by David Estes
* * *
The funeral is a blur of tears and speeches and emotions and I don’t remember any of it when it’s over. As is the custom of the moon dwellers, they cremate him, which is good because I couldn’t have handled seeing his face again, not like that. I prefer to remember him as the man who showed me how to kick and punch on our back patio.
Tristan’s been following the news but I’ve stayed away from it. I’m just not that concerned with politics and rebellions and wars at the moment. I’m just trying to spend as much time with my family as possible. Half the moon dweller VPs are dead, but a vote will be held in a week’s time to replace them. After everything that’s happened, everyone’s expecting that once the new leaders are elected, the VPs will unanimously vote to unite with the Star Realm and support the rebellion. Evidently the Sun Realm has already officially declared war on us, which I’m not too surprised about. Tristan tells me that people are saying the first battle could occur in as soon as week’s time.
My mother asked for and was granted a couple of days off, and she wants to use it to visit our old subchapter, 14. Elsey is still too unwell to travel with us, but Roc and Tawni agreed to keep her company while we’re away. Tristan insisted on coming. He seems afraid to leave my side, maybe ever again, which is cute. Despite his good intentions, however, Mom said we needed to do this alone, and after much discussion and debate, he conceded, promising to tear the Moon Realm apart looking for us if we don’t return within two days. I thought it a bad time to remind him that the Moon Realm is already torn apart, so I just agreed with him.
Although the train ride only takes half a day and we arrive in the afternoon, the lights are off in the big cavern I used to call home. The sun dwellers have cut off all electricity to the Lower Realms and for now we have to use flashlights and lanterns until the Moon Realm engineers come up with a solution to the problem.
As we walk through the city, the beams from our bouncing and bobbing flashlights reveal the destruction that took place a lifetime ago. Memories of the explosions as we climbed the fence to escape from prison flash through my mind like a slideshow. Buildings crumbling, cracks in the streets, the toppling of the fence. All distant memories now.
We pass a number of work crews, busily repairing the damage. They stare at us as we pass, and while outwardly they look haggard, tired, I see the fire of determination in their eyes. These are the men and women who will rebuild and then go to war for their very survival, and for the survival of their families.
The houses in our old suburb didn’t fare much better than the city. Many of them have shattered windows and crumbling roofs. Some even have gaping holes in their sides which allow us to see inside. I’m surprised to find entire families inside, sitting down to have a meal together, to play games together, to simply be together.
“They can break our things, can break our bodies, but they can’t break our spirits,” my mother says.
I feel a shot of heat in my belly, as if a match has been lit within my gut.
We reach our house, which is in shambles, the entire front wall caved in. As we step over the threshold, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pain as I remember the way my father used to look when he came through the door after work, tired but happy. We’d run to him, Elsey and I, and hug him.
When I lean against the wall, shocked by what I see, a memory is unlocked from some safe deposit box in my head, more vivid than if I was living it right now.
I’m ten years old and it’s my birthday, but it’s just like any other day. My dad wakes me up at six in the morning for training. It’s still dark in the caverns, although even at midday, the thin, pale lighting from the overhead cavern lights is dim at best. We train on the tiny stone patio behind our shoebox house. My mom is already up and getting breakfast ready, but she doesn’t say anything as I pass her. She does glance at me, however, and I can tell from the slight curl on one side of her lip that she knows it’s my birthday and wants to surprise me. I pretend not to notice.
My dad is already outside, stretching his arms and legs. I follow his lead, because if I don’t, I’ll be sore tomorrow. As I stretch my arms above my head, I see the glittering flutter of wings as a bat slides noiselessly above us. The rough, gray cave ceiling is slowly coming into focus as the cavern lights begin to brighten right on schedule.
We start with hand-to-hand combat—my favorite—and, according to my dad, the most important part of training, because “you can always count on your own hands and feet,” as he likes to say. I’m feeling energetic, which I try to use to my advantage, striking quickly with sharp stabs of my feet. But my dad is always up to the task, faster than me, blocking each attack with ease. Even when I start inventing my own moves, my dad just swats away my roundhouse kicks and judo chops like pesky gnats. He says my invented moves are creative and effective, although they never seem to work on him.
It gets frustrating sometimes, not being able to beat him, especially considering how hard I work. He says he pushes me harder than Elsey because I’m the older sister, and I can protect myself and her. That just seems like a free pass for El. He also says I’m getting stronger and faster with each training session, which sometimes is the only thing that keeps me motivated.
So I keep at it, chucking fists and feet at him faster and faster, until a thin sheen of salty sweat is coating my bare arms and legs, where my pale blue tunic won’t cover. As I begin to tire, I become bolder, lunging forward and aiming a knotted fist at his sternum, at one of the places that he told me will hurt the most. To my absolute shock, my clenched fingers slide smoothly past my dad’s blocking arms, connecting with his chest, and I feel the solid thud of bone on bone and muscle.
My dad grunts and lifts a hand to his chest, massaging it gingerly. I can’t help but to lift my offending hand to my mouth as my lips form an O. “Dad, I’m so…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
My dad laughs and I stop talking, my eyebrows rising along with my confusion. “Don’t ever apologize for winning a fight, Adele,” he says.
“Wha…what? You mean I…?”
“Won—yes.” My dad is grinning. “You are learning so fast, Adele. In a couple of years I will have nothing left to teach you.”
“So the student will become the master?” I joke. I am such a dork—but I don’t care.
He laughs, deep and throaty. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, but yes, you are doing well.” Sometimes Dad can be so serious.
But I am grinning, too. I’ve never even come close to hurting him during training. The familiar rhythm of my hands and fists smacking against his hands and fists has become like a soundtrack for our mornings together. But I’ve added a thud to the mix, and for that, I am proud. I couldn’t ask for a better present on my birthday.
“We’ll finish early to celebrate your success,” my dad says.
I frown. “No, Dad, I want to finish the whole session, please.”
Dad laughs. “That’s my girl,” he says. “You’re so much like your mother.” I never understand what he means by that. My mom is a quiet, generous soul who would never hurt a fly. Me, I’m tenacious, feisty, and sarcastic. A redhead with black hair, my mom always says.
I’m not able to beat him again during training, but once was enough for me. When we come inside I’m exhausted but happy. Somehow our tiny stone house looks even smaller than before, but to me it’s cozy, it’s home.
A warm and tempting aroma fills my nostrils when we cross the threshold. My birthday surprise. Freshly warmed bread, not more than a few days old, from the bakery in the subchapter. Only half a loaf, but more than I’ve ever seen in our house before. A real birthday treat.
“Happy birthday, Adele,” Mom says. “Go wake your sister.”
I smile and sigh. Yes, we live underground. And don’t have much money. And live in constant fear of the Enforcers, who ceaselessly roam the streets. But we have each other: my mom, my dad, my sister, Elsey, and me—a family. We’re all we really need. Oh, and a warm half-loaf of br
ead for a birthday treat. For a moment, I am happy.
“Adele,” my mom says, and the memory fades. Remembering my father, how things used to be, makes the flame that started in my belly flare up, heating my chest. It’s a fire I haven’t felt in a while. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head and the cobwebs disappear. “Yeah. I was just remembering.”
“Your father?”
“And you,” I say. “All of us. Before…”
“I know. This place is so full of memories. That’s why I wanted to come here one more time.”
My mom moves away from me, rummaging through the rubble, looking at old pictures and trinkets. I watch her for a minute.
When she turns around, there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “There’s something I want to give you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Give me? Mom, I just need you.”
“Just follow me.” She walks the three steps across the living area to the door to the bedroom that my sister and I shared with my parents. The door is hanging by a single hinge. My mom pushes it aside and enters. When I slip in behind her, I’m surprised to find the bedroom mostly intact, although there is glass everywhere from the shattered window.
Using the hem of her tunic, Mom brushes the glass from atop the bed and motions for me to sit down. I do, wondering what in the Tri-Realms she could possibly want to give to me. I watch her while she scans the ground, as if looking for something she dropped, and then bends down. She uses her fingers to pry at a loose stone in the floor, which wobbles and then lifts. The gray rectangular rock is heavy and I see her straining at it, so I get up and help her lift it out and roll it to the side.
Beneath where the stone used to be is a wooden box. When I look at my mom, she offers me a slight smile and then reaches down to retrieve the chest. It’s small and looks like it couldn’t hold more than a few marbles at most. However, when she lifts the lid, I see a slight sparkle under the glow of the flashlight I’m holding. Using a single delicate finger, she lifts a necklace from the box. I gasp. Its band is thin and silver, polished and gleaming and well cared for, but that’s not what makes me gasp, nor is that what sparkled when she first opened it.
Dangling from the end is a gem, big, perhaps the size of a gold Nailin, beautifully cut and a brilliant green hue that seems to catch every bit of light offered and then shine it all back tenfold in a dazzling array of green slivers. An emerald.
“Mom, I…I don’t understand. Whose is this?”
“It’s yours now,” she says, handing it to me.
“But this must be worth hundreds—no, thousands—of Nailins. Where did you get this?”
Mom’s smile is almost as brilliant as the emerald I’m holding. “It was your father’s gift to me after you were born. I don’t know where he got it and I didn’t ask. When he saw those emerald-green eyes of yours, he just knew you were going to be something special, so he gave me this necklace as a keepsake, something for me to pass down to you.”
My eyes are watering. “But this is too much. I can’t accept this,” I say, knowing that I will.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tristan
While Adele is away with her mother I worry about her. Not because she’s not capable of taking care of herself—I’d have to be an idiot if I didn’t know that she was by now—but because there’s some truth to what she said to me earlier. Awfulness does seem to follow her around. But I guess these days terrible things are happening to everyone.
I also feel somewhat lonely because she’s not here. Trying to kill time, I rummage through my pack, organizing my stuff. As I toss out a few bags of dried meat and a dirty tunic, my hand brushes against something hard. The diary. Ben’s diary. Well, not his diary, but the one he let me borrow. I never gave it back. And now he’s gone. As I flip through the brittle time-yellowed pages, I remember him. His calm, solid demeanor; the ever-present twinkle in his trustworthy eyes; his rare combination of optimism and realism: he was a good guy. The best kind of guy. A friend, in the end.
He deserves some words from me. Something to honor him.
“Ben,” I say, glancing uncertainly at the cave roof, as if he’s above it somewhere, “I wish you were still here. You were…you were everything my father never was.” Were. Such a simple word but with such an awful meaning. I choke on my words, my eyes brimming with tears. I fight them off, take a deep breath, determined to finish my personal eulogy. “In just a short time, you were my role model, mentor, trusted adviser...” The words are sticking in my throat; the pale tears overflowing and tracing lines to my chin. “You were my friend. I’ll miss you so much.”
I cry lonely and silent tears for him.
Ben should be alive and my father shouldn’t. The world is broken, turned all upside down. Evil seems to conquer good again and again.
* * *
I spend a few hours with Elsey, who manages to cheer me up with her stories about her and Adele as kids. She’s an amazing little girl. I should be the one cheering her up considering all she’s lost, but it’s the other way around.
When Elsey’s shattered body gets tired after sitting up for only an hour, I go to find Roc. I’m walking down a random street in subchapter 1, hoping to run into him, when a shadow falls over me. Spinning around, I only have a split-second to react before a large, dark hand grabs me by the tunic and lifts me in the air, slings me against a rock wall.
It’s Ram. Come to finish me off. After everything, I’m still not worthy of his trust.
“Thanks for that,” I choke out smartly.
“My pleasure,” he says, his lips curling into a broad grin. It’s not his usual I’m-going-to-get-great-enjoyment-from-hurting-you grin. I look at him oddly.
“Am I missing something?” I gasp, trying to suck air through my crushed windpipe.
“I’m just messing with you, man,” Ram laughs, lowering me to my feet and straightening out the collar of my tunic. With that, he walks away.
As I gulp in the air I chuckle to myself; I guess being friends with Ram isn’t that different than being enemies with him. But I’ll take it anyway.
Still smiling, I go to find Roc.
Roc’s been spending so much time with Tawni that I don’t see him much, but that’s cool, because it’s nice to see that they’re getting on so well. Just before Adele’s expected to arrive, however, I manage to corner him as he’s returning from somewhere with Tawni. She gives his hand a slight squeeze and leaves him with me. She’s a perceptive girl—always seems to know what’s going on in the world around her. Right now, she knows I want to talk to my best friend.
“Hey, man,” I say.
“Hey,” he says. Roc’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Things going that well, eh?”
“We have a lot more in common that you’d think,” he says. “I really like her, Tristan.”
“I’m happy for you. How are you really doing though? I mean, after everything…”
At first his face shows surprise, but then it falls and I see sadness in his eyes. “It’s tough. I mean, we just met Ben and he was such an amazing guy, and now….now it’s like he never existed. And Elsey—Tristan, I feel so bad for her. She didn’t deserve any of this.”
“I know. I feel the same way. Adele was a mess when she left with her mom. I just feel like there’s nothing I can say or do that will help.”
I’m surprised when Roc laughs. “I know how that feels,” he says. I feel sheepish, because I remember how many times Roc tried to talk to me, to cheer me up, after my mom disappeared. But I just kept pushing him away, sort of like Adele’s been doing. At least she finally let me hug her, finally talked to me, even though her words were filled with grief.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s too late for it, but I still feel like I should say it.
“It’s okay. I understand. And maybe your mom’s out there somewhere,” he says. “I hope we find her someday. She was my mom too.” Gravity takes his words and pulls them through my ear canals and all the way down to my
toes. They are heavy words. The heaviest.
“Roc, I just want to say again that I’m so sorry about what my fath—”
“Our father,” he corrects. “And it’s okay. I’m not sad anymore, just angry. So angry that if I ever see him again, I think I’ll kill him, Tristan. I really mean it.”
I know exactly how he feels. If I ever see my father again, I think I’ll kill him too.
* * *
As I wait for Adele’s train to get in, there are so many things I know I want to say to her, to try to make things right, but I know none of them will help. A thought flashes through my mind, something I’ve almost forgotten about. Something I need to tell her, to tell someone, but it’s so important I can’t just go out and say it. While it won’t necessarily help her with her grief, it might take her mind off of it, which could help—in a way.
The thought continues to tumble through my mind as the train pulls into the station.
When Adele steps onto the platform, she seems better, herself even. The fire in her that had seemingly been snuffed out when Ben died is back. I can see it in her eyes, in the way she carries herself, in the intensity of her hug when she greets me.
To be honest, I’m relieved. While they’ve been gone, I’ve been batting around one question in my head: How do you console someone when your words have lost all power?
