A Nameless Land, Chapter 1

Wake up, son of mine.
Momma got something to tell you.
Changes come.
Life will have its way with your pride, son.
Take it like a man.

Hang on, son of mine.
A storm is blowing on the horizon.

Changes come.
Keep your dignity.
Take the high road,
Take it like a man.

Listen up, son of mine.
Momma got something to tell you.
All about growing pains.
Life will pound away where the light don't shine, son.

Take it like a man.
Suck it up, son of mine.
Thunder blowing up the horizon.

Changes come.
Keep your dignity.
Take the high road.
Take it like a man.

Momma said like the rain,
this too shall pass like a kidney stone.
It's just a broken heart, son.
This pain will pass away.
-Momma Sed, by Puscifer.

The storm was of a sort few had seen in many years. It had begun the day before, and only grown stronger through the night. Now it was darkening once more, and the storm showed no signs of slowing.
He watched it from his bedroom, fascinated by the rivers rolling down the glass. It cast a black shadow into the room, ran an image of the rain across his face. He felt his heart speed up as he saw a bright white flash. He closed his eyes and counted.
“One... Two... Thr-”
An explosive roll of thunder shook the walls and the glass, setting off car alarms and shattering some of the larger windows in the area. The crackling, tumbling explosion seemed to go on for minutes, spreading across the skies like a shout from god. Soon it lost its steam, and the boy exhaled.
Three miles.
He wiped sweat from his brow and looked at his bed. He needed to get to sleep, as he had to go to school in the morning. But the storm was keeping him up. Not out of fear, so much -the thunder scared him quit a bit, but he found the rest of it to be very interesting. It seemed an extremely otherworldly state to occur in nature so frequently. It almost felt like a disrespect to not pay attention to the storm while it was about. But if he stayed up, he wouldn't be able to focus at all for school.
Before he could really mull over the decision, another flash of light blinded him, and he closed his eyes. He didn't even finish the first count before the thunder hit, and he quaked at the loudness of it. The heart of the storm was directly over him now. He ran back into bed and laid himself out flat -an attempt to make his body as little a target for a lightning strike as possible. He'd already made sure any electronics in his room were unplugged, and any sticks or pointy things were horizontal with the ground.
A candle burned in the corner, giving the wall a ghostly orange flicker.
Lightning was not something he feared, he was just superstitious. It made him feel like a fool, but for every strike that didn't obliterate him, he considered his paranoia validated.
Soon there were cracks coming over couple of seconds, and he gave up counting entirely. He pulled his head up under the covers and tried to think of a happy place, but didn't have the focus.
“Alright!” he said. “I'm afraid of lightning! I'll admit it!”
He said this as though it were an offering of his pride to whatever force managed the storm raging above. In his mind it seemed like the smart thing to do.
It didn't happen immediately, but the dirge of lightning strikes passed. The rain was coming just as hard as ever.
He felt his body still quivering from the fear and tried to force himself to sleep.
A pair of cats started fighting in an alley between two apartment buildings, and the screeching howl sent shivers down his spine. A horrid fear crept over him, like there was a presence in his room, watching and making silent threats.
Finally he jumped out of bed and left his room, hoping to find solace and hot chocolate in the kitchen.
But when he opened the door, he found his mother sitting at the computer desk, sipping from a steaming mug and looking out through open blinds at the porch and the torrent beyond. He tried to close the door before she turned, but didn't make it. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing up, young man?”
Her tone of voice was amiable, but not without authority.
“I couldn't sleep.”
“The storm?” she asked.
He nodded.
She looked back outside. “It runs in the family, I suppose.” She held out an arm, and the boy hugged her. She rubbed his shoulders, and he already felt the fear leaving him.
“You know, I haven't seen a storm like this since I was a girl. I was your age back then, you know.” He nodded, and his mother continued. “It's been a long time since I could really... feel a storm.”
She took a breath, words hovering at her lips, but she looked at her oblivious son and held back.
“How about,” she said, “I make you some cocoa, and we have a chat.”
He looked up at her eagerly. “Can I put on some Beatles?”
She smiled. As she went to the kitchen she said, “Alright, but not too loud. Your father's still sleeping.”
He nodded and went into the living room. As he heard water being poured and the oven being clicked on, he pulled out a metal case from beneath a turntable and opened it, revealing a small cache of ancient vinyl records. He sifted through them until he found the blue album, with the four mop-tops looking down from the inside corner of a hotel building. He removed the second vinyl from its sleeve -marveling at its translucent blue color- and looked at its label. He found his track and set it on the table, pressed the on button that started the table turning, then pulled the needle over and found the second large space between grooves and set it there. The last haunting seconds of the previous song played, then silence.
And then While My Guitar Gently Weeps began.
He smiled and jumped up onto the couch, pulling the blanket folded on its back over himself, huddling into a cocoon. He made a place for his mother, waiting eagerly for her return.
He felt a twinge of sadness at the song, but enjoyed it all the more. The wailing guitar line pulled something out of him that he didn't normally feel, and it was nice to be in that place, if even for just a few minutes.
If life could be like music, everything would be okay.
His mother came back into the room holding two mugs, and handed one over to her son. He cradled it and sipped cautiously, scalding his lip even still.
“Careful, it's hot!” she said, laughing as he gave a small shout. She put an arm around him and pulled the blanket up around their knees, and he cradled up next to her as close as he could without spilling his cocoa.
For a short time they could hear only the soft music and the pattering of rain, and the distant sound of thunder, and it was very peaceful. The white noise of the world dissolved his need to understand, and he closed his eyes.
“Kenny,” she said.”
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She never used his name like that.
“There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about.”
Ken looked back down and felt his throat start to choke up.
“Is it about dad?”
She nodded. “He's been...”
After a few moments of silence, Ken hazarded, “In pain?”
She nodded again. “The mines have been getting to him. With the war going on now, they've made your father work twice as many hours for half the pay. He tried to get a transfer but they said someone with his condition can't work anywhere else. So it's... it's a bad situation, Kenny. He hasn't been doing so well.”
Ken stared intently at the spinning album -now playing Don't Let Me Down- and trying hard not to think about what she was saying.
“Kenny?” she said cautiously.
“You said this wouldn't happen.”
“What?”
“When we moved here,” he said. “You said this wouldn't happen.”
She nodded slowly and cradled her son's head.
“I said what I did because I didn't think things would be so bad when we got here. I'm sorry I lied to you, Kenny.”
“Can't we move away again?”
A tremble went through her voice. “I wish it were that easy, baby. We left the last time because we had no choice. Now, we have obligations. I'm responsible for a lot of people at work. And your father... as strapped as they are for workers at the mine, he'd never be able to get another job if he just up and quit. You need to get through school and get out of this place on your own steam, not on the heels of cowardice.”
There was silence between them. A siren droned on in the distance.
“If dad dies,” Ken said, “I can quit school and get a job in the mines. We'll need the money, and-”
A tear ran down his mother's cheek, and she held onto him tight. “No. The only thing you need to worry about is your learning. If worse comes to worse, I can get a job at the docks, we can move into a smaller place. You're too young to have to be responsible for our mistakes.”
He felt himself wanting to cry but not wanting to seem weak in front of his mother, so he buried his face in the blankets to try to hide it.
Several loud bangs came against the door in quick succession. They both jumped at the sound and stared at the door in disbelief and confusion. After a few seconds, they came again.
His mother said, “Wait here,” and got up, adjusting her clothes as she went to the door. She looked out the peephole and then opened the door. Outside, a young boy was about to knock on the door across from theirs, then turned at the sound of the other one opening.
He looked up at her, drenched to the bone and scared out of his mind, and stuttered to find words.
“Are you alright?” she asked. “Where are your parents?
Ken leaned over the back of the couch at the kid in the doorway. They made eye contact.
“Th-th-they're...” he looked nervously to his right, then back up at her. “I'm lost,” he said. “P-please help.”
He stood shivering outside their door for a few seconds as she looked him up and down. Finally she stepped outside and checked to make sure no one was watching.
“Alright, come inside.”
She led him in and stopped him at the edge of the tile entry square, the only place in the apartment besides the kitchen that wasn't carpet.
“Take off your clothes, please. Ken?”
He looked away from the boy and at his mother.
“Get a bunch of towels from the bathroom, okay?”
He nodded and ran into the other room, sifting through the drawers for a couple clean towels. He found them and went back to the living room, panic surging through him.
The boy was down to just his underwear, and held himself, shivering. Ken couldn't help but to laugh.
His mother gave him a stern look and snatched the towels away, handing them over to the boy. He dried himself off, then draped one around his shoulders and used it as a blanket. His mother led the boy to the couch and covered him with the blanket they had been using. She then offered him the cup of cocoa she'd been drinking, which he took hesitantly.
He spoke a barely audible, “Thank you,” before sipping at the drink.
A door to the side opened, and Ken's father stumbled out. He leaned on the door frame, his eyes heavy with sleep.
“What's all the ruckus?” he said, his voice a deep grumble.
“It's a boy,” she said. “He showed up drenched to the bone and asked for help.”
He looked between the shivering figure in the blanket and his wife. “And you just let him in? What about his parents?”
She glanced back at the boy, then stepped over to her husband and whispered.
“I think he's an itinerant. Probably made it over the city wall in the storm.”
“Then we should turn him in to the police before he gets us in any trouble.”
“Harold, hush,” she said. “Now isn't the time to be male. I just want to give him a warm bath, something to eat, a place to sleep, and then we can leave him out in the morning.”
Harold looked at her and then to the boy. “Are you sure you can live with that?”
She squinted. “I'll be fine. Get back to sleep before your hands start acting up.”
He went back into the bedroom and closed the door. She sighed.
“Ken,” she said, turning to her son,” Could you please go run some warm bathwater for our guest?”
Grumbling, he left the room and did so. As the water ran, he hovered in the doorway, listening to whatever conversation might occur between the two.
She set a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up.
“Do you speak much English?”
He nodded.
“Where did you come from?” she asked.
He looked at the turntable.
“A place too far away to have a name.”
She nodded. “I understand. How old are you?”
“Ten,” he said.
She smiled. “You're a year ahead of my boy.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
She contemplated. “Because-”
There came another knock at the door, and she stood up.
Quickly, she said, “Go into the bathroom, tell Ken to turn off the water.”
He did so, stumbling as he ran.
She stood up and walked towards the door, but didn't open it immediately. The sound of running water went off, and there came another series of knocks. She opened it.
“Yes?” she said, bleary-eyed.
An older man wearing body armor stood there.
“I'm sorry to bother you ma'am, did a young boy come through here a few minutes ago?”
She couldn't help but notice the gun at his hip, its belt unclipped.
“I'm sorry officer,” she said. “Not a soul.”
He raised an eyebrow, then pointed at the ground.
“Explain that, please.”
A trail of water led from the doorway down the stairs and into the rain.
She stuttered for a few seconds.
Kenny ran out into the room, drenched in water. “I can't get my socks off, mom!” he said as he rolled on the floor, pulling at a pair of wet shoes.
She turned and looked at her son, then back at the officer. “I'm sorry sir, I wasn't thinking. My son thought it would be a good idea to play in the rain. I stopped him before the storm really hit, but I'm sure we'll be scraping mold from the carpet for weeks.”
He regarded her and the relatively dry carpet between her and the boy, but couldn't see the pile of wet clothes against the wall adjacent to the door.
“Moooom!” Ken shouted.
“Alright, alright! I'm sorry officer, is that all?”
He squinted. “Keep a look out for another kid, and next time keep better track of your son.”
“Will, sir.”
She closed the door, stood, then sighed and slid down it. Kenny walked up to her, dripping on the floor, and she hugged him.
“I love you so much, Kenny.”
He hugged her back.

Ken took off his clothes and set them with the itinerants, changed, and then went back into the bathroom, where his mother was making sure the other boy was getting what he needed. She walked out as he went in, going to put their drenched clothes through the washer.
He stood awkwardly in the doorway, and the other boy stared at him.
“You can come in,” he said. “I'm not modest.”
Even if he was, there was a layer of bubbles on top of the water, and everything below the neck was submerged.
Ken sat down on the toilet next to him.
“What was with that guy?” he asked. “Are you wanted or something?”
The boy had no reaction.
“I don't think I've ever seen a cop that close up before. Not a real one anyway.”
He waited for the boy to say something, but he remained silent, staring at the ceiling. Kenny's mother came back into the room. She brought a chair in behind her and sat down.
“I want to give you your privacy-”
“It's fine,” the boy said. “You have questions.”
She nodded and closed the door.
“What's your name?”
He sighed. “Calcifaryo Ayalin-Jiyundibnarafabi a Thrastefel.” He looked up at Ken's bewildered mother. “Everyone calls me Cal.”
She blinked. “Okay then...Cal. Why was that man after you?”
“I want to confirm what you said to your husband, that I'm an itinerant that jumped the wall and got caught. But I take it you saw something incriminating on that officer, and that's what this whole talk is about.”
She said, “You're very bright for someone your age.”
He shrugged. “I get that a lot.”
“His gun was holstered but it wasn't clipped, and his drawing hand was close at all times. He was expecting to have to fight back.”
Cal nodded. “And he was the only one?”
“That I could see.”
Cal sunk his head below the water then came back up. “You folks have been kind to me, where a lot of people wouldn't have been. I want to ask you a favor.”
“What's that?”
“For your own sake, you don't want to know why those men are after me. But if you ask, I'll tell you.”
Ken's mother mulled it over, then said, “Alright, we'll leave you alone about it. But if anything else happens, you tell us. Okay?”
He nodded. She returned the gesture, then stood and grabbed the chair.
“Come on, Ken. Let's leave Cal to his bath, alright?”
He looked hesitantly between the two of them, then went with her out of the bathroom.
Cal's eyes followed him out the whole way.