6.10 - Remara and the Twixt

“I see how it is, I see. You Overheaders come to gawk, gobble our fish, jaw a bit with the local plantlife, and skip town, eh?”

Naeed tenses, but Alleyu is wearing an ear-to-ear smile. Naeed’s shoulders relax.

He offers a weak grin, scraping together what’s left of his humor. “Well that’s all that’s worth having around here, isn’t it? Terrible bed, toxic ground, rude shopkeepers. At least I got some good food.”

“Aye, and what do I get from this mineshaft?” Alleyu waggles his browline.

Naeed thinks for a moment. “A friend, tips on Overheader plants, and a weird visitor to make the Right Tiermen jealous.”

“Ah. Well. S’pose that’s worth my time and a good pair of shoes.” Alleyu jerks his chin toward Right Tier. “So, your flaming friend’s off sayin’ goodbyes, then?”

Naeed exhales. “Yes.”

“Mmm. You gonna come back an’ tell Dayenu and Orenu goodbye?”

Alleyu’s question is kindly, but even as he asks, the walls of Underscoop crowd in on Naeed. The darkness grows heavier, making it harder to use his lungs. The desire to stand and run until he finds daylight is like an overstretched spring steadily being drawn further.

“I’m sorry. I need out. Soon. Hard enough to wait on Remara.”

Naeed hasn’t budged from his seat on the ramp’s switchback. His legs dangle over the edge next to Alleyu’s. The older man’s gentle glow bathes the area in soft blue light, and he smiles at Naeed.

“Ah. Guess it’s up to me to tell them. Lucky I was home, eh? Your mother makes a good messenger.”

“Mother? This mess look like mine?” Na’Stra raises her head from Naeed’s lap, haughty. “Phlagh. Steps in a shadow, nothing happens. Can’t dodge hawks. Can’t dig a den. Hmph. Mine.”

Naeed lets his fingers settle into a rhythm of scratching her neck spines and stroking them smooth, one at a time. She quickly sets her head back down. She hasn’t left his lap save for a brief trip to Underscoop to retrieve Alleyu.

Alleyu chuckles. “Pardon, pardon. No offense meant.” He winks at Naeed. “Be glad to deliver the goodbyes for you.”

Naeed is too washed out to feel guilty, but even so, he murmurs, “I wanted to tell Dayenu that Moon touched me, too. Here.” He reaches up to his head and plucks a small, glowing blue flower with a wince. “For Dayenu.”

Na’Stra’s head pops up. “She only get one! I get all others!”

Alleyu takes the flower merrily. “Aye. She’ll like that. It’ll go with her collection of old dragonscales. In the meantime, forgot your things.”

“My—?”

Alleyu pulls a strap up over his head and hefts Naeed’s waterskin. “Filled. That and—” he hands over another pack, a smaller leather one inlaid with radiant engravings of mushroom clusters. “—take this. After the bandits attacked, we collapsed all easy ways out. It’s gonna be days walking ‘til you get out, so you’ll need food. Map’s in there, too.”

Naeed takes both, admiring the artistry on his new pack. “Thank you, Alleyu. What’s…” Tied to the strap is a long-necked gourd with a length of vine wrapped around its neck. The plant exudes bold yellow light. “What’s this?”

“Lightgourd. Seen you runnin’ off in the dark with mushroom caps. This is easier.”

Naeed slings the pack over his shoulder and grabs the vine with one hand, raising the gourd like a lantern. “You’re the best host in all of Underscoop.”

Alleyu winks. “Just make sure you tell your forest only the good parts ‘bout us, eh? Leave out the bit about the bad bed.”

“What bad bed?” Naeed smirks, holding his hand out.

Alleyu clasps his wrist and gives it one firm shake, tossing Naeed a last brilliant smile. “Good foraging, treeboy. Come again, someday.”

“Good foraging, Third Left Tierman Alleyu. I hope to.”

As Alleyu trudges back toward the lights of home, Naeed slips back into the vortex of his thoughts. Images of skytes with their wings torn off swirl in his head next to the memory of the flash-bang that killed his parents. He thinks of the cheerful torrent of words pouring from another Remara and wonders how long he can bear listening to this new one’s distorted voice.

He shakes himself free. Pulling the map out, he holds the lightgourd up and studies the route like it’s a lifeline out of his mind.

The crack he and Na’Stra came through is known, but marked Entrance only. Too slippery. The chasm runs from there up to where he is, then takes a left turn and shrinks. It turns into one main tunnel marked “Moon’s Path” that sprouts off smaller tunnels in all directions. He squints at the legend, trying to make sense of the little marks by each of the tunnels.

“’Mara comin’,” Na’Stra warns, clambering up his shirt to his shoulders.

Relieved, Naeed sweeps the map back into the pack and hurries to meet her at ground level.

She approaches, her featureless face shining out from her hood. She carries a child’s leather satchel, inlaid with luminous red and yellow flame designs.

“I said goodbye and now I am ready I will not slow you down.”

His steps slow. Her voice is worse than it was before. He’s sure of it.

Fatigue seeps from his gut out to each limb. The last time he travelled with a Remara, she was the one propelling him forward. Now it’s his turn, and he isn’t ready.

Why did I ask her to come?

He stares at her blank features, knowing what expressions are hidden underneath.

Sending her away—or running—was always a mistake.

Grimly, he points in the direction they need to travel and starts walking.

The lightgourd dims for the second time since they left as Naeed tears into the last of his food supply. The dried kelp and fish jerky give his body some relief, but he’s never been without sunlight this long.

They pass many holes leading to tunnels that aren’t marked on the map. Mineshafts match their mapped locations and they have large signs hung over them, but those only lead deeper into the earth. The map indicates that the large main tunnel is the sure way out, but at this rate, it will be several more days.

Na’Stra returns from her latest scouting trip, landing on Naeed’s outstretched arm and coiling up on his shoulders. “Nothing. ‘Nother dead end.”

Naeed scratches a small X across the spot where they passed the unmarked tunnel, then tucks it away.

“Whatcha gonna do?” she asks.

“Keep. Walking.”

The tunnel tilts around him, and he staggers toward the wall. One stray root, and he might be able to beg some secondhand energy from a network. But the walls are only stone, grooved in strange curves and curls.

He leans on the wall and reaches for his waterskin—nearly empty.

Na’Stra shifts around, kneading his shirt with her claws. “Could. Um. Could. Mebbe. Could find. Um. Skyte. When I go up. Get ‘im gimme a good sundot. Bring it back.”

For a moment, the grief swells up so large he can’t even see. In the next moment, he folds it up and stows it away, panting from the effort. He’s in no condition to be stubborn about stupid things.

“If. If you can. Would. Be good.”

“Mhmm. Keep goin’. I find you, snailboy. ‘Mara, keep ‘im walkin’.”

There’s no reply. Remara hasn’t spoken since the beginning of the trek, but Naeed feels her warmth close in from behind. He takes a couple swallows of water, then pushes off from the wall and trudges on.

“Shouldn’t be this tired,” he mumbles to Remara. “Can’t… can’t remember eating this much. Long time.” He licks water droplets off his lips. He wants to lie down and rest.

A small hand wraps around his fingertips. It feels like rough fibers. Warmth bleeds through, stirring his sap to flow faster.

Pausing, he looks down. Remara faces forward and waits for him to move.

“Remara, that feels… a lot better. Could I…” he’s too tired to be awkward. “Could I carry you? Your warmth helps.”

Silent, she lifts her arms up.

She’s larger than Na’Stra. Heavier, too, but no worse than a full waterskin. Her warmth seeps into his body, fooling it with the promise of new growth and sunlight just around the corner.

She pulls a coal from her pack and presses it up against her face. Gradually the edges turn white, crumbling. The temperature rises.

Invigorated, he picks up his pace, once again following the endless main tunnel.

There’s too much time to think, down here. As he has for the last two days, he wonders what it would be like for both of his arms to fall off, and if it’s anything like losing a pair of wings. He wonders how many skytes were being held in that house when it was destroyed.

He wonders if the captain of the guard would arrest him if he knew how much was Naeed’s fault.

“Naeed that one.” Remara’s voice jars him from his thoughts. She points a finger at one of the side tunnels.

Blinking, he looks down at her. “Why that one?”

The arm wavers, lowering. “Naeed… do you ever… hear things that nobody else hears?”

He holds his breath at the shift in her speech. “…No.”

The arm drops back into her lap. “I do. I’ve… ignored it.” She looks down at her hands for a long moment, then lifts the arm once again. “That one.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” he insists. “Why that one?”

She shakes her head and tips herself out of his arms. He flails to catch her, but she hits the ground and spills out of her wrappings. Immediately she slurps back into them and slogs toward the opening.

He lunges forward and grabs her arm. “Remara—”

“Naeed you are ill and I don’t think I can carry you and we don’t know if Na’Stra will find a skyte in time please trust me when I say this is the opening we need to take.”

“Why should I trust you?” The words slip out before he can catch them.

She flinches. Then, she shrinks, pulling inward from all edges until he’s holding nothing but an empty sleeve. Spilling out through her clothing, she surges toward the tunnel opening.

He grabs her discarded pack, scrambling after her. “Remara!”

The puddle of molten glass zips ahead, sluicing around rocks and up over ledges. Her jagged, broken voice echoes off the walls back to him.

“I don’t know. The right words. I can’t. Make you follow. I only know. This is. The right way.”

He’s burning his reserves to keep up. He plucks a flower from his head, tossing it over his shoulder. “Remara, stop!”

She only crackles in response, her surges becoming more erratic.

Naeed’s legs strain as the tunnel slopes upward. He often stumbles over the strange grooves in the floor, barely catching himself. Remara keeps pulling further ahead. Eventually her light vanishes around a bend.

“Remara!”

There are stones underfoot, now. Large ones the height of his shins and smaller ones that turn his ankles.

And then it hits him.

Salt and water.

It is faint, but its taste hangs in the air. He pushes his rubbery legs harder. Faster. He catches a glimpse of Remara rounding a bend, and there is a stronger whiff of salt. Light spears down the tunnel, revealing an opening with a swirl of colors ahead.

Moments later, he stumbles out of a cave amid patches of shade and sun. His feet crunch powdery grit with every step. He slogs out into the blazing sunlight and falls facedown in the sand.

Water laps nearby. Strange birds cry overhead.

When he’s sure this isn’t a hallucination, he rolls over onto his back. A few steps away from his face, water surges across the sand with a soft hiss. He’s on a short stretch of sand, surrounded by steep rock walls with thick tangles of trees growing along the tops. Toward the far end of the cove, the cliff slopes to meet the shore near the water.

Leaf-buds poke out across his exposed skin, straining to catch all this glorious sunlight.

Remara hasn’t left the cave. She huddles on the final cluster of stones, a shivering blob. Occasionally she extends a tendril and shifts forward, then pulls back.

With an effort, Naeed pushes himself up. “Remara?”

She grinds hideously at him.

He crawls closer. “How did you know?”

She cowers on the rocks.

“Hey, it’s okay. You were right. We made it. Come on out.”

She cringes, babbling, “Can’t—can’t come out—can’t I’ll go back down it will be better if I go back to the forge I won’t cause any more harm I can make up for it I won’t even talk to anyone anymore I won’t go to the forge I’ll find a side tunnel and let go of my heat I promise nobody will ever find me ever—ever—ever—” She groans and crackles. Her body runs down the sides of the stones like hot wax.

Naeed clamps his teeth down on his lip. “No. No, you are going to leave that cave right now.” He points to the spot next to him. “You said you’d walk with me. Come here. Right now.”

Still grinding, she drips down the stone toward him, swirling orange and red across the sand.

She stops short. The grinding sputters into silence.

He leans forward. “Remara?”

Bubbles form at the bottom of the puddled molten glass, floating slowly to the surface and swelling there for a moment before bursting. There’s an odd smell in the air, like burnt seaweed and old foam.

“Are you okay? What—”

“P-hah…” The sound escapes her with a bubble. And then, “P-hah… hah… haha…”

Naeed’s fingers clench in the sand. The distortion is fading from her voice. Each sound she makes is paired with a hesitant chime, clear and bright as a morning bell. He’s heard that sound from another Remara before, usually if he or Na’Stra said something funny.

The bubbles swell through her larger and faster. The laughter builds along with them, ringing harder and louder with each passing second.

“Pah-haha-hahaaha!”

Pop.

A bead of glass breaks off and rolls away, chiming merrily.

Pop. Pop-pop.

Naeed catches on fast. He heaves himself back onto the stones as the puddle bursts apart into a hundred pebble-sized marbles that surge across the shore.

They zip to and fro, ringing and chattering and gleaming in the sunlight. A cluster of them follow the waves, chasing them down the shoreline and then shrieking gleefully back toward the cliffs. Others dash the length the cove and back. A few gather in clusters, spinning and weaving around each other in a complicated dance that leaves intricate trails in the sand.

A few roll over to Naeed’s perch. He’s stunned to hear a chorus of overlapping voices that all sound like Remara shouting, “Come out don’t you need to feed on sunlight why are you still in the shade?” They laugh and twirl away, bumping and jostling each other in their rush to return to their games.

He looks down at the sand. He’d been face-down in that stuff and it didn’t do anything like this to him.

Cautiously, Naeed pulls off the shoes and sticks his toes into the sand. He can’t detect anything strange about it. The nutrients he needs are non-existent here, like any other sand he’s encountered, but there’s no poison in it either.

There’s a faint aftertaste, though, a substance he’s never touched before. He focuses on it, pulling a little bit into his system. It is hard to get ahold of, but eventually he absorbs some and feels it work its way through his body.

Nothing happens. He doesn’t burst into pieces or lose his mind laughing.

He stares out at the Remarbles spread out over the beach. Easing down onto the sand, he edges over to one of the clusters that has taken up a dance.

As he creeps closer, he notices there is one Remarble at the center that isn’t dancing. In fact, it is still grinding away, wailing, “No I don’t deserve this I did a terrible thing let me be alone in the dark punish me don’t give me this I don’t deserve it…”

The others whirl around it. Each calls out to the weeping Remarble in passing.

“We cannot hide for even far below we are seen!”

“We hid away but the music brought down the only one we would listen to!”

“We were lost and it sang an invitation to this place!”

“We are not abandoned or hated or thrown aside for what we did!”

“We did not have to punish ourself!”

“We take this gift with joy!”

“Forward forward no more hiding and we will learn how to make it right together!”

Slowly, Naeed reaches toward the center Remarble. The others scatter with peals of laughter, zooming off to join other circles around other sobbing holdouts.

He digs his fingers into the sand, scooping up the patch that cradles the weeping Remarble. He pulls it close to his chest and hunches over her, murmuring, “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out as we go. Whoever gave you this, accept it. You need it.”

The wailing redoubles. Naeed wanders out to the middle of the beach—Remarbles scattering like startled birds around his feet—and sits.

He feels emptier. Drained—as if this piece of her is crying for both of them. Gently, he strokes her with the utmost tip of a finger. It smokes briefly as he pulls it away. “I’ll find a way to let go of it if you will,” he whispers.

Naeed opens grit-crusted eyes to a swollen moon hanging low in the sky and a familiar weight across his shoulders.

He strokes Na’Stra’s snout. “Hey. You found me.”

“Not hard. Left good signs. Brought you back ‘Mara clothes.” She sniffs, taking a reproachful tone. “Flower wilted too fast. All bruised an’ crushed. Don’t like.”

“Sorry. I’m sure I’ll grow more.”

“Better. Hand open now.”

Obediently, he holds out a hand and a thumbnail-sized sundot drops into it.

“Good you found the out. Still needing lots of sun to make up for underground time, ya?”

“Ya,” he says, absently. Pinching it between two fingers, he holds it up to his eye.

A wing smacks the side of his head. “Don’t stare at sun, just eat!”

Rolling his eyes, he tucks it up among his head-leaves. The heat is comforting and each leaf unfolds wider to drink up the light.

He scans the beach for Remarbles, but finds only Remara. She sits just beyond the reach of the waves, leaning back on her arms with her face turned skyward.

Envy catches him by surprise as he studies her peaceful expression.

She found the goodness of life again.

Aloud, he says, “I think we’ll stay here a few days.”

Na’Stra gives a hard snort. “Hate it when you get boring.”

“You’ll survive.”

In all the days they spend there, Naeed cannot get over how much water there is. He’d heard descriptions of the ocean as a child, but few in town had ever seen it. He spends hours sitting in the sand, memorizing the curl and roll of wavelets and the patterns their foam leaves in the sand.

Yettle will love this.

Remara sits next to him today. She has reverted to the form of a wingless skyte. The glass twists that mimick hair respond to breezes so well he could almost swear it is real.

She’s grown a few inches. Now her head comes up to his waist. He has so many questions about the sand she ingested, but he has all the time in the world to ask and words feel unnecessary in this place.

Naeed senses their time in the cove is coming to an end, and he’s sure Remara knows it, too. He wonders what direction to take once they leave.

A large white bird overhead circles erratically and gives an ugly squawk. Naeed squints up at it. As it dips lower, he hears a faint, angry voice yelling.

Remara’s head jerks upward, her eyes going big and round. The bird chooses that moment to swoop into a dive, landing a few paces away.

A small figure hurls itself from the bird’s back and struggles across the sand, leaning hard on a long twig. Remara’s mouth forms a circle as she shifts around to kneel in the sand, bending toward the figure.

It’s a skyte. He’s a little taller than Naeed’s hand from wrist to fingertip. His clothes are simple and ragged at the edges. His hair is faded yellow shot through with gray and his beard bristles out in all directions. Both are hacked short in uneven patches.

He has no wings.

He stops with reach of her and looks up, his features twisted in a plea. “Do… do you know me?” he begs.

Remara stares at him for a while, then whispers, “Arc Wildspeech the Wanderer.” He inhales sharply as she finishes, “My friend.”

He covers his face with a hand as he sags against the support of his staff. A moment later, he drops the staff and rummages frantically in his pack. He yanks on two gloves that stretch past his elbows and lunges forward, grabbing onto the hand Remara holds out to him.

“I found you,” he chokes.

Remara cracks softly once or twice. “This whole time?”

“After what you did for us? For me? How could I sit back and wait?”

Naeed stares at Arc. His tunic looks like a human’s, with no opening in the back and a high collar covering his neck. His pants are cut off at the knees, revealing thick scars running down his lower legs.

“I didn’t know if you… if this time…” Arc takes a shuddery breath. “I found others like you. They didn’t know me.”

She whispers, “I’ve heard there are more.”

“Where were you?” he pleads, his voice breaking. “Why… why didn’t you let us help you?”

Naeed cringes, turning away from Arc’s raw emotion. The face of the captain flashes through his mind, followed by the captain’s wife and Yettle.

I hurt them just like this. Do they still wonder what happened to me?

Remara murmurs, “I’m sorry Arc I could not think beyond what happened and I only wanted to find a place to hide myself where I can’t ever cause that sort of hurting again so I went far underground and have just now come to the surface how did you find me?”

“Hah. Had every bird I could reach talking to every other bird they could reach, all of ‘em keeping an eye out for you.” Arc sniffs, rubbing his face with his forearm. “I hate seagulls. Stupid scavengers with no pride and no shame. You smack one in the face and it runs off and cries. But one of them came to me with your description, so they’re worth a little bit, I s’pose.”

Silence settles between them.

Arc grips Remara’s long fingers like a drowning man. “Come back, Remara. Everyone is worried about you. You’re the heart of our Keep.”

Her features blur. She deliberately straightens herself and reforms her face. Studying him with a pained expression, she says, “I can’t do that yet Arc Wildspeech my friend I will explain but first I need you to meet Naeed who is a new friend of mine.”

For the first time, Arc’s attention shifts away from Remara. His eyes widen and a low groan slips from him. He sags, clinging to Remara’s fingers for support, now.

His reaction startles Naeed. “You know me?”

It takes a moment for Arc to respond. “Know you? No. Know about you? Who doesn’t know about the child who ran away to the forest because of… what we did.”

Naeed waits for fear or anger to rise and drown him. Instead, his eyes are drawn back to the scars on Arc’s legs. All he can muster is a tired sadness.

Na’Stra sidles up to Naeed’s leg and rubs up against it, pinning him with one bulging eye.

Naeed gathers her up in his arms and strokes her neck. “Was your village the one that sent Na’Stra to look after me?”

Arc’s dread gives way to a puzzled expression.

Remara nudges him and whispers, “He means your Keep.”

Arc shakes his head. “I ran after Remara and left two Keeps behind. I’ve heard some news, but not much. I didn’t know they sent anyone after you.”

“Do you know which… Keep? Which Keep that did… left the marbles? And how I could find them?” Naeed asks.

Arc glances from Remara back to Naeed. Slowly, he answers, “Yes. I could guide you there. It’s a long walk from here if you can’t borrow a pair of wings.”

Remara murmurs, “But a shorter walk if you borrow taller legs.”

Arc cracks a crooked smile. “True. Even so, it’ll be at least a season before we find them.”

Naeed sets Na’Stra on his shoulder and stands, brushing the sand from his legs. “Then we should get started. I have to thank them for sending Na’Stra after me.”

Arc’s eyes widen. Na’Stra rubs her face against Naeed’s cheek and settles across his shoulders with a contented grunt.

“I was also hoping to stop by Carvenhold,” Naeed continues. “Do you know where that is?”

Arc swallows. “Yes.”

“Could you show us the way there, too?” The faces of the captain and his wife remain firmly in the forefront of Naeed’s mind. “There are people I need to apologize to. I have things to explain.”

Arc looks up at Remara, at a loss. Remara coils her fingers around his hands and squeezes gently. “I’m also not ready to go back to our Keep right away Arc Wildspeech my friend there is too much for me to learn and decide before I go back I need to know if I was right to help create the black marbles or if I was wrong and until I know that I can’t be part of any Keep at all I just want to take a very long walk with Naeed and Na’Stra and talk and think is that alright my friend?”

The corners of Arc’s eyes crinkle. He finally lets go of her fingers. “Of course it’s alright, Remara. I’ll send the gull back to let both Keeps know I found you. That you’re alright.” He turns, whistling up at the sky. “Best make sure they know not to expect us for a while.”

Remara frowns. “Who is taking care of them while you are gone?”

“Mash. He’s next eldest and, turns out, he’s good at more than just feastmaking. Got a hidden leadership streak. The Traveling Keep’s in good hands until you’re ready to come back.”

Remara makes a scratchy noise, and Arc turns back to her. “Arc what if I’m never ready to come back?”

Arc stoops creakily and scoops up the twig from the sands. Now Naeed can see it is a slender staff with a knobby end on top.

“Well, then. My place is with you, isn’t it? Always has been. So, Mash can just keep leading them. He’ll grow into it.” He whistles again, sharper, and a gull glides back to the ground. Arc pulls a necklace over his head and ties it to the gull’s leg.

Remara slides closer to Naeed, watching Arc give the gull stern instructions. “I don’t think there’s enough apology in the world to give him for running away like I did and I still don’t know what is right and what is wrong right now.”

Naeed picks up her leather pack and hands it to her. “Maybe that’s what long walks are for.”

Author's Note: I made it to the end of this arc. And... I am not satisfied. This is the longest arc, taking up a full third of the book, and somehow it feels both too long and rushed at the same time. When I read it over with my co-author, he agreed. The end result is this: In the future, this will be excised from The Remara Phenomenon, events will be re-ordered chronologically, expanded, and then this will be turned into its own novel. I did a lot of work on this arc that I'm proud of, even though I'm dissatisfied with the end result, so it will stay here while the Remara Phenomenon remains in first draft form.

If I look at it positively, what I did here is write one third of an entirely different novel, and now I've written over 100k words of original fiction. I'll try and hold onto that.