by Ella M. Lee
Our crazy, insane, heretical project that we had paid such a steep price for.
I had never been so driven before, but I would never let Daniel’s work go to waste. We had a clan of our own now, and I would protect it.
So I worked with Ryan to invent new wards, and I worked with Teng to figure out our elemental limits. Sylvio and Farhad and Cameron monitored our networks to make sure we had kept ourselves under the radar. Keisha started right away on figuring out spatial manipulation with the new magic—we would need the ability to craft portals as quickly as possible. Chandra and Athena worked on basic battle magic and defensive magic. Irina needed to figure out if Lightning could heal.
And we needed to do it while carefully avoiding blowing anything up or killing ourselves.
I found my gaze wandering every few minutes toward the temple. I wanted so badly for Daniel to step out of it, to walk into the house, to surprise us all with his resilience and tenacity.
It was a stupid and irrational desire, but I couldn’t help myself.
This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go.
It was hours later before I could breathe evenly again.
I couldn’t take deep breaths, of course. I was still too choked with grief. But the panic was gone. The magic was holding. The initial tests were going well. Life was impossibly calm.
It was near midnight. I could still hear the faint working and talking of my family in the kitchen and the rooms upstairs.
I should stay awake. I should keep helping.
But I felt like I was dying.
Nicolas was still unconscious, laid out on one of our wide couches in the common room. I shut the doors and joined him, pressing myself against him, shaking.
I put my hands to my face and sobbed, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I couldn’t think; I could only feel.
Pain. Sadness. Betrayal. Grief. All of them winding through me like vicious vines, stabbing me, taking me over, tearing me apart.
Magic filled the painful, raw, deep hole where my heart had been.
Where Daniel had been.
But wasn’t anymore.
A few minutes of chaos went by in my mind before Nicolas shifted. He put his arms around me, pulling me into him. I sobbed harder.
“Fiona,” he said quietly. He stroked my hair.
My chest ached. My limbs ached. My head ached. My whole body ached.
“He’s gone,” I whispered.
There was a long stretch of stillness and silence before Nicolas replied, “I know.”
I wanted to be angry at Nicolas, whose plan this had been, but every time I tried to feel that sort of resentment, I remembered that Daniel would never have let me hate Nicolas for this. Nicolas had given Daniel everything—including the power of choice, and Daniel had used that.
If anyone was to blame, it was me. I was his lieutenant. I had been the only one close to him in his final minutes. The only one who could have spoken to him, who could have recognized what he’d been about to do, who could have changed the outcome.
He was always stubborn, lamb, Nicolas said, his voice merely a broken whisper. There was nothing you could have done once Daniel put his mind to it.
I glanced at Nicolas’s face, and found it contorted by grief. His beautiful eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and his teeth were clenched together as if in pain.
I’m sorry, I thought.
No. I’m sorry, Nicolas replied.
It didn’t matter who was sorry. Rainer Maria Rilke had famously said: Dying is strange and hard if it is not our death, but rather a death that takes us by storm, when we’ve ripened none within us.
There were no words that could make this easier. We had been taken by storm. We hadn’t been ready. That was all there was to it.
Nothing would ever change that.
In the morning, I climbed the stairs to the third floor heavily. I stopped in front of Daniel’s closed door.
It wasn’t shielded. He had left it open. I pressed my palm against his wards, constructed from his transmuted Water magic. My magic felt the same as his now—vibrant and smoky and electrical. His magic sang to me as it always did.
Our magics had always gotten along so well.
I reluctantly took my hand from the door frame as I passed through.
Daniel’s room felt foreign to me. This clan house itself was new and strange. We had only been here a couple of months, barely time for it to feel like a home, but this room was even stranger than before. It was silent as a tomb. Clean. Still. No presence.
The kotatsu table had been cleared. At its center was a black box. On top of the box was a folded packet of thick creamy paper. The outside read, in neat letters: Fiona. To its right, a stack of five notebooks, with a little triangle of paper on top that bore the word: Nicolas. To its left, a stack of more folded packets of paper.
I took the stack in my hands, leafing through them. Ryan, Irina, Teng, Jackson, Jasmine, Athena… everyone in our clan and some outside of it had gotten one. All notes for the people he had loved most. They must have taken him forever to write. They must have taken him all the courage in the world.
I took the box and my own note and sat down on the floor, trembling.
I unfolded the paper. Paragraphs of text penned in pretty blue ink.
Don’t be angry with me, Fi.
I read those first words and let out a strangled laugh and cry at once, hysterical and choked. It was so Daniel to say that. I realized I had never seen his handwriting up close before now. Had he done this intentionally? Left a handwritten note for me so that I could have another piece of him before he left?
My eyes were filled with tears, and it was a while before I could continue reading.
Don’t be angry with me, Fi. I knew what might happen. I’ve known from the moment Nicolas thought up Shatterfall. I’ve had a lot of time to think about how I felt about dying, to accept it.
I might have been more okay with it if I hadn’t met you. Leaving you is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do, so I’m glad it’s the very last thing. I’m so sorry that we ran out of time this quickly. I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you any longer. I’m sorry I’m leaving you, but I am happy that I’m not leaving you alone.
You were the best friend and the best lieutenant I could have ever hoped to know. You were a dream for someone who, a few short years ago, spent cold and hungry nights on the street believing he would never be allowed to have dreams. To say you changed my life would be an understatement.
Thank you with all my heart. ありがとうございました. 多謝你.
I love you, Fi. I don’t need to tell you how much, because you already know, because you feel the same for me. I can rest easy in the embrace of your love. There are things that will remain unsaid between us, but that’s okay. We don’t need the words, not when we are so close. I will live on within you. My heart will stay with yours. I know it.
That is enough for me.
I don’t know much about what happens after death. I won’t get my hopes too high, but it would be nice if I could watch you grow and be happy. I believe you will. You deserve that.
Do I get a dying wish from you? That’s always the point of these letters, right? If it’s not too much to ask, please remember me without sadness or resentment. Remember me in the crackling lightning you now have running through your veins, in grueling hikes, in beautifully crispy pineapple buns. Remember me in every moment we spent together, in every look, in every touch. That is what I’m remembering right now, what I’m using to get myself through writing these words.
When my brother died, there was a poem that helped me through the darkest nights without him. You know it, I’m sure, but I will write it down for you anyway. It always calms me to repeat it to myself, and I need that calm right now.
Some final orders from your commander. I want you to turn the page and read it. Then I want you to put this letter away and move on. It will be hard, but you can do it. You have gotten through everything
else, and you will get through this. I believe in you always.
Love forever,
Daniel Shing
星黎明
The next page contained a short poem. I did know it. It was one of Robert Frost’s most famous works. Daniel had always loved American poets.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
There was a short note at the bottom of the page that contained the Frost poem.
Fi… tell Nico that I’m sorry I couldn’t leave him a letter. I tried. I really did. I couldn’t get through it, but I believe he knows exactly how I feel. If he doesn’t, my journals should help. There was nothing I could ever do to show him how much I loved him or to repay him. You can’t repay your parents. You can’t repay your god.
Nicolas had come up the stairs while I was reading. He was standing in the open doorway, frozen.
I held the pages out numbly. Nicolas walked to me, wooden and stiff, and knelt. His hands shook as he took them.
I opened the black box. Inside, set against dark velvet, was Dan’s beautiful watch. I knew it would be here. Of course he had left it for me. That was so like him, to give me all these pieces of himself, to know I would need them.
In the shop. Maintenance. A lie.
He knew what might happen, and he had laid this all out, prepared as carefully as the rest of our plans. He had always said I was his to protect, and here he was, protecting me to the bitter end.
I took the watch in my hands, holding it against my heart, curling myself around it. I could hear its rapid ticking. This little thing, which had life, even though its owner didn’t.
When I looked at Nicolas, my heart leapt into my throat. He was crying. I had never seen him cry—not when hurt or angry, not even when others had died.
Yet he cried for Daniel.
I held the watch out to him. “You gave him this. It should be yours.”
Nicolas’s glassy eyes fell on mine. “He left it for you. I think he would have loved for you to wear it.” His voice was hoarse.
I nodded, shaking. Nicolas held out his hand. I put the watch in it.
“Here,” he said. “It needs to be wound every day or two to keep it running. This hand here is the power reserve level.”
His fingers deftly showed me how to take care of it. I think it helped him to have that small task. It certainly helped me to think about how to care for this precious thing. It was like I was truly holding Dan’s heart—and I had no idea what to do with it.
There was so much I didn’t know.
I leaned in to pick up the letter, now in Nicolas’s lap. I pointed to the signature.
“The Chinese at the bottom—is that his name?” I asked.
Nicolas smiled sadly. “Yes. Sing Lai-Ming,” he said, pointing out each word. “It means dawn star.”
I knew that. Daniel had told me practically when we first met. The boy who thought his name was too girly. But no, not to me.
Beautiful, I thought. Just like him.
Nicolas didn’t linger in Dan’s room, but I did. Everything felt empty without him. The whole room was placid, calm, waiting. I stood, turning around myself in a daze.
I lay down on his futon and drew the covers up over myself. I was shaking, curled up, my fingers clinging to his pillows. The fabric smelled like him, like his embrace.
I can rest easy in the embrace of your love, his letter said.
But what about me? What was I to do now?
I took a deep breath, shuddering. Every part of me vibrated in agony. My eyes overflowed with tears, and they poured out of me. I pressed a hand to my mouth, sobbing.
“Dan,” I whispered, “what do I do?”
Clear as day, I felt his presence around me, heard his voice in my head.
You get up, Fi, and you move on.
He wasn’t here with me, of course. This was only in my mind, but it didn’t make it any less accurate from what he would say.
“Can I do that without you?” I asked in a whisper. It was stupid to be talking to myself, but I couldn’t help it.
I’m right here with you, always.
I curled myself tighter, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Dan…” I whispered. “I can’t, I can’t…”
You can do this. I believe in you.
I shook my head, recalling the day Daniel had asked me to be his lieutenant and said those exact words in an effort to persuade me.
And as his lieutenant, I had failed him. I didn’t know how I could live with myself now. I didn’t know how I could make peace with that.
The Daniel in my head had a solution for that, too. I heard his voice again, felt his presence tighten around me, like the bone-crushing hugs he had given me a million times before.
Try to get some rest, Fi, okay? Everything will be all right.
As I closed my eyes, a memory drifted to me, of the first day I had spent with Daniel. I had been sad and panicked, worried about having to return to Nicolas, and Dan had whispered those words in an attempt to comfort me.
In my mind, I could see the compassionate boy with the very dark eyes, whose heart I had thought would be so hard to win, now resting within mine forever.
Chapter 32
Later that day, I held Daniel’s letter out to Nicolas. With shaking hands, I pointed to Dan’s Chinese name.
“I want this on my skin,” I said. “My first tattoo.”
I hadn’t known what Nicolas’s reaction would be. Daniel had been important to us both, but I wasn’t sure if he would think my idea was stupid or inappropriate.
At first, he studied me as though he hadn’t heard me correctly. After a moment—to my intense surprise—he smiled slightly.
“I think that would be wonderful,” Nicolas said. “I have always loved his name. ‘Daniel’ is a nice substitute, but when I think of him, I really think of him as Lai-Ming. It is not a very traditional name, but it was a name he deserved, because Dan was unique.”
Nicolas was silent for a long time, and I didn’t want to interrupt his remembrances.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “You should have Ryan do the design. He is an excellent artist.”
Ryan listened to me ramble on for close to fifteen minutes, choked by tears, as I described what I wanted. It was so hard to put my friend into words; it almost felt like I shouldn’t try.
But Ryan seemed to understand my confusion and hesitation, because a few moments later, he pursed his lips and said, “If I may make a suggestion, Fiona?”
I nodded, my sight blurry.
“You are overthinking this. Daniel was complex, but he was also straightforward. You don’t need to wrap up the whole of him into an image. You simply need to find the essence.”
Ryan sat at his desk and pointed to the chair next to him. I sank down, wiping my eyes.
I had seen Ryan mostly sketch in charcoal, but today, he took out a long calligraphy brush and a medium-sized pad of smooth, thick paper. I watched as he poured black ink into a shallow dish and rolled the brush through it.
He paused thoughtfully and studied the empty sheet for a few moments. With careful strokes, he wrote Dan’s Chinese name three times in a row, varying the style and width of the strokes each time.
He then referenced Daniel’s signature on the letter he had left for me.
Ryan wrote the name a few more times, closer to how Dan himself had written it, with a slanted and stylistic scrawl.
“I have a stupid question,” I said quietly.
Ryan paused and glanced at me. “Go on.”
“Is… was his handwriting nice, in Chinese? I can’t tell.”
In English, Dan’s handwriting was painfully neat, almost clinical. The writing of someone who didn’t have a
lot of practice creating his own style.
“Yes,” Ryan said. “It is nice, although also uniquely his own, as to be expected with Dan. I’m sure he got hell for it in school.”
I sighed, watching as Ryan tore through page after page, filling them with Chinese characters and flourishes that were supposed to have meaning but didn’t yet.
Finally, he put the brush down.
“I have to think about this, Fiona,” he said.
I covered his hand with mine for a few seconds. “Thank you.”
He gave me the oddest look, his eyes dark and sparkling, as though he had no idea what I meant.
“No. Thank you for the request,” he said.
It took two nights for Ryan to come up with a design he liked. I was touched by his consideration, that he wanted it to be perfect for me.
For Dan.
When I showed it to Teng, he merely glanced at it and nodded once, solemnly.
Nicolas’s reaction had been to run his fingers over the paper as though he could feel the curves of the lines against his own skin. Finally, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Yes,” he said, and his approval made my chest ache.
Ryan, as it turned out, knew how to tattoo. The design was small and simple and didn’t take long to finish.
When Ryan was done, I looked over my shoulder at the mirror and knew I had chosen the location correctly. Between my shoulder blades, slightly off center on the skin of my back, Daniel’s name was tattooed right over my heart.
The characters were crisp, with a hint of Daniel’s handwritten flair. Below them and above them ran lines that were reminiscent of waves or lightning or the jagged urban jungle of buildings in Hong Kong.
Or perhaps the sun rising at daybreak.
I wondered if Dan would have loved it as much as I did.
No one seemed ready to address the logistics of the clan, but we didn’t have a choice. We needed strength and power, and for that we needed commanders.
Some choices were obvious and necessary, such as Nicolas and Ryan. They would be our strongest magicians, already somewhat familiar with Dan’s lightning and capable of incredible magical potential.
