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She was on her fourth kid, and I knew by the talk of the town it was possibly her last one. Her husband had been drafted as well.
“Julian got into the brambles again.” She laughed shakily, but I could see the tears brimming in her eyes.
She had to be a mess. Pregnant women were already way over-emotional, as it was. Having to deal with three kids running rampant and her husband being drafted couldn’t be easy. A little boy peeked out from behind her legs, one large scratch oozing blood down his cheek. He grinned up at me, showing a missing tooth. The last time he’d been here, his tooth had been wiggly and ready to fall out. That was last week.
“Always the brambles, Julian.” I shook my head and stepped to the side, allowing them to enter.
They shuffled in, and I slipped behind them, taking hold of the silver-wrapped package and little black velvet box, setting them on the cabinet’s shelf behind the table and out of the reach of grubby little hands that I knew liked to randomly swipe things.
They took their seats at the little table, and I stepped into the adjacent little kitchen, plucking open a cabinet door. I drew out a small plastic bowl with a lid and listened as the coins within jingled. Next, I grabbed hold of a much smaller plastic bowl. It was closed, but I could still smell the herbs that wafted within. Next to it, I plucked up a small purple vial and carried the three items to the table. I set the big bowl right smack in the middle of the table with the smaller one and the vial next to it in the row.
Opening the smaller tub, I picked out one of the leaves and opened the vial, smearing the paste with the little brush hooked to the lid. The paste was puke green and stung my nostrils. The stench was going to fill the entire cabin soon, but I would air it out overnight as always.
“That stuff stinks,” Julian whined like usual.
I rolled my eyes, snickering as his mother spoke. “Then stop getting in brambles, Julian.”
I turned and scooted closer to the little boy, slapping the salve onto his face over the cut, cupping it to hold it tight. I leaned forward, blowing on it.
ChapterNine
Istared down into the bowl full of money. It was mine, all mine. The extra that I had made over the last two years. The tips that I’d been given. Tips were few and far between because nobody had much extra to go around. But they tried, even if it was only an extra coin. I couldn’t complain; I never did. Complaining was for those who truly had something to whine about. Like those who couldn’t walk anymore. Or those whose careers had been taken away from them, leaving their families without food. I was lucky to be in my position, able to heal. Even if it was measly cuts like Julian’s because he didn’t listen to his mother and stay out of the brambles.
But I knew this time had been because of the ship. He’d wanted to see his father off, just like any of us wanted to see our precious family members and the loves of our lives off. He must’ve slipped before he could, which was honestly a good thing. If he’d been caught, he would’ve been put behind bars at the young age of ten. It didn’t matter how old you were. Rules were rules, and disobeying them would call for punishment, no matter your age.
I had no reason to hide my money without anyone to occupy the home with me. My father and brother would never steal from me, but my father liked to drink a little more than necessary. He would’ve used my measly tips to fund the wretched drinks that would eventually make his liver shrivel and take his last breath from him.
I tapped the table, staring down into the bowl. The coins were gold and silver; the paper money always reminded me of lists. They were pieces of parchment with numbers written on them and a description of what they were for. Once one was made, the money was instant. There was no waiting for it. A person only held a certain amount of parchment in their book and could only write out so much. They were calculated every month. Especially for those who made a little extra per month. It was why I didn’t ever count my tips as an income. If I did that, I would be seen as making too much, and the little extra food we were given as ration would be taken from us. It was going to be worse now. I was making enough to cover a family of three. Without my brother and father, I would be deemed unfit for any and all help given. Even if I ended up struggling to make ends meet in the long run.
I push off the table and go to the cabinet behind it, pulling open a drawer. In it lay my mother’s bag. She used to carry it everywhere with her. The full of vials were now empty. Even medicine goes bad, and that crap reeked when it did. My hand hovered above it, hesitating before withdrawing to push it aside and pick up a much smaller bag—a light blue pouch. It, too, had been my mother’s. I knew it was empty, which was why I took it.
Pulling it out, I went back to the bowl and zipped open the pouch before shoving all my tips into it. I knew I probably should’ve done it a long time ago, but I never wanted to touch things that belonged to my mother. It was like once I did, she’d never come back because she wouldn’t have a reason. All her earthly possessions would be gone.
I knew it was stupid. Given the chance, I knew she’d return for her family. Still, a little part of me always feared disturbing her things. I couldn’t think that way right now.
I shoved the now full pouch back into the drawer and shut it. It wasn’t like I was disturbing it, just keeping my money hidden from any visitors who might knocking on my door.
Crouching, I held out my hand, grasping the paper as it flew into my palm. Clutching it, I stood and turned it over, reading at the list upon it. I recognized my father’s crude scrawl of handwriting. Neither he nor Jasper could legibly write. I’d grown accustomed to it and could make out just about every word. I had to study it for a few minutes, but eventually, I got it. Frustration swept over me. It was just a piece of paper with a bunch of names and coordinates that made no sense whatsoever to me. Tossing the paper to the table, I watched it flutter across the surface and teeter before stopping right before it could fall off.
I screamed. The sound shook the window, and I looked out towards the village but did nothing else. I could make the whole place quiver and possibly even cave in if I wanted to, but I stopped before doing such a thing. Until I couldn’t. With the scream, I released the feelings inside of me. It exploded. Shoving the table, I watched it slam against the wall, buckling as a leg snapped. Chairs went flying, hitting walls and even the cabinet of drawers. I screamed again, this time cracking the window. It started in the middle and spread like a spider’s web. Every glass container visible in the kitchen followed suit, threatening to shatter, but I quieted down before any of them had any chance to do so.
I collapsed to the ground and dug my fingers into my hair, leaning forward to press my forehead against my knees as the sobs finally began. Alone, I didn’t have to worry about making anyone feel bad. I was alone. It was just me and it might stay that way. I hated that knowledge. I hated knowing that my mother had been taken to protect me. I hated knowing that I was old enough to fend for myself, which was the sole reason my brother and father were drafted. I had nobody now. Not even a boyfriend. Sure, I had my friends, but none understood my desire to fight. They thought we were lucky to stay home, to not be in the line of fire. None of them understood that I couldn’t just be another onlooker while the others got to fight and die for us just to sit around and hope they came back alive.
Standing, I moved the kitchen cabinets and flicked open each and every one of them until I found what I was looking for. At the very last one, three full bottles of brown and white liquid greeted me. I took all of them out and set them on the counter, popping off each of their lids. I wasn’t going to just sit around and do nothing, but I honestly had no idea what I was going to do at this point. My future was mapped out for me, written despite not having a damn word to say about it.
I would be the village’s healer, following in my mother’s footsteps even if I didn’t have her full talent in my veins. I was going to settle with a man, whether it would be Timothy, a miracle itself, or some other man who came and swept me up. I would have his children, live in a comfortable cabin, and raise our children. After bearing my first child, I would wash the village’s clothes and be banned from visiting the bigger cities. I couldn’t be replaced as a mother, so anything possibly dangerous to my life would be prohibited.
My life was made. I was supposed to be happy about it, supposed to feel lucky. But I didn’t feel that way at all. I was angry. Because why should my life be dictated by jerks who knew nothing of what I wanted? To them, I was just a childbearing machine, nothing more, and I didn’t have a word to say about it.
My life was a pathetic excuse for an existence if you asked me. Not that anyone ever did.
I picked up the bottle with swirling white liquid. It was thick and reminded me of the color of my hair, which currently hung loosely down my back. Dipping my head back, I chugged it, determined to down the entire bottle. I just wanted one night to not think about things, and I definitely didn’t want to go through my first night completely alone. At least drunk, I could probably hallucinate a sleeping partner of some sort.
When the bottle of thick white liquid was finished, I tossed it to the ground and grabbed up the one with brown liquid. It was thinner, and I knew from experience that it was far more potent. I repeated my actions, though, desperate to get as drunk as possible and just completely black my night out. I didn’t want to feel lonely, even if it was just for a few short hours.
When I finished the second bottle, I did the same with number three and sat down, feeling the warmth of liquor swarm through my body. I leaned back and stretched my arms over my head. I could feel my body swaying, as if floating on waves. It felt too good to get up any time soon.
Azula.
