For the Clan

by Archer Kay Leah

  Hart mumbled and curled his lip, holding out the glasses.

  While he watched the soldier's jaw flex, Jace read the black tattoo etched down the side of the soldier's face: 54σK1. It was nothing like the marks he'd seen before. When members of the clans got tattoos, they were significant: marriage rings, clan symbols, birthdates of their children. This was gibberish.

  As if aware he was being scrutinized, the soldier turned, his gaze meeting Jace's.

  Oh god. No.

  In one look, Jace's world crashed down, crushing him under the weight of a past that killed his soul all over again.

  The air caught in Jace's throat. His chest hurt, his heart thumping hard enough he could feel the beat in his head. Flashes of blurred colour and shrill screams devoured his mind in fits and starts. Whatever strength he had left kept him standing, but he didn't know how long it would last. All he wanted to do was cry. Years had gone by, wasted on wishing and living with a broken heart that would never be whole again, no matter how much he tried.

  Now fears haunted him stronger than before, attacking him through a pair of blood-red irises he prayed recognized him.

  Or maybe he should pray they didn't. He had too much to answer for, none of it in his favour.

  "Roan," Jace managed, his mouth too dry to say anything more.

  Behind him, Cayra took an audible breath and dropped his hand.

  Jace lifted his chin. "Let him go," he commanded hoarsely. "And get him up."

  Hart's jaw dropped. The glasses dangled in Roan's face. "What gives? He's a freaking Merlin. Lab elf. He's just going to—"

  "Shut it, Hart!" Jace rushed forward. "Don't argue with me. I have never put up with those idiotic terms. While I'm in charge, you will not insult anyone like that. Now unbind his hands."

  No one moved.

  "Damn it! Are you all fucking deaf?" Jace snatched the glasses. "'Cause if you are, none of you are going be sentries much longer. Now unbind. His. Hands."

  Alim and Baret grumbled while they untied Roan. Jace offered both of his hands to help Roan stand.

  Roan ignored Jace's gesture and pulled himself up with a grunt. Silent, he took the sunglasses from Jace and slipped them on.

  "I'm sorry," Jace whispered, hoping Roan could understand it wasn't just about how the sentries treated him; it was over things for which Jace could never apologize enough.

  Behind the sunglasses, there was no hint of emotion.

  Jace's breath hitched. This was what they'd become: one man without emotion and the other with only part of a heart.

  He hated the governtary more than he ever had.

  "Here, drink this," Cayra demanded, her voice breaking through Jace's seething thoughts. Her tan hand thrust a metal bottle towards Roan. She'd run back to their tent without him noticing, Jace realized.

  Roan remained still.

  Cayra held the bottle further. "Go on. Won't kill you. It's water. You need it more than I do."

  After a moment of silence, Roan accepted the bottle. "Thanks," he muttered before taking a drink.

  "What are you doing here?" Jace asked.

  Roan grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What are you doing here?"

  Jace blinked. What kind of question was that?

  "Last I knew, you were up on Lake Huron," Roan continued. "Oh, wait, that's when you all sold me out. Guess a lot changes in fifteen years."

  "Roan…" Jace looked at the ground. There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Roan's tone, not that Jace blamed him. It was the sound of Jace's guilt, wrapped up in words he couldn't bring himself to say. But not here. Not in front of everyone gaping at the two of them as if Jace had lost his mind. Behind him, clan members whispered. They wanted to know everything.

  They would have to settle for knowing nothing.

  Jace spun towards the crowd. "This man is not a prisoner," he announced, "and he will not be a prisoner. He once was part of our family; a dedicated member of Clan Teach. Through no fault of his own, he was ripped away from us. So we'll show him the same courtesy we did then." The whispers stopped as he raised his hand. "And just to make sure we're all on the same page, I'm invoking Clan Leader Privilege."

  The shocked expressions told him all he needed to know.

  He hated being leader.

  "Maybe we should get you into the tent," Cayra suggested, pulling Jace back. When she touched Roan's shoulder, he flinched and curled away from her. She recoiled without a hint of surprise. "Just to talk. Come on… Roan."

  "You can yell at me in there," Jace added, hoping it wasn't a true incentive.

  Part of him was dismayed the moment Roan relented and followed them to the tent. Maybe Roan hated him more than he thought. Maybe the sunglasses were a saving grace, hiding years of rage behind a tint of indifference.

  "I'm sorry," Jace whispered as they entered the tent.

  "Heard you the first time," Roan answered, his flat tone saying almost nothing.

  Except how much he doesn't want to be here, and how much he doesn't want to see me.

  Stopped in the middle of the tent, Jace spun towards Roan, bringing him to a halt. Cayra pulled the tent flaps shut, their clasps swaying with the canvas. To Jace's disappointment, Cayra's expression was too difficult to decipher. She had yet to ask him questions. Who was Roan? Why was Jace acting weird? Why? What? He would've entertained all of them.

  Cayra didn't ask, not even as she took her place by Jace's side.

  No one was talking to him. Not his former lover. Not his wife.

  Fuck.

  Slipping his arm around Cayra's waist, Jace sucked in a shaky breath. "This is Cayra Diega, my—"

  Jace stopped, the word refusing to come out. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Once he did, it would destroy any shred of chance he had left. The memories of his relationship with Roan would shatter. What they'd shared would diminish, becoming next to nothing with one word that meant more than a hundred sentences. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

  "Wife," Cayra finished, holding out her hand. "From Clan Deliverance, which you might remember."

  Roan didn't shake her hand. "Deliverance," he said instead, pointing to the tattoo on the inside of her right forearm. "Explains the feather. Haven't seen that in ages. How'd all that work out, the merging of your clans? Where is Deliverance, anyway?"

  Christ, you just had to ask.

  Cayra tensed. "Dead." She held her chin higher. "Only six of us left. And the merging went fine. My father couldn't have been happier." Cayra touched Jace's face with a tender hand. "I got one of the good guys."

  Roan looked away. "Sorry."

  "I know."

  "Speaking of fathers." Roan shoved his hands into his pockets, drawing Jace's attention to the fact he wore a gun holster but no gun. "Where's yours?"

  "What?" Jace asked.

  "Moham. Where's he? I'm assuming since you're all high and mighty enough to invoke Clan Leader Privilege, he's not here. He'd probably have a fit if he was."

  "Yeah, I know." And he'd probably tear my head off, Jace admitted silently. "He's dead, too. Taken down by a land mine. One moment he was digging; the next, he was on the ground in a couple pieces. It was just a routine mission to get some land farmed. He didn't get through the night. Died for some freaking vegetables," Jace added under his breath. Losing his mother to cancer had made his childhood difficult, but his father's death had carved deeper emotional scars. Not only had it been sudden, it could have been avoided. Cayra's hand squeezed his in a brief moment of assurance. What a pair we make.

  Roan breathed out. "I'd say I'm sorry, but…" He shrugged. "Life sucks for all of us."

  Cayra snorted. "Ass," she whispered, turning into Jace.

  "Seems I left my sympathy in my other uniform," Roan retorted.

  Jace's right hand fisted. Had Roan been anyone else, Jace would've punched him. His father didn't deserve such blatant disrespect. Sure, his father hadn't been perfect, but he wasn't a monster.

  This wasn't the Roan he re
membered. Callous. Sarcastic. This wasn't the Roan he wanted back.

  You bastards broke him.

  Forcing his fist open, Jace straightened. "And what about you? You officially know more about us than we do you. I know your name, but that's it. Where have you been? Why are you out here? Toronto's got no business poking their noses out this way, not anymore. They forfeited London." He pointed at Roan's face. "And what gives with this thing on your face? It doesn't make a lick of sense."

  Roan's jaw muscles flexed. "Not my idea. They flew me out here to handle some rogue element. Apparently people have been getting ideas; soldiers thinking they'd rather start their own army and tell the governtary to shove it. So they dragged out my sorry ass to put them back in their place. And I stare at walls all day. Unless they're giving me the keys to leave, I don't care what Toronto does." His lips tensed into a thin line as he pointed to his face. "And this? This is what you get when they think you're about as useful as an SUV, or a couch, or a goddamn button to keep their goddamn pants on. This reminds me every day that I am nothing. Now, clan leader, is there any other part of my business you'd like to stick your nose in?"

  Jace crossed his arms. "Yeah. How about telling me something real. Something more than a vague answer just so you can be the tough guy."

  "Like what, Jace? Huh? Like the truth of what happened? Like the fact I waited for Teach to save me, and in the end, they couldn't be bothered? I was a kid. They couldn't be bothered to save a kid."

  A warmth spread across Jace's face. "My father cared for you. He wasn't happy they took you. And Teach couldn't go up against the governtary, not then. Not now."

  Roan laughed. "Cared? Your clan left me. The clan I trusted. The people who helped raise me. Saved me. They left me to rot when it mattered most." He jabbed his finger towards Jace. "They saved your privileged ass and gave me to the very men they hated. What the hell does that say about your father? Your people? And now you're, what, going to welcome me back with a smile and expect that to make it all okay?"

  "Damn it, Roan, I'm trying to help you!" Jace shouted.

  "Try harder!" Roan yelled back. "You want to know where I've been? Locked in box, contemplating why I shouldn't just slit my throat. Is that real enough for you? Or would you like to talk about torture, like how they've used me in every way except to stuff a coffin." He flipped his shaking hand towards Cayra as she put space between her and Jace. "Maybe your wife wants to sit in, find out how to break a freak like me. And then maybe—maybe—you'll finally get why I'm not interested in telling you anything 'real'."

  Unable to form a response that wouldn't make Roan's face redden more, Jace stared at the black threadbare rugs covering the floor. This wasn't what he wanted, fighting with each other and laying blame. From the day they were separated, guilt ate at him, and he couldn't bear to tell anyone. Roan sputtering on made him feel worse. No one in the clan knew what the governtary actually did to Vens, but killing had always been one assumption.

  From the sounds of it, killing Roan would've been the merciful thing to do.

  "I'm—" Jace swallowed back the apology, blinking back his few tears. Telling Roan he was sorry was ridiculous. He'd said it twice. Both times, Roan didn't care. It was clear why.

  Roan hated him.

  The yelling. The exasperation. The callousness. Roan wanted to have nothing to do with him. Jace could apologize a million times, but Roan still wouldn't believe it. And maybe he was right not to believe. Jace wasn't innocent. This mess was his fault, not being strong enough to escape the sentries. He'd abandoned Roan as much as the rest of them.

  "Where will you go now?" Jace asked quietly, eyeing Cayra. She faced the back of the tent, folding the rest of the laundry and packing it away as though she were alone.

  "I'm not going back," Roan said. "I'm gone."

  Jace took a breath. "You can stay here, if you want."

  Roan snorted.

  "No, I'm serious. Look, you need a place. And wandering around the region probably won't help much, especially since not all the clans are sympathetic to Vens. Most of them are terrified. Keeping a Ven means welcoming the governtary to walk all over you. No one's willing to go that far."

  "What? So now I'm your charity case?"

  "What does it matter? You need a roof; we've got a tent. You need food and water; we've got enough to spare. You need to get away from them; we've got a chance to hide you. What part of this isn't good enough?" Hoping Roan didn't hit him, Jace stepped closer. "I won't kick you out. Stay until you find something better. Stay until you can't take it anymore. Just don't go do something stupid and get caught because you're pissed at me; at what happened. Because as horrible as it is, you didn't slit your throat. That says everything."

  Roan opened his mouth, closing it almost as quickly. "I can't do this. I just—" He spun on his heel and made his way to the tent entrance. "I'm done talking. If you need me, I'll be the freak by the fire pit."

  Before Jace could ask for clarification, Roan disappeared into the camp, leaving Jace to drown in silence as if Roan had never been there.

  03

  One day became two, then three. The days blended together.

  After a week, Jace was stunned to find Roan sitting on the stump closest to the small tent he'd been assigned. Every night, he imagined Roan would leave without saying goodbye.

  Not that it would change much. He hasn't said a word to me since he walked out. Jace stretched his arms behind his back, flicking his gaze away from Roan.

  Instead, he watched the children playing blind man's bluff near the unlit fire pit yards away. A small boy stood in the middle of the group, his eyes covered by a faded red handkerchief, his hands searching for the other children moving around him. The children fought to stay silent, their struggle apparent on their smiling faces, an occasional squeal betraying them whenever they got too close to the blindfolded boy.

  There was nothing more innocent to him than children playing and laughing on a sunny Saturday morning. It was everything Jace wanted for them, the children he'd promised to protect. They acted as if the world was perfect, untainted by the reality closing in around them.

  If only the world was that beautiful—that innocence didn't end. Beyond words and the will to stand up for them, Jace could offer the children nothing. It was no different than what he offered their parents, especially since the clan numbered one hundred people. His role as leader consisted mostly of verbal exchanges, on-the-fly announcements, and an overabundance of shit-maybe-we-should-talk meetings as opposed to awesome-we're-still-alive celebrations. Some days he toyed with the idea of appointing Cayra leader, instead, not that it would change anything except make it official. Without her help, he wouldn't have been even half as successful, and he admitted to it fully. Playing representative, arbitrator, liaison, consultant, and stalwart guide during stressful trips to the metropolises weren't jobs he'd ever admired.

  But he'd always admired her.

  If he had the power to change the status of the clans and piece the broken societies back together, maybe he would've enjoyed his leadership role more or avoided seeking relief in sarcasm.

  Then again, being a leader didn't suck half as much as Roan hating him. To offer love and humiliation then receive nothing but distrust and scorn was a pain he wished on no one, particularly the children giggling before him.

  Maybe it was just as well he and Cayra didn't have children. He'd never be able to watch his child's innocence rot away, jaded by truth and twisted with cynicism and fear.

  "Pre-economic collapse dollar for your thoughts," Cayra said from behind him, catching him off guard.

  Jace jumped aside. Holding out his arm to her, he welcomed her embrace. "Morning," he muttered into her hair, the dark orange strands bound in cornrows. "You're up late."

  Cayra shrugged, one strap of her green tank top slipping off her shoulder. "With the rain last night, I figured the plants could wait. I'll get to them shortly, anyway. We're getting a case of munchies on some of them
. Damn bugs."

  "Pretty sure they hate you, too, honey." Jace laughed, kissing her forehead.

  "And that's why I'm thinking of asking Roan if there's something he can do about exterminating them. Just a simple spell. Not a big one. Just a little one. Or at least give me the means to kill the little bastards before they eat all our stuff. Mama's losing her patience."

  Jace took a breath but didn't let it out. He eyed Roan. Still braiding rope, Roan barely lifted his head to check the passersby.

  "What?" Cayra followed his gaze before turning back, her lips pursed. "Too soon. He's still not talking to you, is he?"

  "Not a word. I don't even think he's looking at me. Avoiding me completely."

  "You know, it takes two to be in this… whatever it is. You should take the talk to him."

  "Or not." Jace gripped Cayra's hand in both of his. "He needs space. He needs to know he can do what he's got to do without me harassing him. It's not like I expected a peaceful reunion—I never expected a damn thing. And that's the problem. I don't know how to respond to this. I can't just force myself into his life and expect it to be okay. He's made it clear it isn't."

  "So sending everyone else to do the dirty work is?"

  "Hey, now, that's not fair," Jace argued, dropping Cayra's hand. "I asked a couple people to check on him and make sure he's got everything, that's it. Give him a tent. Tell him where the basic stuff is. Not even close to what I'm talking about."

  "And I think you're just rationalizing running away." Cayra pushed him back gently. "Talk to him. You're the one who said he could stay. Be a big boy and just try. And if you won't do it for me, do it for everyone else," she said, motioning to the camp. "They don't know what to make of him, except for the fact he could kill us all in our sleep. If you won't spend time with him, how are they ever supposed to trust him? They follow your example. You've invited him to stay with the wolves, love. He's as good as a free meal."

  "Cay, what are you—"

  "You know what I mean. Give him a chance to stay here without being the pariah—or not so obviously, anyway. Talk to him. Let people see you accept him. They'll eventually be willing to stop staring at him like he's something other than human."