Page 23 of Exiles on Earth
“In the sink. Everything goes in the sink,” I mumble, a sigh escaping before I can catch it. Shame tightens my chest. The sink’s already a disaster zone, piled high with unwashed dishes and clutter. I’d meant to tackle it earlier, but life—well, life has literally exploded around me. Cleaning feels impossibly far away now.
Ilia tips his head to his shoulder again, their version of a nod I think, and strides to the sink. I watch as he sniffs at the tea, then at the milk, his tongue—a startlingly human shade of pink—darting out to taste a droplet of each. “It’s suitable for us,” he says, his voice low but still in English. A courtesy, making sure we can follow what’s being said.
The triplets eagerly spoon heaps of sugar into their tea, adding milk in generous glugs, while Gara shakes his head when I offer him a mug. Arabella doesn’t take no for an answer, though—she gives him an extra helping of sugar and slides it toward him with a pointed look. Across the table, Arture is locked in a strange trance, staring somewhere past Nicole’s ear like he’s trying to escape into another dimension.
Outside, the night presses against the windows, rain splattering down in relentless sheets as it starts up again. I fold my arms tightly, the weight of my endless to-do list creeping back in. Thank goodness I managed the sheep earlier, but everything elselooms unfinished, piling up in my mind like a growing mountain of responsibility. There are tangible tasks, like securing the grain store door, for one, but worse are the formless ones, unnamed worries that claw at me without telling me what exactly they are and how to put them to bed.
Speaking of, where on Earth am I going to host them all for the night? I can’t let them sleep in the kitchen, but the options beyond that are rather limited. Approaching Ilia, I ask, “Can I talk to you?”
His brow twitches, as if confused. “Of course.”
I wave him toward the mudroom. “We need to figure out where you’ll sleep tonight. Come with me, I’ll show you what’s available on the farm.”
“I’m coming too,” Laura announces, stepping away from the wall with her hands planted on her hips.
“Sure,” I reply, more relieved than I expected. It’s smarter to stick together anyway, though I don’t think these aliens mean us any harm. They’ve had plenty of chances if that were the case. Arabella and Nicole seem comfortable enough staying behind, watching over the rest of the crew.
Pulling on my Wellington boots, I glance at Floss, who wags her tail hopefully. But the second I crack open the door and a gust of wind and rain hits, she takes one look and sinks back into her basket with a sigh. “Quitter,” I mutter, grinning at her.
Laura peers out from the doorway, wrinkling her nose as a sheet of rain lashes the gravel outside. “On second thought, I’ll watch over you from here.”
“Figures,” I tease, looking pointedly at her pristine, styled hair.
Ilia ducks under the low lintel from the kitchen to the mudroom, and I swear the walls shrink around him. My chest tightens, heat blooming deep inside me. He’s so big. His shoulders seem to expand as he straightens, brushing the coats on the rack and filling the smallspace.
I point toward the jackets, and my hand trembles before I can steady it. Jeez, get it together! “Grab one of those if you want.”
Ilia frowns slightly, his gaze catching on my shaking finger before he looks at the rack. He pulls down an old oilskin jacket, but it’s laughably small for his broad frame. Without hesitation, he drapes it over his head like a makeshift cloak. The effect is ridiculous, making the size difference between us even more comically obvious.
And in the dim light, the small scales on his cheeks shimmer faintly, glowing in soft hues of blue-green-purple like an aurora.
Cute. No—wait, not cute. Focus!
“Ready,” he rumbles, and I jolt, realizing I’ve been standing there, gawking like a fool, saying absolutely nothing. Heat flares up my neck, and I spin on my heel, heading out into the yard before I embarrass myself further.
The chill wind isn’t too enthusiastic, the rain settling into a light drizzle. I love the cold air, I always think better outside in the crisp cold, and it clears the lingering shock of aliens landing in my garden. I haven’t even processed the bank refusing to give me a loan yet, but it feels a million years ago against an alien invasion! Plus, whenever Ilia looks at me, I feel a little out of breath. Is this an alien thing, or just nerves?
We crunch across the gravel, muted by the damp. Drizzle clings to everything, fine and cold, settling on my hair and seeping through my aging oilskin. Ahead to the left, my dad’s battered Land Rover sits in front of the machine shed, green paint peeling in long strips to reveal stubborn rust beneath. The machine shed itself leans with age and overuse, its doors hanging on their hinges revealing shadows of the jumbled graveyard inside, tractor parts and seasonal sheep equipment like shears, hurdles, and feed buckets. I glance to the right, where the lean-to clings to the farmhouse like an afterthought, cluttered with stacks of cardboard recycling, empty tubs of dewormer, andbroken wooden pallets. There’s a wheelbarrow without a wheel buried somewhere underneath, which I swore I’d fix soon.
I turn back around to face the house, solid and steadfast, but shadowed now by the barn—or what’s left of it. The sight of its scorched, skeletal frame hits me again, a dull ache spreading through my chest. The courtyard feels emptier without the barn; something essential is missing. The U-shape of the farmyard has always felt like a protective embrace, but now, with one side damaged, it’s more exposed.
“I’d offer you the barn, but…” I gesture toward its remains in explanation. “There’s the machine shed, but you’ll never get in with all the bits we’ve got piled in there. It’ll be freezing tonight, supposed to drop in temperature again.”
“May I ask questions to better serve you?”
“Uh… sure?”
He lifts his head, scanning the courtyard. “Is this the only way in and out of your compound? The land surrounded you from what I could see in light-time, so where are the main defense structures and points? Are there other compounds nearby, and do you have enemies?”
Wow, that’s a lot. “You don’t need to worry about being attacked here. As for where you are, Picklepercy town is two miles thataway.” I point south, down the private track to the main road. “The land’s hilly, yes, which is why we are hill sheep farmers, and no, I don’t really have enemies.” I kick at a stray piece of gravel, muttering, “Unless you count circumstances and the whims of banks.”
“I do count circumstances and banks,” Ilia says, voice growing rough as he turns to face me. “What type of foe are they? My crew and I will protect you from them.”
I can’t help the chuckle escaping me. “Circumstance means… just the things that happen in our lives. Like you guys falling into it.”
“Oh. And banks?”
“Financial institutions. They hold and lend money. Currency, for buying things.”
