6.3 - Remara and the Twixt

As the memory ends, Naeed stirs his limbs under a hefty quilt. A sharp squeal rings out nearby, followed by the sound of small feet slapping stone.

A snort somewhere near his forehead is followed by a familiar voice. “Good job, rot-face logchild. You scare glowy baby. Baby thought you was deadwood. Should breathe more when sleeps. Is creepy.”

Naeed cracks his eyes open. Na’Stra is stretched out on the table in front of his face, backlit by a tall candle. Her is neck curled around to her torso and she has lifted a wing to give her better access to the hide underneath. She snags a loose scale with her teeth and yanks it free, then drops it neatly onto a growing pile.

Past the welcome warmth of candlelight, the room arcs up in gradually rounded walls that meet at the top to form a wide-domed ceiling. Up against the wall there are three stone blocks carved in ascending steps that run the full length of the wall. The lowest level is lined with vibrantly embroidered plush pillows, mats, and blankets whose designs radiate light. The next two levels hold various household implements: candlesticks, jars, baskets woven from shining material, and stacks of plates, bowls, and cups. The walls themselves are engraved with organic, spiraling designs that are lit with the same iridescent glow he sees in the baskets and pillows.

Naeed refocuses on Na’Stra and her accusation. “You didn’t…” Naeed touches fingers to his throat, grateful to have his voice back. “Didn’t explain I was resting?”

“Was up having good sun. Phlagh. Not my job explaining stupid halfway boy to idiots.”

He blinks. “You’re… already back? How long was I—”

“Day-and-halflong.”

His breath whistles out through his teeth. Na’stra pauses her grooming and swivels one bulging eyeball in his direction. “How long you be okay down here?”

He considers the question. “A few days. Then I’ll need sun, too.”

“Mmmm,” she grunts. She lifts her earfins a moment before Naeed hears the little slapping feet return with a vengeance.

He rises on his elbows, twisting toward the source of the footsteps. A waist-high child barrels into the room, towing an adult by the hand.

The adult is a tall man with no hair on his face or head. He wears a deep-set smile of long-suffering amusement wide enough to touch each cheekbone. His shoulders are hunched like the bones started sagging forward ten years ago, and the creases in his forehead suggest an older man, if not a grandfather.

The skin of each glows a vivid blue. The man and the child cast halos of soft blue light half an arm’s length around themselves.

The man halts just inside the doorway, then pulls his hand back. “Aye, thank you, Dayenu. Good work.”

The child beams at the praise for a whole five seconds before realizing that Naeed is staring. Immediately most of Dayenu vanishes behind the man, showing only small clutching fingers buried in the adult’s loose pantleg.

The man shakes his head. “Dayenu! Shameless when you beg rides from Ha’Torb, but now? Come.” He attempts to dislodge the fingers, but the moment one hand is detached and he turns to the second set of fingers, the first hand finds a new hold elsewhere.

Naeed offers a smile, trying to think of the child as a skittish hatchling voidflyer. “Ah, hello. I am Naeed. Your… parents?” his eyes dart up to the man, who nods. “Let me stay here. Sorry I frightened you. My sleep is different. I don’t need to breathe as often as you.”

About a quarter of a child’s face shows itself past the pantleg. Naeed is struck by how large these peoples’ eyes are—wider, taller, and rounder—than his own or the eye of any human he’s seen, without a trace of white or other color to them.

“Are you… are you humans?” he asks, lifting his gaze up to the adult.

The man claps his hands together, releasing a blast of a laugh. “Awake a few moments and that’s the first question. Not ‘what’s your name’ or ‘can I get something to eat’ but ‘are you humans.’ Have to add to the tally. Records show it’s most visitors’ first question.”

Naeed’s smile grows warmer. “Actually, my first question was if you were Dayenu’s parents.”

The man waves a hand to dismiss this. “Barely counts, clearly an aside.”

“No, it counts if there’s a tally. I didn’t ask the usual question first. You have to mark it on the other side.”

“Oh fine,” the man grumbles in good humor. “Be added to the other side, then. Welcome to Underscoop. You’re at Third Left Tier, and I’m Third Left Tierman Alleyu.”

Na’Stra flicks a plucked scale at Naeed’s face, pinging it off his cheek. “Alleyu is leaderman here.”

“Only for Third Left Tier,” Alleyu corrects.

“Right, right. Is leaderman here.”

Alleyu sighs and Naeed swipes his hand through the neat pile of scales, sending them skittering across the tabletop.

“That’s Na’Stra. You get used to her,” Naeed says, as Na’Stra hisses and scrambles after the scales.

Alleyu flaps a hand. “Very used to that type’a talk, though we haven’t got voidflyers down here. I think. Burrowers, now, we have a few family units that do good work for us and trade for hoardstuff.”

A beautiful, shining burrower looming over him. Thick, scaley arms cradling him. An uneven gait carrying him somewhere.

Naeed pushes himself all the way up to a sitting position, prompting Dayenu to squeak and flee the room. The quilt rumples down the front of his body as he exclaims, “Your burrowers glow! One carried me… there was a woman, too. Glowing like you! I’ve never seen a dragon—or anybody! Glow like… like you do. So… are you human?”

“’Course we are. And everyone who comes from Overhead says how burrowers don’t glow. Some says it ten times while staring slackjawed straight at ‘em.” Alleyu’s eyes gleam with good humor. “Ha’torb’s who carried you up here. My wife, Orenu, an’ I laid you down to sleep the other night.”

Alleyu plucks the quilt off the table and begins folding it. “‘Bout the glow, the old books say we changed a bit over time. Well, humans changed. Burrowers our ancestors met down here were already lit up. New ones from Overhead that join the families take decades to light up.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “Looks to be you’re a bit of a change-up yourself.”

Naeed hesitates. Dryads are mysterious, but still better understood than him. If these people never seen a dryad, he can easily claim to be one to end this line of questioning.

Na’Stra doesn’t wait on him. “Phlagh. Is boy who was boy and is becoming tree but very slow.”

Naeed grabs her by the midsection and tosses her across the room. Without unfolding her wings, she twists her body to angle the fall and vanishes into the shadow of a tall clay vase. A moment later, she drops on top of his head, her claws poking into his scalp.

“Hmm. Springy. Head doing better.” She cranes her neck down, bringing her right eyeball disconcertingly close to his face. “Why you no flower yet? Do better. Grow something. Is owing me for panickyness.”

In spite of himself, he smiles. He swats her head out of his face, but gently. Turning his attention back to Alleyu, he shrugs his shoulders. “As I said, I’m Naeed. This is Na’Stra. You know what she is. I’m a child adopted by a forest from above… from Overhead?” he checks.

As Alleyu nods, he continues. “She’s right, I’m changing. Slowly. I’m in between things. A Twixt. I tried to speak with your…” he scrubs his face with his fingers. It’s embarrassing when he phrases it this way. “Your mushrooms. The whole plant system. I got lost in it. Thank you for letting me recover here.”

The light in Alleyu’s face pulses as his smile widens. “You do what? High rope dancing, never heard the like! You can talk with them? And understand?” he hesitates, alarm wrinkling his face. “We… that’s what we… I mean, most of our food is…”

Naeed lifts his hands, waving them rapidly. “It’s not like that. The network was thriving. Happy. It is a whole more than it is parts. What parts you use can’t be enough to hurt it if it’s this content.”

“Thank Moon.” The smile returns to Alleyu’s face a little lopsided. “That’d be… I don’t… eh.” He made a dismissive gesture and refocused on Naeed. “No sense digging it deeper if you say all’s well. But could you give us some help in that vein?”

Naeed swings his legs over the side of the table and stands. His legs tremble a little, but they hold him. “What do you need?”

“We have a little field of Overhead plants off a ways where the sun breaks through in one spot. We traded for ‘em a couple generations back, but they always grow sickly and give tasteless food. Tell us what we can do for ‘em?”

Naeed bites his lip. It’s only been a day and a half since he was lost in a network. Still, this will be a much smaller network. Weaker. And he will go in seeking a specific answer, not every connection and every answer.

And Na’Stra will probably bite him if he gets lost again.

“I’ll try. But I’m hungry. May I have some food?”

Alleyu’s smile grows more comfortable. “Aye. I’ll treat you to a meal at Veyru’s on the way.”

“Roots,” Na’Stra hisses.

Naeed sighs. “Ah, first may I borrow a small knife?” He lifts his hands, waggling the fingers. “I need to… trim my roots.”

Third Left Tierman Alleyu’s favorite place to grab a meal on the go is not, as he explains to Naeed, on Third Left Tier. One takes the ramp up two levels and walks about ten minutes down the wide stone ledge that runs along all the openings over to Veyru’s home on Fifth Left Tier.

“Don’t dig me shallow,” Alleyu confides, as Naeed follows on his heels, “Greelu’s on my Tier, and her steamed lightgourd is straight from my dreams, but she’s popular so she always runs out fast. Besides, it’s not a good dish to take for a walk. More of a nice sit-down meal. Veyru’s foods are smaller and hold well in the hand, and he usually doesn’t run out until the dimming.”

Naeed half-listens, greedily soaking in the details of what he’d only seen at a distance. Overhead, Na’Stra circles in a lazy orbit. On his left side, rounded doorways into shops and dwellings slide by, each with its own set of tapestry curtains or algae growth for privacy. Often the owner has tied these back to leave the entryway open. Many openings have a thin stone placard hung outside on a peg. It’s painted vibrant green on one side and bright red on the other.

“What’s this?” Naeed points at the placard.

“Ah, to tell if there’s still goods to be had today.” Alleyu points at a red placard as they pass. “See, she brews a strong ale—quite good—but she’s out already. Won’t be more until tomorrow. So if you want some now, keep walking ‘til you find a green one.”

Naeed’s head tilts back as he stares at the tiers above them. “How do you know which ones sell ale? I don’t see signs.”

“We know each other,” Alleyu chuckles. “Or we have friends who know the good places. If you’re feeling adventurous, just popping in through a green-marked door you don’t know is a good way to spend a few hours and make new friends.”

Alleyu all but dances as he walks forward a few steps, then twists around and walks backwards so he can tell Naeed about how the heaviest deliveries go up by lift, or how there’s a bit of rivalry between the Third Right and Third Left Tiermen but it’s all friendly, or why he’s choosing Veyru’s over Greelu’s for a quick meal.

There’s a constant stream of people moving past in both directions, and there’s plenty of room for those with large bundles and even metal hand-carts to trundle past. Friendly voices echo up and down the levels with dozens of greetings every minute.

The path under Naeed’s feet doubles as a roof for the buildings of the tier below. It stretches several wide steps to his right before its abrupt end, where a step over that would send him plunging down the front of somebody’s home.

Alleyu points out a Fifth Tier rope bridge as they pass. “See that? Goes all the way across. There’ll be a few every level, but they only take foot-traffic. Larger loads go across the river on boats.”

Finally, Alleyu ushers him in through an opening with a green placard outside. Naeed enters a room decorated with intricate rugs. Their brilliant yellow and red designs brighten the room. Naeed sinks onto a knee-high stone pillar that resemble a stool as Na’Stra slips in and settles across his shoulders.

“Took double the time to get here. You gawk enough for three young Overheaders,” Alleyu laughs, clapping Naeed on the back. He hesitates a moment, then asks, “Hold that rope, how old are you?”

Naeed mumbles, “M’not sure. Time… I lost a lot of it. It’s different in the forest. I know when I started changing I was … seven? Eight? But I don’t…” he shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t know when I am now.”

Na’Stra flicks his face with her tail. “Is baby. Old, stupid baby, but baby.”

Alleyu sits on the next stool, studying him. “Well. Tall as me, so, not a kid anymore. Lines in your face don’t help me tell age with your plant situation. Does everything ache when it gets cold?”

Naeed smiles a little. “No. I don’t think it’s been that long.” He glances around the room, noticing its similarity to Alleyu’s entry. Through the next door into the home, Naeed spies the flickering light of a fire. A salty, crisp meat smell washes over him.

“So we narrow the frame a bit,” Alleyu muses. “Any sense of seasons passing? Even plants down here have some sense of that.”

Before he can answer, a new voice booms, “Third Tierman! Come for a bite? It’s brightskipper-and-mushroom skewers today. Who’s the visitor?”

A bulky lump of an emerald-skinned man bustles through the doorway, wiping hands on his frontcloth and casting green light all around.

“Veyru!” Alleyu stands and clasps him at the wrist, receiving the same gesture in return. “A skewer’d be right fine. Four. This is Naeed, from Overhead.”

Veyru’s eyes narrow slightly and his hand withdraws from Alleyu’s grip. “Overhead. Hmm.”

Alleyu’s smile vanishes. “Veyru, no.”

“Well, how’d you find ‘im?” Veyru demands.

Naeed straightens, hearing every note of tension in the question.

Frowning, Alleyu answers, “Ha’Torb brought him over all but passed out. Drank some soup, lay down on our table, and slept like dead for almost two days.” Alleyu lays a hand on Veyru’s shoulder. “Sound like a scout to you?”

Veyru’s eyes soften. “Not a smart one.” Heaving a sigh, he thrusts out a hand to Naeed. “Veyru. Don’t mind me.”

Confused, Naeed copies Alleyu and takes Veyru’s wrist, receiving a firm grip in response. “No trouble…?”

“No trouble. Here.” Veyru withdraws to the kitchen for a few minutes, then returns with five long skewers loaded with glowing chunks of fish and mushroom wedges crusted in salt. “Extra’s an apology.” He manages a half smile as he hands three to Naeed and two to Alleyu.

Alleyu receives his and digs around in a pocket, producing two silver coins. “Thanks, Veyru. Spread the word, ey? We’re headed to Overheaders Patch to see if we can’t work it for once.”

“Aye.” Veyru pockets the coins. Glancing once more at Naeed, he adds, “Overheaders change much in the last thirty years?”

Naeed blinks owlishly at him a bit before he catches on. “Ah, no, they’re not… I’m the odd one.”

“Well, our luck. Hope you’ll stay and tell us more. The more we know and the sooner, the better to hold it over Right Tier, ey? Now we’ve got an odd visitor to match theirs.” He grins, then vanishes back into the kitchen, calling, “Good foraging.”

“And to you,” Alleyu responds.

The skewer is so crispy with salt that the two of them hurry down to the river to slake their thirst. There are many tethers along the edge attached to the bank by stone spikes. At the other end of the tether is always a clay cup or stone bucket.

After washing his hands and drinking his fill, Naeed finally asks, “Why was Veyru worried?”

Alleyu grimaces. “Eh. A bit of nasty happened years back. Took in some visiting Overheader. Happens sometimes, y’know? They find us, it’s very exciting for all. Not many find us and not often, and it’s usually good chance for trade. But this time was bad. We feed ‘im, show ‘im all around. He leaves in the dimming, comes back a few days later with a small army. Tries to take women and children.”

Naeed sucks in a breath. Alleyu only nods. “Aye. And us with no weapons. Hadn’t happened before. Hadn’t needed or wanted weapons. They might’a taken all they wanted if someone hadn’t run to the mines and warned the burrowers. They tunnel fast as anything in the air flies, and you don’t cross one what’s angry with you. Our visitors didn’t last long, but they gutted plenty of us that day. Mightbe Left Tier hasn’t had new visitors since. ‘Til you.”

“Oh.” Naeed isn’t sure what to say. “You… seemed to trust me quickly.”

Alleyu snorts. “Right. Like I told Veyru, you come in and pass out half dead on the dining room table, bringin’ a tiny dragon that’s actin’ like a scared mother. Stupidest scout in the world, far as I’m concerned, bein’ that vulnerable.” He pauses, scowling. “Truth be told, you not bein’ a scout, that’s still stupid. Don’t know you can trust us, now, do you?”

Naeed shifts. “Didn’t have a choice.”

“Aye, so you said, so you said. S’pose we’re both lucky this time. Anycase, we’re better ready now. Forged weapons and handed ‘em out all ‘round. Every level has a few folk what dedicate themselves to getting better at fighting. The rest just keep in shape and keep the swords sharp. Won’t happen again.”

Naeed digests that in silence. There’s neither boast nor grief in it. It’s a simple, factual statement to Alleyu.

Naeed believes it.

“Gonna be a ways more ‘til Overheader’s Patch. Only place where there’s a crack for sun and venting for the forge. Got any other questions?” Alleyu stretches. “‘Cause if you don’t, I’ve plenty.”

Naeed thinks for a moment. “What’s a Third Tierman?”

“Ach, nothing important. Folk on my level come ask me for help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Any. I give it, or I know someone what can. And when we gotta have big decisions, all Tiermen get together to yell it out and…”