The Siuil: Oraithe (Part 2)

Óraithe pulled on a tattered dress over some old trousers. It was certainly out of step with the fashion of the day but it was all she could do to keep her legs protected when she might have to run through Sisters knows what to avoid the guards. She’d have taped her breasts down as well, she thought, if they were substantial enough to warrant it. She had pulled the neck of the dress out and was staring down at them when Cosain entered the store room.

He was carrying a small crate of some herb or other and almost didn’t seem to notice her at all. At least that’s what she’d hoped. He placed the crate on a workbench and turned to address her. “You’re headed out, then? Even after yesterday?”

"Oh, you mean to make me a prisoner, old man?" She hadn’t meant to snap at him, in truth. She felt bad about it but her pride demanded it.

The alchemist didn’t rise to the jab, “The guards do,” he said plainly. “You ought not think you can play so close to the fire and never feel the touch of the Black Sister.”

Óraithe became annoyed, “And what should I do? Sit in your shop and wither like your damned herbs?”

"It would be a better end than you’re like to find out there."

She spat at the ground and made for the curtain to leave, “And that’s why the world is as it is. Cowards and fools who would rather shrivel and die with what they are given than claw what they deserve from betters.” The word was as much thrown at the ground as spoken.

She was done. Óraithe grabbed a cloak from the wall and wrapped it around herself as she left.

Out in the alleys the heat was as oppressive as ever. The cloak and shadows of the three and four storey stucco buildings helped keep Óraithe from the sun directly. Cosain, frustrating as she found him, was right about the guards. Their memory was not so short as a day and she’d do best to avoid at least those involved in chasing her.

She passed across a through street and was nearly bowled over by a rush of shavers making for the main street. “Little bastards!” she called after them. One turned to make a rude face but was implored by his friend, “Don’t mind that hag or we’ll miss it!”

Miss it? Óraithe hadn’t heard of any nobles coming through today. What could they mean? She decided to follow and see what was happening, if anything. It could just be some clown or candymaker. She cut over to a thin alleyway that she knew exited to the main street. One that wasn’t like to be used by the rabble. She could make out a line of silhouettes along the street at the end of the alleyway. Whatever was going on, it’d drawn more than the whores’ whelps she passed before.

She came to the end of the alley and found herself staring at nothing but shoulders. She cursed her height. The Sisters had not been kind. She was short to the point of mockery most times. Not dwarvish just… tiny. Tiny in so many ways, she thought, and placed a hand to her breast. She’d managed to anger herself and began trying her damndest to shove through the rabble.

Her elbows were sharp but the throngs were not quick to part. She shoved forward with what weight she had and found it slow going. She’d nearly forgot why she was forcing her way through a crowd in the heat of Saol but the murmuring picked up and brought her back to her senses. What was out there? Just a one… more… push…

She burst through, but she’d put too much momentum into it. She awkwardly loped out into the street, just keeping her balance. She was looking down at dirty cobblestones. Oh no, she thought, breath catching in her throat. She was in the middle of the street. She looked behind to see a few elves pulling themselves up from the ground. The crowd hushed and the voice sounded as if it was inside of her very mind.

"Do you have business with me, child?" The accent was foreign, like nothing she’d ever heard. The voice, husky and confident. Óraithe turned her head and saw what had caused the fuss.

"D… Drow?" Óraithe stammered somewhere between awe and terror.

"Elf." The Drow squinted at her in the light of the day. "Your skin will burn if you spend so long in the sun."

Óraithe held her breath and stared. She was mesmerized. A Drow! No more than an arm’s length from her! Light purple hair pulled back tight, the shifting grey skin. It seemed to run through colors between the greys. A deep rainbow in between gulfs of darkness. Her eyes, black as coal.

The Drow put a hand on her hip, growing impatient, “Well, elf?”

Before she knew it, Óraithe was darting for the other side of the street. The crowd parted to let her through and she made it to the dark comfort of the alley way. She slumped to the ground, back against a cool wall. The murmuring continued. A few curious elves looked down the alleyway toward her. She had to get away.

Óraithe got up and began walking briskly. She’d meant to meet Teas! She’d nearly forgotten. Her walk became an open run. She was late.

Teas was standing at the edge of the alleyway they normally met wringing her hands and looking back and forth. She spotted Óraithe running toward her and crouched, not sure if they were running from something or not. Óraithe held up a hand and shook her head to signal that things were fine. Óraithe clopped to a stop in front of Teas.

"So…" she caught her breath, "Sorry! I was late. There was…" she stopped herself and looked around.

She grabbed Teas by the arm and pulled her into the alleyway. Teas was a good deal taller than Óraithe. A half foot or so. She had the light hair of the northern elves and something of a fat face. Óraithe found it incredibly endearing. She was innocent and looked as though she should be. They’d been friends nearly as long as Óraithe can remember.

"Why were you late? Did something happen? Cosain?" Teas seemed concerned for Óraithe.

"No, no. Well, yes, but that’s not what kept me. Fool old man." Óraithe looked to the side, frustrated remembering the morning’s conversation.

"He just cares for you," Teas offered.

Óraithe scoffed at the thought, “He cares for comfort and peace. He doesn’t…” She realized she was getting off track. “AH! A Drow!”

Teas raised an eyebrow, “A brow? I don’t…”

Óraithe threw her arms up and spun around, elated. ”There was a Drow! She was just walking down the main street! Sisters, she was magnificent! Much prettier than they say. I wonder what she—”

"You saw her?!" Teas was excited at the idea.

"Saw her?! I near touched her! She wasn’t any farther than you are from me now!" Óraithe was practically swooning.

"Oh! That must have been scary." Teas put a hand to her mouth.

"It was amazing!” Óraithe grabbed Teas by the shoulders, “She stared right at me. Her eyes were like black diamonds. I wanted to touch her so badly! And the way she walked, it was as if she owned the world!”

Teas rolled her head back and looked up at the pale blue of the sky, “It must be nice, such confidence. And can you imagine? Being stared at like that? By so many people?”

Óraithe sighed, “What I wouldn’t give to talk to her. She must have so many stories.”

Teas sighed, “I want to have stories.”

Óraithe was silent a moment, looking up at the sky. After a time, she spoke, “Why shouldn’t we?”

"Hm?" Teas asked, as if she had only been half listening.

Óraithe grabbed her friend by the hand and brought the taller elf back down to the world. “Why shouldn’t we have stories?”

"Well, we’re lowborn slum elves, for one. And you’re short and I’m a coward." Teas said it matter of factly.

Óraithe persisted, ”Aside from your booming confidence, then. Why shouldn’t we?”

Teas shrugged and Óraithe clapped her hands. “Then it’s decided! We’ll make our own stories.”

The pair headed to a potshop, continuing to talk of adventures and the stories they’d no doubt be a part of. Óraithe told of her adventure with the bread from the day before. Teas’s mouth watered to hear about it. She wished she’d had some to use on the awful stew. Óraithe protested, insisting it’d be a waste of such heavenly bread.

They parted ways after a few hours time at the potshop. Óraithe wandered the streets along for a time. She couldn’t shake the Drow from her mind. Where could she have been heading? The High District? Did they even allow Drow there? Óraithe hadn’t thought they allowed Drow into the city at all. She asked after the Drow to a few passersby. Most ignored her but finally a fat drunkard of an elf directed to an alehouse not far from where she was.

She approached the alehouse with caution. It was loud and night was falling outside. Óraithe’s heart had been in her throat since the directions, thick with the stink of alcohol, had made their way into her ears. It was dangerous, she knew. She hesitated. Should she go in? It was apt to end poorly.

"If yer goin’ in, get on with it, whelp." An angry voice barked at her. Without thinking she pushed the curtain aside and stumbled in. No one seemed to notice but she made her way quickly to the  corner of the place nonetheless. It was dimly lit inside and smelled more of piss than ale. Across the room from Óraithe was a staircase leading up to a few rooms, no doubt. She scanned the room for the Drow. The grey skinned woman was sitting at a table in the far corner. Her seat faced out over the room. Surely she’d seen Óraithe come in. What would she do now? What had she come here for? To gape at a Drow? Would the Drow even talk with her? Is that what she wanted?

Óraithe didn’t quite know. But she knew she was curious. She made for the stairs as casually as she could manage given the raucous temper of the place. She reached the stairs and climbed them quickly. Something in her chest loosened as the sounds of revelry became muffled by the floorboards.

It quickly became clear that Óraithe had failed to think this through properly as she scanned the doors laid out before her. She wasn’t sure if she should check each room or even if the Drow meant to spend the night at the inn. Fires take her, she should have planned. She turned to go but stopped herself spinning toward the stairs when she noticed a door with slightly better fittings around the knob and hinges. That was it, something inside her called out.

She walked to the door and reaching for the knob.

"Perhaps you are lost, little elf." That accent. Óraithe froze in place. "Or did you hope to share my bed? I’m not one for bedding anything without a cock to put between my legs. Though with tits like those, I suppose I could pretend."

Óraithe put her hand on her chest and clinched her teeth. She wanted to turn and run. Maybe she could knock the Drow over and get past her before she— Her planning was cut short by the feel of steel at her back. The point of a blade and then the warmth of a body. The Drow had pressed herself against Óraithe. A slender grey hand reached around the shivering elf to unlock the door. It swung open and Óraithe was shoved inside.

Her knees gave out from fear and Óraithe found herself staring up at the Drow from the floor. The darkling sheathed the blade and strode patiently to a chair in the corner of the room. Óraithe looked around for the first time. The room was far finer than the main floor would have led one to believe was possible.

"Is it that you fancy yourself a thief, elf?" The Drow crossed her legs and considered. "It would fit one of your size. You are scarcely taller than me. Rare for your type."

It was true. Óraithe had been so excited by seeing the Drow that she scarcely noticed the size of her. She’d heard they were short but she’d never met anyone smaller than herself. Could she overtake her, maybe? With her size? Óraithe shifted to sit properly.

"I… I am no thief." Óraithe finally had managed to force words from her throat. "I was… I was curious. About you, I mean."

"Goddess! You elves are intolerable. And on a night when I am so busy." The Drow grew impatient, agitated, like an animal who thirsted for blood and found only water.

The grey woman stood up, her skin dark in the dim light of the room and more imposing than it had been in the street. She was beautiful still, but sinister now. She walked to Óraithe and crouched. Her black eyes seemed to burn. An inky fire that burned away everything Óraithe thought she knew about the world.  ”You are weak, elf child. And the weak do not interest me. Go.”

Óraithe would not wait for a second invitation. She scrambled to her feet and burst out of the room with all haste. She didn’t stop running until the light of the alehouse had long since fallen away to the twists and turns of the slum alleyways. She wanted to go home. She wanted to sleep in her bed. She wanted to be safe. Onward she ran, in the only direction she’d ever known. The taste of bile rose at the back of her throat. She never wanted to go home. She wanted to sleep where she fell. She wanted to be scared.