Ghost In A Shell

Elrow was used to being noticed, to say the least; though, most often not in such a way as he was now. The sun sat on the horizon, red and angry with heat, the air was pungent in the lively city, wisps of sand scurried along what little wind there was. A sea of people bustled up against one another as they moved about their day, sweaty and miffed, their chatter like waves crashing on shore, beige buildings of sand bricks herded them and offered the cooling sanctuary of shadows from the sun. Down from above, one could see a gap in the crowd, moving along the side of a building. For the people did not know the person that walked, and so, being who they were, they gave him space.

 Women gawked, men stared, and children blatantly pointed, as is the honesty of youth. The tall man, however, paid them no mind and merely pulled down the brim of his wide hat so that it sunk just between his eyes. The frail gray fabric matched his stormy irises, his face a desert; smooth and almost ruby-like with a pale, auburn scar running down along his left jawline and curling up at the chin towards his beige lips as though licking at it. The thin man’s clothes seemed little more than rags——an amalgamation of barely-matching red cloth loosely tied together, wrapping around him from his shins to his shoulders. Bits of crimson threads hung off his body as though he were bleeding from a thousand little cuts, making the rags appear stained from blood. Longer so were the gray straps of fabric wrapped around his wrists and ankles, their long tails billowing softly in the air like smoke as he walked.

Amongst the trail of red and gray lay a single strand of white that, if one were to focus on, they might begin to notice that the white string seemed to move differently than expected, and while many might not expect string to move a specific way, those who saw how things turned would see. After all…

Elrow did.

And so it was because of these that the crowd looked on. Each correct with ‘what’ but wrong with ‘why’. Always the right thing for the wrong reasons, Elrow thought to himself. Was already difficult enough dealing with the conditions of the poor excuse for a city. They think I’m the one dressed badly, the tall man sneered. They probably thought of him as some simple tribesman from the east. Which was right, to a certain extent, but it didn’t stop at the desert. Or the icy Flats, for that matter. No. He came from across bridges, bridges which these people have never dreamed of, leading to lands known by nearly no mortal and rarely heard of through what few myths remained told, never taken with a grain to grow.

Elrow raised a thin, silver eyebrow, the three gold, pierced rings to them glinting in the sun. There was a person watching him, or at least attempting to, amongst the traffic of people. The Gilgan gave a mused smile. He could hear the burly man, who was——compared to the citizens of the city——in an above-average need of a shower, grunting and muttering polite pardons as he bumped and shoved through the tide of bodies. Truly, most unprofessional. Elrow made sure to give no sign of him being aware of anything and continued onward, along the side of the street, now thoroughly enjoying the bubble of space people parted to avoid him. The pointed man was so lost in amusement that he didn’t notice the gap between him and the crowd grow wider, or the onlookers stop looking, or the man waiting up ahead, just around the corner to an alleyway. Not until he was pulled to the side and shoved up against a wall. A thin boy held one finger to his lips and one to Elrow’s, but the tall man wasn’t concerned on making any noise, or that the boy had pulled him, even if it was a surprise. Life was rife with the unexpected, and Elrow was not one to be arrogant of it, especially when he’s already had quite his share. No. The tall man was most surprised by the paleness of the boy. How could one stay in such a white tone underneath the anger of the Sun?

“You’re being followed,” the boy whispered. Elrow raised an eyebrow, “The burly man in the crowd.”

“Oh, I know,” the gilgan gave a small smile. He knew quite well of his bumbling follower. “What I don’t know, however, is why you pulled some stranger aside to tell him of something he already knew?”

The boy’s face turned an unexpectedly dark shade of red, “That man is a heathen,” he whispered, looking side to side before stepping closer, “he is of the Ka’Discyus,” the boy hissed, clutching an iron tab hanging from a rope necklace around his neck.

“And what would one of the ‘Ka’Discyus’ want with me?” Elrow asked, cocking his head to one side, mouth drawing into a thin, stern line, a couple lines along their edge the sign of a slight smile.

“What’s the price of water?” The boy said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Could be forced conversion. Slavery; either as a soldier, if you’ve got enough meat, maybe as a pack mule. Might even just not like the looks of you. Most likely wants you working in the mines for bloodstone.”

“Bloodstone?” Elrow tried to not let the change of emotions show, “what is that?”
“I don’t know, ain’t ever seen it,” the boy scowled, shifting his feet, eyes darting to and back from the alleyway entrance. “They sure go crazy over it, though. Huge pit out in desert, say it’s got some sacred stuff in it. Lots of slaves in it. Whole desert’s in a stir over ‘em, talks of war.”

Elrow chewed his bottom lip, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. “And you wish to warn me about all of this why, again?”

“’Cause they’ve done me wrong, ‘kay? They’ve done everyone wrong!” He growled, hands at his sides like claws, tears down his face. A cornered animal? Or a scared orphan. No time to ponder, his tattered ears twitched and nose sniffed. Something stank more than normal.

Elrow didn’t even need to look to know that his pursuer was standing at the entrance. “Shit,” the boy whimpered, looking further down the alleyway. Elrow followed his sight to see another man waiting further down. Damn, Elrow grit his teeth, how did I not notice the other oaf? The grey-hatted man didn’t need to spend much thought to come to a decision; dusty walls of smooth sandstone with patch-worked roofs made going up an impossible option. And he needed answers. No choice. The Gilgan sighed, hoping the kid would forgive him as he quickly grabbed the boy by the shoulder, pulling his back against him, holding up his other hand with what he hoped was a meek enough look.

“We surrender.” 

“I try to help you and this is how you repay me?”

Elrow and the child were launched up into the air and back down as they hit a pothole in the sandstone road, hitting a wince out of the pale-skinned. Elrow’s ass hurt from the wooden seat of the cart they now sat in, it was dark in there save for the few lights that poked through the shades of the windows, though it did nothing for the heat, which hung thick in the air and on their skin. The boy was drenched in sweat, while Elrow had only a few drops on him, his body relaxed despite the bondage.

“Is backstabbing a part of your culture where you come from? That how you treat people?” the young boy hissed, or at least tried to, as the rope between his teeth made it come out as a muffled gurgle. Elrow gave a shrug, wasn’t much for him to say. The rope was tangy and bitter on his tongue and dried out his mouth. Talking would only accelerate this. The boy glared at him, hands behind his back curling up into fists that began to violently shake. Hard, fast breaths that sent his chest rising up and down, faster and faster, until he suddenly stopped and held his breath. For a second, Elrow was worried he had passed out or even died until he heard a whine leak out from the boy’s lips and his shoulders shook slightly at first and then convulsed with sob after sob, his head hung low, chin on quavering chest. Elrow frowned as much as his constraints would let him and wiggled over closer to the boy, leaning against him in as supportive as a way as he could. Time passed, unmarked, save for the heat of the desert and tears of an orphan, until he went quiet and stopped.

The two sat there. So similar. And yet, so different.

Until Elrow finally decided to break the silence, “My name, er… I am Elrow,” he whispered, as though the words weren’t his. “And I know it isn’t any sun for sprouting, as I’m pretty sure you lot like to say here, but I’m sorry for… this,” he said, splaying his hands behind his back even though the boy couldn't see them.

“Just…” the boy grinded his teeth, eyes hard on the floor between his feet, voice hoarse and cracking, “why?” Elrow looked at the kid; a person who had lost his parents to something and had tried to prevent others from experiencing the same, only to be roped right in. It made memories, distant in space and time, somberly call out to him. It ran down his spine and whispered in his ear with the hot breath of someone long lost. It burned his one, true scar.

Elrow licked his lips, “I… I understand your ‘mission.’ Your want to stop what happened to you from happening again. I, too, have a mission. A need. Need to right wrongs both already done and yet to come. And to do that, I need answers, some of which you have partially given, others which have been pointed to. Pointed to here. That is the ‘why’… Answers. And wrongs needing righted. Do not worry though, pale one. For I shall make sure you leave neither my sight or this world until this is through and through, yes?” Elrow tried to give what he hoped looked like a semi-reassuring smile, but the boy was looking away from him, shoulders tensed.
“My name… is Geim’Dllr.”

Elrow squinted through the sunlight as the cart’s door was yanked open, “Where under the Wall did you find these scraps?” A burly voice grunted, the Gilg began to see an outline of the giant of a human.

“One’s a gift of the Gods, he is; birthed from prophets tied to above,” a voice praised, Elrow could tell from its stench that it was one of his pursuers.

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” the giant was big——nearly as tall as Elrow, over twice as wide——and by far the hairiest human he’d ever seen. He seemed out of his element in the desert, his fur shirt and coat hung down from his waist, his pants cut into makeshift shorts, his skin dripping with sweat, dark save for the riddled scars. “By the wind, I thought the Flats were bad. Alright, bring out into the sun so I can see them better.”

Elrow’s captors nodded and stepped up onto the cart, the Gilg’s eyes squinting as he saw the glint of a blade on one of their belts. He relaxed, letting most of himself go limp, just enough to seem like he had given up and not enough to seem like he was resisting. Geim’Dllr seemed to not be of the same note as he limply walked along, head hung sullen. Elrow’s throat seemed much, much drier. The giant looked the two over, walking up to Elrow and plucking at one of his red rags with a scoff.

“What in bloody hell are these? You boys cut him on the way here?” The men shook their head. “Find him in a hospital then? No, that’s thread, why such shoddy clothing, huh? By the Wall's shadow, and these?” He gestured to the long grey clothes hanging from his wrists and ankles. “Man practically chained himself for you plot. Wait. Haha, is this your weapon?” The giant boomed with laughter as he leaned close and pointed at the white, silk string dancing from his hip. He seemed to make a reach for it but then decided otherwise, and leaned back with a wide smile, patting the Gilg on the shoulder, “I like you, Red-Rag. I hope to see you again. Don’t think the pale one’ll last long, though, eh?” The giant turned and walked away, one hand fanning his dripping face, the another pointing in the air making a swirling motion, “Send them to the Circle for your lots' bloodstone. They’d make better food than fighters for this 'war'.”