Anomaly ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo¹

𝖎. First Friday

𝖎. First Friday

KNOWN FACT: Maeve Deuveux hates First Friday. Most enjoy it, as it's a way to get out of doing their work, and some think it's rather entertaining to watch, but Maeve highly disagrees. To her, it's a tedious nuisance that she has to get through, due to the mandatory laws surrounding it. First Friday always makes the village overly crowded, and now, in the heat of high summer, that's the last thing anyone wants (she thinks . . .) From her own place in the shade it isn't so bad, but the stink of bodies, all drenched with the sweat of morning work, is enough to make milk curdle. The air shimmers with heat and humidity, and even the puddles from yesterday's storm are hot, swirling with rainbow streaks of oil and grease.

Slowly, the market deflates, with everyone closing up their stalls for the day. The merchants are distracted, completely careless, and it's easy for Maeve to take whatever she wants ━ or needs, more so ━ from their wares. By the time she's done, her pockets bulge with trinkets that'll be useful to sell and she's got an apple for the road. Not bad for a few minutes' work. As she trudges along with the throng of people, she allows herself to be taken away from the human current. Her hands dart in and out, always in fleeting touches. Some paper bills from a man's pocket, a bracelet from a woman's wrist ━ nothing too big. Villagers are too busy shuffling along to notice a pickpocket in their midst.

The high, stilt buildings for which the village is named (the Stilts, very original) rise all around them, ten feet above the muddy ground. In the spring the lower bank is underwater, but right now it's August ━ apocalyptically hot August ━ when dehydration and sun sickness stalk the village. Almost everyone looks forward to the first Friday of each month, when work and school end early. But not Maeve. Never Maeve. No, she'd rather be in school, learning nothing in a classroom of children.

Not that she'll be in school much longer. Her eighteenth birthday is fast approaching, and with it, the damning of conscription. Maeve's not apprenticed, she doesn't have a job, so she'll be sent off to the war like all the other idle ones. It's no wonder there's no work left, what with every man, woman, and child trying to stay out of the army.

Her brothers went to war when they turned eighteen, all three of them sent to fight Lakelanders. Only Cassian can write worth a lick, and he sends their family letters when he can. Maeve hasn't heard from her other brothers, Greyson and Archer, in over a year. But no news is good news ━ that's what they've learned. Families can go years without hearing a thing, only to find their sons and daughters waiting on the front doorstep, home on leave or sometimes blissfully discharged. But usually you receive a letter made of heavy, rich paper, stamped with the king's crown seal below and a short thank-you for your child's life. Maybe you can even get a few buttons from their torn, obliterated uniforms.

Maeve was thirteen when Greyson left. He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a single pair of earrings for their little sister, Emira, and her to split. They were dangling glass beads, the hazy pink color of a sunset. The two girls pierced their ears themselves that night, heartbroken to see their brother go. Archer and Cassian kept up the tradition when they went. Now Emira and Maeve have one ear each set with three tiny stones to remind them of their brothers fighting somewhere far off. Maeve had pushed the thought of them leaving out of her mind so much, that when the legionnaire clad in his polished armor showed up and took them away, one after the other, she'd felt almost shocked. But she can't push away the thought of herself going, considering the fact that just this fall, they'll be coming for her. She's already started saving ━ and stealing ━ to buy Emira some earrings when she goes.