Private Tales Some Things Never Change

[Oralie]

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Oralie said firmly, and if she could have, she would’ve pouted as she crossed her arms over her chest. Like a petulant child, Oralie began stewing in her thoughts. Great listeners? Since when had any Anirian ever listened to her?

Other than Aleric and Cosmo.

The guys in the alley hadn’t listened to her nor did a good majority of them. Yes, Amos and his mother were helping her out right now, but that was only because she had done them a favor first. She doubted they would have helped if she hadn’t done something for him or could ever do something for them.

She missed the kindness of her tribe. Hated it as well. It was what had allowed them to trust the Anirians that came to their island. It was small with little land good for growing certain crops like those under the Nazrani.

Oralie brought her hand put to her stitched cheek. The stitches felt neat and orderly and copacetic, which made sense as they had been done by an Anirian. She couldn’t seem to build herself back up.

“It’s a ceremony when you get them, these tattoos. Only certain members of the tribe have been passed down the art.” She bit her lower lip, once more looking down at her hands. “There’s no one else to fix it.” Even if she was brave enough to try fixing it herself, which she wasn’t, it would be disgraceful. The last thing Oralie wanted to do was disgrace her tribe further.

“Can I go now?”

Amos

 

[Amos]

Amos and his mother glanced at one another, pity running through the latter's eyes, and guilt pouring from the former.

The scientist knew that this was his fault. Knew that the reason Oralie's tattoos had been damaged were him. If he hadn't been in that alleyway then she never would have had to save him, if she hadn't saved him her tattoos would have been fine.

His lips pressed together. "Yes."

Amos answered her honestly, not wanting to make the already abrasive woman feel like she was now trapped.

"But..." Kress. How could he help? He had no knowledge of her people, no understanding of these marks or tattoos. "I..."

The mouse of a man shook his head. "Is there nothing I can do?"

He asked. "To fix the markings. I don't know the traditions or the rituals, and I do not wish to insult you, but..."

Slowly Amos shook his head.

"I can do research." He suggested quietly. "I'm sure I can find something, and then..."

Perhaps if not him he could find someone who could carry out the ritual.

 

[Oralie]

She shook her head to with a wild vigor, her curls bouncing and twirling about in tight succession. There was nothing anyone could do now, nothing that she could even do. The tattoos were special, so special that Oralie couldn’t even begin to find the words to express such a thing. Anger bade her grief to wait and hide, it would take over and protect Oralie’s heart for now.

“No,” she said firmly, “you only want to fix it because you want my power.” She was up suddenly, leaning towards Amos as if she were the bigger person. Harnessing all the confidence and assertion she could muster, Oralie kept her gaze stern. “I’m not stupid. You want my magic. Maybe to make a speaking stick instead of a light stick?” She accused, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I’ve given enough to the Anirians. I won’t give you my magic anymore.”

Amos

 

[Amos]

"No!" Amos objected immediately after her accusation, shaking his head vehemently.

"No, please." Her finger poked into his chest, something that was surprisingly painful. His hand came up to defend himself, though when it came down to it they both knew that Oralie could pummel him into the ground. "I want no such thing."

He did not blame her for the accusation though.

Vel Anir had it's reputation for a reason, and Amos would not deny it. "You saved my life."

Amos said pointedly.

"I would not betray that debt." For that's what it was in the Gutters, a debt. "I understand your hesitation. Vel Anir has...well, I know what my city is, but that does not mean that it is me."

He said, trying his best to convince her. "I swear, I only wish to help. Any secret I learn is yours, no ones else. I would not abuse knowledge."

A vow he had made for himself, why he was not a maker of weapons, despite the wealth that he'd been offered. "It is against my..."

"Everything." His mother finished for him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder with a smile.

 

[Oralie]

She wanted to punch him. She should punch him. He was an Anirian. He couldn’t be trusted. Only Aleric and Cosmo could be trusted. Only them, the only ones to look at her and show her the same respect they gave to themselves.

Amos was… how could she say it? He didn’t frighten her. She was aware of the power she had. Even ignoring her magic she was strong. Lean and tall with years of being in the guard. At the same time, she feared Amos. She couldn’t say why but it was there.

Oralie took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest.

“My tattoos,” her voice was small and quiet, “will not be fixed. You are not my elder. And my magic it’s not… a easy magic. It is a curse. You could die from it. Curses don’t care about kindness.”

Amos

 

[Amos]

There was a long pause, a moment where Amos and his mother looked at one another.

A frown touched the young scientists face, guilt eating at his stomach like a virus. "But..."

He said, offering another objection.

"It's my fault." The words sounded rather helpless, and Oralie would be able to see just how bad Amos actually felt. He looked at her with pain in his eyes, and yet at the same time he could not argue with her rejection.

"You wouldn't...they wouldn't..." His head shook, he looked at his mother. The old school teacher had no small amount of pity in her gaze, but she had no answers for him either. "I will not...I do not wish to push you."

He said. "This is your choice, but it is also mine to help you."

There was a pause, then he added. "A friend of mine always taught me to pay my debts."

Amos offered.

"I don't know where he is now, but...I'm alive because of him." He said. "We didn't have much, never did, but Aleric..."

The scientist smiled. "Aleric always knew what to say to get his way."

He shook his head. "I'm not him, I can't...and won't try to convince you if this is what you wish. But you saved my life, and I won't forget it."

He never did.

 

[Oralie]

It was a magic word that was greater than her own magic, saying Alaric’s name all at once invited familiarity and trust. Her cat-like eyes widened for a moment and now Oralie regarded Amos with a new look altogether. He didn’t look hard like Aleric did. He didn’t look sly like Cosmo. He didn’t look hateful like she did. She looked at his mother.

They were nice. Both of them. And they both looked nice. Although, if she had to give another descriptor to Amos it would be skinny. Very, very skinny.

She knew if she wanted to go all she would have to do would be to confirm that Amos’ debt had been paid. If she said that they were even would it be enough for him? Perhaps not but Oralie could get what she wanted most in that moment. But, what if the Aleric that Amos spoke of was indeed the Hanged Man?

“I have somewhere to be. If you’re serious about paying your debt you’ll be here again at this time next week.” She would confirm things with Aleric first and see if she could actually trust this kid. With that being the last thing for her to say, Oralie finally made her way out of the school house, pulling up her head and running off into the night.

Amos

 

[Amos]

Amos stared at Oralie, and then nodded.

He would offer no further argument. He would not try to convince her to do it now. It seemed that she was intent on taking him up on his offer, or at least considering it, and he would not jeopardize that decision.

So he stayed quiet, as did his mother after offering a simple word of goodbye and good luck. Something the aged woman could not help but do. The she stepped towards the reed of her son, pulling him into a soft embrace and ensuring him he had done well.

A week later, if Oralie did return.

She would find Amos waiting.

Not only that, she would find a small section of the schoolhouse transformed. A comfortable chair placed carefully, several small golden tools arrayed on a table, and dozens upon dozens of books. Some opened, others laying scattered.

As though he'd spent the whole week among them.