Alysha's Fall

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Laelkii crouched across from her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see the Harat-Shar,” she said.

  The older woman started. “Not the one with the claw swipes . . . oh . . . Alysha—”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. We were in practice. We were supposed to be fighting.”

  “Sun and stars,” Laelkii murmured. “We’re lucky you didn’t stop the boy’s heart with those knives in your hands.” She touched Alysha’s knee. “Arii, are you okay?”

  “I’m not worried about me.”

  “Still . . . ”

  “Please, Laelkii.” Alysha’s ears lowered. “Not here.”

  “Later then,” the woman said. “I’m assisting this shift. Let’s talk after?”

  Alysha hesitated, then nodded. In some ways it was a relief to have at least one person on campus who knew both her lives, and condemned her for neither. “I’d like that.”

  Laelkii smiled, touched her cheek. “Go easy on yourself.” She stood and padded back into the Medplex.

  The healers admitted Alysha ten minutes later. She hesitantly approached Baner’s bedside. The student’s chest had three strips of patchtape from collarbone to the end of his ribs. She was relieved to find the haloarch open; the doctor would have left it closed had it been necessary to monitor vital signs or maintain any fields.

  “Baner?” she said, hushed.

  He lifted his head, then let it drop back. “Angels, Alysha. Remind me not to make you angry.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, touching his hand. “I . . . it wasn’t you.”

  He smiled a little. “I figured.”

  Her ears dipped. “Baner . . . ”

  “Look, we don’t have to talk about it. I’ve been enough places to have seen reactions like that.”

  Alysha seesawed between panic and surprise. “You’re not angry at me?”

  “Inverses, no! If anything, I’m worried.” He grinned. “But you didn’t hear me say that.”

  “I’m fine,” she said firmly.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  They stared at one another for a few minutes, then Alysha left. She couldn’t guess what he suspected, but she didn’t dare ask. Her secrets had to remain her own if she wanted to stay at the Academe.

  “And then he just looked at you?”

  “Like he didn’t believe me,” Alysha said, hissing. “Careful there.”

  Laelkii nodded, skirting the area and moving higher. She settled white hands on Alysha’s upper back and resumed the massage. “So he suspects something.”

  “I guess he’d be stupid not to. How many people do you know launch into berserk rages while sparring in school?” Alysha asked wearily. The remains of a light lunch littered the blanket near them, and the somnolence of the afternoon, the play of dappled shadows over her body and Laelkii’s hands on her shoulders dissipated the tension that had held her alert all morning. Working nights left her exhausted—only fear of discovery kept her awake through the day.

  “I wonder how much, though,” Laelkii mused. “It’s unusual for Harat-Shar to be aware of sexual dysfunction. . . . It’s not a common occurrence among them. It’s more likely that he thinks someone beat you up. Whatever the case, I seriously doubt he thinks it’s ongoing. It only takes one traumatizing event to imprint that kind of behavior on a person.”

  Alysha shivered as the older woman’s hands fingered a knot at the base of her neck. “Maybe I worry too much.”

  “Maybe you do.”

  “West probably thinks I’m some sort of loose cannon. . . . ”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” Laelkii said, pressing her thumbs against the base of the girl’s skull. “West is older than us both and has probably packed twice the experience into those years. They didn’t pluck him out of retirement to teach kids for his good looks. He’s got a sharp eye for what makes people run.” She paused to work more lotion into her fingers. “You couldn’t ask for a better mentor.”

  “A loud, intense and inscrutable mentor old enough to be my father?”

  Laelkii chuckled. “Oh yes. Trust me, it could be worse. He could be a quiet, intense and inscrutable mentor old enough to be your father. Then he’d steal your heart. The quiet ones always do.”

  The wind filled in the silence, and Alysha let it even as she felt the trembling of Laelkii’s body through the woman’s fingers. She let her voice rise under the wind. “Does it still hurt as much as it did?”

  Laelkii’s hands pressed flat to her lower back and rested there, then resumed their motion. “It’s not as bad. I go for days without thinking of him, until I see something that reminds me of him . . . a flower he used to pick for tea, a barrette he gave me. I still miss him, but wounds heal. Slowly, but they heal.”

  “I’m glad,” Alysha said in a low voice.

  “Me too,” Laelkii said, bending over to kiss the base of her spine affectionately. “Just goes to show you inscrutable mentors don’t necessarily come in packages old enough to be your parents.”

  Alysha chuckled. “Yes, mom.” She ducked the light swat with a grin.

  Alysha exercised a tight control on herself in the following days, determined to avoid repeating the incident with Baner. She was aware of West’s scrutiny at the oddest times: pulling a blow, rubbing hands that ached with the strain of holding in her claws, staying on the ground a little longer than normal when struck. It was difficult to hold energy when she was spending it all trying not to hurt customers at work, then going directly to school and trying not to hurt students in PhysEd. Four hours of sleep barely fueled her. She found herself drooping in class, and her grades sagged with her heavy head.

  Baner’s return from the Medplex greatly cheered her, and his ease around her, while it puzzled her, relaxed the other students again. Grateful for his banter, Alysha lost some of her anxiety and enjoyed class again, despite her exhaustion.

  “Good morning, Alysha.”

  “Baner . . . ” She twisted to look up at him. She paused, then let out her breath and smiled. “Good morning.”

  He dropped next to her and grinned. “That took a lot out of you coming. I was half-hoping it would be something a little more meaningful. Like maybe, ‘Baner, you handsome devil, why don’t you stop by my bunk tonight?’”

  She laughed. “You never do stop trying, do you.”

  “It would be conduct unbecoming for a Harat-Shar.”

  Alysha tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. “Baner, I wanted to thank you. For . . . not avoiding me after I nearly put a hole in you.”

  “Three holes, actually. I wanted to keep the manly-looking scars to charm the ladies, but the healers would have nothing of it.”

  Alysha blushed. “Baner—”

  “Seriously, arii. I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He grew quiet, watched two of their classmates jog past. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the world’s unkind because people are unkind. Maybe we’re all so afraid of being hurt that we hurt others—preemptive action, to take away people’s power to hurt just in case they were thinking of using it. If that’s true . . . well, it would be pretty sad, and I wouldn’t want to be part of it.” He patted her shoulder and stood. “See you in practice.”

  “Yeah,” she answered, and watched him stride away. A grin flitted over her full lips—he would make a good captain one day. And a handsome one. Chuckling softly, she went back to rubbing oil into her foot pads.

  Alysha was about to step into her quarters for a nap before work when Laelkii rounded the corner.

  “Laelkii?” she said, startled when the woman stopped and the tracks of tears caught the light from the overheads. “Laelkii! What is it?”

  “Alysha . . . I don’t know what happened, I must have misplaced it and I can’t find it . . . my picture. My picture of Nathan. It’s gone!”

  “Gone? I can’t imagine you misplacing something like that,” Alysha said, frowning.

  “Pl
ease, arii, will you help me look for it?”

  Alysha caught her elbow. “Of course! Let’s go.”

  Laelkii led the way down the hall to freshman territory and into her assigned room. Her half had been rummaged, the blankets mussed. Open drawers attested to Laelkii’s previous attempt.

  “You looked already?”

  “Everywhere . . . I can’t find it!”

  “Sssh,” Alysha said, touching the woman’s face. “Don’t. We’ll find it.” She turned. “It has to be here somewhere.”

  Together they resumed searching for the picture. Alysha remembered it: a viseo snapshot of the Tam-illee foxine in a short blue cloak. The wind had ruffled his hair and the edges of his clothing, and there had been a vitality and spontaneity to the man’s pose that strongly recalled his personality. Nathan had not often relaxed enough to show it off, but he’d had a dazzling smile. Laelkii had painstakingly sorted through a viseo of them until she’d frozen the shot. She could do it again, but chances were she’d never quite catch the same moment.

  Cadet quarters were small. Alysha and Laelkii went through the space twice before Laelkii sat on her bunk and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Balance, it’s gone.”

  “Are you sure you misplaced it?” Alysha asked.

  “What else could I have done?”

  Alysha glanced at the empty hall, ears flattening. “Nothing. But someone might have taken it.”

  “Taken it?” Laelkii stared at her. “But who . . . you don’t mean that marauder, do you? Why would he bother stealing an old woman’s picture?”

  “When was the last time you saw it?”

  “A few days ago. . . . I took it out to look at it.” Laelkii looked at her knees. “Sometimes I do that, just to feel him again. You know.” She took in a long, thin breath. “Then I put it back in the drawer. I remember doing it. Maybe . . . maybe it was stolen. Why, though, Alysha?”

  “I don’t know,” Alysha said, sitting next to her.

  “I just want my picture back,” Laelkii said softly, leaning against her. “I . . . I have others. But that one meant something to me.”

  “I know,” Alysha said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. “We’ll get it back.”

  Laelkii nodded, sniffled. The tiny sound knotted Alysha’s stomach.

  The anger rode with her through the alleys a few hours later. An early spring rain had washed the city’s corners, and Alysha avoided the puddles on her way to Phantasies more out of habit than attention. The picture fit the marauder’s pattern; he tended to sneak away with small, personal items easily carried in a hand, never worth too much money but always meaningful to the people who owned them.

  Alysha stopped at the back door of the club to rest her forehead against the wall. The cool, humid air brushed her cheeks, pushed by a small breeze down the alley. Her anger would not serve her at work. Control—always control. She drew in a breath and opened the door, padding down the hallway.

  The sound of weeping drew her ears immediately. Alysha stopped at the dressing room.

  On a purple couch, Angel sat hunched over a data tablet, her wings drooping onto the cushions. Her sobs had a familiar violence, the wracking sound of a grief too large to fit into quieter, more polite tears. Alysha slipped to the edge of the couch and sat on the floor, resting a hand on the Malarai’s knee. “Angel?”

  “Steel,” the girl said, gulping. “Steel, oh, Naemfili, my uncle . . . my uncle is dead!”

  Alysha hadn’t even known Angel had an uncle, but she reached to the girl and drew her down into her arms. Angel clutched her, fingers digging into her shoulders and back, and sobbed into her neck. Alysha pet the spiral curls and held on, waiting for the paroxysms to fade. Then, softly, “Uncle?”

  “My uncle . . . he was sick. I was paying his bills with this job. Now he’s gone. . . . ”

  “Arii!” Alysha drew back, eyes wide. “Does that mean . . . that means you can leave!”

  Angel trembled. “I guess so.”

  “Guess so?” Rispa had long ago escaped, her journey funded by Alysha’s earrings. That Angel too might fly the cage set Alysha’s heart racing. Honey didn’t mind the work. The Harem Rose was already so broken her rehabilitation would require professional aid, and even then might not help her return to society. Cinnamon . . . no one knew what Cinnamon wanted. But Angel . . . Angel could still be saved. “Arii! You have to leave!”

  “But I have nowhere to go! I have nothing! Steel, my uncle was my only family. I sold everything we had to pay for his treatment. When I ran out of that, I . . . I came here.” Angel lifted her eyes to Alysha’s, said with remarkable calm, “I sold myself. But now there’s nothing left. I have no money, no home, no family. I don’t even have any real work experience. Any education past finishing school.”

  Alysha could see the Malarai talking herself out of freedom with every word, couldn’t stand it. “Angel!” She shook the girl’s shoulders. “Angel, stop! Stop talking that way! I have money, enough for you to go somewhere, set yourself up. It won’t be enough for school, but it’ll be enough to live for a while until you get your bearings.”

  “You would do that for me?” Angel whispered. “Steel, that money . . . ”

  “I know,” Alysha said, touching her lips. She didn’t want to hear the girl name how she’d earned the money. “But I want you to do it. I want you to get away from here.”

  “Steel—”

  “Please, Angel.”

  The Malarai swallowed, then her chin lifted and her gaze steadied. She cleared her throat. “My name is Liset, Line Insendere.”

  “Liset,” Alysha said. She smiled softly. “I’m Alysha Forrest.”

  Honey’s voice cut the silence. “Steel! Steel, where are you? You’re up in ten minutes!”

  “Pack whatever you want to take tonight and wait for me in the dressing room,” Alysha said. “I’ll slip out between my back room customers and get the money to you just before I leave. Okay?”

  The Malarai nodded, her ringlets bouncing around her face. She rested her hands on her knees, and her gaze remained steady—clear, despite the glistening marks that painted her cheeks. She was already shedding the mien that had served her in Phantasies, and the new one replacing it set a-flame a fierce pride in Alysha.

  She danced that night without her customary contempt. Triumph made it difficult even to acknowledge the costumes, the stage, the people inhabiting her back rooms. Her errand to the bank, where a sleepy teller ran her through her ID checks with the boredom of the graveyard shift-worker, briefly brought her back to the gray world. The sixteen coins in her hand were worth fifteen hundred fin—all of her paltry savings, built against the tuition hike forecast for next year. But she could earn that money again. It was worth the humiliation, the shame and anger in the back rooms, just to know that Angel had flown free.

  She returned to find her final customer not scheduled for another half an hour. Bag of coins in hand, she ducked into the dressing room to find Angel alone and asleep. The Malarai had turned down the lights and rested on the couch, wings awkwardly curled around her body. She cradled a small pouch in her arms and whispered as she dreamed, a faint frown marring her brow.

  Alysha sat beside Angel’s head and ran her fingers through the girl’s hair. She glanced through the room, satisfying herself that they really were alone, then she leaned down until her lips hovered near Angel’s ear. She sang then, in a low, soft alto, a lullaby in Meridan, from the set she’d translated for the library before her graduation from finishing school . . . one of the ones that reminded her of her father. An Exodus lullaby, for another Pelted refugee fleeing an intolerable place for freedom, and the stars.

  Will you come back again?

  Will you come back again?

  Not today, she said.

  Not tomorrow, she said.

  Not a thousand thousand days from ever.

  That was Holly’s whisper.

  Holly’s whisper.

  Angel’s brow had smoot
hed by the end of the lullaby, and Alysha remained beside her, stroking the gold curls back from the girl’s face. She left the bag of coins in Angel’s open hand before leaving to attend her final customer.

  When she glanced back into the room on her way to the Academe, Angel was gone. Alysha smiled, closed her eyes, and the warmth in her lasted all the way to her bunk in the barracks where, curled with her cheek against the pillow Rispa had made for her, she slept without dreams, without nightmares.

  “Ready for a little more sparring, arii?”

  Alysha glanced up at Baner. “Do you have to have so much energy in the morning?”

  Baner thumped his chest. “Nothing like exercise to give you a good night’s rest! I’m sure you could use a little exercise yourself. I know just the kind that makes for a nice, deep sleep. . . . ”

  “Oh, Baner!” Alysha said, laughing despite herself.

  “Better. You looked half-asleep there, and you know West would just jump on you like a buzzard on a binghound with that dazed look in your eyes.” Baner leaned against the back of the bench, squinting at the grounds. Several classes were doing their warm-ups, and a few of their year-mates had hit the practice mat early, working through the techniques West had taught them the day before. “Rumor is he’s going to toss another couple into the arena again.”

  There had been no arena fights since her unfortunate episode with Baner earlier. Alysha’s ears pinned back. It was hard to be upset after Angel—no, Liset’s flight the previous night, but thinking of the arena pinched her mood. “I’m sure they’ll do well.”

  “As long as it’s not us,” Baner said, grinning at her. “A fifteen-foot square is no place for a man to straddle a girl. Unless it’s a square of pillows, and the whole family’s invited.”

  Alysha’s ears skewed. Idle comments like that made her realize how Honey could survive Phantasies with an unruffled soul. “Baner . . . ”

  “Sorry,” he said, and there was honest apology in his voice.