Lawrence Schoen - Barsk - The Elephants' Graveyard

Today he had come with purpose. The light filtering through the trees was at its brightest and the concentration of Fant about their business there the greatest. He’d burst in on a balcony at the far end of a cul-de-sac, emerging from the wall of sculpted foliage and dropping onto the boardway. His arrival startled several Eleph who quickly averted their gaze as he began walking toward a store. A path opened for him more surely than it would have even if he’d born with an aleph. Either behavior was burned-in at a cultural level, but this one left every Fant breathless with a shared shame. Pizlo had never understood, but was grateful for the response today. Today he needed stuff.

Five stores did business in this cul-de-sac and Pizlo knew them all. The closest was a bookshop that he’d gone to with Jorl once to pick up some texts he’d special-ordered. Pizlo had waited outside without his teacher asking, and Jorl had surprised him with a present when he’d emerged, a pack of five bamboo inksticks. A cobbler kept a store next to the bookshop. Fant rarely wanted or needed shoes, but were hard on them when they did and the owner did a steady business weaving new shoes, repairing old ones, or carving new lasts when he was between customers. Beyond that was a physician’s office, which held no interest for Pizlo, though it had two doors, a main entrance on the cul-de-sac and a second, more discreet exit onto the main boardway. Going the other way around from the balcony was a consignment spirit shop where Fant could bring the best of their own distilling and put them up for sale, or acquire the efforts of others. Every ten days they did tastings and samplings, but otherwise there were never more than two or three Fant in the shop at any one time. The last venue sat on the other end of the cul-de-sac and wrapped around onto the side of the boardway much as the doctor’s office did. This was Suliv’s shop, part grocery, part whatever-else-you-needed. It was also Pizlo’s destination.

The boy pushed open the door and paused on the threshold. A stiffened piece of bark above the entrance made a sharp click-clack sound, announcing his arrival and perforce the shop’s owner, two clerks, and assorted patrons glanced his way. And then, just as swiftly, acting as with one mind, they averted their gaze, resuming their earlier conversations and actions as best they could. Pizlo didn’t care. He helped himself to a wicker basket by the door and began wandering up and down the aisles, skirting past people before they could stiffen at his approach or attempt to dodge him. The thing he needed most was also the oddest item on his list, and if Suliv’s didn’t have it, Pizlo had no idea where he would get one. He could read pretty well, much better than regular children his age, or so Jorl had assured him, but he’d never seen the word emergency printed before, either by itself or alongside other words, and it took him several passes in front of the object of his desire before he recognized it as what he needed. Once he had added it to his basket, Pizlo knew the rest would be easy.

Moving more quickly now, he pulled down an assortment of food from the shelves, some fresh and some dried. He selected three expandable mesh bags, and when he reached the limits of his basket he began filling the bags. He also chose a small bottle of dye of a deep indigo hue, staring at it for a long time, though midway through his eyes drifted closed as he listened intently to the bottle’s silent whispering.

Pizlo plopped himself down in the aisle, opened the bottle and dipped the little finger of his left hand into the solution to the first joint. He pulled it out and inspected the vivid color that had already penetrated that bit of skin. Satisfied, he tucked his chin down and began painting a series of crude circles in a series of four rows, re-dipping his finger as necessary. First one, then three, then two more, and finally one. Three of the circles he filled in, blue from edge to center; the other four he left open. Having bathed and scrubbed just the night before in the fountain, his pale skin gleamed cleaner than it had in some time, and the contrast of dye against the white flesh drew the eye.

He wiped his finger off on the bottom of his foot, rubbing the tip against the resulting stain again and again to confirm that it was dry. Satisfied that he wouldn’t leave a mark when he touched something or walked, he got to his feet again. Pizlo resealed the bottle, stuffed it into one of his bags, and strode deliberately to the counter at the front of the store. A Lox that looked enough like Tolta to maybe be his aunt stood at the counter, and an Eleph who seemed to know her stood behind waiting for her turn. Pizlo meant to get in line behind them, but at his approach one slipped left and the other right. They’d left their intended purchases strewn across the counter. A shocked clerk stood on the other side with literally nowhere to go. His eyes darted side to side. He lashed his trunk with agitation and fanned his ears, not daring to look at the albino boy loaded down with store goods.

“I need all of this stuff,” said Pizlo, piling his selections on the counter which was at a height even with his trunk.

“Yinto was here the other day,” said the clerk, seeming to speak to the possible-aunt that had a moment earlier left him there. “He said his eldest daughter, the one that moved to Kelpry, the island just past Gerd, had twins. Can you believe that? Twins!”

“I don’t have any money. But I need it. All of it.”

The clerk’s trunk darted spastically but otherwise he gave no acknowledgment that Pizlo stood on the other side of his counter. “Remarkable thing, twins. Yinto said that no one on Kelpry could remember the last time it happened. Got to be three generations back, at least.”

“I’m going to pay you with a story instead. A prophecy.”

The other shoppers had melted away, down the store’s aisles far out of sight or out the door and on down the boardway as quickly as possible, perhaps just in case Pizlo chose to exit and follow them. Trapped behind his counter, the clerk looked like he wanted to cry.

Pizlo wanted to cry sometimes. But he didn’t now, and he couldn’t indulge the clerk’s feelings. He had to get going. He needed the things he’d gathered, and had already used some of the dye. He couldn’t just take everything though. “I know you’re not supposed to look at me. Or listen to anything I say. I know those are the rules. But prophecies trump rules. They have to. Rules look backward, they’re blind to the situations that might come up after someone makes them. But prophecies only look forward. So they’re more important. Okay?”

The clerk only fanned his ears faster. He called out as if to a customer down one of the aisles. “Those are on special today. Three for the price of two. One day only!” Maybe there was even someone back there, but Pizlo didn’t turn to look. He reached up, put his hands flat on the counter, and whispered.

“Psst, whatever else you do … don’t look at my chest!”

Confused, the clerk did just that, and then immediately averted his gaze.

Stepping back and striking what he hoped was a dramatic pose, Pizlo dropped his voice as low as he could. “I am the bearer of the mark of the seven moons. Three I have seen. By the time I have looked on all seven, I will see you repaid. This is the … the prophecy of the shop. Remember it, even though you are not allowed to remember me.” He scooped up all his purchases, transferring a few from the basket into the remaining empty mesh bag, tossed all three across his shoulder, and left the store.