IV.
"Flea! Flea, wake up!" A hissing whisper pierced the darkness of the room and the weighted blanket of sleep. Flea jumped, but not from being awoken. He had not slept very well last night; he had not the past two nights, either. Since he learned of his departure from his family and friends--well, family, at least--Flea had been a nervous wreck. He would often hide in small spaces and sneak off into the woods for long periods of time. However, no matter how far he went or how long he stayed, it did not help. His leaving was unavoidable. And so, therefore, was his fear. He could not run away, could not escape, and could not rectify matters...and now the day was here. He jumped in one last ditch effort to escape reality.
"Flea!" the whisper came again.
"Coming, Father," Ronninflea responded. He rolled out of bed and peaked out the window. The sun had not even risen yet. Getting dressed in the new clothes that his mother had sewn especially for the occasion, Ronninflea took a deep breath and walked out into the hall. Not only was Lasikor standing there with his arms folded and his face as flat as ever, but nearly every member of Flea's family stood behind him--excepting the littlest, still snug in bed.
Cavillon had set out a luxurious breakfast platter, a real feast for the poor family, yet Ronninflea could do nothing but watch the others eat it. He stared at Oreollivan, who stared back at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears; she was trying to be brave for her brother. Mikelvic hid his emotions as well, though he did so better than Oreollivan. Flea had always been more of a pest than a companion. Still, he was going to miss him. Though Mikelvic would never admit it, wished he could take back all the bad things he had said to and about his younger brother.
Flea ate slowly, partly because it was a struggle to eat at all, and partly because he wanted to drag out these last few moments with his family. Oreollivan, Madarat, and Milloranan picked up on the plot and did their best to assist. However, Lasikor's impatience eventually won out.
"There is no use in pretending you're going to eat it," Lasikor said, bringing the stressed breakfast to an abrupt end. "Leave it for the little ones; let's go."
Everyone rose from the table, presenting Ronninflea with a string of emotional faces. The family was never one for tearful goodbyes, but this was an exception. The youngest siblings hugged Ronninflea's legs and kissed him farewell, some crying so that they could not speak. Milloranan, especially, was in a pathetic state. Next to Oreollivan, she had been closest to Flea in both age and affection. Oreollivan gave him a long, crushing hug. With her face hidden from him, she lost control of her tears; they slid silently down her face like a stream, and she held her breath to smother her sobs. Flea wished it was she going with him instead of Lasikor.
********
Ronninflea watched with new eyes the little sea-side town he had lived in all his life. It would probably be the last time he ever saw it, and he wanted to remember every detail. He took a long look at On the Rocks, Madame Rock's voice spilling out of the open front door, easily rising above the shouts and laughter that also issued from the bar. If only he could turn back time...
"Flea! Flea, wake up!" A hissing whisper pierced the darkness of the room and the weighted blanket of sleep. Flea jumped, but not from being awoken. He had not slept very well last night; he had not the past two nights, either. Since he learned of his departure from his family and friends--well, family, at least--Flea had been a nervous wreck. He would often hide in small spaces and sneak off into the woods for long periods of time. However, no matter how far he went or how long he stayed, it did not help. His leaving was unavoidable. And so, therefore, was his fear. He could not run away, could not escape, and could not rectify matters...and now the day was here. He jumped in one last ditch effort to escape reality.
"Flea!" the whisper came again.
"Coming, Father," Ronninflea responded. He rolled out of bed and peaked out the window. The sun had not even risen yet. Getting dressed in the new clothes that his mother had sewn especially for the occasion, Ronninflea took a deep breath and walked out into the hall. Not only was Lasikor standing there with his arms folded and his face as flat as ever, but nearly every member of Flea's family stood behind him--excepting the littlest, still snug in bed.
Cavillon had set out a luxurious breakfast platter, a real feast for the poor family, yet Ronninflea could do nothing but watch the others eat it. He stared at Oreollivan, who stared back at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears; she was trying to be brave for her brother. Mikelvic hid his emotions as well, though he did so better than Oreollivan. Flea had always been more of a pest than a companion. Still, he was going to miss him. Though Mikelvic would never admit it, wished he could take back all the bad things he had said to and about his younger brother.
Flea ate slowly, partly because it was a struggle to eat at all, and partly because he wanted to drag out these last few moments with his family. Oreollivan, Madarat, and Milloranan picked up on the plot and did their best to assist. However, Lasikor's impatience eventually won out.
"There is no use in pretending you're going to eat it," Lasikor said, bringing the stressed breakfast to an abrupt end. "Leave it for the little ones; let's go."
Everyone rose from the table, presenting Ronninflea with a string of emotional faces. The family was never one for tearful goodbyes, but this was an exception. The youngest siblings hugged Ronninflea's legs and kissed him farewell, some crying so that they could not speak. Milloranan, especially, was in a pathetic state. Next to Oreollivan, she had been closest to Flea in both age and affection. Oreollivan gave him a long, crushing hug. With her face hidden from him, she lost control of her tears; they slid silently down her face like a stream, and she held her breath to smother her sobs. Flea wished it was she going with him instead of Lasikor.
********
Ronninflea watched with new eyes the little sea-side town he had lived in all his life. It would probably be the last time he ever saw it, and he wanted to remember every detail. He took a long look at On the Rocks, Madame Rock's voice spilling out of the open front door, easily rising above the shouts and laughter that also issued from the bar. If only he could turn back time...
Lasikor pushed Flea forward, past the bar, past the net mender's hut, where Old Skilp was, as usual, busy at her delicate work. She waved to them as they passed by. The colorful cloths on display in front of the general store swayed in the salty wind. The smell of fresh bread and old fish filled the air. People were everywhere, doing numerous different types of people-things. He closed his eyes tight, to make sure the picture was firm in his mind and would stay clear there always; he tried so hard to remember that he forgot to be afraid, and he and Lasikor made it all the way to the docks without any incident.
The ship upon which Ronninflea was to sail to Vinturion was called The Water Lily. It was painted an extravagant blue and—to Flea—looked very inviting. Its owner, however, did not. Joss was tall, broad in the shoulders and even more so in girth. He did not look the part of an active captain of a well-employed passenger vessel. Ronninflea could not quite reconcile this discrepancy in appearances and, after a moment, ceased trying. Joss stopped to stand merely two feet from him, and looked him over from head to toe, a pleased expression on his scrunched face. Then he came closer, until Flea could smell the smoke on his breath, and stared into Flea's eyes, studying his face. Apparently, he found something there dissatisfying. Turning to Lasikor, he said indignantly.
"This is yer lad?"
Lasikor merely inclined his head.
"'E doesn't look like 'e's worked a day in 'is life."
"I am sure he will prove fit for your purposes, and if you find him unsatisfactory, you may do with him as you will, as previously stated."
Flea turned to look at his father with wide, frightened eyes. Surely he had misunderstood the exchange. He shivered and backed away a pace as Joss looked him over once again, one colorless blue eye squinted shut, one open.
"A'right," he said finally. "'E can't do any damage ere, anyway, and 'e may throw a profit in Raling."
Lasikor would not look at his son.
"Dad?" Flea said confusedly.
Lasikor began to walk away.
"Dad." --pleadingly.
"Dad!" Panicking now.
Lasikor disappeared behind a wagonload of barrels, and had turned a corner out of sight by the time it rolled past. Joss grabbed Ronninflea by the tail of his tattered shirt before Flea could make an honest run.
"C'mere, boy, you got work to do. Ay, lad!" A slender, young elven youth who had been stacking crates feet away during the entire exchange stepped forward.
"Yessir?"
"Take this slug down ta the kitchens and give 'im to Skatt. Won't be gud for much else 'n cook work," he added, muttering.
The cabin boy grasped Ronninflea firmly, yet gently, by the arm and pulled him to the ship.
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