Page 40 of Hummingbird and Kraken

They both stood in silence. There was just… so much fucked up shit in the world.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Declan finally asked. “Not, like, fight I mean. But anything else?”

The old man shrugged. “I’m just a storyteller.”

Declan knew that wasn’t true. But it was apparently all the answer he was going to get.

He was getting the feeling that he was supposed to be learning something from all of this, though. Aside from the obvious cultural lore and history lesson, which Geir had clearly been an integral part of. When had Geir gotten less involved with the tribe? Was that what he was supposed to notice?

It was like he was missing something. But he did like a good mystery.

Chapter 13

Declan

Before Declan could ask the Guide any more questions, the door chimed, and a young man walked in. He looked like a younger version of Ro, and Declan wondered if they might be brothers or cousins.

“Thank you for watching the store, Grandfather,” he said, moving smoothly behind the counter.

“Of course.” The Guide stepped down, his motions graceful despite his age. “I got a chance to have a chat with Declan here.” He nodded at Declan, who was still absently fondling the leather pouch. “That’s his.”

“Oh, I can pay for it. It’s beautiful work. And artists should be paid.” He moved to the front of the counter while the young man moved behind it. They both said a short farewell to the storyteller.

Declan looked for his credit card. “Just give me a sec. And, um, I’m Declan by the way.”

“John, good to meet you.”

Declan raised one eyebrow. “John? I was expecting something… longer, maybe?” Was that rude to say?

John shrugged. “There are a lot of naming traditions here, and most people have two or three names. I have two other names, but I use John for outsiders because it’s easier to remember.”

He didn’t say it with any malice, but the implications were there. John wasn’t sharing his other names, because Declan was an outsider.

Which was fine, really. What had he expected? He knew he couldn’t pronounce the Guide’s name without a lot more repetition and practice. “Well, nice to meet you, too, John.”

Declan found his card, which he’d somehow tucked into the wrong part of his wallet. Probably his stress over leaving Mike without a plan. Which reminded him of why he was there in the first place. “Actually I need to check my bank balance first. Um, do you all have internet here? Can I check on my phone?”

John looked him over. “Askuwheteau gave that to you?”

Declan looked down at the little pouch. “Maybe? He thought it was interesting that I was looking at it.”

“Hmmm…” John looked him over again. Declan couldn’t tell if he knew some mysterious secret, or if he was just puzzled by the storyteller’s decision. “My grandmother made that. If Askuwheteau wants you to have it, it’s yours.”

“Would it be rude if I paid for it, though? I mean, I’d like for your grandmother to get the money. If I have any money that is. Fingers crossed!” He held them up.

John gave him a concerned look. “You can use the internet.” He looked around, then pulled a sticky note out from under a blotter on the desk. “Sorry about the code. Just type this in.”

Declan slowly typed in what had to be at least twenty random letters and numbers, and as soon as he did his phone started pinging like crazy. He quickly turned off the sound. “Sorry, just give me a minute,” he told John.

When the buzzing stopped, he dared to look at his screen.

He saw a message from the coordinator at the youth center and decided to open that first. She’d checked in when he hadn’t shown up for his volunteer spot, and he had a sense that she was the only person who’d missed him when he was gone. It was a different group of kids each week, but there were still a few he felt close to.

He wrote back to her and apologized, but with a bit of a thrill when he described his new home. He wouldn’t be coming back because it felt like he was somewhere better now. He thought she would understand.

Now for the hard part. There were twenty-nine messages from Mike. He skimmed through them. The first six or eight were apologies. Followed by some anger and threats. A few more apologies. Then he apparently discovered the car was missing, which was somehow worse than, say, Declan being missing.

Declan deleted the whole chain. Every text message Mike had sent him for the past three years. He didn’t need that in his life. He could do better.