Moonthread, chapter 5

Orcs & Crafts

Chapter Five
ORCS and CRAFTS

As Nala came under the town’s gate, she looked up. The gate had rough iron teeth.

The teeth bared down, and Nala walked under it. The iron points hung heavy above them, threatening to bite down on her and the crowd at any moment.

That would be awful, Nala thought. She imagined its jaws coming down heavy on her, and the crowd. As the jaws clamped down, maybe…

mmmm…. mmmaybe….

She imagined a spray of a… of a something, the color of…

Not red, Nala thought. Not red, so…

She looked up.

Oh, of course. She imagined a spray of a something, the color of moonthread. It was such a full moon that she wouldn’t be able tell which color it was.

The shadow of a shadow of a color.

The colorless image in her head made it easier to stomach than red would have been, should those rough iron teeth ever come down, and end all that was and ever could be.

That spray would go high, painting the night before falling like thick rain, down, down on (and into) the oily moat below her.

But then… Nala decided that that thought was gross. So she made herself think of something else instead.

Strangers shuffled on either side of her, bumbling against Nala’s shoulders. Body odor, everywhere. Heavy perfumes from locals, dressed their best for festival.

“Surprising,” Gran Akha said.

“What’s surprising?”

Gran shrugged. “Not many other mages.”

Nala hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, that was true. It was common to see orcs wearing werelights, floating above their heads the color of moonthread.

But not the refugees. Not one of them, Nala noticed.

“Strange,” Nala said.

“Yeah,” grunted Gran. “Strange.”

“What does it mean?” Nala asked.

“These people were cursed,” Gran Akha said.

“Cursed?” Nala wanted to ask, but a sound cracked the air apart and everybody’s eyes turned skyward.

Above, fireworks cascaded, climbing up through the air on the other side of the wall.

The crowd carried Nala as much as her own feet did, forward, into the gate’s mouth, and Nala waded into the sounds of the Festival…

* * * * / * * * *

Some called it Springdusk, but most here called this celebration the Grainwitch Festival. It was the biggest party of the year, and this was the biggest it ever got, ever.

Every sense felt assaulted, but the noise in particular was incredible. The myriad consonances of every singer and flute and strung gut sounding board, they all braided into one big dissonance.

After awhile, Nala didn’t even mind; there was something beautiful about it. Something charming, about how horrible it all was, and Nala found herself smiling.

Gran Akha was not smiling.

“So loud!” shouted Gran.

“Huh?!” said Nala.

“Loud!”

Nala nodded.

The musicians seemed manic, gleeful, and made too much eye contact as Nala passed. Every too-busy vendor huffed, flushed, venting their frustrations on the customers who crowded.

Not many of the refugees seemed to be spending money. But there was plenty to see without spending in Orcshire on that particular night.

Two jugglers traded apples, at first just a few. Then Nala watched as they added more, and then more, until two dozen golden apples were flying through the air. Laughing, the crowd made room for them when it should have been impossible. The jugglers traded lines, tongue twisters so well rehearsed they didn’t even have to look at each other as they traded insults.

Then, they began moving backward. Slowly, slowly, further and further away from each other, both of them softly focused on the sky as they juggled.

“Go on!” one of them said, nodding to Nala without looking. “You can go under.”

“Go under, girl!” said the other, almost grumpy.

“We never drop.”

“No, we never drop.”

“Not ever.”

“No!”

As Nala and Gran shuffled under the arch, all eyes were on them, and Nala blushed.

They passed under. She looked up, and the moon was smiling down on the scene. Clouds edged in from the East, but the Western stars were still allowed to twinkle.

Then, a golden shape began falling down toward Nala.

“Heads, now!” said one juggler.

As the apple came rushing down toward Nala, she flinched, and put her hands up.

mmmMMM! hummed the night, all around her.

The apple fell right into Nala’s hand, thudding with less force than it should have had. It was as if it fell right into place.

Nala peeled her eyes open, and saw that her hand’s skin was all darkness, and the golden apple was shining in her palm.

The crowd clapped. Or rather, some of them did. The darkness dissolved, until Nala could see the color of her own palm again.

Many of the out-of-towners were quite shaken, and stared at Nala with something between fear and disgust.

“You dropped!” said one juggler to the other.

Gran Akha took Nala by the shoulder and began walking.

“I think that went up to my elbow!” Nala said, excited. “Did you see that?”

“Come Nala,” Gran Akha said, worried.

“I did not!” yelled the juggler. “It was you that dropped, I saw!”

“Come off, or I’ll—”

“Was you!”

But then the crowd sort of forgot about the whole thing, and the jugglers became just another pair of people, with people cramming between them. It’s just that these two were quite far apart now, and had taken to yelling their argument over a huge distance.

“I was there, you know! You can’t convince me that what I saw was—!”

Then, they were out of earshot of the little feud. Gran was still on edge, but seemed to breathe a little easier once they were further away.

“I did magic!” Nala said. She beamed as she spoke.

At that, Gran cracked a smile. “I told you! Sometimes, patience pays.”

* * * * / * * * *

Further into Orcshire, the atmosphere changed again. This was the buying crowd, and the hawkers, and the huts that had been making and selling the same things from hundreds of years.

Maybe more, Nala thought.

All the same, these were the faces Nala knew. The families that gave life to Orcshire Valley. People she had always known. The ones she knew were the minority though, among a swirling sea of hungry blue faces.

There were a lot of beggars. Beggar kids. Beggar families. Mostly families, but there were also several elderly strangers that looked particularly desparate.

One old beggar stood out, his clothes the filthiest of all, his breath so bad Nala could smell him coming before she saw him.

This man wandered from stand to stand, begging like his life depended on it.

His wide eyes hugged each item. He did not look well.

“Someone, give him some water,” Nala wanted to say. Wasn’t there water at each of these stands?

And yet, she did nothing.

She had no water, and didn’t want to lay the burden on someone else. She was also still a kid, and wished someone would make the decision for her. She wished someone else would make the decision to be kind, so she could see how to.

The begging man’s eyes lingered on each thing, and his fingers seemed to move with a mind of their own. Those long, greasy, starving fingers tugged at the hem of his jacket, which was frayed from that very compulsion, that tic, his constant grabbing.

Nala found herself staring at the beggar, until he made eye contact with her. She quickly averted her gaze and tried to notice… something else. Anything else.

The beggar came to Grish’s meat stand at the same time Nala and Gran did.

“Shoo!” Grish shouted.

His brow was contorted in hard rage, an easy expression for the burly green orc. The butcher was wearing a thick leather apron which was splattered with animal blood.

He had been busy; the smell of good food will oftentimes sell itself better than words ever will. This was true with Grish, who one day would be Nala’s stepfather.

“Shoo!” he said. “Away! I’m not gonna going to tell you again!”

He turned to Nala’s gran, his expression penatant.

“Sorry,” he said. “That guy’s been prowling all night, since I opened! Leeches. You hungry?”

“No,” Gran Akha said. “We ate before.”

But Grish was already handing both her and Nala towels, and the towels were filled with grilled meat and a bread loaf.

“Then eat again,” Grish said smiling.

“I can’t pay for this,” said Akha, her face drained of all color. She tried to hand it back, holding it in the air for him to take.

“No payment,” Grish said with a smile.

Gran gave a look.

“When it slows down,” Grish said, beginning to turn to another customer (of which there was a huge line, Nala realized)— “When it slows down, you come back here and we’ll work something out.”

“I can’t—”

“Enjoy the festival!” Grish shouted. “Next!”

Akha gave a grumpy sigh, but Nala’s delight was naked on her face.

“So good!” Nala shouted, giddy. It really was; Grish always made the best food.

Nala’s joy was contagious, and the pair found themselves in much better spirits as they walked through the festival.

She saw the three warring weavers, flustered at their respective looms. All three occupied the same corner, and they were constantly in competition.

Well, usually; not tonight. Now that they were all three making money, they didn’t look so competitive. I wonder how long that’ll last, Nala wondered.

As they went deeper into town, she saw more people she knew.

She also saw…

She saw the Map Witch, an old Orcish woman named Ica. Ica had been in the war with Gran Akha, and that’s all Nala really knew about her.

Well… that, and that Ica was mean as acid.

The woman had nearly no customers, which told Nala a truth or two. The old witch had one eye, and both of her tusks were damaged. One was cracked, and the other had been seared clean off.

Beside the Map Witch’s cart (which she apparently lived out of) was a huge sign that said,

“MAPS, 300 BONES

NO BARGAINING

NO APES

GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM”

Currently, her only customers were a chubby blue-skinned boy and his sister. The boy was wearing glasses (which was weird) and inspecting several maps.

He was nearly out of earshot for Nala, but her curiosity seemed to give her some (mmm) special ability, so that she could hear every word she wished to.

“This is incredible,” the boy said. “Is this…? What’s this red ink here?”

“Blood,” said Ica, blunt.

He laughed and made a sound. “No it’s not! Is it?”

The witch shrugged. “Could be. So what if it is?”

Nala smirked as he squirmed.

“You gonna buy it?” the witch needled.

“Me? No!” the boy laughed. “No, I wish! I… Well, I’m something of a mapmaker myself, you see. I—”

“Cartographer,” she corrected.

“What?”

“It’s called a cartographer, and… Look, I don’t care, just put the map down, okay?”

He did, and then picked up another one. Nala took a bite and kept listening. She was mmmmuch too far away now, so it was a mmmmatter of seeing just how far she could go, before (mmm) her hearing went back to normal.

“Don’t tear it!” the woman said.

The boy sounded hurt. “Why would I tear it?”

“Well you wouldn’t mean to! Unless you were an idiot! Unless you had… What, 300 bones on you? Well, do you?”

“Wh…? …No.”

“Then put it down,” the witch commanded.

He obeyed, though he put it down slowly.

Nala felt the connection slipping. The last things she heard were—

“Can I work for you?” said the boy.

“What?” said the witch.

“What!” said his sister.

Nala laughed, and put a little skip in her step.

“Hey!” Gran Akha said. “You stay close to me!”

“I will,” Nala said, digging into another bite of fatty salted pork.

They went on.

* * * * / * * * *

AUTHOR’S NOTE— Thank you so much for reading! Here is the next chapter, which is called…

TRYPTICH.