Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  “Then why do you and Ilya both-” he paused, the frown deepening further as he spun to where Ilya was standing by the doors, “oi, you okay?”

  A moment ticked by before Ilya’s gloved hand ceased tracing the pattern. He looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly as if just awoken from sleep, “hmm?”

  “I said ‘are you okay?’” Pogue repeated in a louder voice, “you’re being quiet.”

  “I thought I was always quiet.”

  “Yeah, you are, but not this quiet.”

  Ilya bit his lip and gave the door one last look before quickly walking to the fountain. He gave Pogue a smile, “I’m sorry, it’s just the last time-,” he carefully scratched his right eye, “it doesn’t matter. I’m being silly.”

  Pogue tipped his head to look Ilya in the eyes before groaning, “Shit, sorry. I didn’t think you might be sad about that.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your dad,” Pogue squeezed Ilya’s hand, “I try not to remember that night so didn’t stop to think you might still be sad. It just sorta-” he rapidly moved his free hand over his head.

  “Oh that,” Ilya shook his head, “it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay if it makes you sad,” Pogue said. His face broke out in another brilliant grin, “but I have a surprise to make you happy.”

  “Really, Shield, I don’t require anything.” But it was too late. Pogue placed two fingers into his mouth and blew one long, low whistle. At first nothing happened, but both boys looked upwards, and so I copied. Then I heard it, a familiar sound that always reminded me of a squeaky door. I took a step back just as a huge white bird descended from the branches. Its wings were speckled with grey and larger than my arm as it swooped to land on Pogue’s bracer. Grimacing, I took another step backwards as Ilya stepped forward with a smile. He took the skyrat and allowed it to perch on the stiffened leather of his elbow, gently stroking its head with his thumb before screwing up his face as it pecked his nose, “alright, that’s enough. I’ve missed you too.”

  “Don’t let it near your face like that,” I said.

  “You’re scared of birds?” Pogue asked.

  “Not scared, confused.” Pogue tipped his head and I scoffed, “think about it: Everybody is so afraid of rodents, but birds carry just as much disease and everybody loves them. Look at Ilya, he’s got that beast right against his airways.”

  “Isla isn’t diseased, she’s Her Highnesses personal avian,” Ilya stated as if that explained anything. He held the bird out and took a step forward. I took a step back and he rolled his eyes, “pat her. She won’t hurt you.” I shook my head. A bad move. That skyrat must have mistaken my braid for a rodent or something, for the next thing I knew it was off Ilya’s arm and swooping to claw at my crown.

  It took some struggle, a little screaming -me- and lots of laughter -them- to coach the raptor back onto Ilya’s elbow where it had supposedly been trained to perch, and still their laughter refused to die. With a stifled giggle, Pogue offered his hand to me, but I slapped it away. Pushing myself up, I placed my fingers against my stinging forehead and scowled when they came away bloody. Sticking them in my mouth, I glared at Ilya as he stroked the skyrats head, “tell your Princess that she needs less psychotic birds.”

  Still chuckling, he looked up with a beautiful smile. His pearly, straight teeth annoyed me immensely as he spoke, “Isla isn’t psychotic, she just senses weaknesses.”

  “You’re getting too much joy out of this.”

  “Yes,” he pulled the mask up, “I am.”

  The joy kept coming. All morning long they continued laughing at my expense. An hour would pass without giggling, lulling me into a false sense of comfort. Then Ilya would look at Pogue and whatever conversation we’d been amid would die a swift death as they fell back in fits of hysterics. It was agitating. With my arms crossed over my chest, I made a personal resolve that the next time one of them was injured I’d let them suffer, just a bit.

  Never was I so happy to hear the lunch bell. It was barely audible over the high hedges, but the first ring hadn’t even stilled before I was on my feet, stretching my arms over my head. I waited for Ilya to say his goodbyes and stand. Annoying as he was, I still wouldn’t leave him behind. Especially as he didn’t know the maze. But as the final toll sounded, he remained seated by Pogue’s side. I rolled my eyes, figuring he just hadn’t heard the bell over his malicious glee at my misfortune, and sighed, “The lunch bell just rang.”

  “I heard it,” Ilya said. Flicks from the torch made his eyes glow as they met mine, “you go ahead. I don’t have to return yet.”

  I didn’t blink, but the bad taste that had been invading my mouth since morning intensified, “don’t you have homework?”

  “No, I’ve already completed it,” he pulled his knees to his chest and I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from storming forward and pushing him over, “that’s why I awoke so early. As soon as Doctor Kira clears me, I’ll be expected to return to my duties, so I need to retrain my body to rise with the sun now.”

  Strong iron mixed with the already sour taste, “but I have clinic duties.”

  “I know. That’s why you should go ahead. I promise to return before dinner,” Ilya said.

  “Do you remember how to get back alone?” Pogue asked.

  Of course, I remembered. I wasn’t an imbecile. Still, if I didn’t remember Pogue would walk me back. He’d walk me all the way home to Bethany if I asked. I tipped my head and squinted at him. As if reading my mind, Ilya rested his hand on Pogue’s knee and squeezed. I glanced at him and froze at the intensity in that glare, the way it seemed to worm into my soul and make my breath whistle in my throat. So slowly I couldn’t be certain, Ilya nodded his head at me. I looked back at Pogue and mimicked it, “yeah,” I forced through the unrelenting grit, “I always find my way alone.”

  That’s how things changed. Each morning we’d leave together, and each afternoon I arrived home alone. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand that couples desired time alone, it was that Ilya was so secretive about what they did without me that my imagination went into overdrive. My work quality took a nosedive as I envisioned them running around and replacing me with a beautiful troop girl with arms stronger than my twiglets would ever be. That image was bad enough, but when Amicia came for her lessons my mind went wild.

  It wasn’t fair. She’d called Ilya her favourite. She’d told me to give him my best and I had. Now with all the hard work done, she was going to swoop in and steal him away from me, when she couldn’t even be bothered to visit once since he’d awaken. And she’d been there, I’d heard her laughing.

  Ilya did little to ease those fears. The earlier he awoke in the morning, the more tired he was at night. He’d fall asleep long before I was ready, and I was forced to wake him up. He’d yawn and rub his eyes, giving hoarse, uninspired responses to my questions. If I didn’t talk fast enough, he’d already be asleep by the time I was done, and I’d be forced to wake him and start all over again. Sometimes I didn’t wake him at all. I’d watch him sleep, watch the steady rhythm of his chest with my fists clenched. It took all my willpower to resist cutting off that beautiful blonde hair he cherished so much. The only thing that kept my hand at bay was the knowledge that he wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t rude or dismissive. He just wasn’t there.

  Until I returned from field clinic to find him sitting on his bed, shuffling the playing cards one afternoon. It was so unexpectedly normal that caused me to falter in my steps to stare at him.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “You’ve grown since we last met.”

  Ilya arched a brow with practised ease, “we last met three hours ago.”

  “Really? Feels longer.” Ilya looked down at the cards but didn’t say anything more while I removed my apron. I kept sneaking glances over my shoulder. He looked nervous. It wasn’t always easy to tell with him, especially with the mask up, but the way he shuffled the cards, dropping one here and there without pause to
collect it was enough. I cleared my throat, “why are you back so early?”

  “It’s not that early.”

  “The sun is still out. It’s early.”

  Ilya picked up a card that had fallen in his lap, “I suppose you’re right. One of the reasons is because I wanted to play cards with you. You can pick the game.”

  Yeah right, he wasn’t there to play cards. I narrowed my eyes, “What’s the other reason?”

  “Pardon?”

  I copied his raised brow almost mockingly, “You said that was one of the reason’s. What’s the other one?”

  Ilya looked at me. His eyes were devoid of emotion, but his shoulders slumped as he placed the cards on the side-table and patted the bed beside him. I sat on my own bed, the gross grittiness making an untimely return to my mouth as Ilya pulled down his mask and smiled, “Doctor Kira examined me.”

  It took all my resolve not to wince as my nails dug into my palms, “my condolences.”

  “No, it went well,” eye contact was sustained as he leaned forward to rest his arms on his knee, making the already claustrophobic space between us smaller. “She’s finally agreed to sign my clearance forms tomorrow, provided I return to my duties gradually and my family follows her care plan to the letter.”

  “But your mother’s not back yet,” I said quickly, sharply. My nails still dug into my palms, but it did little to relieve the tension bubbling up inside like a spring.

  “I have more family. I have aunts, cous-”

  “I wouldn’t know, seeing as nobody has bothered to visit you in the last seven weeks.”

  My voice had come out louder than I’d expected, and Ilya sat back with a frown. “You’re upset. Shouldn’t you be happy that I’m healthy?”

  “Why would that make me happy?”

  “Because you’re my friend.”

  “Am I? Because you don’t act like it.” The tension inside was too much and I had to stand up and pace before I exploded. “You run around all day long and never invite me to come. We certainly never spend any time together.”

  “We spend every morn-.”

  “Now you’re going to leave. You’ll have no reason to speak to me anymore. All your time will be spent with Pogue. You’re going to save Ascot, and that wouldn’t have been possible if it wasn’t for me, and you don’t care. You’re a user.”

  “That’s not true. I never-”

  “You’re a rotten friend, Ilya Lukasiak.”

  Ilya was on his feet in seconds. I tried to move away but he put his hand on the wall, blocking me in. Though he wasn’t a tall boy from that angle he was still large enough that I had to look up to see his face. That only agitated me further as he leaned into my ear, “stop talking over me,” he hissed, “I’m thankful for everything you’ve done for me, but I cannot sit here forever. I have a debt. I’m obligated to fulfil my duties, and I don’t appreciate having my integrity attacked for that,” he withdrew his arm to push his hair from his face, “just because we won’t be living together doesn’t mean we’re no longer friends.”

  “Yes, it does,” I exclaimed and pushed passed him to pace between the beds. He didn’t even like me. Why would he be my friend if he didn’t need to be? “And I’m not insinuating that you have no integrity, I’m stating that you don’t. You can’t even wipe your own nose without permission from your betters. That’s not integrity, that’s servitude, and you choose that for yourself. The world wouldn’t stop turning if you broke your oath. Not really.”

  “It wouldn’t change my race. Even if Her Highness decided not to punish me, I’d be fully shunned. Kilco, I still live with my family. If shunned I would be alone without any purpose, without- ‘' his voice broke, his brow so pinched that he surely had a headache. He took a step towards me and I narrowed my eyes, placing my hands on my hips, but he simply sat on his bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The world seemed to stand still, the only sound being both our breathing, heavy and out of sync. Ilya looked up, “I’m sorry that I cannot fix your life the way you expect me to, but you’re not the only person with problems. Being unhappy doesn’t give you the right to be so mean all the time.”

  I wasn’t mean to him. I wasn’t mean to anybody. Still, the words wouldn’t come to refute the statement, and I didn’t know what to do, so did the only thing I could. I blew out the oil lamp and crawled into bed. It was still annoyingly bright outside, and sunlight danced through the skylight, but I paid it no mind as I threw my blanket over my head. There I didn’t have to see anything, didn’t have to see Ilya. I could just chew on my fingers until blood replaced the foul taste flowing up from my chest.

  Sixteen

  Bathmophobia

  Fear of staircases

  It’s incredible how much stuff can be accumulated in a matter of weeks. Like Monday mornings it sneaks up, and you don’t even notice until your former best friend is leaving and you need try to separate his shit from yours. Did it really matter if he left with the old water-stained copy of the life and travels of a wayward bard?

  “That’s my book.”

  The answer was yes. I’d be damned if I was going to make leaving any easier on him than it already was. Ilya didn’t bother to look over his shoulder as he tossed the book onto my bed. The audacity. I ran a finger along the spine. It truly was ragged, and Kira certainly had an updated copy on her shelf. The bin gave a metallic thump as the book fell into it. Ilya looked up.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’re such a baby.”

  “You’re such a baby,” I repeated, pitching my voice in a mockery of his stupid accent. Ilya turned back to his pack and I glared at his hidden neck. He hadn’t removed his mask since breakfast. That agitated me more than anything. It was like the last month had meant nothing to him.

  “Burr,” Doctor Kira shivered as she marched through the door flap, “you can cut the tension in here with a knife. Here, your clearance papers,” she held out two sealed envelopes to Ilya, “one for your Princess and one for whoever is taking charge of you. Congratulations. You ready?”

  Ilya grasped the envelopes tightly and nodded, “I just need to retie my hair first.”

  “Well hurry up. It will be dark soon and I want that bed back,” Kira said and looked at me with her resting scowl face, “you, come with me. I have something that needs doing.”

  Gladly. With a final glare at Ilya’s back, I followed Kira out to her desk. And almost screamed at the entire surface covered in empty tonic vials. Kira threw a satchel at me, “Pack and take those to the distillery for refreshment,” she instructed and dropped into her chair, flipping through a file before glancing back up, “are you deaf?”

  “No, I was just expecting something else.”

  “This is an infirmary. What else is there?” Some words of reassurance and comfort would’ve been nice. Maybe even a confirmation that all men were scotebags who couldn’t be trusted, but her blank expression told me no such spiel was coming and I wasn’t about to beg, so I shrugged and hastily shoved vials into the pack.

  “He cannot live here indefinitely, Kilco,” Kira turned back to her file, “even if he didn’t belong to Princess Amicia, he’s not some unfortunate waif. He has an entire family who loves him. He was always going to leave. That’s part of the job.” It didn’t have to be so sudden though. Somebody cleared their throat to my left. I crossed my arms and took a step to the right.

  “You off?” Kira asked without glancing up.

  “Yes, Doctor Kira,” Ilya said. His hood was up, blocking any defining features from view. Just another Ilvarjo clone, “I just want to thank you both for all you’ve done for me.”

  “It was nothing,” Kira said as she limply waved her hand, “a bit of bed rest and tonic and you were good to go. You’ve been the easiest patient I’ve had this entire war.”

  Yeah, because I’d been the one caring for him.

  “I’m still grateful and in your debt for all you’ve done,” he bowed his head in a smooth, elongated movement, “s
hould you ever require them, my services are at your full disposal.”

  That made Kira look up. She slowly put down her file and sat back in her chair to look him over, her lips locked in a severe line, “none of that debt bullshit,” she stated, “if you truly want to help, take better care of yourself and don’t do anything stupid that will land you back here. I never want to see your ugly mug again.”

  “Alright,” Ilya straightened up, “still, thank you for everything.”

  Kira nodded slowly. To anybody else she would’ve looked annoyed, but I recognized the clench of her jaw. She was embarrassed. I rolled my eyes. Ilya might be able to trick my mother with his humility, but he couldn’t fool me. I threw the final vial into the satchel and turned towards the exit, but not before accidentally slamming my shoulder into his.

  Outside dusk was rapidly approaching. The air was already frosty, and I exhaled slowly, watching the vapour dance and then evaporate. The repetitive motion was soothing and the fire deep inside dimmed. Another crisis avoided.

  “You okay?”

  Or maybe not. Pogue was leaning against one of the picnic tables, Makybe and Byzantines’ reins held loosely in his hands as they grazed on the grass. A smile stretched my lips. Even in the worst of times horses could soothe my soul. With no words at all, they seemed to understand. I pressed my face against Makybe’s neck, breathing in her musk.

  “Kilco?”

  “I’m fine. Doctor Kira asked me to go to the distillery is all,” my voice was muffled by the bay coat and I pulled away, “why are you here?”

  “Came to pick up Ilya. Amicia wants to see him but I thought he’d wanna see Byzantine first. Howey’s not meant to release him without Ilya’s forms, so don’t tell nobody,” Who would I tell? Pogue tipped his head with a smile, “you didn’t wanna come this morning?”

  “Ilya didn’t want me to.”

  “He said that?” He hadn’t needed to. His words the night before and pathetic attempts at breakfast conversation had spoken loud enough, but if I said so Pogue would only defend Ilya and make excuses, so I shrugged. Naturally, Ilya chose that moment to exit the infirmary. Pogue spared him a smile and squinted at me, “do you want a lift to the distillery?”