Chapter 2: A City of Blue Bricks
“Where the streets have no name” –U2
“Wake up god-dammit!” the soldier at the base of the castle wall projected to the sleeping sentry, Alec, and he prepared to repeat the order in the off chance his tremendously harsh voice wasn’t still echoing through the short haired young head.
“C’mon Blondie, if this wasn’t peacetime you’d be removed from up there, but we’re short as it is and you’re supposed to make sure we don’t leave peacetime status,” he explained to Alec in order to feel legitimate in his authority. Up at the crest of the blue-brick fortification, a sleek and angular form peered down at the heavily decorated man below. Alec returned, “There’s no one out there to threaten us sir, you might as well acknowledge the fact that I’m up here because none of us have anything better to do.”
“That’s no matter,” the soldier barked, “we’re here, and you’ve got a duty on the wall so quit you’re bitching and make the most of it like everyone else.”
Rather groggily, he raised himself and his binoculars from the damp nook he had all too recently been firmly snoring in and replaced his view of the inside of his eyelids for one of the tremendous golden expanse in front of him. Standing fully erect, the railing along the edge of the castle walls only reached up along his waist, and he could see the full effect of the Midas Storm spreading across from horizon to horizon. In his head he deliberated the worth of picking a fight with his commander for the sole purpose of doing anything other than being on the wall, but he eventually concluded such a debate would provide him with more frustration than entertainment. He reached down towards his boots for a chip of the blue brick that had come loose some time while he was unconsciously holding his post and picked it up. He fingered it for a while and considered the chip’s sharp corners before he turned again toward the outside world. The coarse texture aided his grip on the oddly shaped projectile as he hurled it with all his might toward a small golden statue a few dozen meters from him. The sharp corners of the chip caused his throw to miss by a large margin, but the ability to throw something provided Alec with a few seconds of well needed recreation.
“Damn,” he spoke to no one other than the bricks in the wall, but he felt certain they weren’t listening anyway. Placing his hands on the rounded ledge and leaning forward into it until his arms were bent halfway, Alec focused the green-gray eyes he inherited from his mother outward across the plain again, and he knew all of it for what it was worth to him—he was bored out of his mind.
He stayed grudgingly awake for the next few hours, occasionally moving from one nook to the next and periodically looking outward for a sign of movement that would never come, until he was replaced on the wall by the same soldier who had woke him earlier. Half awake and drenched to the core, Alec made his way down corridor after seemingly endless corridor, passing infirmary, nursery, garden and mess hall along the way. Ducking into a short tunnel, he found himself in the makeshift barracks assigned to civilians, which had become his home after the Midas Storm had sealed the front gate—separating the shimmering ocean of the outside world from the cool and damp world of the castle. All was vanity and greed in the old world; unfortunately, now all was statues and statuettes. Wasteful, but at this point the turn of events was acceptable to Alec. Evidently, the journey of Jonathan Skye hadn’t been as successful as everyone hoped.
Alec shuffled down the rows of beds leaving a droplet trail of water behind him, every single one catastrophically noisy in the nearly silent air of the barracks, scraping the sole of each shoe across the ground so as not to waste any excess energy by actually lifting them. All his feet were to him now were heavy supports he was precariously balanced on, as useful as concrete blocks when tied to a sprinter’s ankles.
“Boy, you’d best get outta those soppin’ clothes ‘fore you end up ‘bout ‘s cold ‘s on of those actual soldiers out there. You know ‘s right, you heard ‘t here with ya Momma Chouri,” spoke a rotund, yet quite jovial silhouette leaning over a wicker basket and folding clothes fresh from her latest wash. Alec returned, “I will Momma Chouri; I will, and maybe you have something in there to help me out with that? Do you?” He smiled and spoke this softly, trying not to wake anyone who might be sleeping.
As she spoke, her face darkened into a scowl and then lightened back up again with a smile, “Now chil’, I knows you well enough to see right through that charmin’ lil’ smile, but I also love ‘t when you’re willings to spread those charms on a happy, old woman like me. So maybe I did sneak some of yo clothes in my wash! Don’t see why you likes it so much, havin’ me do all this for ya, but at leas’ you were taught well ‘nuff to appreciate what I’m doin’.”
She held up a softly worn, long sleeve shirt with a very wide, but noticeable plaid motif consisting of cream bars, some blue threading and green base fabric. It had been Alec’s father’s shirt before it had been his father’s and then his, but it held together as well as the family name. Alec removed the clammy shirt and overcoat he had been wearing while outside in the mist that clung to the base of the castle, and he slipped the warm, clean smelling replacement around his shoulders and buttoned it up, leaving the top and bottom buttons undone. She then followed the shirt with a warm pair of cotton boxers and a pair of clean khakis to complete the indoor ensemble. He placed the two items on his arm like a butler with a serving towel. The rotund black woman reached up and ruffled the course blonde hair on his head, but she finally gave up on keeping him awake.
“Must taken fine parents to make a boy come out ‘s good ‘s you…yeah they was great weren’t they? Sorry chil’, I didn’t mean to—,” she carefully attempted to correct her benign mistake.
“It’s alright Momma Chouri; they were. They were,” Alec interrupted in the most calming and thoughtful tone his throat could find in its range, “I’m going to sleep, I’ll see you in a few.”
He passed two or three more rows of quietly sleeping persons on steel cots that were barely elevated above the cool concrete floor. Though metal, they were only strong enough to hold one person at a time, if that, much to the chagrin of many of the castle's teenagers. Some bunks were permanently warped or slanted by the weight of their occupants, and all of them jagged the rows to the point where only a few select could still distinguish them. Alec found his bed among the others, and he stood by it just long enough to change into his clean boxers. Then he immediately slipped under the covers and off the sleep again, this time in the correct place.
to chapter three
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