Mirror Darkly

 

The wailing of a mortally injured poodle assaulted my ears—no wait that’s my alarm clock. I growled in the darkness and opened my eyes slightly so I could scowl at the sadistic red numbers on the piece of junk. 5:30, what a beastly hour to wake up. I beat the screaming clock into silence and thought about going back to sleep. And by thought I meant do, at least I would have done more than thought about it if a lead footed yeti hadn’t kicked my ass out of bed.

“You have ten minutes to get ready and get your lazy ass to work or so help me I’ll turn you over to the state.” This would be Agrippa, my land ladies daughter. Well I say land lady—loosely on the lady bit, but she was actually my foster mother which meant this gem of human decorum was my ‘sister’. She made a point of reminding me that I was the pathetic orphan street cur and she the true scion of the family. Because I totally wanted to be related to people who still use cur as an insult.

“It’s my rest day Agrippa.” Did I mention that I was the closes thing you could get to a slave legally? I mean it’s not like they took me in out of the goodness of their hearts—only the goodness of their wallet. It seems counterproductive for the state to give out coin to assholes families that take in extra children street cur.

“The representatives’ family is coming and the roof needs to be repaired from last night’s storm.” The representatives were what the locals called the government appointed spies liaisons. Our little back-water community was isolated enough to still be all medieval with everything. Thick walls surround the compound city; the walls are made of a strange stone. It looks harmless but if you touch it you develop a deadly fever. I would say that’s just superstition junk spouted by cowered too lazy to leave their bedsit but I have had firsthand experience with the wall. Hence living with these kind souls. My mother died trying to get over that wall, I almost did too. Strange, I can remember trying to escape but I can’t remember arriving in the city in the first place. If you did somehow manage to get beyond the walls then you have the dagger teeth mountains to contend with. Not sure if that’s really the names of those peaks but damn if it isn’t accurate, sharp jagged projections arranged like a toothy smile. Few ever come in, fewer still go out. You might be wondering at this point why I don’t just use the gate? Has to be a gate right? I mean how else would the representative get in? Well they fly in. there is a gate to the town, but it’s made of the same stone the walls are made of—doesn’t make for many jumping to open the fucker.

“What family is it this year?” a storm huh? One big enough to damage the roof, how did I not notice that? I mean I live in the freaking attic for god’s sake.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” She looked down her prominent nose like she had seen a queen do. ‘Course she looked less arrogant-noble and more onion-chopping-frog than anything else. “The Killatikus are much too good for you.” Did she even realize she told me or did her eye squinting burn out her one brain cell? She flounced out, down rather, with a final hurry-up.

“Well bully that.” I grumbled before climbing of the nest of somewhat-black canvas that was flung across my sleeping corner as I liked to call it. Seems a lot less pessimistic to refer to it that way rather than splinter ridden plywood floor.  The cool morning air bit at my bare chest as I ran one hand through my tangle of blue-black hair. I mumbled irritably before brushing the thick curls out with my fingers, the rough calluses catching and pulling my hair with each swipe, letting them hang around my face and pulled a faded maroon shirt on. Maroon…it was an expensive color, before it faded to moldy wine puke, how blessed I was that my loving family would hand me down such a thing. Not. I didn’t bother to change out of the pants I had been sleeping in before pulling on a pair of scuffed combat boot that was held together more by the added scraps then the actual stitches in the leather. I say well loved, you say condemned piece of garbage. An accurate labeling actually, as I had found them in the trash….

“Sorry Hoggry no breakfast left should have put your makeup on faster.” That would be Fritz, my eloquent wordsmith brother. Hoggry, his pet name for me of late, was a play on my name….sort of. Aubrey Hoskins, kind of sounds like a-grey-hog-skin, or I’m assuming that’s what Fritz was going for. “What is it princess? Gonna cry?” princess would be his other pet name.

“What does Wolf want me to start first?” I replied, ignoring his poking. The slap was somewhat surprising. Only somewhat because it was a common enough thing, and because I saw it coming only this time I didn’t know what I did wrong. Why didn’t you dodge you might be asking, I’ve got three answers for that 1. Fuck you, 2. Fuck you, 3. Dodging makes the punishment worse. Always. Stunned by my poetic soul? You should be.

“That’s Blade to you!” oh because Blade is so much more formal than Wolf.

“Stop shouting Fritz, you boy go haul the sap boards from the shed over to the front of the house. You will start there.” And here is Wolf….Blade now; his full name is Wolfgang Bladehertz, the father of the family. I know I know, what sort of name is wolf with a heart of blades? Dunno, maybe it was gods attempt at a joke.

I went to go drag the heavy slat of sap sealed boards to the house. Oh you though boy was referring to Fritz? No such luck, hell the oaf probably couldn’t move them, his bigness being more fat than anything of use. I don’t mind the hard work; I rather like the strain of muscles, the tiredness that only long work can bring. It’s sometimes the only thing that stops the dreams.

“Wings huh?” wings…I don’t think I would like to fly, but to have the ability to go anyplace? That was nice.

“And foolish” I murmured to myself, gripping the fresh cut beams still tacky with sap.

“Why is the want of wings foolish?” a lyrical male voice asked.

“Its naive wishing for the impossible, it only gets you a slap in the face and I get enough of those thanks.” I stopped mid step looking around. No one but a lonely crow.

“Hearing voices as well now? Unbelievable.” on top of that I saw the sky darkening despite the light that should be rising. Looks like today was going to be lovely.

It was well past dark when I finally was able to return to my attic. Repairing a roof takes a long time, the heavy rain and wind didn’t help any. At one point Agrippa came out to scowle at me—it was just as I was layering excess sap over my part of the attic—keeps the water out even if it’s a pain to spread. The crow from earlier shit right on her face as she looked up at me readying a slur I’m sure she thought was witty. Can’t say I’ve ever been found of birds but that guy was something I could appreciate. I winced as I pulled my clammy almost-maroon-looking-when-wet shirt off. My shoulders felt shredded from lugging all that hard wood about. I peeled off my pants and hung them over a low beam with the shirt. Well, at least I don’t have to wash them now. That’s a plus.

I toyed with putting on my other pair of pants but…meh, it’s not like I would be called upon tomorrow. Not with the what’s-its-names representative family coming. I sat on my canvas nest, fishing out a tin of engine oil I managed to nick. Used machine oil may not be the most ideal thing to treat my boots with, but it kept the water out rather than in, and made them an almost normal looking shade of black. Garbage that is both useful and snappy, fancy that.

Thunder cracked, shaking the old pains of the attic windows. The glass was that thick cloudy shit that looks like your looking through a layer of bug guts. Always charming, that. It was a comfort, the storm. They had always soothed me in ways even menial work could not. Maybe the dreams would not come tonight. Somehow I knew I would dream that night, even as I bargained with the rain to wash out my mind and leave me to sleep in peace.