...

"...That which I need to remember."

Theia woke with the velvet voice of a goddess already fading from her mind. She could not recall if the final item on the list of three tasks was what had actually been said, or if it was something she had thought to herself as she woke up and already began to forget the dream. She un-twisted herself from her quilt, just enough pink light from the streetlights filtering through her window to illuminate soft pink hands, young and unscarred. Soft arms filled out her sleeping shirt, no muscles in sight under the generous layer of pudge. Blinking tiredly and breathing out a soft huff, she pushed thoughts of long curling hair and glowing green eyes from her mind. Instead she focused on the story. Taking a moment before she rose, she centered in her mind all the main elements of the night's dream, trying to be certain that she retained all the key points.

Her fingers traced worn blue embroidery on her blankets, repeating those key points in her mind. They gave her landmarks through which she knew she would be able to remember the details. A fisherwoman, a storm, an accidental catch, a goddess, and a bargain. Three tasks, success meaning a wish granted, failure meaning eternity as a jellyfish. Theia laughed to herself at what her dreaming mind had come up with, then sat up to write it all down. From the crate-turned-shelf near her hammock, she picked up a jar filled with glowertear shards and rattled it until the shards sputtered to light, glowing soft pinks, blues, and yellows. Then she retrieved the latest in a long line of journals.

Dream Journeys, Vol. 27

A pen was retrieved from the pouch that swung from a hook at the side of the shelf. Theia crossed her short legs and set a pillow over them where she balanced easily in the hammock, long-since used to treating her lap as a writing desk. Stiff, dry strands of hair that had fallen from her night-time braid were shoved back behind her ear, but quickly fell in front of her face again. They were ignored, as she was now scratching away with the pen, mind on the waves some thousands of feet below, and the imaginary goddess who commanded them.

When all that she could recall was recorded, Theia cleaned her pen and put it away. She set the journal open on the shelf so the ink could dry with as little smudging as possible. (There was already smudging. Despite ample practice and beautiful penmanship, Theia rarely managed to keep a page clean, and always came away with ink stains on her arms.) Assured that she would not forget this newest story, she closed her eyes a moment to listen for the familiar sounds of the world around her.

The creak of old wood as the house shifted in the netting, soft stomps on the boardwalk outside as late-comers and early risers came and went. Under it all, the ever-present chirps, twittering, and squawks of the birds that built their nests and found their roosts in all the many nooks and crannies of the slums. This was the quietest home ever got, and Theia took a moment to breathe - and to wonder what it would be like to wake up anywhere else. But the sun was rising, and if Theia did not rise with it, her customers would find breakfast somewhere else. So she took in a deep breath, pushed back her quilt, and greeted the chill morning air with a grimace.

She dressed quickly, throwing her sleeping shirt back onto her hammock and wiggling into a wheat-colored dress with a slightly-brighter yellow stripe on the back from where she'd added fabric the last time she'd needed to size up. Haphazard little embroidered flowers in colorful strands of scrap-thread adorned the hem and long sleeves of the dress, Theia's fingers idly rubbing the designs as she rolled the sleeves up. Her hair was roughly brushed out of its braid and bound in a low bun at the nape of her neck, an embroidered scarf wrapping around and hiding it all from view. Despite her best efforts, a few stiff strands still escaped the front and poofed out over her forehead like feathers on a startled owl.

Almost prepared for the day, Theia grabbed her jar of glowertear shards to light her way, then brushed aside the curtain that hid her little corner of living space from the rest of the room and stepped out into the bakery. She wiggled past the crates and barrels filling the corner to bursting, and out to the kitchen area. A quick splash of water in her face and over her hands and arms from the sink, a well-loved and oft-patched apron tied about her waist, and she finally felt ready to face reality.

Days at Cloudrise Bakery started with lighting the oven. A massive half-circle of brick and clay, wider than Theia was tall, with five little clay doors colored white, blue, or orange leading into five different chambers. A white door covered the chamber in the middle, which Theia lifted up and set aside on the lip of the oven. Grabbing the poker that hung on a hook beside the oven, Theia reached inside the middle chamber. A rod of iron speared through the middle of the chamber held a vertically split ring, with a hinge at one side of the split. Half of the ring stood in the chamber at the center of the iron rod. The other half of the ring hung from a hook that jutted out higher up on the rod. Theia nudged that hook with the poker until it fell out of place. With a creak of protesting metal, the suspended half of the ring closed at its hinge and rattled against the other half to complete the circle. As soon as the two halves touched, a wave of heat emanated outward, the runes hidden within the layers of the ring lighting up and shining orange through the metal. Light and heat flickered off and on as the ring-half bounced once and then twice, before it settled into place and the glow stayed steady.

Theia leaned into the heat for a moment as it built, eyes closed and lips tilted up as chilled skin prickled comfortably. Soon the level of heat was too intense to lean so close, and Theia pulled away. She shut the door over the center chamber, and went off to her other tasks as the clay and brick absorbed the heat from the rune-ring.

On the nearby counter, Theia pulled off the cloth covering an array of bowls to reveal fully-risen dough started the night before. Some of it would become bread, some would become cinnamon rolls, some would be buns - most of it would be good.

Starting with the sweet dough that would become cinnamon rolls, Theia punched down the dough and took it to the free space on the other counter to roll out flat. Stretching and pulling the dough got her a long, flat slab that kept shrinking back into itself at the edges. From behind a curtain below the counter, she pulled a covered bowl of pre-prepared butter, sugar, and cinnamon. This was spread thinly over the dough, not too close to the edges. With the ease of long practice, the dough was rolled up tightly into a log, and that log then sliced into spirals. These were placed in pans coated in oil, then set aside to allow to rise further.

The savory-seasoned dough meant for buns was next, and the process began the same with punching down and rolling out. This dough was sliced into sections, and then Theia opened up some of the nearby barrels and crates to fish out a few things: dried tomatoes, peppers, onions, and sausages. These were all cleaned, minced, and mixed into a bowl with salt and herbs. Previously sectioned slices of dough were flattened into circles, and some of the mixture spooned into the center. With twists and pinches, Theia closed the dough into a bun, and set it aside in a pan to rise.

By the time multiple pans of these were ready, the oven was hot enough for baking to begin. Theia opened one of the blue doors and set it aside, heat wafting out and warming the room. The pans filled with buns fit neatly in that chamber, and the other half of the pans, all filled with cinnamon rolls, fit into the matching chamber on the oven's other side. Both blue doors were closed, and Theia flipped over an hourglass that was sitting by the sink. The rolls would be done baking before the sand in the glass had fallen even halfway, but the buns would take nearly twice as long.

Dough for bread loaves was next, and came in a multitude of flavors seasoned with as many different herbs and spices as Theia could get her hands on. It was punched down, divided, and shaped into long or short loaves. Some she cut designs into that would widen as the dough rose a second time. For some of the loaves she would carefully slice a layer off to cut into three strips and then braid back together to curl over the top of the loaf.

Before she was even halfway done with those, the sweet smell in the air and a quick glance at the level of sand in the hourglass showed it was time for the cinnamon rolls to come out. Theia dusted her hands off on her apron, took up two thickly woven hot pads, and lifted the blue door. The smell hit her face along with a wave of heat, and she hummed in satisfaction. Pans were pulled out one after the other, and left to line the lip of the oven as she put what bread was ready in to bake and closed the door again. The rolls were left to cool for a few minutes as she finished up a few more decorative elements of the bread loaves.

Once she had some counter space free, it was time to make icing. A box from one of the shelves above the counter was opened to reveal finely ground sugar, prepared with Theia's own mortar and pestle every week. A few cups of this in a large bowl were joined with a splash of oat cream, and vigorously mixed, adding more cream as needed until a smooth, sugary paste formed. The rolls were plated individually on dried nolia leaves, and the icing carefully poured to cover as much of the top of each roll as Theia could afford. These were carried over to the window displays. Some were placed on the bottom shelf, and others a bit higher after Theia dragged the step-ladder over.

A glance up as she placed the last of the rolls showed Theia that the boardwalk was beginning to light up, shadows shrinking enough that the rising sun glittered off the windows two houses up and across the way. Light trickled down between ramshackle boardwalks between old houseboats and the colorful netting tied underneath. It would be another half hour before light properly pierced all the way through, this deep into the heart of the rooter slums. Even when it did, the boardwalk would stay largely shaded except for particular spots lit by reflections bouncing off glass. The usual morning sounds were beginning to pick up. Quiet morning greetings between neighbors; windows opening to freshen the air in homes that had been closed tight against the night chill; the dull clink of wood on clay as dishes and utensils are utilized for breakfast.

Theia propped the bakery's door open inside with the rickety old chair that held her "open" sign, knowing the smell would entice at least a few customers. A few minutes were spared from her baking to pour a pitcher's worth of water in the garden boxes she kept to either side of the door on the boardwalk outside. It was too late in the season for Theia to grow anything other than cabbages, but at least they were growing, adding a splash of green and purple against the backdrop of aged wood and warped glass. Beneath her feet, in the gaps between boards, Theia could look down past the netting to the next lowest layer of the slums. A layer down, one of the bumbling, boxy little aer-bikes of the affectionately named "water bee's" was tracking along its rope system. The old goblin pedaling it pulled the brake lever and the pulleys and gears squealed to a stop alongside a neighbor's water tank. He climbed around the side of the cargo box, lifted the hose from where it was wound on its hook, and twisted it into place on the neighbor's tank. With another twist of a faucet, rune rings glowed around the hose where it connected to the tank as sea water gushed from the water bee and clean drinking water filled the neighbor's tank. He hummed to himself as he worked, soft little words here and there from half-remembered songs.

Twenty years prior, when Theia was still a child, there had been only two streets below the bakery. On clear days and through certain gaps in the boards, Theia had been able to look all the way down to the ocean far below. Now there were some five or six layers of houseboats going down, and any view of anything but the slums was at least a twenty-minute walk or climb away through the labyrinth of interconnected houseboats that was the rooter slums. She turned back toward her door, sighing and deciding she ought to take a walk to the docks soon. If she was feeling this nostalgic, she'd clearly been cooped up for too long.

"Morning, Ms. Theia!" A reedy voice piped up from over Theia's head, and she glanced up to see a fluffy white face, eyes nearly hidden under layers of fur, and perky ears decorated with colorful ribbons. The ityr girl was nearly half again Theia's height, and looked almost too big for her surroundings. Her wet black nose wiggled and pointed into the bakery, tail swishing under her skirt behind her, nubby horns peeking out between the ribbons tied into the fur around her ears. "Rolls are ready?"

Theia smiled, "Just in time-"

"Matil, there you are! Oh, and your ribbon is all crooked again- oh, good morning, Ms. Cloudrise!" A willowy nymph child with glowing pink eyes and wearing a similar uniform interrupted.

"Good morning Resui," Theia's eyes crinkled as she watched Resui fussing over Matil - a common sight as the two made their way to school. Matil's absent-minded appearance offended Resui's perfectly-kept poise - or so she would say to anyone who asked why she was constantly correcting Matil's ribbon's and cuffs. If asked why she put up with it, Matil would shrug, huff quietly, and say "it's cute."

Both girls, despite being quite young for their respective species, towered over Theia. This was not unusual. Being a gnome meant most species towered over Theia. The only people who didn't were rattekin ityrs and itaurs. Even goblins tended to have at least a few inches over gnomes in height.

"And good morning to you too, Matil," Theia continued. "Yes, the rolls are ready. Would our busy little scholars like one for the road?"

"Two, please." Matil holds up two claws, tail wagging furiously.

"None for me, thank you Ms. Cloudrise," Resui sniffs imperiously, then briefly appears to regret her words as she scents the air more closely. Theia tries not to laugh. She heads inside, the two girl's following. Despite being a child still, Matil's head nearly brushes the ceiling, and she has to duck as she comes through the door. Theia feels a pang in her heart, wondering how long before Matil never enters her shop again. She spoons a little extra icing over the girl's cinnamon rolls before wrapping them up.

"How is secondary-school treating you two recently? I recall last week it all seemed a bit overwhelming..." Theia asks, thinking back to Resui's frazzled chatter about math and logic classes and how steep the learning curve was from primary school. Theia herself hadn't done well enough in primary to receive an invitation to secondary, so she had only been able to hum encouragingly and listen without having any advice to offer. Hardly anyone from the slums got into secondary, so it wasn't as if they'd expected her to be able to help. Even so, the inability stung at Theia's pride. Thankfully the girl's didn't seem to hold it against her, though she suspected that they'd hoped her friendship with Jero would have meant she had at least some small pointers to give them.

She did not. It didn't help that Jero had stopped responding to her letters over a year ago.

"We're settling in," Matil said.

"First week was a lot," Resui sighed. "But some older girls agreed to mentor us, so we're making it through." A determined light burned in the girl's eyes. "We won't be drop-outs, Ms. Cloudrise, don't worry about us!" Matil chuffed firmly in agreement as Theia handed over her rolls.

"Oh, I'm not worried," Theia lied. "I know you two will do brilliantly." This part was not a lie. "You've already made the whole fifth ring proud. Just take care of yourselves, alright?"

Matil tried to hand over the coins to pay for the rolls, and Theia closed the girl's paw back over them.

"No need, love. Just study hard, okay? And remember you've got all of us supporting you. Now go on, hurry to class!"

The two tried one more time to get Theia to accept payment, but she staunchly refused, and sent them on their way. As they ducked out of the shop, she turned back to the oven to pull out the finished buns and bread. She could hear the girls exchanging greetings with someone outside. A moment later, that someone knocked at the door-frame.

"Yoo-hoo! Is my favorite baker rising and shining?" The tinkling of tiny metal bells announces the arrival of a goblin with a nearly floor-length braid of shining black hair and an asymmetrically-cut dress. She bounces into view around the door frame, carved wooden sandal-heels clacking against the floor and bells tinkling where they're wound into her braid. The embroidery swishing into view with every turn of her skirt matches Theia's in design, but was crafted by a much more skilled hand.

"Me? I'm always up this early. For you, though..." Theia rested the last of the finished bread on the lip of the oven and hefted the door back into place. "What has you up and about so early in the morning, Charry?" She eyes the dark circle's under her friend's eyes and frowns, uneasy.

Chartreuse flounces up to the counter, and leans over it to snag a savory stuffed bun. The goblin takes a bite and moans in exaggerated enjoyment. Theia rolls her eyes, but her frown flickers away into an indulgent smile.

"Stayed up all night finishing a rush order for an ogre couple from the Second. They met two weeks ago and then two days ago decided they must be married today. One of them insisted that I was the only tailor he trusted, and the other had enough money to pay for my lack of beauty sleep. So here we are, forty-eight hours later and rolling in enough dough for me to have a dozen of these buns for breakfast." Chartreuse hummed through a mouthful of food, tiredly stuffed the rest of the bun in her mouth and eyed the rest of the platter.

"I didn't know you had clients on the second ring - wow!" Theia clapped in congratulations, and Chartreuse beamed.

"Once the wedding guests see my work, I'll have even more." Her jaw cracked in a yawn showing off two rows of fangs and serrated molars. She dropped her head on the counter and blindly grabbed for another bun. Theia obligingly placed one in reach of her claws, then watched it disappear. "No more rush clients for a while though, please," Chartreuse whined through another mouthful of food.

"So if you've been working for two days straight, why are you in my bakery and not at home in bed right now?" Theia asked. Chartreuse groaned, and her whole countenance fell.

"You're not gonna like it, but I wanted to make sure you heard it from someone who was gonna be nice about it," the goblin sighed. Theia felt the unease that had been stirring in her gut thicken. "I heard this straight from my client when they came to pick up their clothes. I went by the Taja house to confirm it on my way over here, and it's true. Before you panic-! No one's dead."

"Charry. Just tell me."

"Last night, a squad of Beetles went to the Taja house and took Istullis and Besha in for questioning. No one knows for sure why, but safe bet it has something to do with Jero."

"What??" Theia jumped up and started pacing, not really hearing Chartreuse's pleas for her to calm down, have a seat, take some deep breaths.

'Beetles' is what the people of the rings called the infantry force of Zaatar. With their heavy, spiked plate armor, horned helms, and pincer-style spears, the soldiers and guards of the island were an unwelcome sight in the rooter slums that made up the largest portion of the fifth ring. Thankfully, they were also a relatively rare sight. Most of the time the Beetle patrols only came to the Fifth if they had specific orders, and otherwise didn't interfere with the delicate eco-system of slum-lords and smugglers and all the rooters who couldn't leave or had nowhere else to go. Whenever they did appear, it was bad news. It meant someone had gained the attention of the First, the nobles, or even the lord of the island himself, Sarrem Zaa. For people like them, with limited options - such attention was never a good thing. Their was only one reason the Taja family would have caught the attention of someone who could command the Beetles, and that reason was named Jero Taja.

"What- what could have- oh no, oh dear, oh Charry-!" Theia stopped pacing and whirled around to face her friend. "The triplets! If Istullis and Besha were both taken in, who's watching-!"

"Iridia was there when I went by," Chartreuse patted the stool next to her at the counter, and Theia slumped down into it. Chartreuse handed her a cup of water and Theia drank gratefully, the pounding in her ears lessening enough for her to hear her friend's soft chuffs and words of encouragement. "He'll take care of his grandkids, Theia, the triplets will be just fine. I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure it will turn out okay. Just being taken in for questioning isn't a death sentence, and I'm sure Besha and Istullis haven't done anything to get themselves in trouble. And we both know Jero is the smartest of all of us. Whatever mess he's gotten himself into, I'm sure he'll be able to get himself right back out of it."

They were both silent for a few minutes, waiting for Theia's breathing to return to normal.

"Do you remember-" Theia's throat felt so dry. She took another sip. Her voice was quieter when she started again. "Do you remember how excited we all were, when we got the news about the scholarship?"

"How could I forget - the whole ring was celebrating! The first scholarship from the runic academy given out in the last thirty years - your little shadow beat the odds." Chartreuse pulled a stool up next to Theia's and leaned against her. "Everything was going to change."

"It was a lot of pressure to put on him," Theia whispered. "I think - I think that's why he got mad at me."

"He's not mad at you, Theia. There's no way."

"Why else would he have stopped writing?"

"He's busy studying!"

"I know, but..."

"Besides, he's a teenager. You know that's a hard time for everyone. And besides-" Chartreuse kept going, but Theia was only half listening, letting the words flow in one ear and right out the other.

She'd known Jero ever since he was born. She'd been a teenager herself, then. He'd been such a tiny thing, even to Theia. His parents had been friends with hers, and Theia had felt like an older sister to his brothers Istullis and Kivoni already. Jero was her tiniest baby brother, and she'd done her best to live up to that role, even if no one had ever said she needed to. She'd held his hand for his first ride on an aer-scooter, helped him learn to write his own name, led him through all the secret children's paths in the slums that only the very small could traverse. When he'd been invited to attend secondary-school, Theia hadn't been surprised, and had happily let him teach her the things he learned there (even if she couldn't wrap her head around most of it, and even if Jero was perhaps not the most coherent teacher).

"...-I've got to go, Theia. Will you be alright?"

"Hm? Oh! Yes, yes, I'll be fine, Charry." The two stood up and hugged, holding each other tightly for just a moment before saying their goodbyes. Theia waved to Chartreuse as she left, and resolved to go visit Iridia and the triplets later.

Everything would be alright.