Mama, Hold On

Chapter 5

Early the next morning, five strongmen, chosen from the previous night, accompanied me into a town factory. The doors and rooms were large enough, so I sat on top of Wavu which garnered an easy response from a majority of the workers. 

"I am," I bellowed through the room, scanning the various people, "North Bu. And I demand that each and every one of you report to me with any extra rations or if you see any suspicious papers by tonight." The air was dead silent, most of them were already willing to be obedient and simply nodded their heads. One chiseled voice rang through, asking why they should even respect me in the first place. This rippled through and the men and women started murmuring to one another.

Frustrated, I galloped over to what appeared to be the strongest worker in the room. I gave him a certain look, sizing him up in my head. As I did so, I could visibly see him gulp from nerves. A smirk came upon my face as I leaned in and whispered to him Hold On. Dramatically, the tough guy gagged, rolled his eyes back, and collapsed to the ground. I flipped through his memories and couldn't really find anything of any importance so I dropped it all.

Uneasily, a short, fatter man spoke up, "Mr. Jay has a notable love for poetry." It was a shaky and weak  confession, but still a considerable lead. The man looked down at his dusty shoes over his potbelly loosely covered with a blue vest. He had a neatly cut, shiny, short, black beard to contrast against his ghostly pale skin and rosy cheeks. The hair growing on the top of his head was minimal, as per usual for a man his age, but he had one silky cowlick hilariously sticking up in a 'q' shape. 

"Good," I nodded, genuinely pleased. Looking at the poor man, I decided to take him hostage and put him to use. "I'll call you Q-Tip," I announced. "Come with us and take me to this 'Mr. Jay.'"

"Uh," Q-Tip's lip quivered excessively when he spoke, almost to the point of irritation. "Jayapresh Zech, or Mr. Jay, has been our head blacksmith for eleven years now. And he and his daughter first arrived here nineteen years ago."

As we waited for Mr. Jay to be available, I picked up on a subtle hiccuping sound from the other side of the room. Lifting my head, I caught sight of a woman bent over in despair as copper frizzes brushed the floor. After a moment of thought, I stood up. I held my hand up when Q-Tip followed suit, looked at him and my strongmen and mouthed "no." With that settled, I quietly and briskly walked over to the opposite row of chairs. 

The woman noticed and lifted her head up. Staring at me was a flushed, tear stained hazelnut face framed with a couple thin, tight copper curls who'd escaped from her relatively loose tie. Over a basic blouse and shorts, she wore a faded black apron, matching the ones the workers up front had worn. Powder and ashes covered her hands, forearms, and dusted her face.

Taking a seat beside her, I held out my hand, "North Bu." Hesitantly, she shook it and rubbed her nose. Almost immediately, she sneezed from it and looked down her hands then at me with terror.

"Oh, my apologies!" she cried and reached over to a nearby table for napkins. She handed me some but I turned them down and simply wiped my hands on my jeans. Wiping her hands, she looked down, "I'm Oddisya Zech, by the way."

My eyes darted to Q-Tip, "Zech, huh? Any relation to Mr. Jay?" A brief pause, then Oddisya looked at me with a napkin covering the bottom half of her face.

"Yes," she drawled as if it should've been obvious. "Jeyaprash is my father." I nodded my head, and stared at my strongmen to get their attention. Once I had it, I gestured for one to stand in front of Mr. Jay's office and the other by the door leading into the main shop. Oblivious, she asked, "Are you new in town?" I noticed Oddisya finally taking a moment to look me up and down. Strangely enough, her eyes lingered on my snow white hair and kept glancing at my silvery eyes.