8. Mari

Chapter eight

Mari

N ot long after we leave Winnie's house, the sky turns a sick shade of green-gray.

The clouds roll over the mountains like smoke billowing from a dragon's maw. Patti has a hooped cover stored in the back of the cart, and we throw it together before the first raindrops fall.

Next, we will get a small enclosure for the bench seat setup. It's not a perfect system for the passengers upfront, but it's better than being entirely left out in the elements.

The wheels drag as they sink into the softening ground. I can feel it, even in my inexperience.

What I wouldn't give for a modern roadway and a car right now.

The day passes in a deluge of rain. It never stops, never wavers. It just pounds at us like sea spray. I see Patti grow increasingly concerned as the day drags on and the light starts to fade. If I were to guess, it's only about four in the afternoon, but it's already so dark out that we have lost sight of the road twice.

I know it's getting dangerous out, and I suspect he does also.

"How close are we getting to the next delivery?" I call to him, my voice muffled by the surrounding torrent.

"Only a few hours. We can make it there before sundown, but it's almost already too dark, and the road is washing out in spots,"he calls over to me.

"Can we just pull over and wait until tomorrow? We have the covered wagon. We can stay dry until the morning, or at least until the rain stops." There is no hesitation. He nods immediately, liking this suggestion in comparison to the alternative.

We move down the sodden path. The wagon rocks and jolts, and a wheel gets caught in a deep rivet on the path, but we are able to pull out.

The spot we find to camp for the night is little more than a roadside turnout. We're far away from the main path. But I don't think that's going to be an issue. I doubt many people are traveling tonight if they have the option.

We don't set up a true camp. It's more grab-our-shit and pile into the back of the wagon.

We eat the food Winnie packed for us for dinner—huddled in the small cart, hunched over our crossed legs like children at snack time.

I don't notice the dark creeping in. Our lamplight bounces off the tan hide covering, making things look and feel brighter than they are. It's only when Patti dims the light that I realize just how black it is out.

Night, that's something I hadn't considered. It will be my first night after my encounter in the woods, and the fear of it spreads on me like a rash.

Patti seems to have no trouble sleeping and is snoring loudly within minutes. Rain beats down on the treated canvas, thumping loudly in my ears. The wind constantly whips through the trees, and the brush makes snapping and howling sounds.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when a particularly hard gust blows the wagon, shaking it. Patti doesn't budge and keeps on snoring away.

There is an angry, envious part of me that wants to smack him. Whether it's because he is sleeping or because he's loud, I'm unsure. Either way, I'm not going to get any sleep tonight.

I lay there all night, eyes wide, watching the dark moon and starless night shift from deepest hollow black to slate and then overcast gray.

No brilliant morning colors or heat from the sun, just the slightest shift from dark to dull.

I'm exhausted, hollow, more so than yesterday.

Nothing like sleep deprivation and trauma to turn you into a shell of what you once were, or at least what you thought you were.

It is only a short time before Patti stirs. I'm already sitting up, rubbing my heavy eyelids, undoubtedly stained a darker blue-brown shade from lack of sleep. I'm tired, so fucking tired. Every cell in my body screams at me. Get out. This place is wrong. You don ' t belong here.

Home . I refused to think of it at first, but now, it's the only word that rattles through my brain, making me ache for it more than I knew possible. And it's not just home but to feel like myself again—strong, confident. Not this helpless thing being carted from one place to the next .

The draining of the adrenaline from my system causes my body to ache—a sensation I'm unaccustomed to. A weakness I didn't know was inside me until I was stripped of the mechanisms to keep it at bay.

Patti groans next to me, a sound you could describe as pained. I don't know exactly how old he is, but given the wear on his face and hands, he's no spring chicken. Part of me wonders if the weather bothers his body the way it can where I'm from.

I had ACL surgery, and ever since, my knee aches just before a weather system moves in.

He's turned away from me, gathering his heavy brown jacket and hat. Then he turns to face me.

"Good spirits, gal. Did you get any sleep at all? You look like something a sea creature spit out."

"Good morning to you, too." I want to spit that sentence at him, but I lack energy.

"Why didn't you sleep? Was I snoring too loudly?"

"Well, you were snoring, but that's not the reason. I guess I'm still getting used to nights in this world." I lie. I don't know why I can't tell him, why I can't just be honest.

Then a thought occurs to me, another specific word he uses in lew of all the rest. "Hey Patti, why do you say 'good spirits'?

He tilts his head, and arches a brow. I'll take that as a gesture to elaborate.

"Are spirits the deities here? Like gods?" That phrase has me wondering. What was that thing I saw in the woods? Could it be a spirit?

He leans his head back against the cloth wall of the cart, processing what I said. "The history here is vast, but the long and short of it is…" He searches for the key points in what must be a complex history. "We once worshipped gods. But they were fallible and greedy. They ruled over emotions—love, lust, war, mischief, fear, chaos. The world was in constant war. Ruled over by the gods to fuel their own power. But it was always for nothing. Another crown, another conquering. It never meant anything other than shifting favors from one god to the next. When we finally split the lands centuries ago, after the great war, we realized how we were being used. Thousands of lives were lost. We agreed that we would no longer give the gods power and shifted to living in harmony with the elementals. The spirits and creatures that actually affect how we live. The very nature around us. It has been peaceful ever since."

He opens the cart flap, examining the rain, before closing it again with a long sigh.

I watch him, considering everything he had said, and holding it up to the image of the creature I faced in the woods. It wasn't an elemental, I'm sure of that. There was no harmony, no balance. In fact, the creature felt like chaos and death incarnate. A god, then? You wouldn't think a god could be so easily killed.

I huff out a breath, my eyes glassy from the lack of sleep. This is all too much.

"How about you try to catch some sleep on the way to Soren's house?" He says that name as if I know exactly who that person is. He makes a good point, though. I could sleep; the light is dull enough, and the constant noise and rocking of the cart might help drown out my thoughts.

"Okay," I say sheepishly, a tone that tastes like acid in my mouth. "Do you have any information about this next place? So I'm not surprised."

"Right." He thinks for a moment. "The Vissers are ogres."

"Ogres?"

"Yes, as I said, ogres." He continues as if this information is nonchalant, like describing someone's hair color. "They are a very well- respected family that produces textiles, and I'll mention a great client of mine. Ogres loath dishonesty and time wasting. Be honest, be straightforward, and don't stare."

That's easier said than done. Images of what an ogre looks like reels in my mind: large, green, angry. No, that's the hulk. Technically, it could be both.

A long, loud yawn takes over my body, causing the corners of my eyes to prick with tears. I try to blink them back along with the beckoning of sleep.

"Get comfortable in the back; I'll ride as easily as possible," Patti says before closing the back flap on the cart.

I do. A part of me craves to protest, to seek a way to take charge, but the sleep invading my system wins out.

This isn't me. I don't recognize the sheepish person tucking herself into a bed of fleece. She's tired and weak, a sliver of who she projects herself to be. Maybe it's shock. Who knows?

Mere minutes pass before I'm lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the cart. I don't remember dreaming; the time passes in a fog of deep, therapeutic rest, occasionally punctuated by a jolt from a larger-than-normal bump in the road.

"Good to see you, old friend." A deep voice with a lilt that I can't distinguish eases me out of sleep.

"Oh shit," I say to myself, jolting upright and wiping the pool of drool that stuck to my cheek. "Fantastic first impression."

Someone whips back the cover before I'm entirely composed. My face hardens instinctively at the sight .

This is no soft Shrek-like ogre. This creature looks built for battle. The creature's hard-set jawline merges with shoulders and arms better suited to wielding a battle ax.

He stands at least seven feet and has a blue-green hue to his skin. Braids and metal cuffs adorn his long, chestnut brown hair, tapping at the wagon's floor when he looms his head inside.

Large, fox-like brown eyes scan me and my defensive posture. He crooks a slight smile, baring white teeth with larger than normal canines. His hair matches the color of his eyes, standing out earthen and familiar against the otherworldly tone of his skin.

And his skin. It's green with dark blue marks etched into it. A pattern that looks like a topographical map if I were to compare it to anything.

He holds out a hand to me. The same marks continue over his ringed fingers. Before I have time to bat it away, Patti comes into view.

"Oh good, you're awake. Mariana, this is Soren." He gestures to the giant at his side. I'm stunned into silence. The only pleasantry that comes to mind is a light nod in his direction.

Shit, you're staring. Stop staring. I repeat that in my head, finding the willpower to cast my stare beyond the creature and into the space behind him.

I focus on the layers of sealed, colorful fabrics stacked high on the shelves. I leave the wagon, ignoring the slightly clawed hand still extending toward me.In the corner of my eye, I see Patti shrug at the ogre apologetically.

This barn is massive. Racks and racks of colorful fabrics tucked into protected shelving stack at least twenty feet high.

It is dry and meticulously organized by color and texture. A small part of me wants to walk over and run my hand over the materials, but I'm jolted from that thought when, another ogre joins Patti and Soren's conversation.

From this distance, I take in what I'm looking at. This new ogre is of a smaller stature than Soren—I suppose that is his name.

They stand together, gabbing about who knows what, as if this is normal. As if they aren't creatures from a fairy tale, and this is just another day.

Another day for them maybe, another life for me.

Soren's gaze breaks from the conversation, and he eyes me. Not in a lascivious way, but more in concern. Is Patti telling them what I am—where I'm from?

Something in that thought sends panic shooting through my chest. I don't want a fucking gaggle of ogres gossiping about me while I'm standing right here.

"Hey, aren't we supposed to be unloading this, not gabbing like a bunch of schoolchildren?"

The men eye one another, unsure of what to make of me. Patti snickers, and both ogres smile.

"Right you are, small human. It's best not to waste the day." The ogre holds his hand out to me again. "I know Patti introduced me already, but I prefer to do it properly. My name is Soren, and this is my brother, Aaron." His outstretched hand lingers between us, but instead of my usual move, which would be slapping it away, I take the giant hand of the ogre and squeeze with every muscle in my palm.

"I'm Mariana." He looks down at me with those earthen eyes and cracks another large, taunting smile. Who in the hell does this guy think he is? Small human? Fuck this guy. Where does he get off calling me that? Where does he get off smirking at me? The audacity of this prick .

Rage boils under my skin, and I grind my teeth against the sensation, snapping my hand out of his rough palm like it's acid-coated.

My eyes flare, and there is no doubt he sees my distaste. But you told Patti you could do this. That you would be on your best behavior. This is his livelihood, and he ' s been nice to you. Do this for Patti, and then get the hell out. Don ' t yell at him. Be calm. Nothing good will come from you trying to fight this guy.

I take a deep breath, letting the sensation of cold air fill my lungs, calming my roiling temper. My skin is hot to the touch.

Are there no windows in this stuffy-ass barn?

Soren takes the hint and walks back to stand with Patti and Aaron. But I don't miss the flick of his brown stare. It's subtle enough to have deniability. But I see it. I will keep a close eye on this one.