Birke yawned and peered out of the bus window. They had pulled up at a gas station. A small placard attached to the building denoted its status as a bus stop.
“Canby!” announced the driver. Venturing down Canby's main street, Birke passed darkened storefronts and restaurants. The sun had barely risen above the horizon so the docks, with departing working boats, were the liveliest part of town. He grabbed an apple from his backpack to ease his hunger and ate it as he wandered down the hill toward the docks. At the waterfront, he watched fishermen loading their boats and directing their helpers. Birds called and waves splashed. He smiled - it was so different from his village. The young woman sat sipping her tea, quietly observing the woman, Indigo, as she studied her and her sister. Indigo had white lines on her face like the young woman’s sister, but they didn’t appear to bother her as she made no effort to cover them up. The young guy, Birke, who had come with Indigo, had left to melt mirrors with Ashton, and Dara had left the kitchen shortly thereafter. When Indigo had asked their names, the young woman’s sister had burrowed deeper into her hood and kept silent. Though her sister hadn’t touched the biscuits Dara had offered, the young woman had and she thought they were delicious.
“You two helped us out a great deal when you brought those mirrors to melt,” Indigo said to the sisters. “Not to mention the Hut.” She set the tin from the Gathering Hut on the table, then took out the pieces of paper and arranged them around it. “I know this one’s yours,” said Indigo, to the young woman’s sister, holding up one of the papers covered in incomprehensible symbols. “But I'm curious, which one belongs to you?” she asked the young woman. “Your little mutt’s out of the way now!” growled the knife-wielding man, moving toward the dog’s owner. “C’mon, Eaton, you lying little shit, tell me where you sold those mirrors! Think you’ll cut off the supplies to my House? That your plan?”
“I’m not a thief, Sable. Put down the knife.” “No,” said Sable, taking a step closer to Eaton. “You’re worse than a thief, you're a survivor. A liability!” The yellow of his murky eyes intensified. “I should’ve kept you in the shadows, but I was nice, gave you a chance, I let you sell! And what appreciation do I get?” “I’ll be a Gatherer again, then, or a Craft-” “And leave me to clean up your mess?” hissed Sable. “You’ve attracted the Melters' attention. Just because we haven’t found the crates, doesn’t mean they’re not scrap silver in her vats! Worthless!” Sable lunged toward Eaton, who side-stepped him. Sable stumbled into a bench and his knife clattered to the floor. Eaton grabbed Sable by the arm and pinned him to the wall, but he writhed in Eaton’s grip and sent a fist into Eaton’s stomach. Sable slithered loose and disappeared through the double doors. Coughing, Eaton hurried to where his dog lay. He kneeled down, keeping the entrance in view. His dog was still breathing but remained unconscious. “You always were a sucker for the injured.” Eaton spun and stood up. Sable stood leering, half-hidden by the wall, and spat: “Bandaging up those traitors!” “No,” the guy agreed. “I’m not sure what'll stop them.”
The guy finished smoothing the melted mirror and placed a new one in the pot. The woman quietly left the kitchen. She returned twenty minutes later carrying three pots. “This way we can work faster,” she said, setting the pots on the stove and placing a mirror in each one. “So, what’s your name?” “Birke,” said the guy, pouring melted mirrors onto the sheet pans. “Yours?” “Indigo,” said the woman. “Birke. That’s a mountain name.” “Yeah,” said Birke, going red. “No wonder you thought shattering was the best method,” said Indigo, shaking her head. “I’m sure your region has lots of Crafters.” “Yeah,” said Birke. “They’re everywhere.” “You hide your accent well, though,” said Indigo, eyeing him carefully before smoothing the silvery substance. “It’s easier.” |