Chapter 2- P1

“I can’t believe you.” I mutter to Asaiah as we walk through the crowded marketplace.

“Just be thankful the priest is a man of piety.” His words are spoken so quietly, they barely reach my ears. As if the heat wasn’t enough, the bodies constantly swarming around us and my swelling frustration make Derbe seem to be the center of a blacksmith’s fire.

Althaia skips with us, completely unaware of our current horrifying situation, while holding our brother’s calloused hand.

“Where is the integrity that mother and father always spoke of when you were the subject? You’ve become impetuous and brainless! What are we going to do?” The fumes of my anger trail behind us, mixing with the heat.

“We can barely scrape together enough to buy our own food. This time we can’t get the money back magically!” I don’t remind him about the two times before this where he got us into a bad situation by lending money to the wrong people. Thankfully we were able to find a man to arbitrate in both cases and settle the stolen shekels. Asaiah takes it all in stride, letting me vent my anger and call him whatever it is that I desire. That’s why I can’t stay mad at him. He remains calm and collected while I am frustrated and insensible. The calm and the storm. It’s what mother and father used to always call us. Perhaps I should have outgrown my quick tongue by now, but it seems that the titles are still applicable to us. I sigh, and Althaia grabs my hand with her free one. Her touch offers a deep sense of consolation; it’s as though Asaiah’s calm is being transferred through her, one hand to the other.

“I just wish you would discern more properly. We are hungry and barely making any shekels as is.”

“I know. But while we may be hungry, we aren’t starving, and the man on the corner is. We always have something to give, he has nothing.” Asaiah has a formidable voice, fit for a leader, and it draws me to his shelter, calming me.

Althaia chimes in now that the conversation is lighter. “Yeah, we do have stuff. We have a lamb.” I give her a sad smile. Neither Asaiah or I have the gut to tell her that our “lamb” is just a cotton toy. At times, she speaks so vividly of it, it’s almost creepy. We both thought she would have become too old for such play by now, but she continues to prove our assumptions wrong almost every time we make a guessing game out of her imaginations.