After checking to see if Ellen was well as she wound down in the larger room of the small house, ‘Ker knew he should have made his exit from their company. Tonight was an unmitigated failure on his part. He had set himself the task of fleeing, and now sat in the home of his only confirmable ally.
She now sat before a small glazed rectangle hanging on the wall; its gray surface rounded and perfectly matte, reflecting nothing in the room. The device reminded him of the oval entertainment object that had hung in each room at the hospital. But somehow this one looked more newly minted to his eye than the ones he had seen before. She was tired, she was in mild shock, and if pushed further, NurzEllen might snap.
The turning and running at which he was so good failed him utterly under the stare of the dwarf, that and the hysterical laughter bubbling down to tears by the tall woman from whom he had learned most of the Angle-ish he now haltingly spoke. He knew he should have run as far and as fast as he might when had the chance, but… But, but, but…always the buts get in my way. Pull me from my path…never thought of myself as a “Butt-man”…BUT, Ellen does have a nicely shaped bottom. Larger than what I’m used to, but ...butt ...but nice…and she did watch over me while I healed. Even taught me a good deal…crap! Well “Ta” to that idea…trout can be my guide here, but I don’t trust him…don’t like him much either…and she just feels warm to me…like home…like… No. Not quite like "home."
He had to violently shake the thoughts from his head to keep them from the betrayals they might make.
A deep breath to center himself, air rushing in through his nose, and then curling slowly in his lungs. A slow, gentle release, and he could feel his body's many complaints as it tried to heal itself from tonight's ridiculous series of twists, and tumbles. He felt every bruise and cut, especially on his poor feet. A year of lying in a bed, after a horrendous set of injuries. As plastic and durable as his people may be before injuries and death, they were still mortal beings. He stood over NurzEllen where she had sat on the edge of the street, and had watched as she went from calm, to laughing, to sobbing and wracked with stress and fear induced tears. He saw all of this, knew it was his own fault, and ‘Ker turned to address the H’Aghram. “We need to get her home. She’s gone into shock. Do you know where her hearth lies?”
“Aye, I do. And we can get there in about twenty-five minutes if you can carry her, or we can take this…” at that the little man made a word that ‘Ker just couldn’t quite grasp. The dwarf spoke the language of the People well for an outsider, but some of the words didn’t quite make the journey from his mouth to ‘Ker’s ear the way they should have. Either the H’Aghram mumbled, or he was making up new words. Possibly both.
He was pointing to the yellow and black metal wagon. The stench from the thing alone gave ‘Ker pause. The dead driver behind the wheel gave him even more. He could drive a team with the greatest of ease, but this machine smelled worse than burning pitch to 'Ker; and ‘Ker could see nothing to show how it moved. They needed a driver for this smelly machine, if horses or oxen weren't to pull it, because he knew how to drive many vehicles, but up to this point in his life, all vehicles he had known had involved livestock.
“Can you handle this thing? I see no horses.”
“I cannot reach the parts required, but if you would take my direction…do what I tell you, we could be to Nurse Lindsey’s home in about three minutes.” Trout looked about as nervous as ‘Ker could imagine. But speed was what he felt was required now. No more wasting time. “Speeding tickets are not something I’d worry about tonight…most of the cars about now a-days have mechanized governors to keep them below the safe limits.” ‘Ker had no clue as to the blather the little man spouted, but that had not stopped the dwarf from rattling on. “You missed the age of petrol cars, boy did they go…” His yammering finally stopped as the motorized journey had begun.
Several screams, five scraped and dented cars along one dark street, and one vomiting incident later and they walked shakily through Ellen’s front door. ‘Ker thought his knees would keep shaking until the day he died. Another ride in THAT thing would bring me closer to that day, too…
Holding Ellen’s hand he walked her to the large couch in the living room of the apartment. While he and Trutt had spoken, and Trutt had done his best at Kitchen Magics, NurzEllen had drifted from the couch into the kitchen to sit with the two men at the table. Once she was seated, he almost fell into one of the chairs opposite her, finally sitting himself. His dirty toes just touched the ground sitting on the tall wooden chair.
Trutt, conversing with the man in HIS own language revealed his actual name, dithered around in the too bright kitchen, fetching all sorts of foods, and finally sat next to him with a steaming mug of steeped herbs. 'Ker had been happy to reach into one of his pockets and retrieve the two birds he had grabbed while in the running fight with the Sun Lord's men. It felt good to offer up a gift to the meal.
The brewed tea smelled wonderful to ‘Ker’s nose. Bit by bit, things fell into place as he searched through the dregs of memory of overheard conversations in the hospital. Must be that “Tay” stuff the doctors were always on about, as none of it tasted like any of the varieties of tea (Ti) he had loved before The People had fled.
'Ker addressed Trutt in the H’Aghram tongue. “Will we hide here? Do the Sun Lord’s priests know we are here? I know your pockets are filled to the tops with charms to hide and confuse. I can feel them at the edge of my arms’ hair.” He left that statement stand alone, it was a rude gesture to mention another’s protections; but he knew these were not the most usual circumstances. A quick change in tactics might disarm the dwarf, and get him more information he could use in his mission.
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“Where is the Dancer? Why do so many of the Sun Lord’s priests walk unmolested in this city? And while We left long ago, this land was once the Land of the People, and none of the priests of the Sun Lord could land a boat here and survive a day.”
Trutt raised eyebrows in surrender to surprise at the mention of the Dancer. “So you know him? The Dancer? I thought most of your kind would no longer believe in him.” From the little mans features, ‘Ker knew that more thoughts scurried about behind his affable, if homely, face. He went on after coming to some conclusion. “We can’t stay for long, though you’re right; I have enough in my pockets to hide us for months if needs, but they don’t. And I have an invitation for you.” Trout, Trutt, seemed content for a moment to let that sink in before going on. “From the Dancer, though no one but the older of the Yagas call him that anymore. He lives far away, and now goes by a new name. This land is no longer under his protection. He abandoned it shortly after the migration that sent your kind from this shore. After your kind all left, the Christians solidified their hold on this land, and then the Dancer left, taking most of the Gods and various Monsters with him to new pastures.
Some few stayed, just as some few of the ‘Tj’Shea stayed behind when you left. A few F’Boljia still live as well, though I don’t know any myself.”
That had shocked him. His people and the F’Boljia had warred hard before humans came to the Isles, and the Tj’Shea had won that most bloody of fights. None were known to still live when he was a child and the People had yet to leave.
Trout went on, oblivious to ‘Ker’s confusion. “But they didn’t last too long here without family. The Hearth Goddess even allowed her followers to jump over to Christianity to save their lives. She always was a good one. Died a hard death, she did. Just across the waters, in Eireannean. The Lamb's priests made her into a milking woman, and made all of her virtues into someone else's. They gave her a bucket, and a small pasture, and drained her of life and meaning”
‘Tj’Chin’Ker sat stunned at the news; his mouth hanging open to let an unrecognizable bit of food fall to his lap. …the Fire Maiden…gone…the Dancer let her die? And...For him to leave these lands meant…well, I don’t know what that means, but it can’t be good. For anyone… And even when we were here last as a People, we did his bidding to keep this place sacred…safe…most of us knew in our hearts he was just a legend…a made up story…a boogie man…but he was also real, the Father would begin some of his decrees by invoking the Maker…the Dancer…as if it was he, and not the Father giving the decree…and now the Dancer has left, the Dancer so few of us believed in anymore…It’ll add more time to my finding him, at the least…
“Al-gvan Trutt” was how the runt had introduced himself to ‘Ker, and now the man NurzEllen called “Trout” reached out to snag some small bits of food from a tray, and said around a mouth full of crumbs, “When you arrived, it made what you could call a big noise, and the Dancer heard it. He sent me here to find you as fast as I could. I’ve been living in this city for almost a year or so now, waiting to get a chance to talk to you."
Trutt paused, and slowly chewed, looking from 'Ker to NurzEllen and back again. "They’re tight with security at St. Alban’s, if you hadn’t awoken soon, I would have shot myself to get in to see you. Thanks for that, getting out tonight, by the way; I’m not one for shooting myself.”
NurzEllen just stared at Trout as he sat chuckling. The chuckles grew into full blown laughter, and soon the deep thrumming of his bass guffaws were echoing around the room and resonating in her chest like physical blows. Like the feeling of waves at the beach, pushing against her, over and over. “Alright, already! I do have neighbors, you know!” NurzEllen looked like she had just surprised herself with the strident outburst; anger at everything began to bubble over. The night, his own deceptions of her and the abuses of her goodwill, the gruesome deaths; it was all taking its toll on her, and beginning to show around the edges. She was looking frayed to 'Ker.
Some things, from Ellen's perspective, like sleep, she was used to doing without. But tonight had been too much. Mister Trout sat suddenly silent but for hissing giggles manically skittering about the edges of his grinning little face, now red with effort. Someone with better hearing might have been able to detect the whispered “almost shot myself…got a gun yesterday over at the pawn…thanks for not making me use it …it’s a nice one, though. Shiny. Very shiny, indeed.”
“I am sorry.” It was a simple statement. Short, to the point. As her head whipped around to see who spoke, the deep hazel eyes of the man across the table from her drilled the message home as eloquently as any speech Ellen had ever heard. The sad expression was more than enough to stop her anger, throttling the sullen red haze out of existence.
“Um, okay…well…” she stuttered a few more inadequate syllables before regrouping. …smooth Ellen… With a blush rising on her cheeks, her eyes darted down to the safety of looking at the fists clenched under the table on the warm woolen fabric covering her thighs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
The conversation rattled around for a while longer as they each found their own bits of balance in the early morning after a long hard, and nerve jangling night. She risked a shy glance back up to Banner as he dug slices of bread from a bag and placed them in his pockets; as if they might not find bread where they might be going. Ellen might have spoken, but he turned to her, and she lost her nerve under the stare of his deep, soulful hazel eyes. Even his curly auburn beard and rough auburn mat of his hair looked cute to her; all of the current fashion sites might say bald was the fashion this season, but his close, stubbly beard and short tangles of hair looked better than anything she had seen in years. She went back to scrutinizing her lap. “What I guess I’m really asking is; where do we go from here?”
“Oh, that’s an easy one, girly!” The newly minted “Alvin” softly chimed; breaking her self imposed awkward body language. “America…”