Ravenna
magic hidden in the void and —
The tide went out in a sigh of relief. It dragged dirt and debris from the ruins of Haulani out to sea and left gifts of seaweed and brine behind in a give and take as old as the world. Some land reappeared with the receding water, a little more for each day that passed, but much of the city remained submerged, such that the inhabitants had to wade or push along on little canoes or rafts as they worked to repair and rebuild.
The bang and rattle of hammers on the outer wall woke Venna from her midday nap. Clammy with sweat in the stuffy attic room, she lay limp and listened to her mother's rattling coughs for a while, unwilling to move. Sunlight filtered in through moldering reed blinders, illuminating dust mites drifting through the room. Gone were the lush carpets and plush armchairs, the glittering chandelairs and pretty paintings. The big apartment where she'd had her room had washed all away, along with mama's jewelry and perfume bottles, to be replaced with this tiny room above the fish-monger's shop, with bare plank walls and torn old rushing nets dangling from the ceiling. It was tiny and cramped but they had it to themselves, mother had told her sternly when Venna complained, because no one wanted to share space with a sick person.
As if Hannah being sick was a good thing? It didn't make Venna miss her bed or dolls any less. Small things, little things she had taken for granted and scoffed at - ran away from, even, when anything she could pilfer from the streets with her own hands seemed vastly better than anything her mother could provide. Now the loss left an aching want in her belly, like a hunger that couldn't be sated.
Actual hunger rumbled in there too, and the child curled herself into a ball so that it would stop.
"Venna?" Mother's voice was faint, a dry rasp from the bundle of rags on thr floor where they had made a bed. Her hand fumbled across the space between them, found the girl balancing on the edge of the thin mattress as fas away as possible, and gently touched her raven hair. "Water... can you bring me some water, love?"
The girl grumbled reluctantly, rubbing sleep away against the makeshift pillow, but finally rolled up on her knees. Crawling off to the pitcher, she lifted it to fill a cup. The remaining liquid only filled halfway; her own mouth was thick with dust and sleep as she helped raise her mother's head to take careful sips.
"More... Do we have more water?" A rattling somewhere deep in the chest turned into a new set of rattling coughs. Ravenna shook her head, tousled hair falling into her face.
"No. It ran out."
"Then you - need to go find more. Clean water... as much as you can carry." Something in the woman's eyes made Venna's lips tremble.
"I don't wanna go alone."
"Please, my darling. I am not strong enough." And it was true. For many days it had been true, Hannah had grown weaker and weaker, until she couldn't even stand. Guilt added to Ravenna's aching tummy, and the little girl sighed reluctantly.
"... fine."
She left abruptly. The empty jug dangled from her grip as the little girl slipped through the door and stole down the stairs, past Mrs Fish's angry looking cat on the counter that hissed at her over a half-eaten prawn, and out into the brilliant daylight. Squinting as it stabbed her eyes, Venna grimaced dourly at the rank waters that still flooded the street, but had no other choice but to step into it, soon sloshing her way off in search of a well. Most were ruined, but some had to be working still.
The bang and rattle of hammers on the outer wall woke Venna from her midday nap. Clammy with sweat in the stuffy attic room, she lay limp and listened to her mother's rattling coughs for a while, unwilling to move. Sunlight filtered in through moldering reed blinders, illuminating dust mites drifting through the room. Gone were the lush carpets and plush armchairs, the glittering chandelairs and pretty paintings. The big apartment where she'd had her room had washed all away, along with mama's jewelry and perfume bottles, to be replaced with this tiny room above the fish-monger's shop, with bare plank walls and torn old rushing nets dangling from the ceiling. It was tiny and cramped but they had it to themselves, mother had told her sternly when Venna complained, because no one wanted to share space with a sick person.
As if Hannah being sick was a good thing? It didn't make Venna miss her bed or dolls any less. Small things, little things she had taken for granted and scoffed at - ran away from, even, when anything she could pilfer from the streets with her own hands seemed vastly better than anything her mother could provide. Now the loss left an aching want in her belly, like a hunger that couldn't be sated.
Actual hunger rumbled in there too, and the child curled herself into a ball so that it would stop.
"Venna?" Mother's voice was faint, a dry rasp from the bundle of rags on thr floor where they had made a bed. Her hand fumbled across the space between them, found the girl balancing on the edge of the thin mattress as fas away as possible, and gently touched her raven hair. "Water... can you bring me some water, love?"
The girl grumbled reluctantly, rubbing sleep away against the makeshift pillow, but finally rolled up on her knees. Crawling off to the pitcher, she lifted it to fill a cup. The remaining liquid only filled halfway; her own mouth was thick with dust and sleep as she helped raise her mother's head to take careful sips.
"More... Do we have more water?" A rattling somewhere deep in the chest turned into a new set of rattling coughs. Ravenna shook her head, tousled hair falling into her face.
"No. It ran out."
"Then you - need to go find more. Clean water... as much as you can carry." Something in the woman's eyes made Venna's lips tremble.
"I don't wanna go alone."
"Please, my darling. I am not strong enough." And it was true. For many days it had been true, Hannah had grown weaker and weaker, until she couldn't even stand. Guilt added to Ravenna's aching tummy, and the little girl sighed reluctantly.
"... fine."
She left abruptly. The empty jug dangled from her grip as the little girl slipped through the door and stole down the stairs, past Mrs Fish's angry looking cat on the counter that hissed at her over a half-eaten prawn, and out into the brilliant daylight. Squinting as it stabbed her eyes, Venna grimaced dourly at the rank waters that still flooded the street, but had no other choice but to step into it, soon sloshing her way off in search of a well. Most were ruined, but some had to be working still.
— truths waiting to be spoken
