Leania grunted and began scaling the ladder back to her perch. Pri tried to say something, but he just sighed and turned for the door.
"Where are you going now?" Oshoke asked.
"Where else? To find some rice wine that doesn't taste like defeat." Pri smiled, but Ryckel saw the flicker of despair in his eyes.
Oshoke reached out a hand, but Pri was already gone. The old man's hand remained stretched in the air for a second before he clenched it and let it drop.
"I'm heading out too, kid," Oshoke said, regaining his sternness. "Don't do anything... or else."
Or else what?
Ryckel knew he could take the old man if he had to, but he wouldn't. This family made him think of his own.
To harm them in any way would be to spit on everything his mother had taught him and the very idea of his family.
Restless and driven, Ryckel didn't wait for tomorrow. He spent the afternoon wandering the Nōh huts, offering his labor. Most were wary of the Southern boy and some odd smell but once he mentioned Oshoke's name, they gave him tasks.
He carried heavy loads of wet fibre, watched the dyeing vats, and even helped clear debris.
By sunset, he was exhausted but satisfied. He had earned six shards. He performed his ritual, checking the ridges, snapping them against stone. Ping. They were real.
As the Bleeding Hour approached, the atmosphere shifted. The night-soil men donned their masks and headed into the town.
Pri returned home, stumbling and slurring, barely making it up to his platform before collapsing into a deep sleep.
Dinner was served on a high platform, spicy, sticky rice that burned Ryckel's throat but filled his belly. He ate with Oshoke and Leania, the Bleeding Hour almost upon them.
"I heard you worked today," Oshoke said, his tone grudgingly respectful. "Most boys your age would have just sat in the dirt and cried---Oh I forgot. You're not like most boys."
"I have a family to get back to," Ryckel said between mouthfuls. He looked at the open doorway.. "Aren't you worried? There are no doors. The mists would come right in. Not only that but other things."
Oshoke laughed. "Why be afraid of nature, boy? We, the Nōh, are close to the earth. We don't hide from it, we embrace it with open arms." He smiled, the edges of his mouth revealing his age more and more.
He explained that the Nōh lived like the animals they respected. They kept their essentials on platforms, allowing the ground to flood or be reclaimed by nature.
They were allowing Nature back into their lives.
"But what about the filth?" Ryckel asked, his mind already spinning with business ideas.
"The clay is treated with special oils and powders," Oshoke explained. "It rejects water and rot. We just sweep away the debris in the morning. It's the Nōh way."
They finished their meal and retired to their respective platforms. Ryckel lay on a mat of woven grass, but sleep wouldn't come.
He wore his gas mask and after a while, the red mist drifted through the hut, thick and silent. He felt the energy of the world pressing against his skin.
The Bleeding Hour had come and the whole world should be shrouded in red. Heck. The whole hut was shrouded in red!
Restless, he sat up and began to explore the network of planks. He moved silently, a ghost in the red dark. Near a small, circular window on the far side of the hut, he saw a silhouette.
It was Leania. She was wearing her own gas mask and was sitting on the edge, her legs dangling into the red fog below, her one hand resting on the window frame as she stared out at the bleeding world.
---The End of Chapter 26---