Renalia tossed the dissected raccoon into a bin and laid another carcass out in front of Shim. She angled it so that he could start cutting immediately. They had settled into a natural rhythm, anticipating each other’s movements.

Is that what people call teamwork? Isn’t it just understanding what each other can do and working toward the same goal?

Renalia considered the suggestion that the two of them should team up. She realized she had not dismissed it immediately. So much had changed between them since she broke Shim’s arm. Even the mocking insults they hurled at each other no longer felt hurtful. Instead, it seemed like they engaged in a competition of creativity.

Plus, unlike the empty corpse in front of them, Shim could open up a bogling right after they kill it and before the Card could disappear. It figured in no small part in her considerations.

This Manor Day had yielded fewer Cards at Malchim’s workshop, compared to the week before. Most hunters had taken their captures to Hunter Allain’s family as a way to offer support to his widow and kids.

Malchim could have easily handled the workload by himself. Except, like in recent days, he rarely left his room.

When Renalia and the siblings had returned from the bog, Lexi had joined the other hunters to talk and yell at Malchim through his closed bedroom door.

Marcy’s eyes had pleaded with Renalia, so she had stayed to help with the processing instead of leaving straightaway. It was not because Shim had looked so pathetic and alone, trying to cut open a bogling with his one good arm.

Definitely not.

“Why did you harvest peat in the previous Manor Days?” she asked. “You’re very good at this.” She mimicked his cutting motion on the newly opened corpse and palmed the Card she spotted there. It was some kind of biting ability again.

She spared it no further thought as she fed it to her Core, more interested in Shim’s answer.

“And miss the chance to insult you? Never.”

“You mean miss the chance to get beat up?”

“Ha!” he snorted. Turning thoughtful, he wedged a couple of fingers underneath the arm splint to scratch at his arm. “I guess I wanted to be away from home once in a while, you know?”

“Yea…” The thought of wanting to spend less time with her parents had never crossed her mind. But having lived with the Ongocks, she understood what he meant.

“And I wanted to make sure Ullock was okay.”

“Ullock? Was something wrong with him?” Besides hating her with an intense passion.

“You know how he was after getting his Deck.”

“Ah, no? He doesn’t really talk to me. None of you do.”

A bitter edge of resentment and loneliness had crept into her last sentence. She sucked in her breath as if to draw the words back. Shim showed no outward signs of noticing, however, so she busied herself with cleaning up the workstation.

“I don’t know,” Shim answered. “He didn’t seem very happy with his Deck.”

“Oh? What did he get?” she asked. As much as people cringed at revealing their own Cards, most eagerly reveled in gossiping about other people’s. For Renalia, this signified a return to normalcy.

Shim shrugged. “He doesn’t really talk to me either.”

“Really? I thought you guys were best friends.”

“Not really. We just hung out sometimes and–”

“–Bully me.”

Shim held up both hands, looking asymmetrically comical with one hand still in a splint. “That was before you and–uh–Marcy became friends.”

Wait, did he mean to say “you and me”? Nah, no way.

“Like sisters,” Marcy said as she picked up their dissected carcasses.

“Like sisters,” Renalia affirmed. She smiled at Marcy, who had dressed herself in a green and brown color scheme that reflected Renalia’s hunter outfit.

She hung up her leather apron and asked Shim, “So, what Cards do you think Ullock got?” She wondered if going through as much trauma as Ullock did the past year would change the Cards his Core created.

“Didn’t I just say I don’t know?”

Boys–they’re stupid even when they’re not being mean.

“Boys,” muttered Marcy on her way to the wagon, causing Renalia to burst out in laughter and Marcy to join in. They laughed even harder as Shim stood there, looking confused.

They really were like sisters.

“Anyways,” Renalia said once she finished cleaning the workstation. “My parents had invited Marcy to eat together with us tonight. Do you want to come also?”

The previous Sunday, with Malchim still incapacitated in a drunken slumber, the kids had gone to Church by themselves. Marcy had sat with her and her parents while the other kids had sat with their cousins. Marcy, being Marcy, had completely charmed Renalia’s parents.

“No,” Shim replied. “My Aunt Chaim is stopping by. And I should be around if Dad wants to have some dinner.”

Renalia and Marcy chatted non-stop on their trek across the village. For the first time in her life, Renalia had a conversation partner who asked even more questions than she did. It was like they had somehow established a solid bond of friendship, but now rushed to fill it with the details that such bridges should have been built from.

So it was with ambivalence that Renalia walked the last few steps to her parents. Boogie, however, showed no such hesitation, resuming his play-wrestle session with Papa as if a week had not passed.

Mama asked as they approached, “How’s your dad doing, Marcy? He was close to Allain, wasn’t he?”

“He’s getting better. Some of the other hunters are staying with him right now.”

“Good. Let us know if there’s anything we or Renalia could help with.”

“Mmm-hmm. Renalia’s helping a lot. Dad likes it when he can cut into the boglings.”

Mama chuckled. “I’m sure he does.”

Turning to Renalia, Mama asked, “Word is Allain’s beast hasn’t been caught yet. Is Lexi still having you stay out of the bog?”

“Mmm-hmm. Lexi wants me to keep practicing with my skills, so we only go to the edges to skirmish. Besides, they say that it’s likely the bogling bled out and sank into the bog. Since no one has found any signs of it yet.”

“Still, you stay safe and listen to Lexi.”

“Yes, Mama,” Renalia replied as she shared a glance with Marcy and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady. Your bravery borders on recklessness.”

“But Lexi said I’m already a full hunter and can lead teams out into the bog.”

“Oh?” Mama’s gaze and voice turned steely. “Is she telling you to go into the bog without her?”

Renalia withered in the face of Mama’s intensity. “Um, no. But I can’t earn any money as an apprentice.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Mama sighed. “Listen, Papa’s been getting some side jobs recently. I think we can pay back our debts, so you won’t have to inherit them. So don’t push yourself into doing something risky. Besides, you already are earning money. Just yesterday, Fanny dropped off the payment for your latest batch of herbs.”

“But the herbs were a gift.”

“Fanny knew you’d say that. She said she accepted the first batch as the gift you intended. But everything after that, she’d pay you the same rate as any other herb gatherer.”

“But I’m not going out of my way or anything. And… she’s a friend.”

Mama smiled. “Yes, and our families will continue to help each other out when needed. However, going out into the bog every day to get herbs? That’s business.”

Renalia failed to discern the difference.

Papa, pinned on the ground beneath Boogie, called out, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll keep your money in a jar till you decide what you want to do with it. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up and start working. Growing up ss-yucks!”

The last word came out garbled as Boogie took the opportunity to lick the insides of Papa’s mouth.

Renalia chortled and jumped on to lend Boogie her weight. In response, Papa pushed his arms up and lifted them in the air, one in each hand. Boogie yelped at the unexpected loss of ground and tried to jump off, kicking at the air. Renalia laughed even harder and mimicked the dog, comfortable that Papa would not drop them.

They played while Mama and Marcy fetched four plates of food from the communal dinner line.

Spotting the four identical plates, Renalia said, “We made sure Marcy brought some food since she wasn’t part of Manor Day.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone minds.” Seeing Renalia’s puzzled look, Mama replied, “She’s an Ongock, after all. Their family has a long history in the village.”

“That’s not fair!” Renalia complained. When she had first joined the Manor Day crew, she had worked her arms off, eager to prove that she deserved to be there. At day’s end, the foreman had spat at the ground between them but had, nevertheless, given her a full bowl of stew.

And it wasn’t just that. As far as she could remember, she had to work extra hard and behave better in order to get treated the same as other kids. Yet all they had to do was have the right last name.

“Life’s not fair,” Mama said as she handed one of her plates to Papa. “You have to learn to pick your fights. Are you trying to make things better or just angry? Can you even win?”

She moved to take a plate from Marcy’s outstretched hand, which had halted mid-handoff by Renalia’s outburst. “And sometimes, none of that matters because there’s no one else.”

Marcy’s sheepish expression softened to gratitude as she thanked Mama with her eyes. “I left what I bought,” Marcy said. “So it’s like a trade.”

“I suppose,” Renalia replied, her pout lingering.

They sat down to eat and Papa said, between bites of food, “Well, on to happier topics, I got a new Card yesterday.”

“Happy Birthday!” Renalia and Marcy said together, which caused both of them to giggle.

“Sis–” Marcy started.

“–ters.” Renalia finished for her.

Papa held his palm out as Renalia said to Marcy, “Papa gets the silliest cards.”

“Behold,” Papa said as he splayed out his fingers. “[Sparklies]!”

Dozens of motes of light materialized in the air above his palm. They flew lazily in a cloud the size of a newly weaned pig.

“Ooh, pretty,” the girls cooed, followed by a soft “sisters.”

The flying particles of light winked out after ten seconds. Mama chuckled. “Not bright enough to read by. Not warm enough for chilly nights. Typical Jabal power,” Mama said, not unkindly.

“I like it,” Renalia declared. “But [Musical Hands] is still my favorite.”

“Oh?” He tapped his fingers against his wooden bowl, which emitted a “fwip-fwip” as they bounced rapidly against the bowl.

Tapping the fingers of his other hand on the ground as he placed his bowl of soup down, they started moving slowly back and forth in concert. Each time they reached the end of their arc, a “fwump” sounded out.

He pushed the ground to stand up but Mama, without even glancing up from her plate, stopped him with a “No tickle wars at dinnertime.”

“Yes, Mama,” Renalia and her Papa whined in unison. Papa chuckled as Renalia and Marcy giggled.

“Like father–” Marcy started.

“–like daughter,” Renalia finished.

Papa sat back down and drummed his forefinger on his cheek in contemplation. His digit vibrated so fast that it resembled a fat translucent sausage. It emitted “mmm” at a constant pitch.

“You know,” he said with a cocked brow, “this is your Mama’s favorite too.”

Renalia turned to say “like mother” but the words died on her lips. Mama had flushed a bright red, the color even showing on her bare forearms.

After a few heartbeats of silence, Mama said to Papa, “Makes one wonder what you thought about.” She added, enunciating each word with emphasis, “All… Year… Long... To get a card like that.”

Renalia crinkled her brow in confusion, but Papa understood Mama’s meaning as he turned a dark red.

Renalia, embarrassed by the peculiar ways her parents were acting, explained to Marcy, “Nevermind them. They get weird sometimes.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Marcy added, in a whisper so soft that Renalia was not sure Marcy meant for her to hear, “I wish dad had someone to be weird with.”

It was a splash of cold water on Renalia’s smoldering resentment of Marcy’s heritage. She laid her head on Marcy’s shoulder to offer some comfort.

After dinner, the two best friends lingered in the village square, marveling at the changes the villagers had made. Booths, in various stages of construction, now lined the square in preparation for the Baron and his entourage. So it was later than usual that they returned to the Ongock residence.

As Marcy opened the door and entered, Malchim shot up from his chair, knocking it over. The half-bottle of wine on the kitchen table wobbled, threatening to join the chair on the floor.

“Where were you?” he shouted, face contorted in anger. He staggered toward them.

“Who said you could leave this house? It’s not safe out there!” Malchim lifted his arm as he got closer, a cross between waving at the dangerous outdoors and delivering corporal punishment.

Without even thinking about it, Renalia rushed past Marcy. She planted her feet and raised her elbows like a boxer, layering on extra-thick bogling skins on her forearm.

She didn’t believe Malchim would hurt his own daughter, but she suspected Malchim was no longer in control. Renalia refused to let anyone hurt her best friend. Not even the dad.

Malchim stopped in his tracks, surprised at her intervention. He swayed, confused for a second, before his anger morphed into fury. He closed the gap between them and raised his hand even higher.

Renalia unconsciously activated [Dull Emotions]. The calming space it granted typically allowed her to formulate a plan. But this time she rejected every thought she had. She couldn’t dodge and leave Marcy undefended. She didn’t want to leap at Malchim and start a fight. She didn’t even want to unsheathe her claws, certain that it would escalate the situation even further.

So she stood there, offering herself as a substitute for Marcy.

And she watched as his outstretched hand moved. His thumb folded on the smaller two fingers while the fore and middle fingers closed together. She kept her elbows up, bogling-skinned forearms out. But she held no illusions about how much protection it offered against his [Cut].

Time seemed to stop as they faced each other. They didn’t hear Sammy or Minnie whimper nor register Shim shouting at his dad to stop.

Renalia didn’t think Malchim would actually kill her. Then again, she hadn’t thought he meant to kill her either that first day, when he had sent her out into the bog. Yet she had almost died, nonetheless.

And this version of Malchim? She had no idea what he was capable of.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, motionless. His face, however, twisted in a turmoil of emotions. Anger, fear, regret, and other emotions she herself had never experienced nor learned the words for.

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her dark thoughts. As Marcy’s hand traveled down the length of her arm, a gentle but steady pressure caused her to lower her upraised arms.

Marcy pushed past to stand in the narrow space between them. She clasped Renalia’s hands behind her back and craned her neck up to face her dad.

“Living in fear won’t bring Mom back,” Marcy said in a firm voice, louder than one would expect coming from a small child. Malchim flinched as if she had slapped him. “And you won’t find her at the bottom of a bottle either.”

Shim gasped at Marcy’s audacity and Renalia almost snatched her hands back from Marcy’s death-grip, just in case Malchim became mad again. But Malchim crumpled to the ground as if Marcy had dispelled a wine-fueled monster, leaving behind a bawling rag-doll.

Marcy released Renalia’s hands from her grasp. Only Renalia, from her vantage point from behind Marcy, could see the girl’s hands tremble.

“I…” sobbed Malchim, face buried in his hands.

Marcy hugged his head. “I miss her too, Dad. We all do. Even little Minnie, who barely has any memories of Mom left. Will you tell us about her? Please?”

The children held their collective breath.

Renalia backed herself through the open doorway. She had never felt as much of an intruder as now, not even during her first night at the Ongocks’.

As she shut the door, she heard Malchim say, “I first met your mother…”

***

Day in and day out, numerous family dramas play out behind closed doors, each with their unsung heroes and villains. And minor acts, even by uncarded children, may have lasting effects. However, as memorable as that night was, it had not graced my thoughts much over the years. Instead, my own upcoming–more public–family drama had consumed my thoughts.

But in reflecting on this memory now, with what I could gather about my mother over the years, I could identify her fingerprints all over it. While she did not set the stage, as an astute observer of the human condition, she must have anticipated the upcoming scene. So she cast a Reckless Renalia and called for a local hero to rise to the occasion because there was no one else to fill the role.

A small act of kindness on her part. I wonder, though, if I had realized how she helped my best friend back then, would that kindness have balanced out her unkindness towards me? Would it have prevented my growing resentment and hatred toward her?

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let us return to that night.