Still stealthed, I move against the wall of the barracks and wait, watching for backup. Nothing moves. I step in front of the building, fully visible, and motion to the front door. The others follow.
Inside, nine soldiers sleep. For a republic that demonizes Talists, they sure don’t think much of us. All of their efforts have been intent on tracking those that run and hide, not those that plan to act.
—We can keep it peaceful, Estok tells us.
He and Arlo travel from cot to cot, pulling the air from each soldier’s lungs. It almost looks like they’re still sleeping.
Eyara shivers. “You never really think about it, but going to sleep and never waking up is really creepy. Your whole life is unfinished, but you’ll never know it.”
“So a painful, bloody death is better?” Arlo scoffs.
“Or, you know, dying of old age in the arms of those you love,” she offers.
“Let’s take whatever we can carry and go,” I say, reminding them of our purpose. We need to get to safety before these sleeping dead are found.
4
Zazi
I just sat there.
The explosion sent everything into chaos. Talists ran in every direction. Screams, gunshots, smoke, and fighting filled my senses.
I could have ran.
I saw Eli’s group getting together, fighting, and preparing to leave. I could have joined in.
I could have done so many things, but I didn’t. I just sat there, on the steps of a dormitory, and waited for someone to get around to whoever was left.
Some of the others were too hurt to leave and some were in shock, too scared. There are about twenty of us in this room total.
Not me. They believe I was in shock, but I chose to stay.
Did I think I would be killed or recaptured? I don’t think I was sure or that I hoped for one over the other.
Sure, death would bring this all to an end and I’ve attempted multiple times, but being murdered isn’t really how I envisioned it happening. Not that it matters in the end.
The Compound seems another world now that I’m here. They brought us all on horseback to Trinity’s capitol, Rockwall. Light streams in from windows along the back wall, we are fed good food, and we are cared for by two nurses and a doctor.
Crow is here, too.
He stopped by the first time not long after we arrived. Dr. Bosco brought him to each bed and updated him on our condition, since many were injured.
“This one did not experience any physical damage, but he hasn’t spoken or interacted with anyone since he arrived,” he said when they got to my cot.
What point is there to talk? I wondered.
How will their actions towards me change if I choose to communicate or not?
The second time he came, a few days later, he asked the doctor who was ready. Five were taken. They didn’t come back.
Today, his third visit, I sit on the edge of my cot like I did the day The Compound fell and watch him as he walks from Talist to Talist. Once he has checked in on everyone but me, he thanks Bosco and starts to leave.
The muscles in my arm tense and my jaw sets.
I did not stay to be a prisoner again, I realize. I will not be written off and ignored, I tell myself.
I concentrate on all the water in Crow’s body and I freeze it, keeping him paralyzed in the room.
What do I do now? I ask myself, exasperated.
Before I can decide he turns to face me, smirks, and holds the door open for me. I hesitate, but follow.
We walk down the hallway and he holds open another door. Inside, I find a simple office: desk, books, two chairs, and windows above eye level.
“Please sit,” he directs me, friendly. I sit in the chair against the wall and he sits opposite me in his.
We study each other in silence.
“How did you break free of my hold?” I ask.
He pauses, raising his chin. “Why did you feel the need to paralyze me?”
When I don’t answer, he raises an eyebrow.
“There’s no need to keep me a prisoner here, ignoring me with every visit,” I tell him. “Just kill me and get it over with. I won’t put up a fight.”
“You’re very different from your sister,” he comments. “Your sister was at The Compound with you, right?” he asks when I look confused.
I nod once, barely perceptible.
“About as tall as your shoulders, same dark hair and skin tone, but fierce. Terra, right? Prefers to shift as a bear?”
How would he know that?
I glare at him, ready to start that fight I promised I wouldn’t, if necessary.
“Yes, my twin sister Fable was there.”
His head slowly bobs. He is enjoying this.
“She put up a fight,” he says, continuing before I can react. “Is that why you want to die? Because your twin died?”
Fable is dead?
The walls seem to push outward and the room grows. The floor spins and I grip the edges of my chair.
“You didn’t know?” he asks. His laughs seem to reverberate in my skull and I scream. Somehow I stand and begin to thrash at him as though she found her way inside me when she died, as though I am the bear now… except there is nothing left to protect.
Crow grabs my arm and twists me around, his chest to my back and his arm to my neck, until I drift off.
-
“Why do you want to die?” he asks again when I wake up. He doesn’t seem to be mocking me this time, but I still don’t answer.
“I have not been killing any of the remaining Talists,” he says. I study his face for sincerity. “Those that are healed have been receiving the second trial run of a serum that resolves the Talist mutation. Once I have confirmed that they are back to normal, they have been released.
“How do you feel about your mutation?” he asks.
Should I answer? Will it make any difference? He waits for my answer, patient.
“My element, and my sister’s, have ruined my life,” I answer, slow.
“Would you like to try the serum? It could be a fresh start for you.”
I shake my head. “It’s too late for that.”
He opens his mouth to answer, but pauses to select his words. “I choose to hope that it is never too late.”
-
Crow injects the serum into the muscle of my upper arm. Within minutes, I feel extremely fatigued and lay back onto my cot in the solitary room he brought me to.
I dream of my father.
He is drunk, raging. I look around for my sister, though I’m not sure if I’m wanting comfort or protection.
I’m alone.
I pick up a broadsword as he charges. Whenever I attack, he parries but every one of his slices into me. None of the cuts hurt or bleed, but each drains me of energy until I am dragging.
I can’t fight any longer.
Above me, the moon alights in the sky. I am captivated by its brilliance.
When I look back down, my father is gone. Nothing is left to fight. I am free.
I am free, but still wounded and deflated.
-
Days later, after much rest, Crow places a blade against my skin. It stings as it cuts into me and a line of blood trickles down my arm. Every piece of me works to close it up, but it does not heal.
“It feels like when I got sick as a child. I knew how to smell, how to taste, but those senses just wouldn’t work,” I tell him.
“Except this time it will never return.”
I nod. I knew this, accepted it, but I did not realize the magnitude of its impact on me. Whether I wanted it or not, my element played a large part in my identity.
Crow lights a candle and holds a brand to the flame, letting the metal burn. When it is hot enough, he holds it to my Talist tattoo until the large Trinity T covers what once was.
Maybe a change is what I need.
Perhaps this will be a good thing.
And, if not, I’ll be able to end it now.
Drex
18 Years Ago
Captain Braga and I stand side by side, holding the reins of our horses at the gates of Rockwall. It took two days to get here after his ultimatum: come willingly or as a prisoner, pretend to be normal or be killed for being special. I chose life. I try not to think about Mo and Barley or where they are now. I have to leave that behind if I’m going to survive here: my new life at the cost of my old one.
It isn’t that easy.
As the Guardia approach, I turn to Captain Braga. “Thank you for giving me a choice,” I tell him, sincere.
He nods. “Thank you for saving Kinsley.”
He leaves me with the guards, one of whom leads me inside the building. The halls are winding, designed to be lit completely by natural light. I feel like an ant lost in a new colony, confused in a new maze.
Deep inside the maze, he knocks on a door. A tall man with short cropped hair and a white coat answers the door, holding a pad of paper and a pen. He studies me from behind his glasses for a moment and looks to the guard, puzzled.
“Who’s this?” he asks, annoyed by the disruption.
“Your new medical assistant, sir.”
His eyebrows pull downward and his mouth opens as he looks to me again, gesturing wildly. “This is a child, not an assistant!”
“I apologize, Dr. Bosco, but this is the candidate that was chosen.”
“I can assure you—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a sharp wave.
“Sit, child.” I follow his gaze to the chair in the corner.
I want to walk out, to leave and make my own way. I can feel the anger building. Then I remember the options given: life here or death. Braga had to have pulled strings to get me here. He circumvented procedure to give me a chance at life, obviously pushing aside more experienced options.
I calm my emotions and sit.
I will be the child now so that I can live to see the day when I will be the one in charge.
-
For the next two weeks, I don’t think Bosco even looked at me. He grunted once when I got in his way and then handed me the bloodied bandages he was going to walk to the trash.
Then, on a quiet afternoon while I was alone in the clinic, a group of trainees burst in carrying another. They dropped him on the cot in front of me.
The child here, I looked to the door before even assessing my patient. I observe and stay out of the way, nothing more. I could have gone to try and find the doctor—he was always in his office—but I didn’t.
I stepped up to the cot and studied the trainee’s broken leg, blocking his screams out. My instinct was to reach out and see the break but, I reminded myself, that life is gone.
I set and splinted his leg before the doctor returned. I could feel his presence behind me as I gave the trainee pain medicine and explained that he would be here on bed rest until it healed, but I didn’t acknowledge him. The doctor was truly seeing me for the first time and I didn’t want to show any weakness.
“Where did you apprentice?” he asked when I was done cleaning up and the others had left.
I met his eyes as I answered. “My dad’s veterinarian clinic.”
He nodded once, barely visible. “People are different.”
“Most of it is transferrable.”
Silence.
“We’ll see.”
I nod, accepting this. It’s a start.
-
At first I had to regularly remind myself who I was supposed to be, accentuating parts of myself in order to hide away others. Those around me were good people—even Bosco. I began to enjoy their company and the new life that I was building. I just had to overlook the fact that none of it would be possible if they knew I was a talist; they wouldn’t allow it.
It’s not that they were evil or prejudiced. They were kind, intelligent, hardworking people that believed what they were told and bought into the fear. The words they said weren’t spoken out of hate; they were repeated and believed to be fact.
At first I forced myself to be silent, suppressing the urge to educate them on the reality. Silence became natural. It wasn’t long before I internalized it. After all, I wasn’t working to remain strong; I wanted to blend in. Either way, if I was one of them, those words couldn’t apply to me.
-
16 Years Ago
I yawned as I opened the clinic’s curtains for the day, letting in the sunlight. In an effort to ease Dr. Bosco’s irritability, I volunteered for the morning shift a year ago, allowing the doctor to get a bit more sleep. The first few hours are mine alone before our new nurse Leanna comes in, her shift overlapping both of ours.
“Morning, Doc,” my first patient says as I approach his cot to check in. A small smile touches my lips as I pull the bandage aside to check his wound.
“How are you feeling, Randall?” I ask.
“Better, but it still hurts to use my arm for anything.”
I rub ointment onto the wound and start to apply a fresh bandage when the door bangs open and one guard carries a soldier in. I rush the bandage and nod to Randall as I turn to the newcomer.
“What happened?” I ask the guard.
He shakes his head. “He came limping up to the front gates, alone.”
“I’ve got him. Thank you.” He nods and rushes back out, still pumped with adrenaline, no doubt.
I check his eyes first but the soldier is unconscious, his eyes unresponsive. I strip him of his uniform, searching for damage to mend. His body is riddled with shrapnel, but it is all natural: pieces of wood from branches, thorns, and a thin layer of soil. A large gash was sliced across his abdomen, but it is already cauterized.
How? Who would have taken the time to build a fire to cauterize his wound, but not stick around to help him to safety? The guard reported this soldier hobbled in alone.
I prepare a sponge bath and clean the debris from his skin while I let my thoughts process.
What happened to the rest of his unit?
How did the gash get cauterized without help? Did he manage to do it himself before returning? I check his belongings and find a gun, not any type of blade like some carry.
I use my body to block his from view and look over my shoulders to make sure nobody is watching before letting myself test a theory playing at the corners of my thoughts.
I light a match and, hesitant, let the flame touch the soldier’s arm. He doesn’t react—not in pain nor in his skin.
I blow the flame out and dress his wound. When Leanna arrives, I excuse myself.
The hallways of Rockwall are no longer a maze to me, two years on, and I follow them to the center of the building, the one area that I have not entered. A guard stops me at the door.
“What do you need, doctor?” he asks, polite but firm.
“I need to speak with the commander,” I tell him.
“Regarding?”
I mull over my response. “I have a soldier in my clinic that I believe is a spy.”
He studies me for a long moment before nodding. “Wait here.” Am I overreacting? I wonder. Being ridiculous?
The door opens again and he motions for me to follow. Inside, we follow a circular hallway to the opposite side. He knocks on a door once before opening and holding it for me to enter. I calm my nerves and step inside.
The man behind the desk is younger than I’d imagined; most likely only five or so years older than I am. His thick dark hair is tall atop his head, his dark skin a mixture of the old races.
He stands and holds out his hand. “Alex Franklin,” he states, introducing himself.
“Drex Calder,” I reply. “I know who you are, Commander.”
“I was told you think there might be a spy in your clinic,” he directs, skipping pleasantries.
I err on the cautious side, recounting facts and observations. “Yes, sir. The front guard brought him to me, unconscious. He has a gash in his abdomen that was already cauterized, which didn’t make sense to me since he returned alone and
his only weapons were guns, not blades.
“I tested him with a flame and there was no effect or burn; he is an Ignis Talist.
“I don’t want to overstep, sir, but he should be immediately taken to The Compound as a prisoner.”
Commander Franklin sits back down, his eyes fixated somewhere behind me and his pointer finger resting on his lip.
“I will send a guard to watch over him until he is fully healed and will track down his commanding officer.” He looks to me again. “Thank you for your loyalty, Drex.”
6
Peony
Our base beneath the arch line already looks like a makeshift town two weeks after arrival. Everyone has their own little lean-tos built beneath the canopies of the lowest arches, circling a much bigger tent built in the middle for the weapons. I glance up at the guards scouting above as I stand in line for morning rations.
Even outside of The Compound we still have rations, though here they do their best to give us as much good food as possible. Teams go out hunting daily for meat and others scavenged enough seeds that we should have a garden soon.
I’ve been keeping to myself as much as possible, staying out of the commotion and observing. Anza was allowing it… until today. I was in my crevice under the bottom arch, blocking out the early morning racket and the growing chill as the rest wake, move around, and get started for the day. At The Compound I had to withstand the overload of sounds and bodies. I held myself together and got used to the discomfort.
Here, I have a choice. I choose to wait until everyone has dispersed.
The calmer, the better.
When I find her, Anza is already surrounded by a group. I recognize Eli, Stella and, amongst the other unknowns, Solar. I approach, hesitant, and stand opposite him.
I cross my arms, hugging myself tight, and study the ground. The space between us is rigid. I cannot see it—the air is still clear—but I can feel it pressing against my skin, threatening to suffocate me if I approach him.
I don’t.
I’m not sure I even want to anymore.
Rush of Blood Page 2
