Mayflies (NFI#2) Intro

Since I've finished writing the first chapter of Mayflies, I thought I might as well provide a preview of it here.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Can you see anyone over there?" my brother starts, voice even more hushed than usual.

Taking a step up onto the white path, I cringe as gravel scratches the blisters on my feet. As if standing on a sign of civilization wasn’t bad enough in itself. I do get a better view of the field from here, though. Maize in neat rows, dipping in the breeze, beckoning poor, starving souls towards them.

Does it even matter if anyone’s there? We need this. We’re already too far gone to fly, and we’re probably not even going to be able to stand in another week. I don’t care if all the farmers in the city are here; we have to risk this.

“I can’t see anyone,” I say truthfully, pulling back into the trees.

Matthew frowns—Did you really check?—and I sigh.

“I promise it’s clear, Matthew.” I step back on the gravel harder than I should, but the crunch sounds decisive. “Come on.”

He exhales, running a hand back through his hair. Since it’s longer than mine, it’s one of the few ways we can be told apart. It also means this nervous habit of his takes longer than it ought to.

My stomach snarls, and I give my brother a pointed look before he finally steps after me. Giving him a nod, I take a quick look around and start hurrying for the farm.

The farmer’s house—a typical lower-class hut of wood, mud, and grasses—is perched at the far edge of the maize rows. A ragged patch on the roof is in need of repair, but none of the family is out fixing it. None of the family seems to be out at all, which works for me. I’d ask them nicely for a little food, but, judging from past experience, they’d try to chase me off before I even finished voicing my request.

Even if Matthew and I weren’t cursed, we’d probably get turned away. Our feet are so cut and blistered they could bring disease to the most faithful family, our hair is greasy and windblown despite our slow pace, and we’re so worn down everywhere else it would probably take white magic to get us back in good condition. Of course, our feathers are dirty and tangled with a few leaves and twigs, but no matter their condition they’d chase away any prospective aid. Maybe seven-year-olds with wings are cute, but once you’re twelve years past the age the curse should have struck you dead, you get nothing but suspicion and fear. That means nobody wants to put up with us in an honest relationship, so we rob, which in turn makes others even less friendly towards us. Wonderful cycle of justice, isn’t it?

All of it because our mother screwed up badly enough, just one time. Or, that’s all it took to curse us in the first place. How we survived this long is another story altogether, one I’ve yet to figure out.

Of course, if we don’t get food here, we’re not going to survive much longer.

The rows of maize approach far too slowly, and I’m already struggling for breath by the time I get to the nearest row of the crop. Matthew comes up beside me as I start browsing the husks. From the silks alone I start paring down what’s good to eat, but  I still have to knife open a few husks and kernels to check ripeness. If I’m going to steal from these people, I’m not going to take anything that I won’t be able to eat. The extra weight wouldn’t do me much good, either.

As I keep browsing the maize, I slowly come upon the conclusion that the first ones planted were those right next to the house, and the ones I’m seeing may have been sown some time after. Maybe there wasn’t enough seed, or the soil was bad for a while, or news of a couple of farm-edge marauders has spread over the years and this is a precaution. I can’t help but be suspicious, although that’s probably thinking too highly of my brother and myself. We may be a bit infamous, but I doubt we’ve done enough, good or bad, to be known that far and wide.

Finally the kernels start to give cloudy residue when I stab them, and I pluck the promising ear off its stem. 

Is there really any reason to soak this first? I’m starving enough for my breath to carry a sharp tang, and the maize is strangely heavy in my arms. Will I be able to hurry off with much more than this? It might be the only one here that’s ready to eat. It would actually be pretty strange if the family planted half of their crop later than the other. There’s no reason to assume any of the rest is ready to eat. If I’m not caught, I could always come back later, anyway.

“Jonathan?”

Jumping, I manage to stumble onto my knees, but I keep my grip on my ear of maize. 

“Sorry,” my brother whispers, stepping back a few stalks so I can see him. Shuffling three ears of maize onto one arm, he offers a hand to help me up. Light pounds at my eyes when I stand, and I nearly fall back down before the clenching pain in my head subsides.

“It’s no problem,” I say back quietly, letting go of his hand. “I was the one zoning out.”

“I was beginning to suspect.” Evening out the load in his arms, he takes a few steps backwards. “Don’t take more than you can carry, okay?”

“Yeah.” Thumbing my single full husk and wondering if I was really so sure it was unique, I go back to investigating the food. Three more stalks pass before another good ear crops up, but soon I make it into a thicker patch of promising silks, and the real gathering begins. It’s not long before I’ve accrued such a stash it’s difficult task readying my knife to check out more. Wishing my wool bag hadn’t torn itself to shreds, I just keep clutching the sweet-smelling maize to my bare chest as I search for one last ear.

By now Matthew has slipped out of my sight, but the stalks shiver violently a few man-lengths away, near the side of the square of crops. Although neither of us is particularly tall, we ought to at least see the top of each other’s wings in here. After a glance over my shoulder, I head towards the disturbed maize to make sure my brother didn’t just trip and fall. 

“Hey!” The throaty roar, which most certainly doesn’t belong to my brother, masks the thumps of my maize hitting the ground when I flinch back.

“What pests are—” The swish of stalks bowing out of the way is all I can hear when he cuts off. Nearly kicking one of the dropped ears in his rampage, he freezes upon locking eyes with me. His irises are just shy of black, but the broken blood vessels of his eyes soften the contrast. More scars than a few farming accidents would explain cross his shoulders and upper arms. Whether he’s ever been a soldier or not is up for debate, but he’s still sturdier than me, and I think he’s capable of using that club for more than busting up dirt clods.

He hovers with a stunned look in his eyes as he stares at my wings, but the spell is broken once I reach for the ear of maize nearest my foot. I barely get my fingers around the husk before the farmer seizes my wrist with a grip that could pulp manioc. In a flash, my left wing snaps open, launching a few loose feathers into his face. It distracts him enough for me to jerk my bruised wrist away, but he instantly realizes his mistake and raises the clod-buster. 

With an airy grunt, I jump back, tilting my wings so I don’t lose my balance. The huge knot at the end of the club sweeps through open air, and the farmer stops it with his other hand before taking another step forward between the rows of maize. Dropping into a squat, I snap up one good ear while I’m next to it. As if I’m going to face down this fellow, even in a retreat, without getting what I came for.

“Jonathan!” Before he shouts my name, I can already feel that Matthew’s behind me. “Just leave them!”

Sweat dripping down his bronze forehead, my brother pushes stalks out of the way and squeezes his way onto our strip of dirt. 

“Sir,” he pants, clasping his hands in front of his face and bowing a bit to the farmer, “we mean no harm. We’re only hungry. Please allow us a few ears of your maize if you can afford it. If not, we will walk away with nothing but apologies.”

“Is that right?” The farmer responds, squinting at us with his thick brows lowered. “Am I to believe that assisting the likes of you isn’t going to bring a curse upon my family?”

“Why would it?” I respond, trembling and fingering the husk in my hand. “We have wings, not a disease. It’s not going to spread.”

The farmer looks quite pointedly at my loot, while my brother looks quite pointedly at my mouth. I understand why the farmer’s not so happy with me, but what does Matthew think I’ve done wrong? Why is he trying to show respect, anyway? This man just attacked us, he’s hardly nobility, and we’re not here to make friends and drop in for a bite later. Voluntarily or not, we’re robbers. We’re inherently antagonizing him. We only need to get the maize and go, and I don’t think using pretty words is going to help with that.

“I’m not sure exactly what you are,” the farmer says, tightening his grip on the clod-buster, “but if your parents were as horrible as other Mayflies’, I want nothing to do with you. Get away from my crop before you contaminate my entire farm.”

Matthew takes a step back, but I slowly push myself back to my feet and stand, meeting the farmer’s gaze.

“We’ve already contaminated all of these,” I say, gesturing towards my spilt armful of maize. “How about you let us get them off your farm first, and then we’ll leave without touching anything else.”

Baring his teeth, the farmer raises the club to rest its gnarly tip on his muscle-bound shoulder. “Leave right now.”

I step forward to grab another ear, but the clod-buster is coming down before Matthew can holler for me to stop. The small of my back crunches as the rough wood collides with it, and jolts of pain shoot to my heels and crown alike. Suddenly giving out, my knees thump to the ground hard, and my left one lands square on a small, round rock.

“Gaah!” I reflexively grab my wounded knee with my free hand, but I suck in a breath and snatch the other ear of maize. Fingers wrap around my upper wings, and Matthew jerks me back. Some of my weight shifts onto my feet, but my knee refuses to straighten without giving out on me. The farmer eyes us with no less ill will than before, and he still has his club poised to strike.

“We’re leaving!” Matthew cries, pulling me back farther so he can stand between the farmer and me. “We’re leaving as quickly as we can!”

The farmer steps nose-to-nose with my brother.

“I hear your kind can fly faster than a man can run.”

Quivering, Matthew takes a step back, forcing me to scuttle a little farther backwards.

“Not in this condition,” he murmurs, giving his wings a feeble flutter.

The farmer seems to be of the conviction Mayflies that rob are perfectly apt to lie as well. Without the slightest hint of consideration crossing his face, he lunges at Matthew. Dodging backwards, my brother would have stumbled over me if I hadn’t scooted farther back myself. Struggling to my feet, I try to put weight on my left foot, but all I accomplish is sending flames of pain shooting up and down my leg. I still manage to stagger back a bit as Matthew turns around. He sees my knee, winces, and looks me in the eye. I hear him before he can ask out loud.

“What choice do I have?” I grunt, pivoting to face a straight line of soil ready to send me off. Putting all the weight I can onto my good leg, I crouch and spring into the air as high as I can before my wings start to flap. I sink back to the ground, but after one more push-off, I’m finally ascending. An ache is already starting to gather in my shoulders, and the air feels much thinner than it must be at this height, but I’m flying.

Matthew runs a bit longer before he joins me above the field. In less pain, he catches up to me in no time, but the farmer’s heavy footfalls still chase us. Can’t he see we’re already pushing as hard as we can? What more could he expect from us?

The rage urges my wings to flap a bit faster, but I’m still struggling for air as we approach the end of the field. The tips of silks tickle my toes, and it’s all I can do to keep pace with Matthew, to keep going, keep going.

The farmer comes to a stop at the edge of his maize rows, but it’s not enough to send a cool wave of victory over me. He can still go back to his family, back to the rest of the city, and spread the word. We’ll be lucky to snatch much of anything around here, and that’s only if they don’t form a mob to chase us away on threat of death. I don’t need to wait for that to get me away from here. It’s a lot nicer if we just leave on our own. If we can, at least.

We’ve crossed back over the white path, and the waving leaves of trees hang just below us. Still not far enough. Tilting our wings so we’re not just doubling back, we continue along the forest. Not far enough. Invisible stones crush in on my head, and dots fill my vision as gasps fill my ears. Not far enough. My feathers are flames, the bone and muscle beneath burning up beneath them. Yet not far enough!

I surge ahead, and my foot tangles in a branch. The bark rips at my skin, nearly taking my ankle off before it decides to swallow the whole of me. Pivoting down, I feel the leaves and twigs ripping into my wings before my forearms smash into a strong branch. Although I somehow managed to protect my face, my arms crush back against my cheekbones, and a great surge of black drowns my vision.