For a Song Pt. 02

"It's in the chickens," Joyce says, moving more carrots out of the way. I have an idea, but it is mostly lost to my confusion. I'm probably right. I glance over to Shelby, and she just mouths the word 'later.' That works for me.

We clean and I start a fire. I ask again about tending to the scrape on Shelby's knee. That I did cause, no question, and I am good at making it better. I still don't get the chance to touch her again. She has her bandages and that odd smelling salve I convinced her that she needed. The last thing she needs is an infection.

I sit and watch the flames dance. They keep a tarantula's rhythm in the flickering waiver. Night came swift and the chill came with it. I think there will be rain tomorrow now that it's a thing in my head. I imagine that Shelby will like that at least. Can't really do any outside work when the skies open up. I don't know. I'm not a farmer.

Despite my assumptions, Shelby's worry comes over in a sickly lemon-yellow once Joyce is off to bed. She is not excited for the rain. Or she might be, and this is just a new feeling for her. She slumps in her chair, body simply giving out. There was so much today and there was only so much it had. I say nothing. It will all come out if it wants to.

"Do you walk with any of them?" she asks. The words are cold and clear and probing. They should have come sooner, I think.

"Do you see one of the Weaver medallions on my chest?" I say, eyes to the flame.

"Answer the question."

"In a sense. I keep with Treblex. But not through the Weavers."

The answer seems to calm her, a bit. Not a lot, but a bit. There is a bit less tension in her shoulders.

"Joyce is getting signs from Finchwing?" I ask.

"Yes. They started last year. Thought she was just bright, but then she talked about the birds a lot."

"Could also be Soddal or Zeamays. The swimming might be a thing and well, she's on a farm."

"It's Finchwing. It has to be. I'm just worried. The headman is shaken about the drownings. He put out a call to the Weavers and their sending someone."

"You live near a river. Not to sound cold, but that seems like a normal thing around water."

"Not these ones. They had bites out of them. Something's in the water and someone with some pull needs to look at it. Not like we know the river. Has to be a whole fancy thing."

"And the rain's a sign. My guess is its someone from Soddal's line. Gluhna's a bit of a long shot, but probably a better time at least."

"You know a lot for a guy not in the know."

I stretch out and put my feet on the table. She doesn't say anything about that. She's doing the same, so I just assumed. But the edge is back in there now. I'm tired of it all, really. I had a big day and I just want to put my feet up and welcome the night and the coming rain.

"All my parents were in on it. Mutti was Treblex so that's where that's from. Also, a decent hand with the magecraft so I mostly rent it out what she taught me to whoever wants to wage war. I was with Don Quiney out west with their white tents. My contract was up, and I went on. And now I'm here."

"But have you- "

"No. I've never met with the Weavers or their Grand Spinner or their Threads or whatever they call it. By the time I came around, that life was behind them. My brother got their medallions, I think. Maybe. Or they threw them into the sea to feed the turtles. I really don't know."

That seems to satisfy her to some degree. Or she's too tired to be angry any longer. Or I could be too tired to care.

"They're not going to take her," I say. I am not sure if any of it is true, but I have to say something. The tongue has to move and make words. It's what it's designed for in all of its gleaming glory.

They words seem to calm her down. I have said them with enough conviction to convince her. She chose to believe me.

"I hope you're right," she sighs. I shrug. I'm done having words to say. I don't know what else I can say.

I look after her as she gets up and goes to her bed. I suggest, silently, that I could be of some company in there. The nights are long and cold and terrible with no one else for company. She considers it. She considers it for a long, long, long time. She shakes her head and then it is over. A cold bed for everyone except Joyce. They probably have something. A stuffed bear or a fish or maybe just a wadded up spare blanket. I have a sofa and a very nice hand-woven cover. Not a bad trade.

---

"You're really going out in all that?" Shelby asks, looking out into the rain. I am not looking out there. I know what it looks like and I have no misconceptions about my impending misery.

"Eh, I've had worse. Ever been outside during a tornado?" I say, "Good time. Tornados are very loud if you didn't know."

She lets out a short little laugh. I smile when there is nothing else to do. It wasn't supposed to be a joke. I never saw a tornado before that rather fun day.

It's raining hard and cold and sharp. They look like daggers falling. I think the leaves will be shredded to fine ribbons by tomorrow. The river will bloat and come to the mountains in its hungriest state. We will all fall to the monster in the water. Or it will end in a few hours, and everything will get muggy and terrible.

The field is looking fresh. The shed is still standing. There is an odd trepidation in Shelby as she watches me lace my boots for the last time. Maybe if we shared a bed, I'd be here another day. Maybe if we'd gone again, or she had a friend join. I watch all those thoughts tumble and stir and I shake my head. None of them would have worked. I am a wandering soul, forever pulled by an invisible string that leads down to nowhere at all. I also want to check on my mom and she is unfortunately not here. So down to walking I go.

I do hesitate though, because all that out there looks cold and terrible. My coat will be soaked, my hat will be ruined, and my pants will turn all squidgy when I walk. But I have to go into town.

"Thank you," I say, "For the food."

"Just the food?" she smirks. She cocks her hips and pushes her chest out, just a bit.

"And the entertainment. If you want, I can check in on what's going on in town, see if I can keep whatever's going on with that side of the river."

She shrugs.

"It'll be taken care of one way or another," she says, "I have Joyce and she'll let me know how it's going. I do think it's useful, all things considered."

"It is. If she starts actually talking to the birds, then maybe step in. That's a bad sign."

She nods and shuffles a bit. The goodbyes are always awkward, even when I have so much practice behind me. I stand. I'm taller than her but not by much. I open my arms and gesture. A bit more debate and we embrace.

"Make a pass at Owen," I whisper, "Might do you some good."

She thumps me in the chest, and I take that as a sign to break apart.

"Get out of here, Dumile," she says, "You're a bad influence on my kid."

"Good call. I am a bad influence. I shouldn't have even been allowed on the premises."

She rolls her eyes and that's all I need.

"Take care Shelby. Get out of the house every so often. Finchwing isn't the best babysitter, but she's better than nothing."

She waves me away as I stop out the door and square my shoulders. I tip my hat and let the rain cut me to ribbons. The river is rising, and I watch the water. I don't like the current, either upstream or down.