by Dave Ring
I began to weep, but Eden’s mirrored bodice glowed. I felt warmth suffuse my limbs. Then power. Like being hit by a thunderbolt. The good green flowed from my fingertips, setting bones and knitting flesh together. There wouldn’t even be scars.
The power flowed out of me. Exhausted and sweat-covered, I collapsed next to Juanjo and EJ. I looked up at Eden. “How?”
“My Lord delivered Daniel in the den of lions. Are these any less His children?”
I wondered, before unconsciousness took me, when Elijah had got religion.
I woke in Eden’s tent. Juanjo and EJ to either side. Juanjo snored. Eden, still in her gown, sat on a brocade cushion at Juanjo’s feet. Her makeup was immaculate, but she looked old. I could hear raised voices outside of the tent. I struggled to my feet.
Eden said, “They’re hungry. They’re cold. They’re afraid. Be kind to them.”
I exited the tent.
Shirelle was spinning her web. She tied off a strand then turned to David, hands on her hips. “And all I’m saying is my girl ain’t stuck with the name her momma gave her, could have picked any name in the world and ended up Sabrina.”
Sabrina blushed. She covered her face with both hands. “I like my name. It makes me feel pretty.”
“Girl, you are pretty. My point here is that this nigga,” she pointed at David, “stupid.”
David scowled. “Nacho? Lee? Back me up. We forever carrying around that old bag’s heavy ass shit. She don’t lift a finger to make camp. She’s slow as fuck. Always walking like she in a parade or some shit. We woulda been made the city if we wasn’t waiting on her ass.”
Clay shook their head. “You weren’t there. I spat a fireball dead center into that mess of birds. Just pissed them off. Three or four of us would have been dead—”
“Shit. I’m supposed to be scared of some old crows?”
I stepped into the light from the fire. “Those old crows would have stripped the meat from your bones in minutes. Your gift of strength would do little to stop them.”
David jutted his chin at me. “What you know about what I can do?”
“I know that there are more terrible things out in the Shattered Places than Broken crows. I know Eden has survived most of them. I know that a fifteen-year-old, no matter how strong, is no match for them alone.”
He had the grace to look chastised.
Tempers were soothed the next day by a foraged bonanza of rose hips, pine nuts, and turnips. Going to bed with a full stomach seemed to put everyone at ease. The day after that, we saw a rusted sign that informed us the city was only five miles off. We could see its skyline peeking through the trees. Everyone cheered, even David.
We made camp that night on the outskirts of the city, full of hope. A place un-sundered by Breaking. Where we could be whole without the pull of the Shattered Places. Where gifts didn’t leave us weak and empty. Sabrina sang for us, her voice a rich, dark baritone. Juanjo pulled me into a dance, and I found myself laughing as the rest of the children whooped, and I pulled him closer to me than I might have otherwise dared.
The web had never been broken. Every night Sabrina and Shirelle put up the web, and every morning they took it down. Sleep came late for us all, but when it came, it came deep. I was confused when Sabrina’s scream split the night. Who would harm her? But it was the web. I could feel them around us, twice as many in number. A gout of flame pierced the darkness, as Clay unwound their scarf. But the intruders were not without gifts. Glass knives conjured from air whistled past me. They shattered against Lee’s invisible walls. Nacho’s rain of ice seemed useless against them, and they tore too quickly through Shirelle’s binding webs. The earth turned to mud at my call, but one of their own raised them a foot off the ground with a gesture. I wondered if there could be turns of surrender.
Then Eden came out of her tent. One moment, I saw Elijah, half-dressed, without makeup, trying to fasten the back of his gown. Then everything changed. I have been near the Shattered Places. The world there has been broken and wounded and everything seems less real. This was not like that. The world stretched and turned, but did not break. And everything after seemed realer. Eden’s skirts were the ocean, and they swept forward to snatch intruders in their cold waves. Clay was a dragon, their fire evaporating ice walls and incinerating those who cowered behind them. David was a giant, shrugging off conjured knives and tossing aside enemies into the darkness beyond. Shirelle was a spider, she grasped a man with dread pedipalps. Juanjo became a wood-sprite who commanded the very trees. The earth whispered to me that if I so wished it, it would swallow my attackers whole, never to be found again.
I wished it.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the world snapped back into place and all the glorious realness fled.
Eden knelt in the middle of the camp, her gown in rags, every single one of the mirrors on her bodice shattered. She crawled towards her tent, strewing broken beads like pearly seeds into the soil.
The next morning was slow going. Eden was weak, and Juanjo and I helped her walk. She insisted on wearing the tattered remains of the gown, though whatever power imbued it had fled.
After a time, we crested a hill. There in a valley below us, in a park overgrown in ivy, was the museum we planned to make our new home. “We’re here!” Someone shouted, and three or four of the children ran down the hill to get a closer look. David picked up Eden, and said he was going to carry her to the heights for the best view.
I leaned against a birch tree. I could feel nothing of the wrongness here. It was strange to feel peace after so long. Juanjo put his arms around my shoulder. He leaned in close. He smelled like juniper, sweat, and the good earth. He asked me, “May I?”
Without answering, I kissed him hard and deep. It was good, like the first sprout of Spring after a long Winter.
We were still embracing when David carried Eden back down the hill. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “David, darling, get me a chair. Then get yourself scarce.” He ambled off.
“Juanjo, honey, could you get us old folk some chamomile tea? I feel the cold in my chest.”
Juanjo looked bashful. “Need to start a fire.”
“I’m sure Clay could help with that.”
Eden sat next to me on a folding chair, and the two of us looked down at our destination, still intact. A new home, in a place largely untouched by the Breaking. I pointed. “That museum has a collection of garments dating back five-hundred years. Just imagine the gowns you could make.”
Elijah, not Eden, smiled back at me. “Imagine.”
We sat in silence for a moment, then Elijah slumped in his seat and fell to the ground. I was on him in a heartbeat, feeling with the green for an injury. But he was gone. I have no power to revive the dead. Still, I willed health and healing in through his limbs before admitting its uselessness. His heart had stopped.
It was important to Elijah in life that the children see him as more than mere flesh. I couldn’t bring him back, but I had other powers. All life wants to return to the soil. I whispered my farewells and concentrated. That face with those cheekbones and those arch expressions grew slack and then crumpled in. Sinew, skin, and bone crumbled. Blood dried up and blew away. All that remained was dust and ashes. A single, shimmering sequin from Eden’s dress caught on the wind and flittered away. There was a dark patch beneath my feet. One day, flowers would grow there.
Juanjo returned a few minutes later with three steaming mugs of chamomile. He furrowed his brow.“Where’s Grandmother?”
I wiped away a tear. “Gone. Taken up in a chariot with wheels of fire.”
Ash falls on Eve’s tent like snow. Its sound reminds her of trips to the beach as a child, of the patter of sand as it slipped through her fingers. A sound so soft and unassuming that when she hears it, sometimes she can still fall into one of her books and forget that there will be no more trips to the beach, no future at all, that everything slips away.
Then the ash will build up so thick the tent starts to
sag, or the sounds of Lilith’s grand project, whatever it is, will cut through the silence, and Eve will be thrown back into the present.
The tent is packed with books, far more than she’ll have time to read. The temperatures are already falling rapidly, and their food will not hold out forever. But Lilith let her bring as many books as she wanted, so many that each night when it is too dark to work, Lilith has to push small piles of books out of the way to crash beside her.
Eve reads, and Lilith works, and the ash of the end of the world falls upon them, insistent as rain. The rain of the dead, Eve thinks, and then dismisses the thought.
When Eve has to leave the tent to relieve herself or cook dinner with their dwindling supplies, she is careful not to look behind the tent, not to spoil the project Lilith has been working on.
My last installation, Lilith called it once, the only time she had broken their rule not to speak of lasts. When they break bread, when they share whispered kindnesses, when Eve reads aloud as Lilith drifts off to sleep, when they explore each others’ bodies, they never say: this may be the last time. The ash says it for them.
A hundred books still left unread, but it is The Left Hand of Darkness, dog-eared and spine-broken, that Eve is reading when Lilith finishes her project.
“You may look,” she calls into the tent.
Eve puts the Le Guin aside, and steps out of the tent. Around her, the glacial valley stretches away in silence, bits of green still visible in sheltered places; the ash has not yet covered all.
Behind the tent are a cluster of bicycles, their faded blue and violet frames strangely alien amidst the ancient landscape. Each bike is partially buried in the grey earth. They look ready to break from the ground, like a flock of clockwork birds about to burst into flight. They will fly without riders.
Eve had never witnessed anything so beautiful. “It’s perfect,” she says. “Too bad no one will see it.”
“Do you see it?” Lilith asks.
Eve runs her hands over the handle of the lead bike. The wheel rotates slowly. “I do,” she says.
“Well, then.” Lilith brushes ash-flakes from her shoulder.
They stand for a long time in silence, until the dim glow of the sun behind the clouds sinks toward the horizon.
“Come inside,” Eve says. “I’ll read to you.”
Hand in hand they enter the tent. The ash falls like snow on the tent, the bicycles, the earth.
“I don’t know if I can do this.” Dee pulled the transit van over into the gas station, braking a little too suddenly. The map and a couple of coffee cups tumbled off the dashboard.
“Steady, girl,” said Ray softly. He put his hand gently on her leg. The feeling of his warmth through her tights made her breathe a little deeper. “You’ve got this.”
“Not yet, I haven’t.” Dee pulled down the vanity mirror and reapplied her lipstick—holographic and blue—the most attention-grabbing shade she owned. Even though they’d been planning the operation for days, it was Dee’s first time, and she needed all the confidence she could get.
“I’ll go fill up.” Ray closed the door as gently as he could.
Dee let her hair down out of its ponytail and rechecked the mirror. There was already some stubble coming in since this morning, but it would have to do—her supply of foundation and concealer was long gone. Maybe it’s better anyway.
The doorbell squealed a warning as they entered together, holding hands. The shop was full, and they had everyone’s attention.
“I’ll go look for supplies.” Dee’s voice was loud enough that the whole store could hear her, and she walked down the aisle towards the dark fridges. If her announcement wasn’t enough, the clicking of her heels should do the trick. She was already breaking into a sweat when a security guard headed over in her direction.
As she pretended to browse what might have been the last bottles of shampoo in the country, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Ray went straight to the desk. The cashier sat behind three sheets of bullet-proof glass and Dee could practically feel him staring at her across the store.
“Pump three,” she heard Ray announce, projecting his deep voice through the glass.
“Eighty-five seventy.”
Ray produced a note from his pocket—a two-hundred, she knew, because they’d earned it together the night before in a very nice hotel downtown.
She heard Ray say, in his most innocent voice, “Sorry, that’s all the bank gave me.”
Dee watched as the cashier absently pushed the change under the barrier. He barely took his eyes off her for a second. She fiddled with a bottle of conditioner trying to keep her expression neutral as she carefully studied the ingredients list. Her gut was churning, her head was pounding. She looked up and saw the security guard closing in. He strolled towards her past the windscreen wipers and pepper spray.
Suddenly Ray called to her and her heart skipped. “Honey? Did you find anything?”
A deep breath. “Nothing interesting,” she called back. He came to join her, flashed the security guard a look and walked her back up the aisle. They left the store and Dee didn’t notice how much her hands were shaking until she turned on the ignition.
They pulled out of the forecourt and back ont
o the road. “So?” she asked.
Ray stared ahead. “Let’s drive a bit first.”
They drove along the country road. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The sun began to set, and the sky ahead had turned a rich, burnt orange. Finally, impatiently, Dee pulled over in a discrete rest area surrounded by trees. She reversed up to the cliff edge.
They got out, walked to the back of the van and stretched. Ray opened the doors and they sat down together on the mattress, swinging their legs, looking out over the view. Down below them, the river sparkled red.
“So?” she asked him again.
He emptied his pockets onto the bedsheets. With security and the cashier sufficiently distracted, he’d managed to pocket a pile of candy bars, a bag of chips, multivitamins and some kind of salami.
Dee smiled. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”
“You haven’t seen the best yet.” Ray started fiddling with his belt and zipper.
Dee shot him a confused look. “Shouldn’t we close the doors first?”
Ray didn’t respond. He unzipped his jeans and with a grin, produced a bottle of vodka from his crotch.
“What? How did that even happen?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Ray opened the bottle and offered it to her.
“To being visible,” she said, and took a swig.
“And fucking resilient.”
They sat for a while, looking out over the valley. Dark clouds came in from the west and smeared the sky with oily purple.
“So,” Ray said, chewing on the salami. “North?”
Dee nodded. “Everything else must be underwater by now. If we can make it to the next town, we should be able to stock up a bit. How’s the money doing?”
Ray patted his jacket pocket. “It’s been better. Maybe another duo if we find the right trick?”
With a smile, Dee took Ray’s hand and put it on her leg again. “You know I love working with you, baby.”
“You turn me on so much, baby.”
Dee chuckled. She was feeling the effects of the vodka and drank some more. “Maybe you should drive though?”
“That’s the plan.”
Dee watched the sun slip below the horizon. A cold breeze was building. “It’s amazing, you know?” Dee slurred the word ‘amazing’.
“The vodka?”
She poked him in the ribs. “This, us. Surviving out here. I don’t think we were supposed to.”
Ray produced a blanket from under a pile of clothes and put it over Dee’s shoulders. He shivered and zipped up his jacket. “Maybe we weren’t supposed to, but in a way, we knew we would.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that we always have been.”
Dee thought about it for a moment watching the sky. He’s right of course. People like us have been avoiding the law, passing around hormones and meds through our networks, taking care of each other and fighting gangs of men since forever. “Yeah, I guess shit hit the fan for us a long time ago.”
“Thank you for being in this with me,” Ray said, taking her hand. “I couldn’t survive out here without you, and I wouldn’t want to.”
Dee gave his hand a little squeeze before jumping down onto the ground. “I‘ll find us some nettles and roots for dinner.”
“Need help?”
Dee flashed him a smile. “I’ve got it.”
She grabbed her collecting bag and stepped out into the darkness.
“There’s no such thing as monsters, not really,” Letty said to me once, pretending to shoot another starving lizard with finger guns. “I bet everyone’s got a little monstrousness inside them.”
I watched her holster and pull her finger guns as we sat on a pillaged picnic table, swatting locusts and sipping water. It was no secret I was in love with her. Me, Marrin Version 3.0. I’d been one version for my mother, another for Corporal, and now I was this version for Letty, the girl who liked to go shooting and give the wrong plots of old books as if she had read them dozens of times (when in fact she hadn’t read them at all).
“Yeah?” I asked her. “What’s your monster?”
She turned to me, hands on her knees, shoulders all serious.
“No, Marrin,” Letty said. “I want to know about yours.”
“Desert’s got a vampire problem,” Corporal said, at the briefing later that night. “Letty, Marrin, you’re on Eastwatch Tower detail. Nights. Don’t get too distracted with...you know.”
She smiled. Cause she knew. She’d seen me sneaking out of Letty’s tent before, tying on my belt, fixing my hair. Corporal smiled then too, and lifted her chin, fixing her own hair. Like she did back when she and I were a thing.
