Post by Nina on Feb 29, 2024 15:07:18 GMT -5
Would she ever feel like friendship was something she deserved? Something warm and fuzzy like the imaginary cat purring inside her chest now, Nina thought, not a war that other had to fight through to reach her. She thought of how she had struggled to connect with people in Port Argentium, be helpful – it was how you survived – but Theodosia was still the one closest to her. She thought of Gray, and shuddered, and thought that perhaps trust was something she had to learn again.
Then Theodosia asked her about a happy memory. And Nina pondered.
“I'll tell you about the Post Office.” The traveller finally said. As she spoke, she seemed to relax. “Well...it wasn't an office, so to speak. Every letter and parcel sort of found its way behind the bar, in the inn. That's where the sailors stayed. So they always smelled funny. The letters, not...” Her gestures filled the air, pointing this way, that way, as if the quaint objects of her speech were just within reach. “From there Mr. Sárrajuoksa – he wasn't the mayor, you see, that was Heike, he was a newcomer with a knack for the numbers, they had a big fight once – anyway, Mr. Sárrajuoksa did town stuff, too – he passed the parcels on. There weren't many. I mean, there were about...” she mused, “fifty houses in Anchor? We were the town closest to midnight.” The small gesture indicated she had not meant it as time, but as a cardinal direction. “Someone had to do it. For within the town, it was usually passed on to children. Not always letters, either. Most often spoken messages, trinkets, a length of ham. Smoked fish with words on it, that was very popular.” Nina's eyes twinkled. “I liked to deliver post. I would run very fast and people gave me snacks.”
“For outside town, messages would usually get picked up by the next trapper headed that way. Some didn't like to do it, some preferred it - “ Nina shrugged, “you might go quite a bit out of the best trapping routes to reach some homesteads, but still, the people fed and sheltered you.”
She smoothed her trousers as if they were a map.
“I started with the town. But soon I started delivering to the outskirts, then further away. I had gone crazy in my first winter there, so my grandparents didn't push me to specialize into an actual craft, as long as I learned something, and did something. So I would have time to recover. Going back to what you said earlier,” Nina said with a fidget, “I'm not that mysterious – we just didn't really have last names there.” She said. “Not in the same way. Earlier on I was Lily's, and in Anchor I was Vulle's and Leandu's son's dōttir.” You didn't just have a name, there – you belonged to someone. “My grandfather would teach me about the forest, or sometimes I would join one of the trappers, Cloudberry, to learn the paths.” Her expression grew into something like dreaming. “The forest, Theodosia. Those tall trees.” She pointed to things that only she could see. “Or the juniper thickets, like a blanket over the ground against the harsh wind. The plains of lichens. The sun which never seemed to set. I had never walked so much before, but it felt at times as if I had the land in my veins. And if I could sneak a bit of time to paint, well...” She winked. “All the better.”
“I feel a bit sad for my grandparents.” Nina said after a few moments. “My father ran away to see the world, and then they got me, who longed for the horizon as well. I think they knew I would leave before I did. But they understood. All that they asked is that I learned to survive on my own, and helped others.” It took a few moments for the girl to swallow the knot in her throat.
“It turns out that when there is a reliable service, people will use it more and more.” Nina spoke after a few moments. “I think with the post office I am partly responsible for one marriage.” Also the tiny honey trade and delivering a good amount of bread. “Still, I kept to the summer. Until...” She shook her head. “Winter was...” She shut her eyes. “I always felt like winter there felt like a long, restless sleep.” She said, quietly. “The sun might not come up for days. The snow, sometimes as high as houses, would be brighter than the sky. The wind would howl, but it would not be worse than the silence. Sometimes, it might be so cold that your spit would freeze before hitting the ground.”
Clink.
“One year, Cloudberry died.” Nina said simply. “And suddenly there was no one around that moon to connect Anchor to all the homesteads one quarter-moon, two quarter-moons away, to the nomads who had just gotten a good trade on their hands, to- And even if there had been, some of the people just did not have any message meant for them. Including an old widow whose son was still at sea.” Nina sighed, and look up. “He survived, by the way.”
She shook her head. She remembered her grandmother's words of pity. As if the old woman had been trying to teach her empathy.
“So I decided to write letters myself. And carry them.”
It was easy enough, in the warmth of the cabin. It was harder once you stepped in the darkness outside.
“Thinking back, I think my grandfather had talked to the packs. The wolves, I mean.” Nina looked at her friend. “They let me be.” She remembered walking, as if in a dream. “There were lights in the sky, flickering curtains of red and green which helped light my way. That old lady at the foot of the mountain, Theodosia.” Nina felt her eyes grow hot. “She did not know how to read, but she asked me to read my letter again, so she would remember it. She was so happy.”
The girl took a deep breath. She had been so tired earlier – still was, but it was the tiredness of being full to the brim with good emotions that had replaced the bad. She supposed Gray wasn't the only one whose mind Theodosia had changed.
“You must think it's a yarn,” she said, chuckling. “Days without sunrise? Sounds crazy, isn't it? But,” Nina added, “you'll have to trust me on that.”
She hoped Theodosia would. Trust her, that is.
“Say,” she told her friend. “Would you tell me one of your stories in turn? I promise I won't judge, except with kindness.” So they talked, and they played games, and laughed, and all was right in the world.
…
Some way on the shore, a man walked with a doll on his shoulder.
For the longest time he did not speak. He adjusted his hood, so that it would hide the little being without obstructing both of their views. He felt the breeze on his face. Soft cloth on the side of his cheek. Focused on his steps.
“Those islands were carved by waves,” he said, as they passed strange forested pillars rising from the sea. “Only the toughest rock is left.”
He struggled to speak. His few sentences were staggered, cracking, at times inane. He commented on the directions that stars would be in, had they been visible, on the edibility of seaweed.
“You might think that water always wins, but in the cave, I found petrified remains of sea snail shells. Did the sea become rock?”
In silence, he thought of how once he would have strangled any offspring that shared his blood, even as he broke other young people into his mirror image. Of trust, and how he did not deserve it because he no longer was.
He found himself clenching a rock, breathing too quickly as something reminded him of Pain – the only thing that existed – the only thing that could ever exist – but then there was soft cloth on his face and the attack had passed. This was the danger of leaving the numbness. Of starting to feel again.
“Would you want to stop here for now?” Gray asked, registering his surroundings. They had walked past the rocky tide pools, into a narrow bay with thin white sand and a crescent of shells just above the waterline. The white pillar-islands were just behind them. His eyes went to the shells, a rainbow of colours tangled in a mess of shapes and sizes. He winced. Then he placed his palm as a platform for Rosen to step on. “To build a sandcastle?” He asked. The assassin waited for a reply, then knelt down.
“Maybe we could put some of those shells in order.”
Then Theodosia asked her about a happy memory. And Nina pondered.
“I'll tell you about the Post Office.” The traveller finally said. As she spoke, she seemed to relax. “Well...it wasn't an office, so to speak. Every letter and parcel sort of found its way behind the bar, in the inn. That's where the sailors stayed. So they always smelled funny. The letters, not...” Her gestures filled the air, pointing this way, that way, as if the quaint objects of her speech were just within reach. “From there Mr. Sárrajuoksa – he wasn't the mayor, you see, that was Heike, he was a newcomer with a knack for the numbers, they had a big fight once – anyway, Mr. Sárrajuoksa did town stuff, too – he passed the parcels on. There weren't many. I mean, there were about...” she mused, “fifty houses in Anchor? We were the town closest to midnight.” The small gesture indicated she had not meant it as time, but as a cardinal direction. “Someone had to do it. For within the town, it was usually passed on to children. Not always letters, either. Most often spoken messages, trinkets, a length of ham. Smoked fish with words on it, that was very popular.” Nina's eyes twinkled. “I liked to deliver post. I would run very fast and people gave me snacks.”
“For outside town, messages would usually get picked up by the next trapper headed that way. Some didn't like to do it, some preferred it - “ Nina shrugged, “you might go quite a bit out of the best trapping routes to reach some homesteads, but still, the people fed and sheltered you.”
She smoothed her trousers as if they were a map.
“I started with the town. But soon I started delivering to the outskirts, then further away. I had gone crazy in my first winter there, so my grandparents didn't push me to specialize into an actual craft, as long as I learned something, and did something. So I would have time to recover. Going back to what you said earlier,” Nina said with a fidget, “I'm not that mysterious – we just didn't really have last names there.” She said. “Not in the same way. Earlier on I was Lily's, and in Anchor I was Vulle's and Leandu's son's dōttir.” You didn't just have a name, there – you belonged to someone. “My grandfather would teach me about the forest, or sometimes I would join one of the trappers, Cloudberry, to learn the paths.” Her expression grew into something like dreaming. “The forest, Theodosia. Those tall trees.” She pointed to things that only she could see. “Or the juniper thickets, like a blanket over the ground against the harsh wind. The plains of lichens. The sun which never seemed to set. I had never walked so much before, but it felt at times as if I had the land in my veins. And if I could sneak a bit of time to paint, well...” She winked. “All the better.”
“I feel a bit sad for my grandparents.” Nina said after a few moments. “My father ran away to see the world, and then they got me, who longed for the horizon as well. I think they knew I would leave before I did. But they understood. All that they asked is that I learned to survive on my own, and helped others.” It took a few moments for the girl to swallow the knot in her throat.
“It turns out that when there is a reliable service, people will use it more and more.” Nina spoke after a few moments. “I think with the post office I am partly responsible for one marriage.” Also the tiny honey trade and delivering a good amount of bread. “Still, I kept to the summer. Until...” She shook her head. “Winter was...” She shut her eyes. “I always felt like winter there felt like a long, restless sleep.” She said, quietly. “The sun might not come up for days. The snow, sometimes as high as houses, would be brighter than the sky. The wind would howl, but it would not be worse than the silence. Sometimes, it might be so cold that your spit would freeze before hitting the ground.”
Clink.
“One year, Cloudberry died.” Nina said simply. “And suddenly there was no one around that moon to connect Anchor to all the homesteads one quarter-moon, two quarter-moons away, to the nomads who had just gotten a good trade on their hands, to- And even if there had been, some of the people just did not have any message meant for them. Including an old widow whose son was still at sea.” Nina sighed, and look up. “He survived, by the way.”
She shook her head. She remembered her grandmother's words of pity. As if the old woman had been trying to teach her empathy.
“So I decided to write letters myself. And carry them.”
It was easy enough, in the warmth of the cabin. It was harder once you stepped in the darkness outside.
“Thinking back, I think my grandfather had talked to the packs. The wolves, I mean.” Nina looked at her friend. “They let me be.” She remembered walking, as if in a dream. “There were lights in the sky, flickering curtains of red and green which helped light my way. That old lady at the foot of the mountain, Theodosia.” Nina felt her eyes grow hot. “She did not know how to read, but she asked me to read my letter again, so she would remember it. She was so happy.”
The girl took a deep breath. She had been so tired earlier – still was, but it was the tiredness of being full to the brim with good emotions that had replaced the bad. She supposed Gray wasn't the only one whose mind Theodosia had changed.
“You must think it's a yarn,” she said, chuckling. “Days without sunrise? Sounds crazy, isn't it? But,” Nina added, “you'll have to trust me on that.”
She hoped Theodosia would. Trust her, that is.
“Say,” she told her friend. “Would you tell me one of your stories in turn? I promise I won't judge, except with kindness.” So they talked, and they played games, and laughed, and all was right in the world.
…
Some way on the shore, a man walked with a doll on his shoulder.
For the longest time he did not speak. He adjusted his hood, so that it would hide the little being without obstructing both of their views. He felt the breeze on his face. Soft cloth on the side of his cheek. Focused on his steps.
“Those islands were carved by waves,” he said, as they passed strange forested pillars rising from the sea. “Only the toughest rock is left.”
He struggled to speak. His few sentences were staggered, cracking, at times inane. He commented on the directions that stars would be in, had they been visible, on the edibility of seaweed.
“You might think that water always wins, but in the cave, I found petrified remains of sea snail shells. Did the sea become rock?”
In silence, he thought of how once he would have strangled any offspring that shared his blood, even as he broke other young people into his mirror image. Of trust, and how he did not deserve it because he no longer was.
He found himself clenching a rock, breathing too quickly as something reminded him of Pain – the only thing that existed – the only thing that could ever exist – but then there was soft cloth on his face and the attack had passed. This was the danger of leaving the numbness. Of starting to feel again.
“Would you want to stop here for now?” Gray asked, registering his surroundings. They had walked past the rocky tide pools, into a narrow bay with thin white sand and a crescent of shells just above the waterline. The white pillar-islands were just behind them. His eyes went to the shells, a rainbow of colours tangled in a mess of shapes and sizes. He winced. Then he placed his palm as a platform for Rosen to step on. “To build a sandcastle?” He asked. The assassin waited for a reply, then knelt down.
“Maybe we could put some of those shells in order.”
