rain to fire

I whip around the corner of Guloth street and nearly run into Bergen Crow as he struggles to wheel his cart out of the market. A capering laugh escapes my lips as I dodge the old man and stumble against the side of a cobbled house.

“Sorry!” I call, albeit insincerely, as I rush on ahead.

“Watch it, deadhead!” Bergen croaks crossly. I ignore him and press forward. Daren is hardly ten meters behind me and I can’t slow for even a second. Rain and sweat from the three mile sprint soak my skin and hair. My clothes are drenched too, and the clouds continue to pour their bodies into the filth of the earth.

Bergen caws again in outrage, signaling that Daren is rounding the corner, even closer than before. Drops sting my eyes and cloud my vision, and the pouring shifts to tumults, buckets of warm water rolling like waves from the heavens. I’m blinded by the downpour but I don’t slow for visibility. Thus, it’s not entirerly surprising that our house appears out of nowhere through curtains of rain, and I don’t have time to slow before slamming into the wall by the door.

Daren is there hardly two seconds later, with a similar yet softer collision with the wall. The rebound threw me backward, and I’m lying on my back in a puddle that reaches my ears. I can feel bruises forming as I gasp for air through the rain, and yet I thrust my fist into the air in triumph.

The Wolf manages to keep his feet, unlike me, and he groans dramatically in defeat. “Why do I still race you when I know you always win?”

“Because you’re a deadhead.” I close my eyes as the rain runs in rivulets down my face and through my hair, turning it so dark its nearly black.

“Says the one who’s lying in a mud puddle in the middle of the street because he ran into his own house.” Daren extends a hand to help me up.

“True.” I grin and take his offered hand with my left one. I can feel a deep ache settling in my right shoulder, and Daren doesn’t fail to notice.

“Looks like you’re the one with the bruises now.”

I chuckle, knowing he won’t let me forget this for a long time. “Looks like it.” I say, and swing the door open to get out of the rain.

Daren follows me past his own front door and up the stairs to mine. I pause for a moment outside and listen. Silence. That’s good. Mum must hace been shopping with Bel when the storm hit. Knowing her, she would have taken shelter in a friend’s house rather than run home through the rain.

I head straight for my side of the room and kneel on the floor by my bed. Daren starts to come up behind me but I push him back.

“No. Wait over there.” I point to the other side of the tacked up sheet.

“But why?” Daren crosses his arms, feigning anger. I know he’s not really mad. Posturing is somehting he does so he won’t look weak. Again, another reason he was named for a wolf, since they often growl and ruff their fur up when they feel threatened.

“Because it’s a surprise, remember?”

Daren grumbles a few curses and ducks around the sheet. I pull out the cloth package for the second time today and silently marvel at the sunset-orange tube. But now isn’t the time for that. Now’s the time for a prank.

I take the dull yellow Firebird and rewrap the other before tucking it back under my straw mattress. Daren is leaning against the wall, arms still crossed, when I wave the Bird in front of his face. I watch his expression go from sullen to excited to mischievous in a matter of seconds.

“Now, Sir Terian,” Daren says. “Who do you have in mind for this tricky little birdie? I do hope he has an uncanny resemblance to a Fox. I’m in the mood to see one squeal.”

I smile at his predictability but shake my head. “Sadly, Lord Daren, I don’t think now is a good time to go after that particular deadhead.” Daren’s eyes narrow a little in disappointment, and I try to explain. “If we went after him today then everyone would know it was you and the council would find your mum.”

Daren nods his consent. He knows what a fine could do to his family, no matter how small. They’re already low on money, and debts left unpaid are like betrayals of trust in Feinfall. A shopkeeper will withhold items, refuse to give even an inch in a deal, and sometimes refect offers just because you have an unpaid debt to someone on the other side of town. Daren would never do that to his family.

“But,” I continue. “There is a certain Hardy Robin who cut a bad deal with old Grendel a few weeks back. I think he needs a little scare to remind him he’s not the boss of helpless old widow.” Daren’s smile returns and I know he likes the idea of justice, though it isn’t being dealt to the one he prefers.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Daren pushes off the wall and takes hold of the Firebird. “Let’s arrange a reckoning with fate.”