METRY
Ket yawned in the afternoon sun, a sweet spring breeze ruffling her neck fur. Weather in the very small kingdom of Wad was generally mild due to its fortunate location on the Sarten Sea where it formed the land bridge between semi-arid tracts of land, the one on the west belonging to the Ronais and to the East, Lar Kethia. Both of Wad’s neighbors coveted her rich orchards and deep harbors, but wanted nothing to do with the powerful magic rift slashing through the best of Wad’s countryside. A trap for the unwary and an unpredictable cornucopia of strange beings and animals – or ‘riftugees’ as they were known to the jaded locals, The Rift was considered a blight on the land, one managed reluctantly by generations of locals whose children struggled with an increasing variety of hazardous magical abilities.
The neighboring cultures of Ronais and Lar Kethia were as different from one another as possible: the tolerant Ronaislanders with their silks and powerful courtesans in bright contrast to the semi-nomadic Lar Kethians with their horse leathers, arrogance and rigid gender roles. Fortunately sturdy little Wad was there in the middle to provide neutral ground for traders and diplomats to conduct business.
If one was a spy, and Ket had on occasion been accused of being such a thing ─ although her superiors made much finer distinctions on the subject of observing native populations, Wad was a low-stress assignment. At least it had been until recently when directions to expend their utmost energies in tracking down the latest source of trans-universal entangled magic had come to Ket and her peers. Ket being Ket, this had not taken long.
The pungent scent of quantum magic tickled her nose. Still unripe, it reminded her of hot iron and peaches. She struggled to smother a sneeze, interested in the conversation going on nearby. Perched on the ledge of a remarkably dirty window overlooking a narrow street that stank of rotting garbage, inadequate plumbing, and misfortune, she looked like any other lazy feline enjoying the late afternoon sun. Ket licked a white and ginger paw, giving her troublesome nose an absent-minded swipe as she peered down at the two human females seated on the steps below.
Her precautions were unnecessary. The humans were deep in conversation, the old woman murmuring soothing words in the girl’s ear, one arm around her shoulder. The skinny girl, with a rat’s tail of dark hair and bruises covering her arms, leaned forward, her gaze fixed on a weed forcing its way through a crack in the rockcrete.
“You’re a good girl Metry Wills. Don’t let that sad man make you think any other way. Ee’s just desperate for someone ‘sides himself to blame.”
Metry snorted. Granny Kettlewash was the nearest thing she had to a mother, but she didn’t have to live with the old soak. Sad. Well that was one way to describe Fin Wills. Mean was another. She clutched her aching stomach where her father’s boot had left a big round bruise and wished herself far away with all the energy in her thirteen year old body. The sound of a crash, followed by loud weeping made her look up at the taped kitchen window of the shack across the street and a few houses down. Backlit against the brown paper she’d patched the window with, the shadow of a small man lurched, reaching for something then slipping abruptly out of view. She leapt up, frightened. “Fikk it all! E’s slipped again.”
She might wish herself far away, but who would take care of her Da then? Rift knew he needed someone to keep him from rotting in his own stink, and much though she hated it, Metry couldn’t just walk away. Tomorrow morning he’d be sitting at their splintery table, holding his head and begging forgiveness. She wasn’t sure she had any forgiveness left, but she told him she did anyway. It was that or have him tag around after her, weeping and talking about how she was his “darling little girl” interspersed with the occasional threat to hunt her down like a sick dog if she tried to run. So she stayed. If the real truth were told, she had no idea where she’d go if she did decide to leave.
Granny Kettlewash touched her elbow lightly, making Metry turn. “Do you think it might be wise to let him set a bit?” Their eyes met and Metry nodded. “Yeah. Might be.” She sat down again with a sigh. So what if he was lying there bleeding? If she tried to take care of Da when he wasn’t clean passed out, she’d wake him. Then he’d be grabbing her and wacking her with whatever came handy. Hard drink did that to him, made him crazy, and she was tired. More than anything she wanted to lay down somewhere private and dark and sleep for a week. Getting by on fits and spurts of naps when Da was out of the house or sober left her feeling a bit drunk herself.
“I’ve got a bit of apple cake set aside. Hungry?”
The suggestion made Metry’s stomach rumble, at which Granny dug her cane into the step, levering herself to the hunched position that passed for upright. Metry watched her rifle through the boxes and sacks in her small cart, all Granny Kettlewash had to call home. When asked where she lived, the old woman invariably replied, “Oh, here and there. Here and there.” Metry didn’t know what that meant but was wise enough in the ways of West Enders not to push. Peoples’ business was their business. There was plenty about her and Da she didn’t care to discuss. Granny no doubt had her reasons.
Ket watched the two divide up a small brick of apple cake, the old woman cleverly working it so that Metry received the largest portion. The girl was tall, 5’6” and growing. With better feeding she would already be taller than her father. Ket arched her neck, sniffing the air delicately to confirm her original guess. Yes, the girl was just past her First Threshold. Any incidental magic she might have would surface soon, held in check right now by the half-starved body’s inability to support the demands of normal Rift magic.
“What am I gonna to do Granny? He gets worse and worse. Last Friday night he broke the only mage lamp that still worked, then walloped me the next day for it. Seems he can’t remember what day it is, much less what he’s supposed to do. He hasn’t brought silver home in weeks. He’s down to borrowing from Ugly Jack, and talking about looking up The Todd.” She shivered when she said it.
Granny frowned, cutting her eyes to the patched kitchen window of Metry’s home. “Did he now? Jack’s not a good boy to cross, but The Todd is just askin’ to be dead.”
“I know!” Metry exclaimed, feeling an electric surge of fear and desperation chase up her neck. “Sometimes…” she broke off, then began again. “Sometimes I just wish he get it over with. Drink himself dead and be done with it.” A fugitive tear slid from her eye. Metry angrily dashed it away before it crested the sharp edge of her cheek bone.
“What would you do then?” The beginnings of evenfall shadowed the old woman’s face, but her voice was mild.
“Volunteer for extra Shared Service in a kitchen somewheres… least I’d eat then. Apprentice myself for a trade.”
Granny nodded, “Sure. But you’re not yet sixteen. Have to be sixteen to ‘prentice.”
“Who’s to know? You tellin’ anyone? For that, you could tell ‘em I was sixteen. Tell ‘em I’m your granddaughter.” Metry was beginning to feel excited. Maybe it was possible to escape. “I could get out of here. Get out of the West End altogether.”
“Oh sweetie. I would. I would. I just can’t. There’s mages at the Hall o’ Records. Take your form and see it’s an untruth right off.”
The brief moment of excitement slid right out of Metry, leaving something cold and bleak in its wake. “I hate mages. Sneaking around. Keeping you from doing things. If I had my way I’d close the rifts altogether. No more mages. No more magic.”
At that pronouncement, the ginger tabby’s bright orange tail shot straight up, the tip twitching back and forth energetically. Now woudn’t that be interesting? I’m afraid little girl, you’re going to be as much of a surprise to yourself as you are the rest of the mages of Wad… and elsewhere.
Stretching herself on the window ledge, Ket lept down to the landing, slowing as she passed the girl. Metry’s right hand reached out unconsciously, stroking the soft arched back several times. The cat’s wrapped its tail around her wrist for a moment as Ket fed a small surge of healing up the girl’s arm. Metry gave a small unconscious sigh of relief as she stroked the cat one more time, sensing its impatience to be off. Having done what she could, Ket pranced down the remaining stairs, on her way to meet with an old friend. It was clearly time to address the problem of Fin Wills and the witchy child who wasn’t actually his daughter.
