"Pieces of Light"

Marjorie hadn't seen any travelers in three months, so she hadn't been expecting anyone for three more. The rush seasons, as she and her daughter had come to call them, were in spring and summer; no one came out of Metropolis in the autumn. At least, that was the formula shed been holding to for the past twenty years. Apparently now someone wished to prove her wrong.

The first sight she had of them was just black silhouettes against the setting sun, which was merely a huge golden dome on the horizon. The sunset had cast shimmering red and orange waves over the parched, dusty earth, coloring her own small house a bright scarlet. Marjorie had been hanging up clothes on the line at the time, but when she saw the spread, moving black blur coming towards her, shed wiped her hands on her apron and squinted to get a better look.

As they came down the dry dirt road towards her meager shack, she saw them in an easier light. There were four of them two men and two women, all of which seemed taller than was the norm. In the searing light from the sun she couldn't make out much else, but as they approached, Marjorie garnered that they would need water. And if they needed water, she would get money, which was always a good thing, in her opinion.

When Marjorie was certain that she was going to be watering four customers, she immediately waddled to the open front door as fast as her short, stout legs could carry her. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called into the dark recesses of the house, "Cassandra! Get the cups, will you? Four travelers, down from Metropolis!"

The groaning of her daughter and the clacking of the tin cups being gathered assured Marjorie that things were well underway. Turning back towards her fast-approaching guests, she waved emphatically to them. The tallest man put a hand to the hilt of a weapon rising over his shoulder, but the tallest woman turned to him and said something incoherent to Marjorie's ear. Whatever was said seemed to settle the mans nerves; his hand retreated from the weapon, and the four came into the shadow of her house.

Marjorie plastered a friendly smile on her doughy face, clasping her hands together in delight. They didn't look drawn or tired the way most people fresh from Metropolis did, but their clothes were coated in a fine layer of dust, and both women's long hair were drawn back, one in a low orange ponytail at the base of her neck and one in a high, glossy black topknot. Marjorie suspected that the one with the topknot had been the source of the tallest mans calming, but her eyes weren't legendary, and she couldn't be sure.

"Welcome, welcome!" she said pleasantly, gesturing them towards her backyard. A well that she had smartly installed upon moving to the strategic location was situated there, and the travelers seemed to understand that, following her lead without a word. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say ya'll are a tad bit thirsty. Am I right? Am I?" Marjorie waited for an encouraging nod or an affirmative from one of them, but they each stared at her passively, as if wondering why she was wasting their time. She cleared her throat nervously.

"C-Cassandra?" she called out again, decidedly uncomfortable. "Cassandra? You got the cups, darling?"

As if on cue, her daughter came out with the fraying string of tin cups over her shoulder. Contrary to her mothers stocky and bulky appearance, Cassandra was slim, with dusky skin and thick black hair. Earlier, when Cassandra was younger and still appreciated her mother, Marjorie would call her a gypsy, but now her daughter would make a derogatory comment and stalk off. Lately Marjorie had been feeling exceptionally alone even with her daughter in the same room as her, but now with these unexpected visitors, she could get a brief respite.

Ushering her guests into the equally dusty and grassless backyard, she unnecessarily pointed out the long bench under the shadow of a tin overhang that had been built onto her house for that purpose as she accepted the cups from her daughter.

Before she could shuffle away from them and towards the well, however, the woman with the low orange ponytail spoke up.

"I have my own", she said. Marjorie was surprised and it clearly showed in her expression as she turned around; she was even more shocked when she realized that the young woman was proffering her a hammered metal thermos from a small and torn leather bag. Marjorie tried to make up for her unprofessional expression by taking the cup from her by the handle offered in her direction and going back towards the well.

Filling the cups one by one and directing them back towards the group via Cassandra; she pushed some stringy brown hair out of her small, caper-like eyes and under the tattered kerchief fixated over her head. She wasn't a young woman, that was true, but she didn't feel as if she was an exceptionally old lady either. No matter how much she thought the two young men were attractive, though, she thought with a sigh, neither would ever look at her without picturing her as a friendly old baker. It was too bad that, in her youth, she had baked for her small town.

"There we go," she said in a grandmotherly fashion when the last of the water had been distributed. Both men and the black-haired woman were drinking gratefully from the provided cups, but the one who'd brought her own was looking at it suspiciously, as if it had been poisoned. Marjorie tried not to feel offended. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"She's an obsessive compulsive, mom. Duh," Cassandra said. Marjorie turned sharply in the direction shed heard her daughters voice come from, but Cassandra had already crossed the small, red-colored yard and was standing under the overhang. Sweat was prominent on her sun-darkened brow, and her white shirt clung to her body in what could only be described as an uncomfortable fashion.

She's read too many medical books, Marjorie thought. She has nothing else to do except read those books her father left her. The thought of her husband, dead now for fourteen years, brought a sigh from the woman.

The woman with the orange hair shot Cassandra a venomous look before experimentally raising the thermos to her lips and swallowing a mouthful. After a few seconds of deciding that it wasn't poisonous, she drank more easily just as the others were finishing up their cups and holding them out for more.

"Wait a few minutes," Marjorie said. "Don't want cramps now. "

The second man fingered a feathered earring and narrowed his eyes in distaste. Marjorie noticed the two knives on his hips with a nervous smile, and realized that the taller mans weapon was a scimitar by the way he was angled on the bench. Neither woman seemed to be bearing arms, which settled her jumping stomach a little, but the obsessive compulsive looked lethal even without anything sharp on her person.

"S-so," she tried, "what brings you folks out of Metropolis so early in the year?"

The New Year hadn't been thought of as the first day of January in one thousand years; instead, the first day of September, which also now signaled the start of autumn, had become the worlds New Year's Day. It was easier for Marjorie this way anyway; when the leaves first started to get loose, then she knew that the New Year was there. She would have never been able to tell the old way; snow had stopped falling even longer ago. When would she have noticed otherwise?

"Change of scenery," the man with the earring said. If Marjorie wasn't mistaken, she detected a snarl in his voice; that wasn't necessary, especially in young people. She felt used, having given water to such arrogant travelers.

"You'll want to go back after being a week out of there," Cassandra said unexpectedly. Both women looked up at her, even though the men didnt move; the taller one had closed his eyes, and the one with the earring was staring into his empty tin cup. "Everythings the same out here dust, dead trees, desert. No change. Too bad you cant eve go back once youve left." She seemed genuinely sorry for them; Marjorie felt a pang of jealousy shoot through her.

"We won't," the black-haired woman said. Interestingly enough, she was wearing one of the standard school uniforms issued in Metropolis, replete with a short pleated skirt and sailor-like top. She was far too old to be in school, but it did look fairly new, despite the layer of dust on it. As if noticing Marjories eyes on her attire, she brushed self-consciously at the skirt, pushing a little puff of dust away from the material. "We've been in there too long to care whether some guy comes and kills us all five minutes away from here. Right, Lydia?" She prodded the orange-haired woman with her elbow.

"Whateve," the obsessive compulsive muttered. Her orange hair fell over one shoulder, some of it sticking to the exposed skin.

"It's your funeral," Cassandra said. Without waiting for a reply, she went back into the cool darkness of the house, leaving the four strangers and Marjorie alone.

"Would you like some for the road? Do we all have bottles?" Marjorie's voice had assumed the motherly tone again, as if she were talking to five-year-olds. The taller mans eyes popped open and he glared at her; the shorter one followed suite. Lydia drained her thermos and offered it again, standing up with the black-haired one.

"I'm sure there are other stops on the way," the black-haired woman said. Marjorie nodded, capping Lydia's thermos and handing it back to her. The obsessive compulsive shoved it in her bag and shouldered it; as far as Marjorie could tell, she was the only one with any sort of luggage. The taller man whipped the scimitar out of its sheath and sliced the air a few times before sliding it back in its proper place, effectively alarming Marjorie. The portly woman had nearly jumped out of her skin, and could have vomited when the one with the earring pulled out his knives and performed a would-be deadly dance with them.

"No, Jonah and Nichols, your blade work hasn't dimmed in the past five days. Can we get going now?" The black-haired woman, obviously the youngest, wasn't impressed. Lydia said nothing; she merely stood in the direction of the setting sun, letting a dry desert wind ruffle her long, fluffy ponytail.

"Shut up, Andreah. No one asked for your input," Nichols said, sheathing his knives and facing in the opposite direction as Lydia. "Lets go, Lyd; we're burning daylight." Andreah joined him after stretching her taut muscles for a moment, and Lydia turned and followed him as well. The three started down into a valley that dipped behind Marjorie's house; the woman didn't want to tell them that the next place like hers was at least a day and a half off.

Just as Jonah was about to follow them, Marjorie's brain snapped into gear. She hadn't been paid! "Wait!" she called after them, furious. Jonah turned around, and the other three stopped, glancing over their shoulders impatiently.

"What?" Jonah asked. His voice dripped with poison, and Marjorie almost thought about just letting them go without paying her. When thoughts of the cost it took to maintain the well came into her mind, however, she was forced to press the matter.

"I haven't been paid my fee," she said boldly. Jonah's eyes were cold blue mirrors, and Marjorie felt a shiver race up her back. His russet hair, hanging down to his shoulders, rustled slightly in the same dusty wind that Lydia had relished.

"We left all our money back in Metropolis," he said. "If you want to get paid, go into the city and get it."

With that, he turned and followed his party's lengthening shadows into the valley.