Grimmek could feel the cloth piled over his hair steaming, the dripping fibers trailing vapors, his twitching ears, angry at being exposed when the rest of his head hid under the makeshift turban. Bait sagged against her brother’s back, arms wilting over his shoulders, the white-white skin now bright pink, her tiny boots thumping against his thighs. The boy said nothing, breathed heavily through his nose, blood-filled eyes staring at the world knew what. His silence swirled about the trio, filling the space with hidden visions and unspoken prophecies.
The Weed Man noticed Bait’s head bobbing, how her eyelashes curled against her cheeks, how shallow the breaths. Tapping Switch on the shoulder [he never touched the girl. Sickness sometimes went through skin.], he said, “You gotta wake up. Boost her. If she sleeps here, we’re done.”
Switch swallowed noisily, sucked in air to speak.
“We s-stayed indoors all the time. S-she’s not used to this.”
He waved a hand at the glittery, dark sands, curving vastly away towards the western mountains, their blue sharpness almost hidden in the haze.
Grimmek swore, bit his cheek and spat blood into the mess of black grit hiding in the scars on his palm.
“From rocks it is
from wind it is
from all around it might be
the air congeals
it comes around
it comes to this one here.”
Water began dribbling from under his nails and after slapping it against the mess of cloth on his head, he took the empty clay bag from Switch and filled it, flicked the remaining droplets at Bait. She groaned and pulled her arms tight around Switch’s shoulders.
“Your stuff stinks like swamp,” she hissed weakly, “I can make better water than that.”
“Don’t use making magic here. It’s one of the old creation dumping places. Mix like I told you.”
She scrunched her face up and huffed, breath cool and sweet. Switch stopped, dumped his sister backwards onto the sands. She yelped but stayed silent otherwise, huddled around the massive bag strapped to her chest.
“You’ve been making food,” Switch said.
“No I haven’t.”
He crouched over her, shaggy hair plastered to his neck, ribs heaving through the white shirt. Grimmek could feel the exhaustion pouring off him.
“It’s the candies we’d have at the Summer Castle. You’d use your magic for something that stupid…”
“I want to go home.”
“…and not even share. I’m not carrying you.”
Bait waved her hands towards her brother, who ignored the fingers that fluttered on his arms.
“You put us all in danger. The desert could eat us.”
“I don’t care,” she said, “I was hungry. I want to go home.”
Grimmek moved out of range of the argument, slapped his heel on something hard. Under his feet already, white marble. Carnellian pillars, far-off music, cinnamon breezes. The vision rushed closer and wrapped around them.
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