Page 26 of Thon

Noss breathes a comically huge sigh of relief.

“Great.” Krista claps her hands together, nearly vibrating with nerves. “Let’s get rolling.”

“So we can leave as soon as possible,” one of Thon’s cousins adds drily from the back.

The commune is exactly the same as Krista left it, but the familiar scene still doesn’t look quite right somehow, as though reality bends, just a little, around this one spot. Booths and tables and carts and animals fill the large staging area just inside the gates, all arranged in the same horseshoe pattern. It smells the same, like animal dung and fried food and, of course, mud. This used to be the most exciting day of the month for Krista. The hustle and bustle once felt so thrilling and exotic, but now she can see the truth. This venue is smaller than the ones in proper towns. The visitors are shabbier and their wares are limited to the basics like meats and fruits, spices, and grains. Most of them sell directly from their carts. Krista had never considered that they might visit other places after this, that they might just be making their rounds.

This commune has never seen Harkurians before. Most of the people here couldn’t even describe one accurately if pressed, but when they see a bunch of huge, burly aliens walk in their reactions are immediate and dramatic. Screams erupt from all directions as though an army of the damned has just surged through the gate. People scatter in every direction, knocking into each other, dropping purchases, leaving friends and loved ones behind. It’s informative, if not very productive. Mrs. Flaud abandons her shrieking toddler by the cart with the funnel cakes, her new bolts of cotton balanced safely across her arms. Tobias Schrock lifts his new wife and slings her over his shoulder when she turns her ankle and stumbles. Krista can hear him cursing her, but he doesn’t leave her behind. That’s something.

“Huh,” says Pel.

Thon says nothing.

By contrast, the visiting traders meet Harkurians everywhere, so their entire reaction consists of a look, a double-take, and a couple of raised eyebrows. When the bulk of the exodus is complete, the exasperated vendors are the only ones remaining, give or take Mrs. Flaud’s lone, screaming son. The whole crowd has drawn back to the edge of the square, having mutually agreed that they can gawk safely over there near the buildings. An expectant silence descends.

Krista notices a flash of movement towards the back of the huddle as someone separates themselves to bolt for the Patriarch’s house. It’s a little surprising that he’s not already here. He’s always been the mingling sort, quick to soak up the fawning attentions of his flock. Krista does spot a few of her sisters wrapped up in the trembling throng, but it isn’t clear if they’ve recognized her. Their eyes point in the same direction as everyone else’s—three feet or so over Krista’s head.

Excellent. Krista notes which route the runner took and tugs Thon down a different path, edging slowly down the inside of the wall and away from their entourage before turning up the first empty alley she finds. It’s easier than they planned for. Chickens scatter from their path as Krista speed-waddles full tilt toward the Patriarch’s house, but no one stops them. No one is even there to stop them.

“I expected more drama about this part,” she admits. “Not the first part. That went pretty much as I expected.”

“Your home is very ugly,” Thon says. “Now I understand why you stared at our village with your mouth open.”

“This is not my home,” Krista corrects him automatically.

They hear shouting before the house even comes into sight, which is helpful. Krista recognizes the Patriarch’s overloud baritone, glad for the first time in living memory that the man speaks from the diaphragm like a stage performer. She halts Thon at the end of the alley and peers around the Musgrave house, her fingertips brushing the sliver of hot flesh at the front of his overcoat. It’s barely a touch, but Thon sucks in a tiny breath and—did he just lean into her on purpose?

The front garden lies empty as the shouting swivels around them, easily tracked down the front of the Musgraves’ row. “I think we’re clear.” Krista watches anyway in case someone else follows, but nothing moves. Even from out here, the crumbling house feels vacant. “Okay,” she breathes at last. “Let’s go.”

Thon follows closely as Krista steals across the road and vaults the low gate to avoid its squeaky hinge, but he lumbers less furtively, simply swinging one leg over the rotting picket, then the other. “Does it matter if someone finds us?” he asks.

“It would be very annoying.” Krista leaves the front door open for Thon and he doesn’t bother closing it behind him, but that’s probably fine. By the time anyone notices, she’ll have what she wants tucked safely in her satchel.

Her old room is upstairs at the end of a dim hall, which is barely lit even during the day. There isn’t much to it, just two ancient bunk beds facing each other on opposite walls and a towering chest of drawers wedged between them on the far end of the room. Krista used to put her water glass on the top of that massive chest, sipping from it when she woke in the small hours of the morning and couldn’t convince herself to drift back off. She would listen to her sisters’ slow, even breaths and match her breathing to one of them, longing desperately to sleep as they did. But she stood apart even in that.

“I will help,” Thon volunteers.

“No, you won’t.”

Krista drops awkwardly to her knees before Thon can advance the argument. If they’re going to discuss her doctor’s orders, they can discuss it while she does something productive. Feeling rather like one of those huge ocean mammals that still live back on Earth, Krista sort of plops to one side and uses the edge of the bed frame to drag herself under. Gods, she’s a boat. “I don’t want to stand up there and try to describe which board you need,” she explains after a moment.

Thon’s response is fondly exasperated. “I would have moved the bed for you.”

Oh. Krista feels her cheeks go warm. “Yeah, well. You like this view better. I can feel you looking at my ass.”

Silence. Krista would be willing to bet real credits that he just glanced away guiltily, though. She hopes he did. Krista locates the correct board by feel, pressing with her fingertips until she finds the one that wiggles. “I’ve had a questionable thought.”

“Just one?”

“For now,” Krista amends, catching a blunt fingernail on the edge of her floorboard and immediately losing her grip. This was much easier when her nails were long and ladylike. “I’m thinking about the Patriarch’s study. He keeps a lot of important papers there, like a ledger and these awful, half-written speeches and occasionally some love letters from the High Priest. By love letters, I mean hate letters.Oh, High Priest, I fear for the state of things beyond our walls. Women and children can think their own thoughts and all the virgins fornicate with aliens! The end is nigh!”

“Was that your questionable thought?”

“No, that was context.” Krista closes her eyes. Here goes nothing. “Do you think I’m too pregnant for you to fuck me on that desk?”

Thon hesitates so long that Krista can hear him swallow, her heart hammering frantically against the filthy floorboards.

“… You are far too pregnant for that,” the Harkurian answers at last. His disbelief makes Krista’s heart clench, but she hears something else there as well. Interest.

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