Chapter Text
Reth is not everyone’s cup of tea.
In fact, he’s probably not a tea at all.
His spirit drink is probably one of those strange, state fair novelty concoctions that you flirt with on a dare with your friends. Like a pickle lemonade or a dirty pepper sodapop. He’s a drink that you either love or hate, but most people don’t want much of it either way. Nobody goes out of their way to find him, but he’s an interesting topic of conversation and garners a few laughs during the whole experience. After the originality wears off and reality sets in, he’s left to the next unsuspecting consumer and reviews are mixed.
Maybe humans actually really like dirty pepper sodapop and that’s why they’re so accepting of his otherness.
Small town majiri, on the other hand, are less adventurous when it comes to their choice of beverage. They like the tried-and-true: green tea, black coffee, ginger ale. They don’t like Reth’s checkered past nor his vibrancy.
He tries to make up for his follies by working hard and coloring inside the lines (as inside the lines as he can get while carting around illegal packages). But he can only be himself and that’s not enough for some tradition wielding Kilima folks who see him as a stain on their community. They would prefer a cool glass of water.
Reth Keita is not a cool glass of water.
So it’s a surprise when Kenyatta shows up to the inn one evening and asks for a sweet-root smash cocktail, a drink favored by the underground Grimalkin elite, before suddenly dropping the bombshell of all Kilima bombshells on him:
“I broke things off with Nai’o,” she announces. To her audience of one.
Reth, who is actively pouring her drink out of a shaker into an iced lowball, freezes in place.
“Whoa,” is all he can think to say, eyes wide.
The inn and tavern are empty just before the dinner rush. Fire crackles in the hearth as the last dregs of sun filter through the dining room curtains, half blocked by the shadow of City Hall. It’s an odd time to wander into the tavern for a drink alone. But Reth now understands Kenyatta’s reason: to vent without prying ears.
“Seriously? I mean—that sucks,” Reth rewords, stumbling over several opposing reactions as he slides the drink across the bar to her.
Slinging drinks and making soup is easy. The therapist part of being an innkeep? Challenging. He snaps his bar towel over his shoulder. “And I totally didn’t know about you two to begin with. Big reveal. So this is an absolute surprise to me.”
Kenyatta shoots him a wry, knowing look. “Uh-huh.”
“Honest.”
“There’s nothing honest about you, Reth.”
Ouch.
He’s used to jabs like that. He rolls with them, despite the sting.
“So…” It’s his job to know, he reasons. As a citizen who is invested in his community. “...What happened?” he asks.
She shrugs and stirs the straw in her drink, calm and resolved. “I think—I dunno—it just wasn’t gonna work out in the end, ya know?”
Reth frowns and his eyes dart back and forth. “I mean, not to undo your work or anything but it seemed like things were fine? Ya’ll are kind of like—objectively, don’t take this the wrong way—the hottest people in town. Seemed like a right fit. Besides your mom’s obvious disapproval.”
Reth feels a sense of accomplishment when he pulls a genuine laugh from Kenyatta. Open joy is a rare sight on her resting you’re-boring-me-to-death face.
“I’ll take it,” she says. “I’m just thinking about my path. It’s starting to take shape in my head, ya know. And…I get this feeling that it’s gonna take me away from Kilima Village. Not forever, but for a while.”
Reth holds up his hands. “Alright, you’ve dropped like three bug bombs on me in the last two minutes,” he says. “What about your mom? Public service? The whole family line?”
Kenyatta wrinkles her nose. “Screw that.”
Over the brief but impactful cycles Reth has lived in the valley, he’s discovered that, on an ideological level, he and Kenyatta are aligned on several fronts. Including, but not limited to: sticking it to the man. He holds up a flat palm and she grins, meeting his offer with a satisfying smack of a high-five.
“Hell yea,” Reth approves. “So, in all your big plans you just don’t see Nai’o as part of them?”
Kenyatta rests her jaw on her palm, waving her other hand out toward nothing in particular. “He’s gonna be here ‘til he dies. He’s tied to his family and that damn farm.” She catches herself. “Sorry, the farm is important, I get it. But, like, I wanna be important too. I want freedom and some adventure and rolling around in a hay bale a stone’s throw from my house at two in the morning is just not it, ya know?” Kenyatta sips through the straw, downing half of her drink in one go.
Rolling around in a hay bale at two in the morning sounds pretty fun to Reth, though.
She continues, “And, if I’m being honest, I started going with him only because I knew it would piss my mom off. I liked him after a while, really. I wasn’t totally using him. Gave it an honest try and it was fun. But I think he deserves better than being that.”
Reth nods throughout Kenyatta’s confession, like he should. He hasn’t heard stuff this good since Sifuu got drunk and regaled the whole tavern with a story about how she almost suffocated Hassian’s mother in the bedroom between her thighs. Reth had never seen Hassian so traumatized.
“He’s all muscles, but he’s actually really soft,” Kenyatta reveals, “He deserves that hometown sweetheart who will, like, make jam with him on the weekends and pop out three of his kids. That’s not me.”
Despite all her solid reasonings, she seems pretty torn about the whole affair. Reth doesn’t dare point out how kind and empathetic she’s being. Lest she snap back at him for being too sentimental.
She locks her amber eyes on him. “Tell me I did the right thing, Reth.”
Reth is a notoriously bad decision-maker. She should have sought out a level head like Ashura or an analytical mind like Jina for help in that department. But the damage has already been done and Reth is a people pleaser, so he figures it can’t hurt to give Kenyatta the approval she wants.
“You did the right thing,” he says. “Sounds like it just wasn’t meant to be. You’ve got your own thing and he’s got his own thing.”
“Right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Seems like it to me.”
She nods, then ducks her head to sip at her drink again. She looks sad. Reth knows that breakups—Dragon knows he’s had a few doozies—are hard no matter the circumstances. A loss is a loss.
“Do you want a hug?” Reth pitches, knowing he has a fifty-fifty chance of rejection, “I’ve been told that I give some pretty good hugs.”
Much to his surprise, Kenyatta nods.
Reth plants his hands and leaps over the bar counter to the other side. Ashura hates it when he does that—something about professionalism and food safety standards—but Reth does it all the time when no one is looking. Kenyatta stands from her stool and accepts Reth’s big embrace. He squeezes her small frame, pressing the sadness from her bones. She squeezes him right back.
Reth thinks to himself: Wow, what an unexpected start to a strange friendship.
SLAM!
A crate lands heavy on the bar counter.
Reth and Kenyatta fly apart. Partially out of shock and partially because they both know they’ll be the talk of the town if anyone misconstrues their budding affection.
It’s Nai’o. With dust on his chaps and splattered mud across his winter poncho, he looks…irritated, to put it mildly. It’s a stark contrast to the sunny, polite expression usually plastered on his handsome face. The sourness makes his cheeks more angular; his eyes are tired. He regards Reth with a particularly acidic disdain.
“For the dinner rush,” is all he says before turning on his heel and heading for the rear exit.
“T-thanks, man,” Reth manages, between heartbeats.
Kenyatta and him say nothing more until Nai’o has ambled out of the tavern, well out of earshot.
The mayor’s daughter grimaces. “Yikes. That was probably the worst timing ever.”
Reth rubs his face with both palms. “No kidding.” He goes for the crate, taking inventory of the napa cabbage and bok choy.
“He’s gonna hate you more than he already does.”
Reth makes an exasperated sound at the tavern’s vaulted ceilings. “He hates me?”
Reth is used to the townsfolk giving him sideways glances. Whispering about him behind his back. Especially the older folk. Reth had hoped the younger people in town would be more forgiving. But the moment he had met Nai’o, he had a feeling he was meeting an old man in a young man’s body. He was steeped in traditional family values and the proper majiri way of doing things. They were never destined to get along, like oil and water. But Reth never hated the guy.
Kenyatta shrugs, sitting back down to finish her drink. “I guess hate’s a strong word. Nai’o probably doesn’t have it in him to hate anything. Let alone a person.”
That doesn’t give Reth any peace of mind. He heaves the crate from the counter and heads for the kitchen. “Whatever. He can get in line.”
He takes the shipment of vegetables to the prep station and inspects and washes them in preparation for the influx of soup orders he’ll receive. The nights have been growing colder with each passing day.
“No one in town hates you, Reth,” Kenyatta calls from the bar.
“I think after Nai’o tells them I made a pass at you just after ya’ll broke up, they just might!” he says, loud enough to be heard over the running water in the sink.
◈ ◈ ◈
That next morning, Reth goes foraging. With the cold weather pressing in on the valley, Reth can’t seem to keep spice sprouts in the pantry.
The air is snappy and low-lying mist hovers across the grassy plains; the ground warming as the sun barely peeks over the eastern mountain ridge. He’s tired, though. His underground shift was long and there’s only so many hours in the day for sleep. But, like the good brother he swears to be every day, he picks himself up by his bootstraps and keeps on going.
Trudging through the dewy grass, apron held aloft, he searches for the orange, budding herb. Reth has mixed feelings about solitude. On one hand, the quiet calms Reth’s restless soul and soothes his anxiety. It gives him the time to shuck the previous day from his shoulders. On the other hand, it allows too much space for thought and retrospection.
And there’s no greater enemy to Reth than Reth himself.
His mind wanders. To new recipes at first, starting with the most plausible and popular to the least plausible and likely repulsive. Then he thinks about his responsibilities for the day—the different shifts and the many deliveries he’s expected to make. Sometimes, he has something good to look forward to. Like dinner with Tish and Jel, or a rare free hour he can use to take a nap.
Then, he goes deeper. Into dangerous, anxiety-ridden territory.
He thinks about his place in the world. About his future. His path (or lack thereof). Tish’s future. His debt. His mistakes. Every embarrassing word that has come out of his mouth for the past two weeks. And it spirals and spirals and spirals, until the quiet field has become a roaring plane of insecurities and regret.
It’s really fun.
Reth pulls up a third, hearty cluster of spice sprouts from the earth. One more and he can head back for a much deserved mug of tea.
Suddenly, something hits the side of his head and explodes in a poof of sparkling dust. It smells weird—zesty and sweet—and makes him dizzy. He stumbles sideways, adjusts his headband, and sneezes. The cloud dissipates.
“Oh, geez, sorry ‘bout that, Reth!”
Auni, ever the bundle of energy, bounds up to him; light in his eyes and a gap in his teeth. Reth is astounded by his strength. How does he run on sticks for legs with that big pack on his back? That Daiya sturdiness and early morning energy certainly runs in the family.
“Good aim, bug man,” Reth greets, rubbing his nose.
“You alright? Get any in your eyes? I don’t think it’s good if it gets in your eyes,” Auni says.
“Nah, I think I’m good,” Reth shakes his head.
“I’m real sorry.”
He waves a hand. “S’okay, don’t sweat it. You’re up early. Somethin’ buggin’ you?”
Reth laughs at his little joke and Auni rolls his eyes.
“Ha-ha. Haven’t heard that one before,” he says, the memory of a million Badruu puns reflecting in his sarcasm. “Just trying to get one of those dragonflies. They’re so fast! What’re you doing out here?”
Reth shows him the contents of his apron.
“The usual,” they say in unison.
Auni points some finger guns and Reth laughs. If they had been born closer in age, Reth and Auni would have most definitely been best friends.
“Need some help?” Auni asks.
Reth shrugs, “Hey, I won’t say ‘no’!”
They search for spice sprouts together and it quiets the voices in Reth’s head. Mostly because Auni chatters on like a motor, unyielding and unstoppable. He’s got a lot to say. About the town, his family, his yearning for adventure, mostly bugs, and on and on. Reth appreciates the company, especially the company of the only person in town who doesn’t judge him for abandoning his path.
“And to top it all off,” Auni says, mid-rant, “Nai’o’s canceled our camping trip again! We were supposed to go two months ago! He kept putting it off. Now he says he’s got something going on and he isn’t up for it anymore. Which means we can’t go until next spring!”
“Yeah, that does blow,” Reth agrees, knowing the real reason why the camping trip has been postponed.
Auni kicks a rock on the ground and it goes skittering into a creek. “He’s been acting real weird.”
Reth, in his limited wisdom, thinks this might be a good time to divert the conversation to something else. But Auni’s got a lot to say on the matter and Reth reckons there aren’t many people who will listen and understand.
“Told me that instead of focusing on ‘fun stuff’ that I needed to be thinking about my path and the farm,” Auni says, “What’s there to think about? They don’t want me to choose anything other than the farm. So what’s the point of thinking about it?”
“Yeah…”
He really shouldn’t say anything. It’s none of his business. Not to mention, if anyone learned the path deserter gave a young, impressionable majiri any sort of life advice? Half the town would show up at the inn with pitchforks. Reth plays it safe for once and takes no side.
“Sorry it’s like that, bug man. Maybe winter won’t be so long and you’ll get to camp with your brother earlier than you think,” he says.
Auni shrugs. “I guess. Jackpot!”
He lights up when he spots a clump of spice sprouts and bounds to tear them from the ground. Auni returns them to Reth, dropping them into his apron.
“Anyway, I heard you were caught making out with Kenyatta yesterday,” he says, all of a sudden.
Reth chokes on his own spit.
“Ma says Eshe’s probably gonna string you up by your thumbs in the middle of the square today. So I’d lay low.”
Reth smacks a hand against his own face. “Dragon, word travels fast around here,” he says, “For the record, I didn’t make out with her.”
Auni makes a weird, knowing face. “Sure, Reth. Sure.”
“Hey, Auni!”
Still recovering from being tossed in the air by the rumor mill, Reth doesn’t dare look Nai’o’s way. But he knows it’s him by the self-righteous sound of his voice and the heavy thumping of his boots on the sod. The guy walks like he’s constantly trying to knock manure off his feet. He looks normal, as he climbs the hill coming toward them, less grim than the day before. But Reth gets the feeling he’s putting on an act for his little brother.
“Hey, uh, ma needs you back at the house,” Nai’o says when he finally reaches them.
Auni doesn’t move. His intelligent eyes shift back and forth from Reth to his brother. “What for?” he asks.
“I dunno. Something. Go,” Nai’o urges, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. He has this unique quality of being able to give a command without it sounding harsh.
Auni scrutinizes the situation for a few moments. Silly as he can be, he’s also a smart kid. Then, he leans over to Reth and whispers, “If he murders you, I’ll testify on your behalf.”
Reth grins. “Thanks, man.”
Nai’o makes a face. “I’m not gonna—”
“I’ll testify!” Auni wildly shouts as he runs back down the hill.
That kid is the best.
And so Reth and Nai’o are left alone, with just the dragonflies and the wind as witnesses.
Nai’o hooks his hands on his hips and ticks his jaw, like he’s trying to find the words to say…but maybe in a nicer way. He has a presence that makes Reth nervous. Maybe it’s the perfect bone structure. Maybe it’s the strength behind his arms. Or in the way stares.
Reth stares back, with less confidence.
“Say what you’re gonna say, man. I got a kitchen to get back to,” Reth says, keeping his cool.
“What were you and Auni talking about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Reth says. He adjusts his apron, holding one end in a fist. “For the record, Kenyatta and I aren’t—you know. We were just talking and she was sad and I just did what a friend would do. I gave her a hug. That’s it.”
It was not the right thing to say, apparently. Nai’o’s expression goes from relatively neutral to annoyed in the blink of an eye.
“That’s not—Whatever that was is between Kenyatta and you. It’s not my business,” he says, much to Reth’s surprise. “I’m talking about Auni. Did he talk about his path?”
Reth internally rolls his eyes. This town is obsessed with tradition—path this, path that.
He shifts his weight. “I mean, he mentioned it. But we talked mostly about camping.”
“What did you say?”
“About camping?”
“About his path.”
He says that like Reth is the stupid one.
“Nothing,” Reth swears.
Nai’o crosses his arms. “I don’t believe you.”
He’s heard that about a million times.
He throws up his one free hand. “Okay, well, that’s a you problem. But since you’re pressing me so damn hard, maybe you should like, I dunno, talk to him? He’s feeling real pressured and I get the sense that he feels very alone.”
“He’s my little brother. I know him better than you do,” Nai’o warns.
Reth’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you?”
“Just—” Nai’o steps forward, then steps back, as if actively keeping himself at bay. Reth has never seen him as a violent sort, but he’s been in rare form for the past couple of days. “Stay away from him. Okay? We don’t need you putting bad ideas in his head.”
“Sure, man, whatever you say.”
He isn’t up for a fight this early in the morning.
Satisfied, Nai’o turns and stalks away—down the hill, onto the road, and heads back to his home. Reth watches every bow-legged step until the blonde is out of sight. Then, he sticks a thumb down and blows a raspberry. It makes him feel better.
◈ ◈ ◈
Reth is elbow deep in minced chapaa for the meatball lunch special when Eshe arrives at the inn. He hears her cry from the kitchen.
“RETH!”
For a moment, he thinks he can just pretend not to hear her. He ducks his head into the big bowl of meat and stays perfectly still. But then she hits the bell at the register repeatedly.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“RETH!!!”
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Ashura makes eye contact with him through the open archway, frowns and jerks his head as if to say ‘get your ass out here’. Reth winces. He sets the mixing bowl down and drags his body out to the bar, hands covered in meat and spices held aloft.
It’s busy—Chayne is lingering near the fireplace, Sifuu and Hassian are sharing a meal, Hodari is drinking at the bar with Badruu—and all eyes are on him. The jovial music wafting from the new jukebox stands in stark contrast to a wrathful Eshe, ruby faced and practically blowing smoke from her ears. Kenli cowers behind her, wringing the rim of his hat between thick fingers.
Reth beams, playing dumb. “Hey, Magistrate Bahari! The usual?”
She points a perfectly manicured nail at him. “Don’t you magistrate me, you—you—you knave!”
Reth grimaces. At least there’s a counter between them. If he stays an arm’s length away, he’s safe.
“Reth Keita, if you come near my daughter again, I swear on my ancestors that you will be shipped so far from this valley that not even the Great Dragon could find you!” the woman promises, a crazed look in her eyes. “With nothing but the clothes on your back and that stupid, arrogant grin on your ugly face! Do you understand me? I will not have my daughter consorting with the likes of—”
Kenyatta comes rushing through the front door.
“Mom! Geez, calm down! This is a misunderstanding!” she insists.
But Eshe is on a roll.
“—She is destined for greatness! You are destined for the compost pile! A dalliance with the local cook! Unheard of! Disgraceful!”
Huh. Compost pile. Reth hasn’t heard that one yet. He appreciates the originality.
Kenyatta shades her eyes with her hand, as if that would help her in a room full of people who absolutely know who she is. “Mom, you’re embarrassing me!”
“Tell me it isn’t true, Kenyatta!” The tall, lithe woman turns to her spitting image of a daughter. “Tell me you were not seen—” She lowers her voice, but it’s perfectly audible to everyone in the tavern. “—with your legs wrapped around this scoundrel.”
Badruu gasps. Hodari’s mouth drops open in shock. Sifuu guffaws and smacks the table with a big fist. Ashura looks like he wants to fly across the room and smack Reth soundly on the back of the head.
Kenyatta turns cherry from her shoulders to the tips of her ears. “What?!”
Reth’s eyes pop out of his head. He waves his meaty hands. “Where do these rumors even come from?! Who in town is doing this?!” he cries. “It was a hug! It was just a hug!”
“Now why in the thirteen provinces would you ever do that?”
“Because—”
Kenyatta looks at him, pleading.
Reth’s mother always told him: honesty is the best policy. Considering that evasion and misinformation have become Reth’s bread and butter, he’s forsaken her lessons entirely.
He searches for an answer in the air and comes up with, “The soup was bad.”
Eshe blinks.
Kenyatta shrinks. Shoulders up to her ears, head ducked in embarrassment.
Kenli frowns. “The soup was bad?”
It’s left his lips, so Reth has to go with it. One-hundred percent commitment:
“Yeah. She was eating dinner and she said the soup was bad. And I realized—I realized I had completely used the wrong broth. You can’t use…” This is going off the rails. “…a trout base for a sernuk noodle soup, it tastes terrible. So fishy and just totally clashes with the gamey steak. I felt so bad about it. A whole evening ruined, ya know! That’s the kind of thing that can ruin your whole weekend. It’s almost as bad as a breakup—”
Kenyatta flashes a panicked look. He pivots, waving his meat hands again.
“—Breakdown! A mental breakdown! I had a total mental breakdown yesterday and that is why I put trout broth in the sernuk noodle soup! Ruined my own weekend. I was just out of my mind. I was so upset. And she was so upset. So I…hugged her. Because the soup. Was bad.”
The inn is silent, except for the music drifting from the jukebox and Reth’s heavy panting. Everyone stares at him.
Ashura cradles his head in two hands, in shame.
Chayne steps forward, clasping his hands with that signature grace. “Are you quite well, Reth? After your…breakdown?”
Reth nods, “Oh yeah, I’m totally cool now. No worries, dude.”
After a few long moments of staring and confusion and awkwardness, Eshe points her manicured finger at Reth again. “I do not know what game you're playing, but do not forget my words. I will be watching.”
She twists on her heel, tosses the edge of her coat, and exits the Ormuu’s Horn with the weighty tap, tap of her cane. Kenli nips at her heels. Kenyatta mouths ‘thank you’ to Reth and follows after her parents.
Reth breathes out a sigh of relief, still standing there with his arms outstretched and covered in food.
“Hey,” Badruu gets his attention, from his seat at the bar. He smiles, “For the record, you’re not ugly. I think you’re a real cute-cumber!”
“Thanks, man. Thanks.”