#michil

Nifemi stood in front of Illarion, hands on her hips. And although Kaifen couldn’t see her face behind her hair, he had the distinct impression that Illarion was on the receiving end of one of her looks. He knew it well; nose wrinkled, lips pursed, eyebrows stern. The realization that that expression wasn’t unique to him was almost magical.

“We’re in Yangshe? You know, the place where some people can just tell if you’re lying?” He glowered up at her, half sulk half glower. Nifemi wasn’t having any of it. She met his eyes and Kaifen sat up a bit straighter, trying to see whatever was playing out between them.

Michil cleared his throat, and when Kaifen looked at him, he had his eyebrows raised. He was either judging him for watching them or amused by it, but either way he’d noticed it. He was being more obvious than he thought.

When Kaifen turned back to their stare down Nifemi was turned around, hands on the back of her head as a desperately angry growl escaped her. Her eyes stopped on Kaifen, and he remembered how it felt to be a child, sneaking around and listening in to meetings he wasn’t supposed to.

He readied some kind of defence against her accusations of staring, but found all of them useless when Nifemi’s eyes turned pleading.

“He’s being ridiculous, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The words were out before they even fully registered.

“I am not being ridiculous,” Illarion hissed. All eyes, now including Michil’s, turned onto him. For a second he looked much like a mouse, all wide eyes and telltale nervousness, before he soured. Nostrils floated he looked to Michil. “It’s them that’s ridiculous, yeah? The Yangese?”

Michil threw his hands up. “Don’t drag me into this!”

“Traitor.”

“What did you think would happen?” Nifemi sounded more tired than angry. Kaifen was with her on this one, he couldn’t understand it either. “You’re from Zalizinch—why not just say that?”

Illarion, for once, surprised everyone by not saying anything. He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back so that his legs stretched out far enough to touch the edge of the carpet.

Nifemi was still appealing to Kaifen for assistance. “What’s that thing your always saying to Saoirse?” The name slapped him. He’d been trying hard not to think about him. Kaifen forced himself not to look at the floor, but his shoulders did pull in. Nifemi’s eyes flickered to the movement, but she pretended to ignore it.

Kaifen thanked her for that.

“To say things with pride?”

Kaifen pulled his sleeves over his hands. He nodded.

“Mind telling that to him?”

Illarion scoffed a laugh. He leaned back in his chair, looked at the sunset through the window. Kaifen couldn’t tell if he was glaring, or simply squinting wth the sun in his eyes. The lighting turned all of him peach.

“I do say things with pride.” That was true. It was one of his few redeeming qualities. “But I don’t know what’s so prideful about coming from Zalizinch.”

The air in the room was arid and stuffed, as if all the dust who had lived there undisturbed for many moons had finally grown tired of their visitors. Nifemi was still pleading with Kaifen, her eyes screaming help me. He pressed his lips together and looked away from her.

“You know.” He fiddled with his sleeve. “He does have a point.”

The room was still once more, nothing but dust floating through sunbeams. Then, slowly, Michil leaned over the table to hold his head in his hands. Nifemi followed suit, burying her face in her hands and letting out another angry groan.

He stumbled up to join them, and after wiping grass from his green-stained knees, he came to join them. He lowered his goggles from his hair to his face and studied the landscape ahead. Kai Fen roamed the shadows of the peaks and outcrops, of the cliffs and streams and lush, newly budded trees. The world was green and fresh and alive.

His lips parted around a shaky gasp. Words died in his throat until he managed out a single, “There.”

Michil tilted his head. “There?”

Kai Fen pointed. Nestled among stone and moss greenery was a temple. It would be easy to glance over if he hadn’t been there before, if he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. Wood beams carved and painted in spiralling blue, orange, red, green held a roof of golden yellow. Still slick with morning dew, it dripped in honey sunlight.

“Burning Rock Temple,” he breathed.

Illarion stopped as they neared the tavern. Kai Fen and Michil paused next to him, watched as he swung his bag off his back and down onto one arm. He reached inside and shuffled about until pulling out his coin pouch. “Hey Diachkovsky, what d’ya drink?”

Michil’s face lit up. “Are you buying?”

Illarion made a show of stopping short, dropping his shoulders, and raising his eyes to look at Michil. It was a look that Kai Fen interpreted as saying “Really?”

“Mmmn…. then whatever’s cheapest.” Michil shrugged. “Arak, usually.”

Illarion nodded. “I’ll grab you a bottle, tell you what you owe me.” He spared a look at Kai Fen. “You want something?”

It’d be irresponsible to buy it. He should save his money.

“Medovukha,” he sighed. “Bring me a receipt.” He didn’t trust Illarion not to rip him off.

Illarion clicked his tongue twice against his teeth. Then he was off, heading to the tavern while still trying to get his arm through the other side of his backpack. Kai Fen watched him until Michil chuckled, shook his head in what looked like amusement.

“What a guy,” he murmured. He looked down at Kai Fen. “Wanna see what’s at the store?”

The answer was not a whole lot. As Kai Fen poked through the grains and seeds and animal feeds, he tried not to be too disappointed. He shouldn’t expect a lot from places like this, but he always did. He was just so entirely sick of their food rations. It was all the same thing day in and day out and he wanted for anything different at all. He supposed the medovukha would offer some relief.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” the shop owner asked in Vwosi.

“Food,” he answered. He racked his brain for the Vwosi word for spices, ended up just sending panicked glances around for Michil until managing to catch his eye. Mercifully, he came to rescue. “Spices,” he murmured to him, and Michil translated the word to the shop owner. Kai Fen repeated the word under his breath.

Spetsii. He’d have to remember that.

Michil Diachkovsky: Vwosi military defect, three time winner of his town’s fishing derby, and definitely not Kai Fen’s crush

“He’ll be fine. I was worried I might have given him a concussion, but they won’t know that until he opens his eyes.” He turned his eyes onto Kamkim, an easy smile landing on his face. “What about you, Kamnya? How’s the face?”

Kamnya? That was cute.

“Definitely been better.” Then, after removing the ice and prodding at the skin, he chuckled. “At least I’ll have a cool bruise. And I get to tell everyone about the crazy refugee who attacked me.”

Heila frowned. “Hey.” Kamkim turned to her. “We’re not all that bad.” He looked away just as quickly, although Heila thought she might have been able to see him blush. She leaned towards him, bumping him with her shoulder. “You want more bruises, Kamnya?”

“Careful,” Michil warned. “You’re forgetting that she’s friends with the crazy refugee who attacked you.”

“That’s right.” Heila lightly bumped his arm with her fist. “Say the wrong thing and pow.”

“Are you trying to make me look cool?”