literature

Lovely, Living

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Shino and Shina were fishing out half a mile from the shore of the long island of Xander. They looked exactly alike--- their noses, their narrow eyes, their full lips. They were even the same height, although their voices were different--- Shina bore the country accent of the southern shore of Xander, and Shino's voice was more standard for some reason.

Xander was the world's first free country---- any other place would have had them studied for life by court witches or would have had them killed. Here, they were free.

Because of the economy and their location, they were subject, save in the face of extreme determination and accident of birth, to become fishermen--- just like everyone else.

Possibly because of its location close to Ascmadia, Xander had about three quarters of a mile of grassland. The rest was scrubland--- rich or sparse, in patches not large enough for the growing of certain foods. It was a rich land, compared to most. Like most of the body of Numis, portions of the shore on all sides were rocky crags of slate and basalt.

"Sister, help me," Shino said, hauling up a net full of dark grey fish with muscular arms. Shina walked over, her arms almost as muscular as his. Their skin was tanned deeply and they wore the flat cone basket hats many workers used under the hot sun.

For another hour they worked, and then dark storm clouds approached from the south. Without talking to each other, they packed everything up and headed home. It was a mildly meager catch today, but they were happy with it.

The dock was in moderate need of repair, but it was still useful. They approached and tied their small boat to the bone and stone dock, along with other boats, some larger, more commercial in class, all of them made of particle board, save for one small pine boat of Ascmadian style, with a wider triangle for a sail, straighter lines and a slightly shallower body.

They took their baskets of fish and headed down the dock just as rain began to trickle down from the sky in an even, light and sudden sheet.

Their mother, an exceedingly old woman (people said she was blessed to have children again in her old age) sat under her stall of tomatoes, sweet potatoes and yesterday's fish, of which there were few now. The Ascmadian man with the long face and hawk nose, and blackish-brown hair (everyone else here had black), Jonathan Long, was waiting in the middle of the street, stroking his chin. He was the reason so many boats could be docked here. He bought fish for Ascmadia's southern region, where the crags were too sharp to allow for docks and fish of their own. He was dressed in a purple-dyed leather shirt and white sash, with black cotton pants and black leather boots. Typical merchant garb.

He was standing patiently at the beginning of dusk, waiting for the fishermen to come back. He was holding a half-eaten red apple. He ate here also.

"Mother," Shino said, putting his basket atop the stall table. Shina followed suit, her ponytail briefly getting in the way with her exertions. Their mother smiled lovingly at them.

Shina took a small, smelly tote bag from behind the stall, hanging on the wall of the building behind them by a bone nail, and began pooling yesterday's fish into it. Shino sat in the chair next to his mother and began to keep watch over the stall as Shina went inside their house. It was doorless, and made of drab brown brick, heavily sealed with medium brown mortar.

"Storm coming," Shino said, conversationally.

"You work well," his mother replied. It was the same as telling him, I'm proud of you for working so hard.

Shino smiled. It fascinated his mother to see their face, exactly the same. Twins were so rare in this era as to be non-existent. She still feared for them, sometimes. Although the only foreigner who knew about them was Jonathan, and she had almost begun to trust him, despite his Ascmadian-ness.

His mother looked down at the two baskets of fish. Shino's was moderately full, Shina's halfway. The fish were shiny and in a few different shapes, sizes and colors, mostly slate gray and steel-blue. Jonathan yawned, a giant among smaller people. A peaceful giant, his mother liked to think. It seemed it did not matter, or it did not matter to Jonathan, whether Ascmadia was at war with Bells.

Some people thought of Bells as the main body of Xander's nation, others did not. No Xanderian in their right mind thought so, but with a country that small, they didn't have the ability to influence the views of other nations. Freedom and fear, often going hand in hand down the street. Xander had good land--- something more precious than gold, even back home in the original countries. People paid attention to the actions and words of the nations here, even though they had nothing to do with the fish and the rice shallows and the cultivated gardens people kept behind their houses. People paid attention, because they knew they could lose not only what they had, but the freedom the founders of Xander had dreamed of since they defected.
From the world of Brisel.
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