12.
 Going to Kusi-O was the only way for him to stay alive, Jory could see. No matter how many ways he factored the equation, the outcome was always the same. Die here for sure, or risk dying there, but take a chance of living. Maybe escaping to the stars? Could one hope?
"Master, let's stop here for food and drink." Yafi leaned on his stick and pointed to a row of multicolored balls that glowed with fungal light—paper lanterns above a road shop.
"In my haste, I forgot to bring money," Jory said. The truth was, he was famished, and he must either die of hunger by the road side, or steal a cloak and start begging.
"My master has provided," Yafi said with a wink. "What is your taste? No expensive castle fare here."
"Any of the usual foods will do. You know what not to buy." Humans and Shurians could eat certain foods—the white tubers that were staple; the rice that grew in moon pools; many vegetables and pale night fruits; the meat of most quadrupeds on the island, which included dogs, cats, monkeys, and horses (so called by humans based on mythological animals of the supposed ancient Earth that had most likely never existed and was a fiction of groups like the Twelve Moon Society). Humans could die or get sick from certain things the Shurians ate with gusto— small legged fishes with saw beaks that hid under rocks, spiders that pulsated and hummed to draw their victims in; bat-birds that flew at night and sucked blood; these were just some of the most deadly poisonous animals that Shurians ate raw. There were many dangerous fungi dishes also.
"Sit down and rest, Master. I will be back in a moment."
As the stranger walked with billowing robes toward the stand, Jory gauged the situation carefully. If Yafi planned to turn him in for a reward, he could already have done so. If he did not trust this brigand from the sewers of Anamo, what other way was there? Yafi disappeared like a phantom into the swirling mist. Jory watched his dark figure before the glowing stand as Shurians contemptuously slammed his purchases on the counter and took his coins as if they were dirty. Minutes later, Yafi returned holding a stiffened, folded paper tray with fragrant noodles and cooked white worms and some shreds of steamed meat in papered-rice wrappers. He also carried paper shells of soup, and from his wrist by a holder hung a disposable water jug.
"Thank you," Jory said sincerely.
"I thank you," Yafi said. "We must get you fixed up so that you will be safe and well. Here, Master, drink."
Jory drank deeply, noting a pleasant spicy taste, for the roadside inns often added a complementary taste to cover the staleness of water that had sat for a while. As warmth and satisfaction filled him, Jory felt the lightheadedness going away. For the first time in hours, he wasn't panting breathlessly. He noticed that Yafi kept looking furtively over his shoulders. Had there been time, he would have asked him why. But Jory's thoughts were on Ramy, with grave concern. She boiled in his stomach, as a Shurian might say.
Fog drifted by. Figures passed silently, leaning on sticks. The scene reminded Jory of a 1000-kjir-old one-liner he'd learned at the court:
|
Thank you for reading. If you love it, tell your friends. Please post a favorable review at Amazon, Good Reads, and other online resources. If you want to thank the author, you may also buy a copy for the low price of a cup of coffee. It's called Read-a-Latte: similar (or lower) price as a latte at your favorite coffeeshop, but the book lasts forever while the beverage is quickly gone. Thank you (JTC).
|
TOP
|
MAIN
Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
|
