Three boys file past with their rapion and towels. Their shadows shift along the tunnel while their jibes and laughter ping off the walls.
I trace the grooves in my shelf carved long ago by the R’tan. The lines flow through the broad, smooth swaths of color. Seeing this makes it easier to imagine the small villas our people once carved within the top of the Mesas.
A Madronian of some sort whisks past our doorway. I huff and cross my arms. How ironic that this great rock was our ancestors’ protection from enemies and now they are here with us.
Father says when our people forgot the Creator Spirit, they settled in the valley between the monuments and forgot the Mesas’ secrets too. Without habitation and care, tunnels near the surface collapsed. Pocked openings eventually let in the elements. Waters flooded and drained, leaving stagnant pools behind. Our villas clogged and collapsed; our history rotted. Even the Chamber of Verities was lost, and the line of prophets died. More than that, when the Madronians attacked, we couldn’t escape to our Mesas. We lost our freedom.
I stroke the edge of my shelf. At least our people always cared for the corners of the Mesas for patrol. Even the Madronians understood and continued the work.
“Save a pocket for me!” a patroller yells and runs by, kicking up sand. I roll onto my side and scratch Mirko’s head. He licks his beak and closes his eyes.
It’s probably good the Madronians never could map what was left of our villas or find our ancient Chamber of Verities. They claimed the Four-Winged Condor swirled it to oblivion with their conquest.
I sit up. Did the holy Chamber of Verities ever really exist? Did it speak to the prophets? Record our history in image? Pulse and strengthen R’tan boys on patrol? I press my hand to the porous rock.
Nothing.
Since Mirko now snores on my shelf, I grab my threadbare towel and climb out quietly. The sand is gritty under my bare feet. I have no clean clothes until my uniform is issued tomorrow, but it will feel good to be cleansed as I am so grubby. Father said the area was private, but that doesn’t stop my centerself from lurching. Being naked, with only my amulet on, leaves me vulnerable, shamed as my body reflects my former state. I hate it.
I follow well behind a group of boys ahead, memorizing the turns, as they joke and roughhouse. Their rapion flutters remind me that I should have brought Mirko. But he is so tired from our day’s journey, and if I return for him I might not find my way back. I’ll bring him next time.
Finally, one last bend ends in a dim narrow hall. Each boy and Signico squirms under the layered skins covering individual steam holes.
I move into the empty hall and choose a pocket for myself. “Hello?” I say. With no answer, I lift the heavy goat skins and stumble down three stairs. Crack goes my shin against a shelf. But for a cluster of coals and rocks in the corner, the room is black, and now my bruise will be also. I rub the spot. I am sure the pockets are darkened to support the Madronian obsession with modesty, but wouldn’t a few strands of lichen add a bit of safety? At least I do not have to look at myself, I suppose.
Behind the shelf is a stagnant puddle, smelling of rust. In a moment, I’m out of my tunic, trousers, and underclothes and giving them a good beating to remove the dust and sand, the whole time feeling my amulet tapping my thighs.
Discovering a pair of tongs by the coals, I pluck hot stones off the red heat and drop them into the water. Steam sizzles hot mist against my cool face.
My muscles relax as the moist air presses through the tiny room and sweats my anxieties away. Crouched on my haunches, my long march eases. The steam soothes and assures all is well.
Eventually, the air cools and I stand, toweling off my sweat and grime. After plucking the rocks from the water and dropping them back on the coals, I dress and emerge from the skins into the hallway.
The sounds of rapion and boys relaxing in their pockets float into the hall. I’m sure Mirko will love the steam too.
The way to my shelf comes with only a couple of missed turns in empty passages. Lalo meets me at my alcove with Els behind him. “Tiadone, you’ve found your space?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He grins. “And your skin must be reddened from the Steam Pockets. You found them as well?”
“Yes.”
Lalo’s gaze settles on my amulet, and he immediately blushes. Quickly, he looks away, around, and behind me. “But your rapion? Where is Mirko?”
“Oh.” I rub my towel through my twists to stall. I really should have returned for him! I inch into the alcove. “He’s just there, waiting on my shelf.”
A question hovers on Lalo’s forehead. “That’s odd. I don’t remember seeing him come down the passage.”
I snap my fingers behind my back. Yawning, a sleepy Mirko flaps to my shoulder.
Lalo shakes his head once. “Huh. I must have just missed him. At any rate, rest quickly now, as you’ll be called for morning meal before you like.”
“Certainly. We’ll get to sleep.” To show submission, I pull my first two fingers of my right hand past my forehead.
Lalo shakes his head. “No need, Tiadone. The Madronians don’t give R’tan any authority here.” He lowers his voice. “They keep us equal and fighting.”
“Oh,” I say.
“I hope your beginning’s a little easier than mine was. But then, no matter how tough the start is, the end is worse,” he says. Els rubs her head against his trouser knee as Lalo stretches his back and looks at the ceiling.
Of course! He’ll release his rapion shortly. My throat coats with bile, and I swallow the nastiness back down.
Lalo runs his fingers through Els’s crest. She leans her entire body into him when he pats her side. Sniffling, he wipes his eyes on his shoulder. “Sorry about that.” He smiles weakly.
I nod and Mirko gently clucks. That brings a grin to Lalo. Rubbing his face, which now likely rivals my own in redness, he says, “After six days at the Lookout Tower, I’m ready for sleep. Good night.” He moves down the passage with Els close at his side.
“Night,” I call. Inside our alcove, I crawl onto our shelf.
Ratho leans over and eyes Mirko. “You were unnaturally separated,” he says in that superior tone he knows I hate. I roll my eyes until he pulls from sight. Thae whisks her tail up and away.
Fool, I rebuke myself. I must keep Mirko close. It’s not like I need more to fuel doubt in our abilities.
I climb onto my bed and dust off my feet. “You have to stay at my side, Mirko,” I whisper. He chortles and pads around in a circle before squatting in a lump. We don’t need any more difficulty. Our pack is full!
I curl on my side. Of course Lalo’s right, though. Nothing will be as bad as the end of Perimeter.