so wonderful?”

“You.”

I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’d rather not eat myself.”

“I’m serious.” He leaned against the table in such a way that he practically sat on it. His slender tail would have brushed the ground had it hung limp. Instead, it swayed in long, eager arcs, like a feline readying a pounce. “You smell like”—he snapped his fingers as he found the word—“adventure.”

If by ‘adventure’ he meant I smelled like I had bathed in a wild creek and spent the morning trudging through the forest with birds for company, then I agreed. The birds were still with me even, leaving little messes wherever they felt like it.

He leaned closer, so close I had to tilt my three-legged chair back to maintain my personal space. His eyes were just as mesmerizing as Timqé’s, with that same quality of life teeming right below the surface, though his blue was a shade paler.

Also Sapphire, and Timqé did tell me to come here. Are they related?

He sniffed, and I furrowed my brows.

His round features stretched in a way that again reminded me of bubbles. “You smell like adventure and crysslist soufflé.”

I laughed. “Ironic, since the latter is exactly what I want to eat. Have any?”

“Fresh out of the oven!” He rushed off, and the milk chocolate color of his short, shaggy hair was the last I saw of him disappearing through double doors in the back wall. This was the most opaque of the cascades. There must have been a physical wall there as well.

Vexed by the Sentinel, the party of three left. I watched them retreat under the arch, movements charged with disgruntlement, but my mind’s sight was on crysslist, my mouth watering as I anticipated how the fruit would taste. I pictured its distorted ovoid shape, imagined its tart, crisp flesh and flavorful, waxy peel softening under an oven’s heat, its panorama of colors bleeding into the soufflé’s bread.

It would be like eating a rainbow.

The reflection of movement caught my eye as the waiter barged back through the double doors, balancing a shallow, steaming bowl. Meeting my eager gaze, he grinned and twisted into a backflip.

Sure my soufflé would end up on the floor, I gasped, halfway standing as he landed and folded into a backbend to gently set my meal before me. Not a mote was out of place, except for the waiter, who was mostly upside-down, hat fallen and hair like a muddy waterfall.

“Um, thank you,” I awed, wide eyes on the soufflé. It definitely looked like rainbows had some part in making it.

“My name’s Blu.” The waiter presented me with a scalloped eating utensil. “If you need anythin’ else, just holler for me.”

With a nod, I took the shell and dug in. It was amazing, a lot more sour than a baffble, but in a good way.

Four or five bites later, I realized Blu still stood there, staring at me.

“Don’t you have anything else to do?”

He shrugged. “Nothin’ important. Paqo does a lot.” He gestured at the Sentinel, who was straightening already perfectly straight chairs.

“Uh-huh. Well, could you do something other than stare at me? It makes me feel weird.”

“Alright.” But he didn’t walk away.

Blu tossed his pen and caught it in the hat rolling down his arm. When it reached his hands, he flipped the cap back onto his head and again flung the writing utensil. In mid-bow, he caught the pen in his mouth and dropped to his knees, hat crooked.

“Good job. You get bored easily, don’t you?”

His brow wrinkled. “Who doesn’t?”

Disturbed by his antics, the tye perched on my shoulder flew at his face as if to scold him. With predatory reflexes, Blu snatched the small bird out of the air.

I gulped. Of course. Grenswa-nas were predators.

Knowing this, the tye struggled furiously, squawking.

“What’s with the birds anyway?”

“They followed me. I don’t know why.”

Though I suspected it was because of my Seallaii-na charisma.

The other birds dove at him, trying to help their panicked companion.

Blu snatched a second with his other hand and a third with his tail. “I can keep them? I mean, I’lln’t charge you for your meal then. Fair trade?”

Good, since my money was in a satchel in the river.

“Fair trade. Did you mean for your pen to write on your face when you caught it?”

His smile fell, eyes crossing as he tried to confirm the existence of any such mark, but I doubted he could see his own cheek. He rushed off and disappeared again through the double doors. With a betrayed chirp, the fourth and only remaining tye followed its captured compatriots.

I didn’t think Blu would eat them. Or I hoped he wouldn’t. I also hadn’t thought the dockworkers would shoot at us or that the peace officers would kill Fredo. What was peaceful about that?

Angry tears burned my eyes again, threatening to spill.

“This belongs to you.” The war machine dropped a tall, liquid-filled vase on my table. As I reached for it, the Sentinel regressed, “It is a major break of propriety to sit alone at a table with four sides.”

“Two sides are against the walls, and there’s only one chair.” I sipped the cyan-tinted drink.

A faint, sour syrup tickled my tongue. It called up a long-ago memory of when Fredo had decided he needed to taste all my food first in case it was poisoned. I hadn’t appreciated it because preteen Fredo’s idea of a bite was half the dish. Unless it was something he didn’t like.

He didn’t like sour things.

A tear repelled down my cheek. I needed to stop thinking of him.

Paqo took a chair from another table and slid it in alongside me. The legs squealed on the tile. “See, the lacking chair issue could be easily solved in the event the other member of your party bothered to show up.”

Bothered to show up? As if he had any choice!

I took another swig to douse the fire of my emotions and plunked the empty vase down hard. “Now that table for four only has three chairs.”

Paqo replaced the missing chair with another.

“Now that table’s short.” Simmering in feelings I did not want, I reveled in my superior intellect, denouncing, “Idiot,” as the Sentinel continued rearranging chairs. No matter how many were moved, the dining room would still lack one seat.

More potential customers started through the arch, took one look at the manic machine, and turned around.

Paqo continued, ever more raucous as it shifted tables now, too, even turning some upside-down.

With a roll of my eyes, I turned back to my soufflé.

Just as I scooped up the last morsel of my meal, that pest of a machine rammed into me. Half of the rainbow-colored spoonful plopped down the front of my outfit, leaving bright stains. The other half slithered into my shirt.

It was uncomfortably hot and slimy, and I screamed, jumping too high in the light gravity. As my chair clattered over backward, I landed ungracefully on my backside, feeling every bruise the river had given me.

Oblivious, Paqo continued its rampage.

No one was looking, right? I bent over and tried to scrape the stray food out of my shirt.

Blu burst through the double doors, and I paused, embarrassment coloring my skin to match Fredo’s eyes. Fortunately, Paqo completely stole his attention.

“Paqo! Ugh, we’re in so much trouble. Stop!”

The machine ignored him.

“I said stop!” Blu’s hands landed on the Sentinel’s shoulders, and streaks of cobalt lightning webbed out from that point, crawling down the machine.

Paqo collapsed.

“Ack! Not again.”

Standing behind Blu, I said, “I don’t know who is more frightful, that machine or you.”

“Yeah, sometimes I zap things on accident, but my charge’sn’t any stronger than anyone else’s. It’dn’t hurt a person.” His hands wrung his hair, and his tail flicked, once again reminding me of an agitated feline. “Oh, I’m gonna be in trouble.”

“Because you broke the Sentinel? Does it belong to a Shlykrii-na?”

Had I just witnessed exactly how Grenswa won the war when Shlykrii had all the advantage in technology?

Blu shook his head. “Paqo’s mine, and my family’lln’t care he broke. They think he’s annoyin’.”

My eyes rolled to the collapsed machine. “Can’t fathom why.”

“But when my dad sees this mess, he’ll go ballistic, and he’s gonna be back from his grocery run any moment now.”

The room was a mess. Tables and chairs were strewn everywhere, several broken and splintered. Shards of shattered glass glittered ominously. At least one tile was cracked.

“Your family runs this restaurant?” Details of Grenswa’s social traditions scrolled through my head. Family ties were the core of everything.

Blu nodded. “This restaurant’s my dad’s dream. He came to Tils with nothin’ but a blessin’ letter, built this place and a name for himself hopin’ to impress my mom. He’d followed her all the way from Etriis.”

A Sapphire city in the very far north. That explained his coloring, at least. If I remembered correctly, the current queen was also from Etriis.

“You should probably go before my dad gets back.”

He was right. Belly satiated, I needed to rush off to find the royal representative. Blu would likely even give me directions if I asked.

Instead, I offered, “I’ll help you clean up. And repair Paqo. If you want it repaired.”

“Really?”

Earth’s sky was supposed to be the clearest, most dramatic blue in existence. I had never seen it, but Blu’s eyes at that moment were exactly as I imagined the view through the round portals of a ship dipping into those heavens.

“Thanks!” Grabbing my hands, he twirled me in a quick circle. “Hey, your skin’s really soft!” Both my hands captured in his, he turned them over and inspected my palms. “It’s like touching flowers.”

His skin felt like sand.

As I stumbled backward and tugged free of his grip, the rule about not touching River Guardians almost spilled from my lips. I clamped my jaw shut, barring that ill-advised objection, but I couldn’t stop the heat that flooded my cheeks and blotched my flesh purple again.

Facing the double doors, Blu didn’t notice. “Hey, Hent, get out here and meet this girl!”

“Hold on a second,” the person in the kitchen—apparently Hent—called back.

A crash eked through the closed doors.

Blu tilted his head, tail flicking. “What’re you doin’, Hent?”

“Nothin’! I said wait!”

Blu plodded to the double doors, hand extended to swing them aside.

“No, don’t come in here!”

Too late. Blu shoved the doors open, and a thick, white cloud billowed into the dining area before the last of that sentence reached me.

Blu was lost to my sight. “Hent, what’d you do?”

Unable to breathe, I retreated, hands covering my mouth to form an ineffective filter. A grainy, beige powder clogged the air, its bitter smell identifying it: leyrah, a common Grenswa-na grain not approved for Seallaii-na consumption.

“I just wanted a sandwich.”

That did not explain the leyrah flour at all, not unless he planned to make stinky bread from scratch first.

Some of the flour got in my mouth, tasting of bad cheese, and I choked. Stumbling back, I tripped over Paqo.

“Why’d you need leyrah for a sandwich?” Blu asked as if he read my mind.

Of course, had he really read my mind, he would have realized that me lying on the floor suffocating was a more urgent issue. He should have been able to hear me. Grenswa-nas were supposed to have excellent hearing, and I wasn’t hacking up my lungs quietly.

Coughing like a volcano, I missed whatever they said, eyes scrunched shut as I concentrated on not dying. I don’t know how long that lasted.

Finally, I found clean breaths, and my panting calmed into deep, sonorous wheezes. Cool fingers tapped my cheek, and my eyes fluttered open, greeted by the color green.

Pointed eyes the exact shape Timqé’s had been hovered indecently close, parti-green like the rind of a watermelon, and I stared into their electric depths.

A relieved smile softened his face, smooth cheek pulling back to wrinkle the tiny scar just beneath his left eye. “Looks like your lack of manners didn’t kill her after all, Blu.”

I sneezed. No warning. Right in his face.

Continued in Chapter 9: Best Left to Professionals

Thank you for reading!