The Rubbish Realm

Chapter 5

Chapter 5
Ermengarde awoke… and immediately wished she hadn’t. It wasn’t even dusk yet, and she could have slept a couple more hours. Groaning and knowing full well that she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, she rolled out of bed, drowsily attempting to brush some of the wrinkles out of the work dress she had fallen asleep in. It had been a long night, and she hadn’t had time to get changed into her pajamas before she had collapsed onto the bed.
After stumbling down the stairs (a painful experience), she opened the cupboard only to find that all the coffee was gone. That realization woke her up more than even two cups of coffee could have - the coffee merchant wouldn’t be coming back for months, and the two of them, Ermengarde and her littler sister Isolde, who was still asleep, had consumed all of theirs far too quickly. Well, it was probably mostly me, she thought to herself, remembering that Isolde was a morning person and didn’t drink coffee. How lucky for her. She lit the candles in the middle of the room before settling down to read the newspaper, trying to keep her mind off all of her troubles.
The newspaper, the Daily Tribune, although nobody knew why it was named that anymore or what tribune even meant, was Ermengarde’s favorite of the five or so that ran throughout the city of Emlenton simply because it always got straight to the point, as it did today: Piece of Fallen Sky Buries Entire Region, Mountains Invisible Under Piles of Rubble. That was a newspaper peddler’s dream headline, as everybody was buying a copy, eager to hear what could possibly have caused such a calamity. As a result, prices were twice as high as usual, but still not so high that people wouldn’t buy them.

“People in Gerthingham woke up to a crash last night, like someone had knocked over a very big lamp. Going outside, they were greeted by a furious earthquake, setting the whole village ablaze. As they fled, they were knocked down by the aftershocks. They had no time to grab anything before it was destroyed, and everyone who wasn’t fast enough was left behind to die. Everything they had was ruined, and they were the lucky ones.
“It’s hard to even imagine destruction of this magnitude: destroying an entire region irreparably and leaving a permanent gash on the sky and the planet. Fires, earthquakes, and floods never get that large, and even if they were, some people would survive and be able to build back. But as far as we can tell, nobody survived this, and certainly nobody will be building back there anytime soon. And the hole in the sky will likely never be fixed, a constant reminder to those who survive that nowhere is ever going to be safe.
“You might think, ‘Surely somebody survived. Some luck affinity must have managed to be far enough underground to survive, or just happened to be in the only place that hadn't been fallen onto.’ But the whole area has been searched, and even if somebody survived, they’d starve, stuck under or in the miles upon miles upon miles of rubble. Anybody lucky enough to survive would have left before it fell, and certainly nobody from the world above could have survived that fall. Beresford’s prophecy, for the few that know it, looks impossible even at the time it seems to be coming to fruition. Since most people don’t know it, look it up. It fits our situation perfectly.
“Many of us had people we knew somewhere in Llolysward that are no more, some better than others. Our paper even lost two of our best reporters who were working in the region. And many of us will be hard-pressed to find food because of the destruction of some of our biggest trade routes. Most of us will no longer feel safe anywhere, knowing that at any moment the sky could fall somewhere else. Chicken Little is finally becoming a reality, and we all know full well who the fox is - our emperor. We all can run to him, but who’s to say we won’t be eaten? Who’s to say he wasn’t the one to knock the hole in the sky in the first place? He will certainly claim he didn’t, but he’s the only one who could have.
“Llolysward is no more. And faced with that, we must ask - how could such a thing happen? Who would do such a thing? And what’s to say this won’t happen again somewhere else?
“The answer, of course, is nothing. All we can do now is hope.”

That was really not what Ermengarde had been hoping to read, but it certainly woke her up far more than the lack of coffee had. Whoever had written that anonymous article really had a knack for making people think. Maybe that was their affinity, although she had never heard of someone having that particular affinity before. Which emotion would that even be? Compassion? Creativity? And what kind of dunkledorf decided creativity was an emotion anyway?
Forgetting that Isolde was still asleep, Ermengarde called up to her. “Isolde, I have something for you!” It wasn’t very loud, but she suddenly remembered that Isolde was a light sleeper, and that realization led to her remembering that Isolde was still asleep. On top of that, she realized that Isolde probably wouldn’t know what Beresford’s prophecy was anyway. Oops.
Isolde moaned, then replied, “What are you doing awake now, Ermie? It’s not even dawn --”
Ermengarde was slightly worried by the sudden pause and started to fidget. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, barely loud enough for Isolde to hear.
“The sky. It’s… yeah, wrong.” Isolde couldn’t think of a word to describe it right, and decided to just use as few as possible, even if it sounded wrong. Besides, even though she was a morning person, she was still half-asleep anyway.
Ermengarde replied by throwing the newspaper up the steps, its pages fluttering and for a split second revealing a name she recognized. “Wait a moment.” She dashed lightly up the stairs to follow it, turning to where she had seen it and read the entry aloud to herself. “‘Wanted: Evander Branson and Alistaire of the unknown last name. They have been suspected to live at 45 North Carpenter’s Avenue. If you have any information regarding them or if you have them, please call the emperor by yelling his name loudly. $1000 reward.’ Evander’s in trouble, Isolde!” This all was getting to be a bit much for Ermengarde, who usually took a while in the morning to get up.
“Isn’t he always?” Isolde had meant to ask it innocently, but, admittedly, it came out a little snarkily. “In danger, that is?”
“But- but-” Ermengarde sputtered, shaking her head because of the lack of words.
Isolde cut Ermengarde off. “Is that the article you woke me up about? Or did you just forget I was asleep?” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Ermengarde. Clearly, this had happened before.
“No, it’s this one.” Ermengarde folded the newspaper back up so that it displayed the front page before offering it to Isolde. “The one about the falling sky.” She looked at the floor, embarrassed and hesitant. Isolde was always far too decisive for her.
Isolde’s eyes widened further and further as she read further and further down the column. “Yikes.”
Ermengarde agreed quietly. “Yup. Sorry for waking you up.”
Isolde smiled. “It’s fine. You know I like getting up early anyway.”
“No, it’s not. Sorry.” Ermengarde continued to avoid eye contact. She did that so often that Isolde figured she might have the whole floor memorized by now.
“That’s not something you have to apologize about, Ermie.” Isolde gently turned Ermengarde’s head to look directly into her eyes.
“Yes, it is. Sorry.” Ermengarde was as stubborn as she was fragile. That is to say, exceedingly so.
Isolde facepalmed. “It’s… well… this isn’t even our problem, right? We can’t possibly do anything about it!”
Ermengarde took back the newspaper and turned it to the page where Evander had been mentioned, then returned it to Isolde, the simple gesture saying it better than she could. They could help Evander.
“B-but he’s just a normal elf!” Isolde stammered, her composure ruined. “He can’t possibly be the one ‘from above’ in Beresford’s prophecy, and how could we even help him if the Emperor is after him?” At that moment, Isolde wanted nothing more than to just wake up and find out it was all a dream, that the sky had never fallen and it was just a regular old day.
“How do you know about Beresford’s prophecy?” Ermengarde was taken aback. Isolde did not lose her composure easily, especially not in front of others, and the last time Ermengarde had seen her lose it was when their house had burned down five years before.
Isolde started to pace, panic visible in her dull, perpetually bloodshot red eyes. “I read it in a book,” she muttered.
“Anyway, we need to help Evander.” Ermengarde got up to put some water to boil for some tea. “Since the Emperor is after him, he must be onto something.”
Isolde stopped pacing abruptly, side eyeing Ermengarde as if she had just told a terrible joke. “If we really need to help Evander right now, why are you making tea?”
Ermengarde sighed, as if she had expected Isolde to say that. In fact, she probably had, Isolde thought to herself, knowing full well about Ermengarde’s anticipation affinity. “Perhaps it was to have you say that.”
Isolde thought for a moment before running up the stairs. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”