legs
looking exceedingly white and hairy in his black undergarments. The
others are taking their pants off, too, but underneath they’re
wearing some kind of short pants, looser than undergarments, and
much less embarrassing. Without any other choice, I follow Buff’s
lead and strip down to my skivvies, relishing the feel of the
warm—not just not cold , but warm! like it’s full of
hot stew or warm tea—air. Although I feel out of place amongst the
other more appropriately clad Icers, once the Heaters approach I
feel better. They’ve got next to nothing on—just a thin cloth
covers their torsos, giving them an almost savage look. Their hair
and eyes are dark, and their bodies lean and tight and firm, like
their skin’s been twice-stretched over their bones and muscles.
They carry long spears and have wooden bows looped on their backs
with leather straps.
Heaters. What a day. Maybe I should lose at
cards more often.
One of them speaks, using language that’s the
same as ours, but sounds so different coming from his mouth, like
every word’s rounder and longer. “I don’t recognize these two
baggards,” he says, motioning to Buff and me.
“They’re new. Today,” Abe says.
The Heater nods, says, “Got a full load of
searin’ tugmeat and at least ten bags o’ ’zard niblets. The king’s
favorite.”
“That it?” Abe asks.
“Yeah,” the other Heater says. He’s taller
than the first, but every bit as strong-looking. “Might be a coupla
more months ’fore we have any special cargo.”
I look at Abe, wait for him to question what
the brown guy means by special cargo , but he just shrugs.
“Roan’s paid up that long anyway,” he says. “He’ll get his herbs
either way.”
Herbs? What are these guys talking
about? Tugmeat and ’zards I understand. Fire country delicacies. No
big deal. The king probably gets them delivered all the time. But
the other stuff—huh?
I glance at Buff, whose cheek is raised. He’s
as confused as I am.
~~~
I come home in the dark with half a day’s pay
and a stiff back. Although the trip to the border was fun and
easy—what with the high-quality slider strapped to my feet—the
jaunt back to the top of the mountain was long and grueling,
especially because we were carrying huge packs of meat on our
backs, along with our sliders. Hightower took about twice as much
as everyone else though, so that helped quite a lot. Like Abe said,
he’s handy to have around.
We dropped it off to a guy with a cart, just
outside the palace walls. Abe told us good work and that the next
job wouldn’t be for three days, so we should rest up and meet him
back at the same place at dawn. And that was that. On account of
being so icin’ exhausted, Buff and I barely said a word to each
other as we walked back to the Brown District. Chill, I don’t even
think I’d be in the mood to fight anyone, even if such an
opportunity arose.
But still, I can’t complain. As far as I’m
concerned, I’ve got the best job in the world.
Pausing a moment in front of our door, I
stomp the snow off my boots and scrape the ice and muck off my
shiny new slider. When I push through the door and duck inside, I
feel a warm blast of heat from a healthy fire. Although it reminds
me of the heat of the sun down at the border, it’s not the same.
Nothing will ever be the same.
“Welcome back, Brother.” Wes is home already,
having worked the dayshift, a smile plastered on his face as if
he’s been like that all evening, just waiting for me. It’s a bigger
smile than a new job warrants…
“What?” I say, somewhat rudely.
Wes strides over, claps me on the back. I
flinch, suddenly feeling hot in my multi-layered getup. “Take a
look,” he says.
“Take a look at wha—”
He cuts me off with a hand in the air,
pointing.
I look at him strangely, then follow his
gesture over to where—
I gasp. This has to be a joke. For weeks and
weeks, months and months, when I came home from wherever
looking exceedingly white and hairy in his black undergarments. The
others are taking their pants off, too, but underneath they’re
wearing some kind of short pants, looser than undergarments, and
much less embarrassing. Without any other choice, I follow Buff’s
lead and strip down to my skivvies, relishing the feel of the
warm—not just not cold , but warm! like it’s full of
hot stew or warm tea—air. Although I feel out of place amongst the
other more appropriately clad Icers, once the Heaters approach I
feel better. They’ve got next to nothing on—just a thin cloth
covers their torsos, giving them an almost savage look. Their hair
and eyes are dark, and their bodies lean and tight and firm, like
their skin’s been twice-stretched over their bones and muscles.
They carry long spears and have wooden bows looped on their backs
with leather straps.
Heaters. What a day. Maybe I should lose at
cards more often.
One of them speaks, using language that’s the
same as ours, but sounds so different coming from his mouth, like
every word’s rounder and longer. “I don’t recognize these two
baggards,” he says, motioning to Buff and me.
“They’re new. Today,” Abe says.
The Heater nods, says, “Got a full load of
searin’ tugmeat and at least ten bags o’ ’zard niblets. The king’s
favorite.”
“That it?” Abe asks.
“Yeah,” the other Heater says. He’s taller
than the first, but every bit as strong-looking. “Might be a coupla
more months ’fore we have any special cargo.”
I look at Abe, wait for him to question what
the brown guy means by special cargo , but he just shrugs.
“Roan’s paid up that long anyway,” he says. “He’ll get his herbs
either way.”
Herbs? What are these guys talking
about? Tugmeat and ’zards I understand. Fire country delicacies. No
big deal. The king probably gets them delivered all the time. But
the other stuff—huh?
I glance at Buff, whose cheek is raised. He’s
as confused as I am.
~~~
I come home in the dark with half a day’s pay
and a stiff back. Although the trip to the border was fun and
easy—what with the high-quality slider strapped to my feet—the
jaunt back to the top of the mountain was long and grueling,
especially because we were carrying huge packs of meat on our
backs, along with our sliders. Hightower took about twice as much
as everyone else though, so that helped quite a lot. Like Abe said,
he’s handy to have around.
We dropped it off to a guy with a cart, just
outside the palace walls. Abe told us good work and that the next
job wouldn’t be for three days, so we should rest up and meet him
back at the same place at dawn. And that was that. On account of
being so icin’ exhausted, Buff and I barely said a word to each
other as we walked back to the Brown District. Chill, I don’t even
think I’d be in the mood to fight anyone, even if such an
opportunity arose.
But still, I can’t complain. As far as I’m
concerned, I’ve got the best job in the world.
Pausing a moment in front of our door, I
stomp the snow off my boots and scrape the ice and muck off my
shiny new slider. When I push through the door and duck inside, I
feel a warm blast of heat from a healthy fire. Although it reminds
me of the heat of the sun down at the border, it’s not the same.
Nothing will ever be the same.
“Welcome back, Brother.” Wes is home already,
having worked the dayshift, a smile plastered on his face as if
he’s been like that all evening, just waiting for me. It’s a bigger
smile than a new job warrants…
“What?” I say, somewhat rudely.
Wes strides over, claps me on the back. I
flinch, suddenly feeling hot in my multi-layered getup. “Take a
look,” he says.
“Take a look at wha—”
He cuts me off with a hand in the air,
pointing.
I look at him strangely, then follow his
gesture over to where—
I gasp. This has to be a joke. For weeks and
weeks, months and months, when I came home from wherever
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