so certain
It’s evening when I return from dreamland to clattering pans. Kit and Ruzi are talking in my doorway.
“Wake up, Mora. I’m making you some food,” Ruzi says. Then: “She needs her rest,” to Kit. He turns back to me. “Egg okay?”
“I just woke up,” I groan.
“I’d love an egg,” Kit says.
“Wasn’t asking everyone,” Ruzi grumbles, but he retreats to the kitchen.
The grin Kit was shining on Ruzi fades as he comes into my room, a box under one arm.
“He’s worried about Zako,” he whispers. “Told him not to fret. Zako is a bright kid.”
My stomach rumbles in the silence like a creaking door. Kit hands me the box. “Got you these. See if they fit.”
It’s a pair of boots, soft and black with perfect treads, painted metal round the bootlace holes and fancy plaited laces. They’re new, I realize, astonished. Why’s he buying me boots? They’re a little higher round the ankle than my ragged old browny-grey ones. I haven’t had anything new, anything this beautiful to wear since before the Cull. Didn’t think I cared to. But I care about these.
“Fit like I glove,” I choke out. They’re a tiny bit big, but I can double up my socks. I’m not parting with them. “Thank you. Why’d you go and do this?”
“You lost your other ones.”
“Did I?”
Lose your boots, girl. I hear a low whisper, something tickling my cheek. I grasp at the memory, but it dissolves like candyfloss to nothing, like all the others.
I realize I’ve got a hand on my cheek and I’m staring into space.
“Any progress on the memory front?” Kit asks. “Any dreams about … anything?”
It’s my turn to sigh.
“None of my tricks are working.”
“Shall I get some prayer grass?”
It worked for Zako.
Do I want my blank hours returned? I should, but I’m terrified. My mind flashes to Venor, full of malice – the memory of a nightmare.
“What’s the matter?” Kit touches my arm.
“Nothing.” My voice is overloud.
I have to move. I scramble to stand, hardly noticing Kit’s arm helping me. I look sideways at him. He smells like spices and kitchen smoke. His sleeves are bunched above his elbows, his beaded bracelets wedged high up his forearms.
“Everything all right there?” Ruzi calls from the kitchen around the sound of spitting eggs.
I glance back at Kit, biting my lip. He seems to realize his arm is still circling me and drops it.
I turn to the desk and reach out to run my fingers along the margin of an unfinished drawing. My sleeves don’t cover the abrasions still clear at my wrists.
I feel shaky again.
“You’re okay, Mor.” Kit’s voice sounds faraway.
Ruzi’s here with two chipped plates, a salted fried egg and ripped-off hunk of bread on each. He sighs and disappears to the kitchen again.
My eyes float up to Kit’s.
“That peddler who got the grass for Zako isn’t in town any more.” He runs his fingers down his jaw. My eyes are pulled to his mouth. “But I’ll find some somehow.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s better to know. We need to.”
I focus on the plate with the wobbling egg, and I shiver, though the air is warm. “Is it better?”
“If you know, you can move on.” He slices his egg with a fork and eats half in one go. He sounds so certain.