by Lucy Smoke
After the religious representative that Vincent had insisted be flown in on airship directly from Arawn says a few words, he nods for the dock workers who will wait for the machine carrying Kida’s body to return, to back away from the end of the docks. I stand at the edge of the docks and watch as the impure air far below the sky villages and cities activates the embers beneath Kida’s body and the fire escapes and consumes her. It’s merely a spec in the distance. I can’t make out anything other than a golden-red dot. I stand there all the same. Hollow.
Vincent strides up to my back, the cologne he put on in the morning alerting me to his presence. “I must see to the attendees,” he says thickly.
I nod my head but can’t bring myself to reply. A part of me is bitterly angry that he’s not standing at the edge with me watching the last that we will ever see of Kida. I know, though, that even with the Tanks under control for a change, there is still unrest that Vincent must calm. In the days following Kida’s death, he and Penelope have been exceedingly kind and understanding toward me. More so than anyone. Kida has been my entire life. I will respect their duties. I will respect them.
Vincent leaves, his booted feet hitting the metal landing of the dock with echoes that pick up a beat in my head, pounding against my skull. I know that Oren is dead and wherever his body is, I can’t seem to care. At least I know that there is one less evil in the world even if he was likely my only living blood relative. He did teach me an important lesson. Oren, Kida, Vincent, Penelope, Aaron, Noaz, Thayer, Levi, and Haze all did. Loyalty and love are thicker than blood.
“Let the dead bury the dead, Cassandra.” Noaz’s distinct voice comes barreling into the silence of my solitude at the end of the docks.
“I don’t know what that means,” I admit as he comes to a stop beside me.
“It means that you need to leave the past where it is and move forward. Mourn. Grieve. But don’t stay stagnant.”
“What would you know about grief?” I ask. Though it may sound bitter to an outsider, he knows I’m not being cruel or short. I’m truly curious. He relies so much on facts and it’s odd to hear him spout such prosaic conjecture.
“I know quite a bit about it,” he assures me. “And no, not merely from reading.” His smile is small and slightly amused at having given me an answer before I had the chance to ask. He enjoys that.
“Where from then?” I ask.
“Family has a way of disappointing the people within its frame,” he says. “Many of my family still live and yet, not a single one of them cares to know whether I’m alive or dead.”
It’s a sad story, but not at all unheard of in Tartarus. Where Noaz is from, though, I expected better. In my mind, Arawn and the other cities are true civilization. It seems civilization isn’t necessarily a place or even the people within those places. It’s a dream that doesn’t seem to exist anymore.
“I feel grief, not because they have physically moved beyond, but because to them I am dead and to me, they are no longer family.”
“Moved beyond?” I repeat, focusing on his wording. “I didn’t take you for the religious sort.”
After a long moment of silence—so long in fact, that I begin to wonder if he didn’t hear me or if he will never respond—he finally speaks.
“We all die, Cassandra. Every single one of us will be lowered back to Earth where our kind began, and we will all be ashes by the time we finally hit the ground. For a long time, I believed I would make that journey far sooner than most and I had to console myself in some way. No, I’m not of the religious sort.” He pauses, turning to face me. I do the same. “I am, however, the sort that needs to be comforted because not only do we all die, we all fear death, we fear the unknown.”
“I’m scared,” I admit as the last of his words echo around us. They hit me deep within, punching a hole through a wall I didn’t realize that I had built. “I’m scared to live without her. I’m scared of being alone. How do I console myself knowing that she’s gone forever?”
His smile now isn’t amused, it’s filled with sorrow and empathy. Not pity, thankfully. I couldn’t handle that. “You don’t need to console yourself,” he says. “You have us.”
Behind him, Thayer, Levi, Aaron, and Haze all stand in their white dress shirts and slacks watching us. Aaron comes forward the moment our eyes meet, and the rest follow behind. Before I know it, I’m surrounded by five sets of arms as loving and caring as the arms that I will never have hold me again.
Though it’s not the same, I am grateful for the way they hold me up when it finally slams into me that I’ll never see Kida again. I’ll never kiss her, be kissed by her, hold her hand. She’s gone. Forever.
Peaceful Eyes: Sky Cities Series Book 1.5
“When all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”
― E.A. Bucchianeri
Dark Dreams
I stare out across the chrome, metal, and glass that make up the vast city of Tartarus. My heart lies barren and decaying on the floor before me. Not literally, of course, but it might as well be. On the bed, the picture of Kida and I that I took back from my wrecked pod sits face up. It’s been there for what feels like days.
I haven’t left Vincent’s penthouse since the funeral. The city is too dangerous right now. Penny has been confined here as well, at least until the baby is born. She’s not happy about it, but Vincent worries that she’ll be next. Kida hadn’t been the intended target, but her loss was no less staggering. A lone tear slides down my cheek before I realize it’s there and I brush it away, sniffing hard and sucking down the breath.
It’s okay to grieve, I remind myself, but I can grieve without any more tears. I’ve already cried enough. I don’t want to cry anymore.
“Rocket?”
I gasp as Aaron’s voice intrudes on my solitude and more tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. I choke on a reply and quickly wipe them away before I turn towards him. I stride across the room, grab the image and move it to the bedside table, closing it in the top drawer. Once her face is no longer watching me in the background, the pressure on my chest lifts slightly.
Aaron, big and imposing, takes up almost the entirety of the doorway. He takes one look at my splotchy and tear-stained face and his eyes soften. He approaches me slowly, with gentle care—the giant Sky Rover and the little mess of a Rocket, chipped, beaten, and broken. Aaron goes on bended knee before me and takes my face in his large hands.
“Oh, Rocket,” he says quietly, “no more tears, she wouldn’t want you to suffer so deeply.”
I let out a small, watery laugh. “I know.” I look back to the side, though he keeps my face between his rough palms. I can’t help it. My gaze is drawn to the city. Tartarus. It has been both my home and my prison for so long.
I don’t know how long we sit there—my eyes on Tartarus, Aaron’s warm palms pressed to my dried cheeks—but when we pull away from each other, someone else has joined us in our quiet reverie. Levi stands just slightly back from us, an enigmatic expression on his face. I sniff once again as Aaron pulls away.
“Noaz wants us in the study,” he says before turning on his heel.
Aaron casts me a look with those dark blue irises that nearly swallow his pupil—or maybe not… his eyes are so dark, sometimes I can’t even tell.
I get up and follow him into the hallway. When we reach the study, it’s clear that we weren’t the only ones to be called in. Everyone is here. Even Penelope, who sits on Vincent’s lap. Today she has an unusually quiet disposition; so very different from the bubbly little spitfire I have come to know. Then again, no one has been in much of a lively mood since the funeral. Not even her. Aaron takes my hand as we enter the study, and though a part of me—the independent part—wants to snatch my hand back, I don’t. I need the contact, crave it even. It makes me feel less alone. I’ve even taken to sleeping in Aaron’s room lately. Or Haze’s. Or Thayer’s. None of them have turned me away; not after that first night after the funeral. I still rem
ember it with a biting chill.
Darkness. Frozen fingers reaching for me, dragging me into a deep cavern of pitch and tar. I can feel ice racing along my flesh, eating at the living molecules in my skin. I gasp for breath and yet, feel nothing in my lungs. Is this death? Am I dead?
No, I can’t be. Because if I was dead, then I’d be with Kida. I just know it. I know, deep down, that if I die right now, I will be with her. I want that more than anything else in this world. The world could swallow me whole, sweep ice into my arteries… anything. So long as I end up in Kida’s arms at the end of it all. I’ll take whatever the world dishes out and I’ll take it with a smile because soon, it wouldn’t matter.
I can’t wait to feel her cheek against mine. Her lips touching my face—my forehead, my nose, my own chapped, lifeless lips… lifeless? Yes, that’s what I will be if I let death take me now. I’ll be without life. I’ll be like Kida. That’s what I want.
But, is it what she would have wanted?
I gasp, not recognizing the voice. It’s deeper, foreign. I turn over, away from it, seeking the frost once more as a burning heat touches my spine and lights a path down my back.
Do you really want to die, Cassandra?
Yes, I answer. There’s nothing left for me here in this world. I don’t have Kida and therefore, I have no hope. No family. No future.
That’s not true, though, is it? the voice argues, becoming clearer. It isn’t completely unfamiliar now. It is… new… but not unknown.
Please, I say, just go away. Let me die.
I can’t do that, Cassandra. You were meant to live. Now, wake up.
What? But even as I question his command, my eyelids flutter open.
Noaz’s dark eyes glitter down at me as I lie, alone, in my bed. Tears stain my cheeks and my pillow. A spot of blood drips onto the sheets and air shudders into my chest, tight and restrained. In my sleep, I had scratched myself until I bled. I look around, and the room reflects the state I’d been in when we had returned from the docks, from letting Kida’s body return to Earth. The carnage reflects the turmoil of my emotions.
The dresser had been turned over in a fit of helpless raging grief. There is shattered glass on the floor, broken shards—from where I don’t know. I hardly remember returning to this room or falling asleep at all.
Noaz doesn’t say anything more as he helps me out of the bed and takes me to the bathroom to clean my scratches and quickly spray them with medicine that will enable faster healing.
When silent tears keep falling from my eyes, he doesn’t berate me. He simply picks me up and, instead of taking me back to my room, takes me to Thayer’s. Thayer answers the door looking haggard and tired. He’s dressed in nothing but low-hanging, hip-hugging, synthetic cotton sweats. One look at me, though, and Thayer straightens and casually accepts me from Noaz’s arms. I am too far beyond the point of understanding, and I don’t think to ask where Noaz is going when he leaves me with Thayer. I only know that exhaustion is pulling me under and I’m afraid. I’m afraid to fall asleep for fear of what I’ll do to myself in my sleep. For fear of the dark dreams that will seek me out and attempt to pull me back under. I shudder in Thayer’s arms.
It’s only later that I learn where Noaz went; back to my room to clean it up. He had swept the glass from the floor, righted the dresser, and stripped the blood and tear stained sheets from the bed. I haven’t been back to that room since.
“Thank you all for coming,” Noaz says, pulling my attention back to the present. I squeeze Aaron’s hand as the door closes behind us.
“What’s this about?” Haze asks, taking a seat on one of the chairs in front of Vincent’s desk. He slumps down, looking just as tired as the rest of us. Thayer moves over to my side and takes my other hand.
Noaz’s eyes flutter over the three of us before he turns back to the majority. “The Architect is dead.”
I don’t blink. I don’t even move. What is one more death to me now? But I’m the only one that has that reaction. I guess I’m the only one who feels this hollow—like a pinpricked, rare chicken egg with the yolk all dribbled out through that small hole in my fragile shell. That shell is all that remains, and I gaze out of it, watching as Haze’s eyes widen and Thayer pulls away to move towards the desk. Even Levi looks shocked and worried. Vincent looks pensive, thoughtful even, but unsurprised. He already knew, I deduce.
“What does that mean?” Levi asks as he steps up next to Aaron.
I know I should worry about the two of them—knowing how Aaron feels about him… knowing how Levi feels about… us? I don’t even have a clue why I’m trying to think of that right now.
“It means,” Noaz announces, “that we have our work cut out for us.”
“He was murdered—an intended assassination hit.”
“Because of what he knew about the cities failing.” I say this so quietly, even I’m a little shocked that the words actually left my lips. I guess even in the midst of bone-wearying grief, I have to feel useful.
Vincent nods, though, cementing my belief that he knew beforehand of Archie’s death. “Someone’s trying to cover it up.” Vincent’s hand moves over Penelope’s as it rests on her ever-expanding stomach.
“Who would do that?” Thayer asks.
“Someone who obviously knew what he knew,” Noaz answers.
“So, what are we going to do about it?” Haze asks.
Noaz looks over the group of us—from Aaron and me, to Thayer, Levi, and Haze. “We’re going to Corvallis,” he says.
There’s a beat of silence from everyone in the room. Even I’m a little shocked. I expected something grand, but not a trip to another city—somewhere I would have leaped at the chance to go a mere few weeks ago. Now, it’s like my dreams are coming true, and the one person I planned those dreams with won’t be with me. I direct my gaze to the floor, even as Noaz continues talking.
“Vincent and I have discussed this at length, and it would be wise of us to travel to each of the cities—Corvallis, Basra, Bath, and Dendera—as ambassadors.”
“Not Arawn?” Levi asks suspiciously.
Noaz shakes his head. “Not yet,” he replies sternly. “We’re purely on a fact-finding mission. Vincent has been kind enough to garner meetings with each governor of the cities, but not all of us will be attending. When the Architect died, he had a message geared up to send to Vincent. The information is a bit dated. It seems he had it set up more than several months ago, and every week—unless he checked in and typed in a passcode—it was ready to send. If he missed a passcode check in, it would automatically send. We only discovered it a few days ago.”
“How long has he been dead?” I find myself asking and lift my head to meet Noaz’s gaze.
Strong, but unreadable eyes meet mine. Noaz remains unwavering. “I’m sorry, Cassandra, but the coroner’s report suggests that he was killed not long after you last saw him.” Another blow to my chest. I’m shocked that I’m not bleeding out over Vincent’s luxurious study. “We’ll be leaving for Basra in a month when the next official airship docks.”
“Until then,” Vincent says, “you will be in training. I know this has been a difficult time.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that when he looks across the room and his eyes linger on me that he knows I’m the one having the most difficulty. “But, I want all of you in top shape. The other cities are vastly different from Tartarus. I know some of you are familiar with a few of them, but none of you—aside from Noaz—is familiar with all of them. As such, starting tomorrow, you will go into training with Noaz as your guide.”
Thayer groans loud and grievously, for which Haze casts him a raised eyebrow. Vincent ignores him, but Penelope’s passive expression comes to life just a little bit when her lips twitch. Thayer’s groan can only mean that I’ll have more than enough reason to sleep like the dead at the end of every day for the next month. I physically flinch at the poor wording of my own thoughts. Aaron notices and looks down at me curiously, but I avoid his gaz
e easily enough, dropping his hand and stepping closer to Vincent’s desk. I cross my arms, barely resisting the urge to rub away the chill from my skin, despite the high-tech heating and cooling system that Vincent has installed.
“The training is for more than keeping our bodies in shape, isn’t it?” I ask.
Everyone looks at Vincent and Noaz expectantly. Noaz is the first to speak. “Things are shifting,” he says. “There is something on the horizon that we must be aware of. Powerful players are putting pawns on a chessboard. The training is to get everyone focused on the future rather than the past. The Tanks were only a small part of what we’re looking at. They were backed by someone much more influential. They, too, were merely pawns in this game that has already begun.”
A red flashing sign may as well be strung up over his head, screaming Danger! Danger! I can see it just as clearly as if it were actually there. Archie’s death and, subsequently, Kida’s are mere events in response to a game of chess that has already started. I look at Vincent and, for the first time in several days, I feel something rush to the surface. I feel a purpose. Even if I have to become a pawn myself—Vincent Diamond’s pawn—I will. It will be vengeance meted out in the best of ways. But more than that, I have a feeling that what we will be doing will be crucial to the way the world will shift.
I nod to both Noaz and Vincent, assenting to their request, then turn and leave the study. I make my way through the hallways of Vincent and Penelope Diamond’s penthouse, not quite sure where I’m heading until I find myself there.
It’s my room—or at least the room that has been designated for me. I haven’t been back for more than changing my clothes since the night after Kida’s funeral. I’m hesitant to enter, knowing that I’ll force myself to stay this time—force myself to endure more nightmares, because it seems that only when I’m wrapped up in someone else’s arms can I forget all the pain, destruction and loss.
I don’t even feel like I resemble myself anymore. Gone is the girl who climbed the outside of a building. Gone is the girl who risked it all to find Kida. Gone is the woman Kida had made me into. I don’t know that person anymore. I’m just… nothing now. I feel nothing. I am devoid of the sharpness and steel that Kida had managed to forge within me. I’m empty, hollow, and I let that sensation consume me as I tumble into the waiting bed, ready for unconsciousness to take me. Because it’s not sleeping. Sleep would be too kind. No. What I experience in my guilty nightmares is pure, undiluted torture.
