Work Text:
In Murky’s dreams, she saw her mother’s shadow lit by candlelight.
The windows were shuttered tight on almost all hours of the day and all night. Incense choked the one-room apartment where they lived in the Crude Sprawl. Through the thin walls, a litany of people coughed and moaned. Sometimes there was a despairing wail across the square from another house. Sometimes, heavy footsteps pounded above them. Sometimes, hushed whispers carried in through the cracks in the walls or when a window was ajar for a few moments of precious clean air.
Murky can always tell it was nighttime when mother lit a candle and began to weave. On one hand, her mother pulled red thread from a wooden bobbin. On the other hand, layers of dark leather through which the red thread dipped in and around to form the shape made to ward off the mara that lurked in the dark.
Mother hummed as she made her knots with her raw and dry fingers. Murky sat with her mother doing whatever she could remember she did as a much younger child. Maybe she was coloring scraps of paper to make clothes for her paper dolls. Maybe she was sorting the beads that would go into the charms and amulets. Or maybe she was making her own charms to add her own contribution to the growing pile of amulets placed in the bag where her father would trade to others in their block. They might get a jar of pickled cabbage from the smuggler who wanted the Kin’s charms to distribute to the Townspeople. Maybe they’re just as sick as in the Crude Sprawl and need help, too.
Maybe the people in the Town are hiding away from the Sand Pest just like Murky. Maybe the people had to bury their own families in the cemetery just beyond the Sprawl, where Murky’s grandparents, cousins, uncles, and aunts will soon be laid to rest in the cool, comforting earth. Wouldn’t it be nice if one of Murky’s amulets would help another child just like her?
Mother’s shadow moved subtly in the candlelight. The flame was too bright for Murky to see, and bright splotches in her vision obscured what her mother looked like, such as how she wore her dark hair under a flower-embroidered hood, or what her ears looked like or the color of her eyes. Murky was blinded in her dreams just as if she happened to look out through a gap in the shutters and a sunray caught her eyes.
She knew what her mother sounded like when her hands tightened the knots and the thread slid across her skin. She knew where her father was by the footsteps outside their apartment door.
Her parents were here with her if she closed her eyes tighter. And tighter.
When Murky woke up, the sun caught her eyes through the gaps of the boxcar door. Upon hearing footsteps, she got up from her mat and slid the door open with a clamor. In the cool, September morning, fog from the river rolled through the Town in the distance. Thrushes and quail flew up from the tall, brown grass at the sound of her opening the door. Jerboas skittered across the worn footpath from the boxcar that led to Apple Road and the train station.
Murky closed her eyes and plopped back down onto the mat. She blindly reached to her side to palm and wrap her mother's amulet around her wrist and kissed it. She hummed and whistled through her gapped teeth, and the wind picked up around the boxcar to hum with her.