CHAPTER 3 – MARE POV
The next day I wake up, sore and disheveled, blinded by the midday sun. Seriously, blinded, because the moment I open my eyes, the bright sunlight beams right into my eyeballs and burns so bad they start to water. I grumble several curses to myself inside my head so I don't have to move any more of my body. Just opening and shutting my eyes has been a hardship enough. With the blanket thrown over my head, my world becomes dark and cozy and cave-like again, and I start to sink back into dreams of boys with cooler skin and piercing eyes hidden by dim light. The warm midday means I start to sweat under the piles of blankets; mostly these belong to Gisa, who always wakes before me and shrouds me with her own bedding since my bed is much thinner and worse for wear than hers.
In this nice in-between, I can day dream about last night. The shittier parts I'll leave out, and instead I concentrate on the smell of Cal's cologne. It smells rich and woodsy like the annual winter festival. I want to love that festival for the colorful lights adorning rows of trees making an impressive display in the center of town. Being the Stilts under the governorship of a House Welle, our trees are the tallest and lavishly decorated from tip to trunk. I want to love the ceremony, but the sacrifice for such a beautiful tradition is throttled electricity. Can't just give the people nice lights to look at for one month in their miserable lives. 'Lec rations for December are granted for only half the time as usual, meaning most of us Reds are subject to the harsh winter blizzards with limited to no heat. Not even a fully-powered stove to keep our food hot. That's why Dad built a fire pit near the house several years back, but without my older brothers around, it's up to me to gather and chop enough wood each night to make it useful. The snowstorms seem to get worse every winter, so I try to gather as much wood as I can as early as I can, starting in late October. Last year, the thieves caught on and started hauling off each week's logs in the middle of the night. Dad and I think it's the Silvers wanting to watch our suffering through the winter like a sick game of "Who Survives?" Mom and Gisa are more forgiving and think the wood is being taken by families who desperately need it. Maybe so, but it makes me feel a hell of a lot less guilty when I steal the townspeople's coats and blankets. Mom usually complains about what I steal so we can get by, but in the dead of winter with temperatures so cold your snot freezes, she has an expected, albeit convenient change of direction in her moral compass.
Then there's the way Cal carried me up the hill and all the way home. He was strangely overheated, though that could definitely be the beers I drank. Honestly, I'm embarrassed with myself. Not because of that lump of shit that couldn't keep his hands to himself; no, that guy I hope was mauled to death by a wolf overnight. If I ever see him again...
The memory of the burst of sizzling light between us pulls me off-track. How the hell did that happen? I'm trying to remember if there were any electric boxes around us, something that could have thrown off sparks of malfunctioned, but it was the middle of the forest. There was none of that around there. It wasn't raining, so it wasn't a thunderstorm, and it didn't happen a second time, which means that had to have been something. The unknown is bothering the shit out of me.
"Mare?" Mom's small voice comes from my doorway with no door. My mom still maintains a semblance of respect for our privacy, but it took enough arguments on my part to achieve that. It's kind of hard in a two-bedroom house to have privacy, but the space is too small for us to not have the minimum established boundaries. Acknowledging mine and Gisa's space as our own is one of those boundaries.
"I'm awake, Mom. Just have a headache." A hangover is more like it, but hell if I tell her that.
"I didn't hear you come in last night," she murmurs. She's fishing.
"I was very quiet."
"Well, it must have been late. Your father and I waited up until midnight."
"I lost track of time at Kilorn's." It is the first blatant lie I have ever told anyone in my family. I'm shocked with myself for how smoothly it came out.
"Still, it's very late to be out, Mare. What if a curfew was in place?" Here's the thing about my mom. She isn't confrontational in the least, but that doesn't stop her from getting her point across.
"I'll be in tonight, Mom."
"And you missed school today Now I know you don't like it, but you are going to get yourself into serious trouble if you keep missing class. Mr.—"
"Is it really going to matter when I get conscripted, Mom? Will it make any difference if I miss class once or twice, hell would it matter if I missed every single day up until the guards come in and drag me out to the lines? Because it isn't like they're teaching us gun safety and army tactical skills in those classrooms. They are teaching us useless shit that we won't ever use on a battlefield."
I don't look at her—I can't—but I hear her gasp out a sob and shift her weight against the doorframe. There she remains, crying softly, until I throw the blankets over my face with a huff. I wish I could tell her I didn't mean to upset her, but of course I did. I know what throwing around the word "conscription" does to this family. Mom said when she was a girl, they never sent women into the war. It was shortly before she married Dad that they drafted all Reds of 18 years. The only reprieve was a full-time job that contributed to the State. Gisa would have been guaranteed a waiver. Will she now that her hand is broken? If she is unable to use her nimble fingers like she used to, the Silvers would mercilessly throw her to the wolves of the war. Mom says she thinks it will heal, but Mom also says putting a coin under your pillow after you lose a tooth will give you good luck. Total nonsense.
Eventually I drift back off to sleep and my mom calms down to return to meatless strew for tonight's dinner. When I wake, it's because Kilorn has thrown his bag of books at my feet with every intention of waking me with a start. It pisses me off, but then again, seeing his face and knowing each day is closer to his conscription is what is really bothering me.
"Barrow, missed you in class today."
"Doubt it, Kilorn."
"No really, I did. You are the only classmate that makes me look smart. I actually have to try when you're not there."
So quickly he doesn't see it, I yank the pillow out from under my head and slam it into his face with a satisfying kerplop. He resounding chortle makes me laugh until I am sat up, ready to face the day. Whatever is left of it judging by the lowering sun.
"What's with the bruises?" Kilorn gently touches his forefinger to my shoulder, my arm, my elbow, back up to my neck, then as I watch his eyes dipl ower to my breasts, my skin heats into a crimson-plum blush. Everything turns suddenly awkward, so with an unladylike and hopefully unattractive series of grunts, I push myself off the mattress and into a hunched stand.
"Seriously, were you in a fight last night? Oh my god, did you try to steal bread from Granny Lowletter again?"
Another silky lie before I can stop myself. "What does she need the extra loaves for anyway? She saving them to build a new bakery or what?"
"Damn, Mare, she got you good this time! What was it? The baguette sword?"
"The wheat rolls."
Kilorn doubles over, rolling his nasty sweaty self all over my semi-clean bedding. "Gross, Kilorn! Can you roll in your own pig sty?"
He continues laughing until he's wiping tears from the corners of his crinkled eyes. "Ah, whew. The visual of Granny Lowletter chucking brick rolls at you just does it for me, Mare." A few more laughs until he's died down enough to sigh reverently. I know that sigh means he has committed the moment to memory. I would make him laugh at my expense a hundred times just so he could go into the Silvers' war with a hundred joyful memories of me.
I am nursing a killer headache I can't tell anyone about, which means I am reluctantly forced into his scavenging for fish. Reds aren't technically allowed to fish in Silver waters without a work permit, but Kilorn knows of a small creek that connect to the river and guarantees him a good catch. Fish is Kilorn's primary diet, a result of his apprenticeship and the free food he could get along with his wage, and I'm eternally grateful that he can feed himself without worry. My family has always made room for him at our dinner table, but Kilorn is excessively independent having been orphaned a few years ago, and he also knows we can barely feed ourselves as it is. At least once a week I forego my dinner so the others can eat just a little bit more of Mom's typical stew. I pretend that I'm not hungry or I steal other kids' lunch from school and tell them I just ate. If any of them know, which I'm sure my Dad does, then they don't say anything. I'm not surprised that Kilorn fibs the same just to ensure we have enough. When he has a bigger catch than usual, he always shares—always. Despite knowing how to preserve fish for himself, Kilorn has never been greedy or selfish. Thank the stars, because there have been times when we have gone days without any real sustenance outside of wilted vegetables in a broth, and it's Kilorn's fish that has seen us through.
If we're caught fishing out here, they will imprison us for 48 hours. It's always on the back of my mind when Kilorn takes me out fishing, but he is certain no one even knows about this creek because of its distance and location. I get why. It smells of rotten land out here—Kilorn says it's called sulphur. The surrounding land is marsh-like, constantly wet and muddy. Combined with the smell, it's easy to mistake as a wasteland—of which Norta has plenty, so this location isn't spectacular to any Silver, or Red for that matter. What it does hold is a breeding ground for substantially meaty fish. It makes me wonder how much of Norta is presumably a "wasteland" with hidden treasures only we Reds know about.
After a while, we've settled into the ground, imprints of our butts sinking into the mud, but this quiet contentment is just what I needed. I can tell Kilorn wants to talk about something; he keeps opening his mouth like the fish we catch, but one sideways glance from me and he shuts it. I could make it clear that I'm not here for chit chats and know Kilorn would drop whatever is on his mind for now, but a sort of guilt gnaws in my stomach at the manipulation. With a sigh I tell him to spit it out.
"I..Mare, I don't really know how to talk to you about this because I know you don't want to hear shit about it, but… Look, we're not going to raise enough money to get me out of conscription, so I just want you to start preparing for what is coming any day now."
"I'll get the money, Kilorn. I swear it."
From the corner of my eye, I see his hand twitch as it reaches toward my leg, but he awkwardly pulls it back and grips his fishing pole until his knuckles turn white. "No, you won't, Mare. It's too much money, not enough time, and besides, with everything going on in Summerton recently, it's not worth the risk."
"You are worth the risk, Kilorn Warren. Can you just shut up about this please?"
"You have a family that needs you, Mare. They need your skills—I mean, true, mine are better but—"
"HA! Warren, I taught you all that you know, and you're nowhere near my level. I am a damn near master thief."
"I didn't know they were handing out such esteemed declarations. Boy, the Royal Court must be very inspired."
I nudge him in the ribs, which gets me a good 'oomph!' as he rubs his side dramatically.
"Seriously, Kilorn, I'll figure something out. I'll convince her to smuggle you out of her, and I'll trade everything I've got to guarantee it. Fishermen's apprentices don't survive war." The statement stings him; I know it because I watch him slump away from me while what can only be described as a proper pout takes up residence on top his tense jaw, set in bitterness, and withdrawn eyes, murky in their emptiness and misplaced anger.
The rest of the afternoon carries on in heavy silence, though I try to dismiss the discomfort with a joke here and there. When he doesn't reciprocate, I go back to my dark thoughts about the bullshit I've brought to my family and the suffering Gisa must endure because of me. Dusk begins filtering through the trees, taking another miserable day and one of the last Kilorn has left in the Stilts. How long until they come for him? It will be any day now, and there is nothing I can do to protect him. He's right; I don't have enough money even after the last couple of nights picking the pockets of tavern regulars. I didn't even get to tell him what happened last night, though maybe that's for the best. Kilorn would go berserk and for what? He's about as confrontational and aggressive as I am reasonable and affectionate. Besides, do I really want to hear a lecture on drinking from stone-cold sober Kilorn?
Like most nights, I invite Kilorn over for dinner and a sleepover, and like most nights, he declines both. 'Mare, I have two beds and a couch I can sleep on by myself. Why would I want to listen to your dad snore like blizzard storm or sleep on one of the many pillows you've drooled on?' He always gives me variations of the same joke, but behind it is soft eyes longing to accept the open-invitation he doesn't feel he deserves.
Tonight, however, Kilorn declines both dinner and the sleepover with an adamant no and a peculiar secretive nature around it. "Just got some stuff to sort out," is his latest, and lamest, excuse. Since I'm not much on company these days anyway, I don't push the issue either.
Climbing into the house is like walking into a room where you know everyone was just talking about you. Dad snaps his mouth closed, and mom makes a series of odd chirps while she turns herself around every which way attempting to find a distraction. Gisa only rolls her eyes and leaves the room without a word.
On the dining table I throw down a string of eight fish. The fridge will keep them for a day or two if we can keep it running with 'lec rations, but it would be better if we could get the freezer to work. Mom won't let any go to waste, and it irritates me that we will have to gorge on fish for the next 5 meals because there's no way to preserve them.
Dad raises his brow at the catch; surely he knows where it comes from and how I get it. Mom, however, clucks her tongue and looks at it with a combined stare of gratitude and disappointment.
"I didn't steal it, Mom, if that's what you're thinking."
"Well you didn't pay for it either, Mare."
I close my eyes to force them to stay in place. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep me from blurting out a nasty remark. Instead I yank the string off the table, the sound of limp fish bodies slapping against each other accentuated by Mom's yelp, and toss them into the empty freezer. I slam the door and keep my hand on the handle until my breaths are even and measured by rhythmic, de-escalating counting.
In a sin-song voice laced with annoyance and mocking, I give it to her. "How about, 'Thank you for looking after us, Mare! Thank you for putting yourself at risk to ensure we can eat more than stale bread and broth stew!'? Anything, Mom, that shows you think of your daughter as more than just your no-good, talentless embarrassment who has to steal to get by."
When a humming disrupts my outburst, my dad rolls over to the fridge, not particularly careful of where my feet are placed. He puts his hand against the freezer like he's about to give us a lecture before looking at Mom and me incredulously.
"You hear that?" he asks. "That's the freezer! I'll be damned, that's the FREEZER! Ha ha! It works again!"
Mom pushes past me, our spat momentarily forgotten as she tests it for herself. "How in this world…?" She turns to me with incredulity in her eyes, assessing me up and down as though I could have anything to do with this. I can hear the buzz of the freezer—actually hear it in my head. A dull whining that edges on giving me a headache, but what's more, I can feel the electricity of it in my body.
"Dad, do you feel that?"
He looks at me curiously, but the light pops on in his head and he answers in a way that eases my strange anxiety. "Oh, that rumbling is just the agitator—the motor in the fridge now that it's powering the freezer, too. It'll vibrate the whole floor, but you'll get used to it. It's just an old hunk of junk."
"It'll use up an awful lot of electricity," Mom laments.
"We'll curfew our lights out a bit earlier then, Ruth. This will help us through the winter when food is harder to come by. Atta girl, Mare!"
I shrug, not really knowing what I did to deserve the praise other than slamming a door shut, but there's a niggling in the back of my head that whispers there's more to it than that. It's the same weird feeling I got last night when that man attacked me. What it could be I have no clue, but coincidences aren't really my thing, so I need to get to the bottom of it. After I rescue Kilorn.
A/N - Oy, long time, no see! I appreciate everyone's patience; I hate going so long between chapters, killing my once a week rhythm, but life just got so busy, and the timing never felt right to write. You can follow me on Twitter, where I make well-intentioned promises of updates that I hardly keep- evelynturnerff.
For those wondering when Silhouettes is getting an update...let's say early next week. It's coming to an end, that beloved first story of mine, so I want to get the last couple of chapters up in quick succession, and I can only do that if I write them back-to-back.
As always, readers & reviews are so appreciated.