Reaping

by Makansi, K.

  As I strum, I think of Remy and Tai and Brinn and Jahnu and the Resistance and war. I think of my parent’s starring role in the whole, wretched tragedy and find myself comparing my memories of them, of their characters and personalities, of mom and dad with Philip, Chancellor, and Corine, Director of the OAC. How blind could I have been? I was distracted. Growing apart from them. A young man busy with graduate school, eager for independence, for a life to call my own. I paid no attention to them, except when their actions concerned me. In a word, I was selfish. Self absorbed.

  But, I remind myself, now I am here. I am changing—changed. I am on the right side.

  “It’s so sad.” Remy’s voice startles me, and I clutch at the guitar like a weapon.

  “How long have you been here?” It’s a stupid question, but my face is hot at the thought of her hearing me singing like some lovesick troubadour. I’d been trying to pick out a song I’d written long ago for the piano, something I’d never let anyone hear even when I played it on an instrument I had mastered. I called it Tuqburni, an untranslatable Old Arabic word for a love so deep one cannot imagine living without the beloved. I’d never tried it on a guitar, for good reason.

  “Long enough,” she says and my heart clutches.

  “Yeah, well….” The flush reaches the tips of my ears.

  “You have a nice voice. And the song is beautiful.”

  Oh.

  “I wrote it after you left.” The words slip off my tongue, and at first I want to grab them and stuff them back down my throat, but then her face softens and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth and I’m glad the words are out there hanging in the air for her to feel. My mother called my songs maudlin and childish. You’re not some Old World bard, Vale. The rigor of the classics suits you more than sentimental love songs, she’d said. Admitting now that the song was something I’d conjured up in a moment of loneliness feels like I’m stripped naked, standing soul-bared in front of Remy. Even though I am sitting. And most definitely fully clothed.

  She sits next to me, close enough to touch, tucking her legs up under her chin and wrapping her arms around her knees. I start to set the guitar aside, but her fingers dart out and touch my arm. “Don’t stop. It’s nice.”

  “If you insist.” I pull it back against me and strum some basic chord progressions, just to keep my fingers moving, to fill the silence between us.

  “You and Soren are lucky,” she says after a while, as I try and fail to come up with another tune.

  “Lucky? How?”

  “Miah.”

  “Yeah. There’s no one like him.”

  “What he said the other day, when he found out about his mom … the way he just turned to you and told you not to apologize. There was no need for forgiveness because he knew you weren’t a part of all that.”

  After a few more chords while my stomach churns and I try to think of what to say, I give up, set the guitar aside and turn to face her.

  “I was a part of it. I went along. Blindly. Blithely. Unable or unwilling to ask hard questions until I had no choice.”

  She looks up at me, eyes wide, earnest, encouraging. “But don’t you see? That’s what we all did. Soren when his mom was voted out. Jahnu’s family, Kenzie’s family, they had their reasons. Eli and my parents after Tai was killed. I can’t even be sure I would have left if my parents had made it a choice. Even Miah: he knew his dad was in the Resistance and didn’t do anything about it till he had to make a choice. We all arrived at our own pivot points … eventually.”

  “I should have done more.”

  “Such as?”

  “I could have demanded answers about your disappearance. I could have tried to find you.”

  She looks up at me, skin like burnished copper, brown eyes framed by the most curiously alluring freckles....

  “We all could have done more. We’ve all suffered as a result. There’s plenty of pain and guilt to go around.” Somehow her hand is resting on mine and she gives it a whisper-soft squeeze that shoots a white-hot pulse through me. “We don’t need to divvy it up and weigh it on some cosmic pain scale to see who’s suffered the most. I thought we did, but we don’t. Not anymore.”

  “But everything that’s gone wrong … it’s all connected to me, through my family.”

  “We don’t need a giant scale of responsibility any more than we need a scale of pain. Chariya said it started long before we were born. You’re no more responsible than I am.”

  “But my mom and dad—”

  “Remember what my dad said the night you got to Normandy? That you—we, none of us—are responsible for the sins of our fathers. Or our mothers. What we’re responsible for is what we do now. We’re responsible for our own choices, for how we shape our future.”

  Our choices? Our future? Is it possible she means more than the Resistance, more than the Sector? Is it possible she means us? I want to lean forward and….

  “I don’t want to hate you anymore, Vale.” Her voice is like a plucked string resonating throughout my body. “I never did hate you, not really,” she says and I meet the vibration of her voice with an equal frequency as I reach out and pull her to me as if the only reason I was given arms was to wrap them around her. Her head presses against my chest and my cheek rests on the top of her head and we sit in silence except for the trilling of the birds in the treetops, the rushing of the water in the streambed, and the building hum of shared hope. Hope that hate is not the answer, that it never was and never will be. That we can create something together that is greater than what we could create by ourselves. That love will always transcend our pasts.

  By the time we left, the Outsiders had still made no promises. Chan-Yu's presence gave Squall an ally and Squall said he would take our case to the other Elders as soon as we left. Even Chariya seemed to soften her opposition, but we weren’t privy to their discussions, and I have no idea what promises were made or bargains struck among the Outsiders themselves. As for Chan-Yu and Soo-Sun, they are traveling with us to meet with the others. We gave them our destination coordinates and they have become our navigators. Chan-Yu is well-respected among the Outsiders, and everyone naturally defers to him. His leadership is so natural, so accepted, I can hardly believe there was a time when he took orders from me.

  Our biggest challenge is dealing with Linnea’s constant complaining. We’ve all been tempted to gag her to keep her quiet. It’s been three weeks since she left Okaria and three weeks without a hot shower is apparently more than she counted on. She’s been treated as a convict under house arrest with the Outsiders, and we’re formally considering her a prisoner, even though it’s clear she’s not going anywhere. She wouldn’t survive three days on her own, anyway.

  I glance over at her, her long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Back in Okaria, she wore it cascading down her back like shimmering strands of gold or piled on top of her head in some elaborate nest of curls. Remy charitably tried to convince her to cut it before we set out—“traveling is easier with short hair,” she told her—but Linnea wouldn’t hear of it. She put her hands over her head and refused to let anyone come near. Then she asked Remy to help her French braid her hair—whatever that means. Remy pocketed the scissors and stormed off.

  “If she wants to keep playing the celebrity out here in the Wilds, let her. But I’m not going to be her goddamn makeup artist.”

  “Can’t wait to see Eli’s face when you climb off that horse,” Miah repeats for the umpteenth time, shaking his head in astonishment at the mere fact that Linnea Heilmann is riding a horse beside him out here in the Wilds.

  “Why are you out here, really?” Remy asks over and over. “If you thought you were going to lead the Sector to our base, you really should have realized someone would suspect you were wearing a tracker.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you people? I want to find Eli. The tracker was just to shut up Corine.”

  “Why the sudden interest?” Miah asks again, more insistently.

 
; “It’s not sudden and it’s none of your damn business.” She shoots him a razor-sharp glare, one I know all too well. I wonder if he, too, is fighting the instinct to duck.

  It’s true, though—Linnea’s been interested in Eli for as long as I can remember. It was one of the things that pushed her and Tai apart as friends, when Tai and Eli started dating. Linnea tried to act like she didn’t care. But for all her usual brilliance when it comes to lying, she couldn’t hide her dismay when Eli went for Tai instead.

  I have to admit, even smudged with dust and her face downcast and unhappy, she’s still beautiful. If anything, the natural environment has taken some of the edge off her, and her beauty seems less dangerous now. Like Miah, I wonder what Eli will think when he sees her.

  Once we make camp, Chan-Yu consults the astrolabe he reclaimed from the Outsider camp upon his return, and announces we should make it to the rendezvous point by tomorrow afternoon. If all goes according to plan, Firestone will be waiting with a cargo airship large enough for the horses—if we can load them—and he’ll transport us to the new Resistance base. There’s some small talk about what happens next as we eat our dinner and try to ignore the fact that we’re heading back into the thick of the conflict and that Linnea is eating lentils and fire-roasted vegetables with us and is Jahnu okay? but eventually we fall into a tense, uncomfortable silence. Both Chan-Yu and Soo-Sun retreat to their tent, and then Soren and Osprey disappear into the woods without even a backwards glance. Finally, Miah turns to Linnea and asks the question I know he’s wanted to ask since he first saw her.

  “How’s Moriana?” His face is creased with worry.

  “Last time I saw her she was fine.”

  “Did they take her in for questioning?”

  “Of course, but don’t worry. They didn’t get anything out of her.”

  “That’s because she didn’t know anything,” Miah responds. Linnea turns her whole body to face him.

  “You really didn’t tell her you were leaving?”

  Miah shakes his head, stares at the ground. I know he isn’t proud of what we did the night we left. But it was the only way to keep Moriana safe.

  “I never thought you’d have the gall to walk away from her,” Linnea says, her eyebrow cocked in surprise. You were always so … gooey … over her.” She shudders. “No wonder she was so distraught. I thought it was all an act. Even Corine thought so at first, but apparently Moriana satisfied her. She lost her security clearance, but at least she’s still got a job. She didn’t get fired. Not completely, anyway.”

  “Is she okay? In the new job and all? Her work is—” Miah’s voice catches in his throat “—it’s important to her.” When Linnea looks at him, her expression is so close to sympathetic that I wonder if she really does have thoughts and emotions beyond her own whims and power struggles.

  “Honestly?”

  “No, Linnea, lie to me, please. Yes, honestly, for stars sake, are you a complete idiot?”

  “All right,” Linnea throws her hands up. “She was really torn up when you left, and I think after a while she might have bought into what Vale’s parents were saying about you betraying them.” Miah bows his head and his shoulders sink. He’s usually so ebullient, it’s heartbreaking to watch him crumble into himself. “But once she was in the clear, out of Corine’s line of fire, and not in any danger of being interrogated again, I was able to tell her what Vale told me the night of the Solstice.”

  “Even though that was a lie,” I cut in. Miah raises his head, looking between the two of us questioningly. Linnea narrows her eyes at me.

  “It was enough to convince her that Jeremiah hadn’t tried to kill you. When she realized you were planning on leaving, she knew it couldn’t have been foul play.” She turns and looks at Miah, her eyes round and bluer than the open sky. “Moriana wanted to come with me when I left. But I wouldn’t let her.”

  “Why not?” he asks. The question isn’t angry or demanding.

  “For the same reason you wouldn’t, I presume,” Linnea says, pulling the ponytail holder off her hair and letting it swing loose. “Besides, I think Corine still has her followed in case you contact her. And she wouldn’t have survived a day out here.”

  “And you’re doing so well yourself,” I say.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? My goal is to find Eli and I’m on my way to see him, so yes, I think I’m doing just fine. A shower would be nice, but—”

  “I keep thinking of Jahnu. What would Moriana think if she knew he was hurt?” Remy interrupts.

  “Who’s Jahnu?” Linnea asks, as if Remy’s question was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Her momentary brush with kindness was short lived.

  “Don’t you remember? Moriana’s cousin. He was at our house a lot when you were there with Tai.”

  “Nerdy skinny kid?” She glares at Remy as though she’s offended her personally by expecting her to remember a little boy of no consequence. But then she sits up a little straighter and her expression turns into something resembling a concerned frown, probably realizing there’s information here, information that could one day be traded for something more. Her voice softens into a tone of comfort. “Why? What happened to him?”

  “None of your damn business,” Remy snaps.

  It’s early afternoon when shadow descends over the forest, too dark and too sudden to be a cloud. My first thought is, where is Remy? My second is I hope death comes quickly, thinking the shadow to be a Sector airship that had caught up with us and was ready to burn the forest around us. The horses shy and skitter, trying to bolt for cover, but when a booming voice from above calls out, I can’t help but smile.

  “Y’all gonna take all day getting to the rendezvous or what?”

  “Firestone!” Remy shouts behind me, abandoning any pretense we might have had at attempting to travel quietly. The airship moves away from us and in the distance I can see it descend below the tree line and out of sight. Even Chan-Yu is anxious and he urges the horses forward in an easy canter until we reach the edge of the clearing where the airship is waiting at the water’s edge of a wide and peaceful lake. There’s a sliver of a beach, a gentle slope that leads down to the water marked with fallen branches, pebbles, and gritty sand.

  Standing by the water’s edge is Kenzie, her bright red curls flying in all directions around her face. She looks at us with a fragmented smile, as if her mind is in a thousand places and only a tiny part is here. When Remy jumps off her horse and runs to her, her composure splinters. As she wraps her arms around Remy and buries her face in her shoulder, my stomach clenches and fear settles in my gut like a vise, but then Kenzie starts laughing through her tears. I can hear Remy talking excitedly, and a happy buoyancy floods through me. Jahnu must be okay.

  Soren follows Remy’s lead, breaking away from Osprey’s touch for the first time in almost a week, and when he reaches Kenzie’s side he picks her up and swings her around like a child.

  “What’s going on?” Linnea asks, as insensitively as humanly possible. As she slides off her horse, she shakes her hair out, arranging herself beside her horse as if she were modeling for a Sector broadcast on the healthy virtues of outdoor life. She straightens her shirt, pinches her cheeks, bites her lip, and waits, looking very perturbed by the celebration happening without her permission.

  The cargo hold opens and Eli and Firestone descend down the gangway. We all turn and watch as he squints into the sunlight, his mouth drops open, and he comes to a stop in the sand just a few meters from Linnea in all her golden glory.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.

  Her face falls for just a moment, before she puts on a smiling broadcast-quality mask.

  “I was hoping for a somewhat more welcoming greeting, Elijah.”

  “I don’t care what you were hoping for. How the fuck did you get here? And why?” He turns to us accusingly, as if we conjured her up to spite him.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Her perfect smile is fighting a valiant battl
e to stay on her lips, and I catch myself feeling something I never thought would apply to Linnea Heilmann: pity. “I came looking for you.”

  “You what?” he asks, dumbfounded. I now truly understand the meaning of that word. Linnea, too, looks speechless, shocked mute by the strange idea that someone could not desire her presence. Firestone speaks up to break the tension.

  “We got the whole ride home for catchin’ up, ladies and gentlemen. We picked up a lot of drone activity on our way here and will have to go the long way home to avoid them, even with cloaking. So load ’em up, cowboys, it’s time to head back to the corral.”

  My horse, Mistral, and I are the closest to the airship, so I start guiding her by the reins up the loading ramp. She, however, seems to have a different idea, and is none too eager to walk into a giant metal compartment. Her eyes are wild and her ears flat as she stomps and backs up, refusing to walk more than halfway up the ramp.

  “Whoa, girl,” I say and try to act like Chan-Yu or Miah handling their horses, but I’m obviously not pulling it off.

  “Here,” Remy says, taking the reins from me as she leads her own horse. She puts her hand on Mistral’s neck, stroking her calmly and muttering something I can’t hear. “She’ll calm down if she has a friend to walk up with.” A set of reins in each hand, Remy walks the two horses up the ramp together, and suddenly Mistral doesn’t seem quite as reluctant.

  “How’d you learn to do that?”

  “You mean living with these animals all this time wasn’t enough to figure them out?” She runs her hand over her horse’s mane. “They’re herd animals. You just have to take control and show them there’s a leader to follow.”

  “I thought I was doing that.”

  “Maybe you’re still a little nervous around her.”

  I pat Mistral’s nose and she nickers at me. “Maybe she was just playing hard to get.”

  “Right,” Remy laughs.

  “Well, she’s not the only girl I’m still nervous around. Maybe I’ll win them both over yet.” I pull out few pieces of broken carrots that I’ve been carrying in my pocket and flatten my hand to let Mistral’s velvety lips pluck them from my palm.