Neither Here Nor There

     Cirya was there to do her work and not draw attention to herself. She tried not to count the hours she spent moving stock in the dim rooms of the Darigan food shop, but she never stopped looking ahead to the end of the week and the earnings she would be sending home. This year, this year perhaps, she might get to go back.

     Home--to where the sun shone and the fields were green. The memory of soft grass under her paws was painful for how much she wanted to feel it again. The roads of Darigan were rocky and barren, the darkness unending. Darigan pets were at ease in the shadows, happy to move through them day after day, their red eyes boring a path through the dark--but someday, Cirya told herself, her family’s farm would be making enough to support itself again, and she would leave all this behind.

     Of course, she didn’t quite blend in with the hills of Meridell, either. There, her purple fur had been a dark spot in the sunlit fields, like a withered patch of grass. The children had played at being knights and princesses, asking her, “Don’t you want to join us? Don’t you want to live in a castle someday?”

     “Why would I want to go anywhere?” she had asked. “I’m perfectly happy right here.”

     She remembered how they had looked at her when she had first walked into a group of Darigan pets, after a few poor harvests had sent her travelling to learn how to make a living from the pets who were used to getting by on barren rocks and crags. She had felt like a curiosity, something other--but in the beginning, it hadn’t been unfriendly. She was young then, and they had invited her to play with them.

     But the first time she had agreed to go along, it had terrified her to see their games. They chased each other, finding it fun to leap out of the dark and pin each other down with teeth and claws, sometimes wrestling in midair on their leathery wings until one of them got knocked out of the sky.

     They had tough hides and spikes and scales to protect them, but Cirya had only soft fur and velvety paws to run and hide. She wasn’t built for this.

     “I don’t want to play,” she had said, shying away from everyone, searching for a sturdy rock to shield her where her own skin could not.

     “Why don’t you want to play?” they had asked her. “Why won’t you be like us? Don’t you want to be friends?”

     And with every question she didn’t answer, their red eyes grew more cold, until they no longer looked at her at all.

     She didn’t want to be with pets she felt unsafe around, and she couldn’t see a way to avoid it, when they were always playing games she wanted no part of. She didn’t know how to fly or fight, and if she had said she loved and missed the sunlight, they would have thought she was weak, and laughed at her.

     So she learned how to hide among the rocks where no bushes grew, no longer speaking to anyone, disappearing into the dusty corners of the Darigan food shop. Every day she stocked the shelves, living through her fantasies of seeing sunlight once again, of finding pets who looked at her with love, of one day, beginning to live.

     In her current fantasy, a traveller from Meridell would walk through the door of the shop, on a long journey to find some rare and little-known herb with medicinal properties, and she would forgo all her shyness to make him the best sales pitch ever and help him find exactly what he was looking for, during which she would also tell him how very unhappy she had been for such a long time and how she only wanted to go back to Meridell. And of course, since he would be very kind and also have strong and magnificent wings--sometimes he was an Eyrie, sometimes a Draik--he would offer to fly her back, and then--

     Cirya’s paws froze on the dried-out roots she was sorting. Just now, for a moment, she could swear her sensitive nose had caught a scent she hadn’t known for years, not since she had left her family’s farm.

     She pawed aside the piles of tangled vines filling the crate and found herself staring at round cabbages, carrots, and tomatoes--all still recently fresh, all radiant with bright colours she hadn’t seen in years.

     Meridellian produce! How? Although the war had been over for twenty years, it was still difficult to import food from the neighbouring land due to the long distance and treacherous roads. Flying pets couldn’t carry much, which drove the prices up to a point that such fresh vegetables were a luxury most in Darigan couldn’t afford.

     Cirya looked from the dark roots she had been robotically transferring to the shelves to this sudden discovery of vibrant bounty, and a wave of anxiety came over her as she realised she would have to do something she hated.

     She would have to talk to someone.

     Nervously the Cybunny pulled herself out of the shadows and approached her supervisor. “Arynn,” she said in a small voice.

     The Darigan Zafara didn’t look up from the inventory lists she was checking, making a mark on her paper as each crate passed through.

     Cirya gathered her energy to make her voice louder; to her large Cybunny ears, it felt like she was shouting. “Arynn. We got some food that’s not supposed to be in this shipment. I think it’s--I think it’s from Meridell.”

     A strange smile came over Arynn’s face, like she wasn’t surprised at all. “Oh, just put it out with the rest.”

     “But--we don’t have a place for it. We don’t have prices for it. We only sell Darigan food, don’t we?”

     “There’s no reason it shouldn’t be Darigan food.” Arynn’s face looked set with a grim satisfaction. “Just put it all on one of the empty shelves. I’ll price it later.”

     “Do we need to do anything to keep it fresh? I mean--isn't this practically gourmet? Will any of our customers--be able to buy it?”

     “It’s getting priced just the same as anything else we sell.”

     “How can we do that? Isn’t it expensive?”

     “Only because of the greed of Meridell farmers.” A sharp flicker of anger came into Arynn’s eyes. “Darigan used to grow food like this, you know. Darigan was a land of plenty, before the first war. Before Meridell took it all.”

     Cirya’s heart sank, the old chill running through her, her flight instincts fighting to take over. This was why she didn’t talk to anyone. Blend in, blend in, blend in, she thought desperately. Go back to the shadows, pretend you never said anything, pretend you’re not here. Your being here only hurts people. It only makes them upset.

     But another chill was running through her, colder and deeper than the first. How could they afford to sell the food at this price? Where had it come from?

     She’d heard of raids. Though there had been peace for twenty years, and many Darigan pets now lived in Meridell and vice versa, tensions had never eased completely. Many felt that Meridell’s plenty had been stolen from them, and it was only fair to take some of it back.

     Cirya thought of her family, of how hard they were working to hold the farm together, and how useless their fluff and floppy ears would be if any pet with sharp horns and fangs tried to take something from them. Please, she thought, please don’t let these vegetables be from them.

     But it was true that Meridell enjoyed its plenty. The sunlight alone was a gift. Sometimes the weather hit hard, and crops were poor, but they could grow--they had that chance. In Darigan soil, no green would grow at all, no matter how much it was tended and watered. Darigan pets lived on dusty roots, and, more often, on the spoils of hunting--what they honed and sharpened their teeth and claws for. Nothing much would ever grow in Darigan, not since all those years ago when Meridell had taken the Orb.

     Many pets today didn’t even remember what had started the conflict. Meridell’s history books often only taught about how Darigan had attacked, and Darigan pets didn’t enjoy being painted as the villains.

     “Those Meridell farmers,” Arynn went on, “want to make us pay through the nose for the food they stole from us. All these years, we’ve had none of it. I want to see it back on store shelves. I want pets today to know that this is Darigan food, too.”

     Hide, Cirya’s instincts were telling her. If she said nothing, Arynn might not realise. She didn’t look distinctly Meridellian. Not Darigan, of course, but ambiguous enough to avoid conflict and get on with her job. She just had to put the Meridell food--or should she think of it as Darigan food?--out with the rest and not ask questions, and she could go back to blending in with the gloom.

     But there was another instinct in her, a feeling that somehow, this might be a chance. A chance for what--for change? No, it was too risky to try to change anything. Better to keep her head down and keep working towards her goal. Judging by this produce, the harvests might have been good this year; maybe this would be the year she could go home. After how long she had stayed safely hidden, why would she put herself in danger now?

     “Do you remember when Darigan had food like this?” Cirya ventured to ask, her voice falling back to its usual murmur.

     “Oh, yes,” Arynn said. The Zafara’s eyes suddenly shone, like they were looking deep into a faraway memory--Cirya had memories like that, which she tried not to remember, or the longing would hurt her too much. “Long ago, the sun shone. Pets today don’t even remember it. That’s how it was when I was a child. A lot of pets who used to live here then moved to Meridell after the war, but I keep telling myself--I keep telling myself that one day, maybe the sun will shine here again. Maybe we can have the foods we used to eat, and I won’t have to leave my home.”

     “I--" Don’t say anything, Cirya thought. But the speech she had been preparing all day for her imaginary traveller threatened to come tumbling out. “I--I miss the sun too. I want to see it again. I wish--" She wished--she wished she could go back to Meridell, didn’t she? “I wish the sun would shine here sometimes, too. I wish we could have these foods here, too.”

     Arynn looked at her and smiled, and Cirya realised she didn’t remember when a pet had last smiled at her--she had always been too busy avoiding them and hiding away. Was it possible that not all pets here loved the dark, that some felt the same way she did? Could she have found friendship and sympathy here, all these years, if she hadn’t always hidden how she felt? If she had, would she have learned to love the dark a little more?

     For a moment, a glow of sunlight seemed to touch that dim room; but Cirya knew as she felt it that Arynn was giving it to her because she thought Cirya was on her side, that Arynn still didn’t know.

     “Were you here in those days, too?” Arynn asked, adding doubtfully as she looked at the Cybunny, “You look so young.”

     “Oh... no,” Cirya said, her fear freezing her. If the Zafara knew that she was sending her earnings to support some of those farmers that Arynn was so angry with, would Arynn still want her working here? Don’t say anything, she thought. Don’t explain. Don’t do anything, not when you’re so close to going back to Meridell.

     Back to Meridell. She looked at the achingly familiar vegetables in the crate, and thought of how they had probably come to be there. She had learned how to live safely in Darigan, but was her family safe at home? She hadn’t received a letter from them in weeks, not since the harvest season had started.

     Maybe she couldn’t afford to stay away any longer. Cirya calculated her earnings for that week, making a mental map of the rocky paths and jagged stones she had gotten so good at hiding in. She didn’t need to wait for a Meridell traveller; she could make the journey on her own.

     It was strange to walk back into her childhood home and see the same old furniture and pictures on the walls she had grown up with, like walking into a place frozen in time. The rocking chair was in a different place, but it was the same old rocking chair where she had been read to as a baby, and the sunlight slanted onto the floor at five o’clock in just the same old way.

     She had asked for time off and Arynn, newly friendly to her, had granted it. There had been shock and tears at the door when she walked in, but overwhelmingly smiles as her grandfather ushered her inside to wait for the rest of her family to return from the market.

     “We’ve been so busy with the harvest, there wasn’t time to write,” the Elderly Cybunny said, guiding her slowly towards the familiar rocking chair. “We’ve been meaning to tell you. The harvest was good this year. We think you’ll be able to come back to stay soon.” He beamed at her. “But what brings you back so early?”

     “Oh,” she faltered, not wanting to even mention it now that her worries had faded and she was happy, so happy to feel the sun on her face again. “I had heard about... raiders.”

     The Elderly Cybunny’s face darkened. “The Darigan raiders, you mean,” he said gruffly. “Yes. A few farms around here have lost crops. Those Darigan ruffians think they’re owed whatever they want. Someone’s got to put a stop to it.” He shook his head. “I hope you’ve been keeping safe out there with all of them.”

     Cirya thought of Arynn, working day after day in the dim shop, holding onto hope that the sun might shine again after twenty years. She thought of the pets who were proud to fight and hunt in the darkness, making their living on the rocks without help from anyone. Then she thought of the vegetables she had found in the crate, and where they had probably come from, and she felt troubled.

     “They learn to fight because that’s how they survive,” Cirya said. “Because food doesn’t grow there the way it does here. They need it to live... even though I’m not good at living that way,” she added softly.

     “Then they should fight over their own territory, and leave us alone. They need to put some work in and start growing their own food--bring in some decent water, and they’d have gardens on that rock, no problem.”

     Don’t say anything, Cirya found herself thinking again. Her grandfather had never seen that rock, had never felt how the sun simply didn’t shine. They were constantly making efforts to farm on the Citadel, and there had been results, but the soil still seemed to produce only the spiky, tangled roots and vines that she nevertheless spent her days putting out on shelves to sell.

     “But don’t you worry about us,” her grandfather went on. “We have weapons. If those raiders come here, we’ll give them a fight. We want you back now, no matter what.”

     A fight? Cirya remembered the games she had run away from, so long ago. The war had been over for twenty years, so why did it feel like they were still always taking sides?

     “Grandfather, why is it so expensive to send food to Darigan?” Cirya asked.

     “So many reasons,” the Elderly Cybunny answered. “The travel costs, the difficulty of keeping it fresh--Oh, look, they’re back from the market!”

     A group of Cybunnies tumbled through the door, Cirya’s parents and brothers and sisters, carrying baskets upon baskets still partly filled with ripe fruits and vegetables. There were more hugs and tears and laughter as Cirya marvelled at so many berries and greens she wouldn’t have known what to eat first; it truly had been an amazing harvest.

     And all of these leftovers would go to waste, she knew, if they didn’t sell immediately. The produce only stayed fresh for so long.

     “Grandfather,” she said. “You don’t need me to send Neopoints home anymore?”

     “No, not with this harvest,” her grandfather said. “You’ll be able to come back and work with us all again.”

     Cirya thought hard for a moment. “I may have thought of something else I want to do.”

     “How was your visit with family?” Arynn was being friendly now, as she had been ever since Cirya had talked with her. It was harder now for the Cybunny to fade into the shadows, but she wasn’t feeling the instinct to hide as strongly anymore.

     Cirya hadn’t mentioned that her family lived out of town. She took a deep breath and raised her voice as loud as it would go. “It went well, thanks. May I talk to you for a moment?”

     “Yes, of course.” The Darigan Zafara waited.

     “I brought something with me.” Cirya reached into her bag and drew out a basket bursting with multicoloured berries and leafy greens, watching the Zafara’s eyes get that shine in them when they saw it. “I know... I know a few farmers in Meridell. I could only carry some, but there’s more of this. And if you want... they’ll sell it to you for only the transport costs. And I can pay part of it out of my salary... So you’ll be able to sell it for the same price as anything else. So...” Cirya had said it all in such a rush, she was shaking now. “So however you got the fresh food before, you don’t have to do it again. We could try to work together.”

     Arynn looked taken aback. “Oh, Cirya, you don’t have to do this.”

     “But I want to,” Cirya said. “All these years, I thought I had to leave to see the things I loved again. I thought pets here wouldn’t care about them. But if I share what I love, maybe I can find pets here who love it too. I can’t bring the sun back, or get enough food for the whole Citadel, but maybe, just for us, I can make it just a little brighter.”

     Arynn ran her fingers gingerly through the basket, a smile on her face, and Cirya was sure they both felt like the sun was shining.

     Most Darigan pets had never even known the sunlight now. They were at ease in the shadows, and their vivid red eyes saw clearly through the darkness. They were strong and proud and this barren rock was their home; they had their ways to survive, and they didn’t need anyone from anywhere else.

     But Cirya still went bouncing among them as they wrestled and played their games, swinging a basket of vibrant produce, watching their heads turn to her and listen with curious interest as she called in her loudest voice, “Fresh food! Fresh Darigan food for sale!”

     Stand out, she whispered to herself. Stand out, stand out, stand out.

     The End