Powerless: The Synthesis

by Jason Letts

Vern, deflated, slackened his pace.

  The students’ jaws dropped when they saw the strange creation before them. Toppled trees clumped together in haphazard fashion, forming piles and divots in the earth. Red footprints criss-crossed the course and led to mostly empty cans of paint lying along the edges. They spotted ropes and planks, chains and sheet metal. All together, they formed a jagged and unstable conglomeration.

  “Did you have to knock over so many pretty trees!?” Mary moaned.

  “Your goal is to make it through the day wearing as little red paint as possible. Just follow the arrows. The three students with the fastest times and the least paint will be captains for the Team Trial, the second competition of the year, which might not be as far away as it seems,” he said, noting the brisk wind. “Ok, let’s get started. Are you ready?” he called.

  “No,” the students responded, still carrying their packs and not entirely out of the forest.

  “Tough! Go!” he laughed.

  Everyone threw down their bags and scampered out into the uneven, perplexing terrain.

  “Oh, come on!” Dot howled, her foot sinking into a hidden hole and coming up covered in red paint. Fortst laughed heartily.

  “You’re only a few feet in! That’s not a good start.” The students kept a vigilant eye on each step as they ran through the short grass to what appeared to be the start of the course. Mira struck a comfortable stride and allowed herself to feel optimistic about the day’s challenge. Everyone would have to rely on their legs and their hands to get them through. Carefully dodging another pitfall, she even started to think about the possibility of being a team captain and how nice that would be considering her dreadful performance in the tournament trial.

  Rushing forward, the ground became sandier and they came to the first imposing obstacle, the bottoms of several overturned trees blocked their vision and reached up just over their heads. Red paint covered some of the roots leading up the wall.

  Kurt led the bulk of the students to the overturned tree’s base. Dennis and Chucky were already lagging far behind. Leaping at the roots, Kurt struggled to make his way up, eventually grasping a painted root to avoid falling back down to the ground. He wiggled and clamored his way up over the mound’s top only to let out a loud cry once he left sight. The next wave of students, Mira among them, peeked above the precipice and saw Kurt muddling his way forward with a sandy, red arm. They kept to the edges to avoid the deceptive looking sand between the tree trunks.

  The space between the parallel tree trunks looked like a pool of paint. Balancing themselves on the trunks, they navigated around branches that got in their way. Many of them already struggled for breath and slowed down.

  The sound of forceful air caught Mira’s ear and she turned back to see Will blow Jeremy into the trough. Splashing, Jeremy leapt at the other trunk but not before his legs and arms were covered. Glowering, he sent centipedes and moths erupting from the log to latch onto Will, who flailed wildly at them and barely avoided slipping into the pit.

  The scene struck her with alternating sensations of optimism and fear. Jeremy seemed to be the worst casualty thus far, but the threat of powers reminded her that the field was not as level as she thought. Noticing Aoi only a few paces behind her, Mira moved with a new urgency. Disappointed and spiteful wails came from the pack as more students struggled to avoid the red paint.

  After making it through the tops of the fallen trees, the students came to a mountain of rugged plant matter. Chains held trunks of various sizes, stripped of their branches, together. Kurt, still in the lead, scrambled up the disjointed heap. Trees shifted under his weight as he hopped from log to log. About to disappear over the top, he suddenly couldn’t muster any forward momentum. He strained to hold himself in place, and looked back in anger. Struggling against Vern, his fingers grasped the exterior of a tree. When the bark gave way, Kurt fell through the heap rather than back down it.

  Attempting to find stable footing, the next group of students peeked through the cracks to find Kurt waist deep in paint. He searched the perimeter for a space to crawl out. Vern, Roselyn, and Rowland pushed themselves up and up. Mira opted to scale a single trunk that led diagonally up toward the top. She put her weight on it, and it seemed to hold firmly. Her eyes on the closing gap between the first group, it startled her when the log beneath her suddenly shifted.

  Looking back, Aoi had the log in her hands. She began shaking it back and forth, which caused Mira to slip and clutch the log with her hands and legs.

  “Stop, please!” she yelled. Aoi rotated the log until Mira was on the bottom with nothing but a pool of paint beneath her. The log shook up and down, forcing her hands to lose their grip. She hung helplessly, legs wrapped around the log, staring down at the end of her hopes for being a captain. She struggled to keep her arms and hair out of the paint.

  But her legs held and Aoi soon began to scramble up herself. She passed Mira, still dangling from the log.

  “I thought you’d look good in red,” she taunted.

  Mira eventually pulled herself up. Seeing Will and Jeremy, fighting their way to her, she frantically scaled the hill. At the top, there was no safe place to go except into the branches of a large, still-standing tree. She leapt into the thick branches that the others had used before her, which now featured red streaks that stained her fingers.

  Climbing up and up, she looked for a suitable place to cross over to the next tree. She paused and glanced back at those behind her. A few students neared the top of the heap, though they looked exhausted and worn. The students who straggled before now sat on the fallen tree trunks and rested. One student in particular seemed to be covered in a slick, dark substance. Mira looked ahead to Aoi some ways above her. The prospect of passing her seemed grim, but she remained hopeful anyway.

  She swung among the tree limbs, listening to the sounds of those in front of her and not to her tired arms and legs. The ground was covered in paint, and so she hopped from branch to branch, tree to tree. Farther along, the ground became safe to walk on, and Mira lowered herself down. She dropped onto a narrow path, just avoiding prickly brambles on either side.

  Looking back again, she spotted a group of students, led by Kurt, who had elected to sacrifice their shoes and lower legs to the paint in order to save the time of climbing through the trees. Startled, she took off down the path at a break-neck pace. The trail swooped left and right, back and forth for much longer than Mira thought it would. Settling into a more sustainable pace, she pushed along the seemingly endless path. From her place on the trail, she couldn’t see anyone in front or behind her. The only paint here came from odd footprints.

  Seeing only a few spots and drips on her, Mira hypothesized that she must be close to the best in that respect. She’d kept a strong pace, and so she had to be gaining on the leaders too, who possessed no special endurance to her knowledge.

  Swinging around another bend, the trail suddenly split into three. Arrows pointed down each of the three trails. Jogging in place, she strained to figure out which was the correct trail. She quickly noticed that the trail on the left had no paint, the trail in the middle had some, and the trail to the right had paint on every surface, dripping from above, and covering the brambles and ground. Only a few stepping-stones appeared safe.

  Pressure swelled inside of her and her heart raced. “Which way?” she said aloud. Tracks led off in each direction, meaning that if she chose the right way she would be sure to advance a few places. She tried to think about what Fortst did.

  “He wouldn’t have wasted much time putting paint on a trail that wasn’t the right one, would he?”

  Satisfied with her logic, and hearing footsteps behind her, she went for the painted trail on the right. She hopped from stone to stone, unavoidably getting paint on her shoes. She almost lost her balance once, and so she had to reach out and put her hand on a bright red tree trunk. It felt disgusting, both because it made her fingers stick together and because it hurt her standing.


  She heard students at the intersection behind her. They too puzzled over which direction to take. She turned back and called to them.

  “It’s this way!” she hollered, thinking it better to have them behind her than possibly pick the right trail if she were wrong. They responded and took to the painted trail, which proved more difficult for them to navigate because only one student could fit on a stepping-stone at a time. Almost nearing the end, Mira heard an argument break out amongst them. If it led to a scuffle, they would surely be out of the game.

  Hopping over the last stretch of paint, she resumed her frantic pace. The trail turned to the left and immediately rejoined with the other splits in the path.

  “You can’t be serious!” she groaned. She took a quick but longing look at the paint-free left trail that she could have quickly and easily taken. Pushing down the path for another ten minutes, she felt like she did when she had run around the trails in the woods behind her home. Remembering the undulations, she picked up speed and felt like she could hold it forever.

  She wished her parents could come down to see her or she could run home for a snack. The trail straightened out and she saw Vern and Aoi in front of her. “Please start fighting,” she pleaded in her mind. Farther down the trail she could see Fortst and the finish.

  Mira sprinted after them as fast as her legs could carry her, but they were just too far ahead and there was not enough room to catch up. As she closed on the finish, she saw that Roselyn had finished first, and she watched Vern and Aoi pass Rowland in the final stretch.

  Crossing the line, she took a few hobbled steps and gasped for breath. Fortst seemed impressed with her finish though, and he gave her an encouraging cheer. Mira started scanning those who finished before her for paint to see if she might actually be ahead of them. Rowland had a fair amount on him, but the others seemed almost clean.

  “Mr. Fortst, did you say you would measure how much paint people had at the end of the race or the end of the day?” she asked.

  “We’ll do all that when we get back to the schoolhouse after lunch,” he said.

  A few more students made their way down the final stretch, and all those who had finished, except Mira, came over to cheer on their friends. Some of those coming in had red paint covering every inch of their bodies. After finishing, they tried to squeeze it out of their clothes. Slower students started coming in, those who were dead tired and those who had spent more time fighting than running. The class’s big men, Dennis and Chucky, came in long after, walking down the final stretch.

  “Yay!” they cheered, faking enthusiasm while Fortst gave them harsh glances. Chucky was covered in smeary, thick oil. Mira chuckled, realizing why everyone always called him “Mucky Chucky.”

  Now that everyone had returned, the students dug through their packs for lunch. Trying their best not to add a healthy amount of red paint to their food, they used leaves to help with the handling. Most of the students sat together in the short grass, avoiding the potholes, and a few sat in the shade. Mira sat alone up against the trunk of a tree. She nibbled at her food with her paint-free hand and watched the other students.

  After a while Aoi walked across her line of sight. Mira scrambled to put down her food and stand up.

  “It’s too bad all that strength can’t help you do something about those front teeth!”

  “What did you say?” Aoi said, astonished and stopping dead to turn and face Mira.

  “If you were any smaller people might mistake you for a rabbit.” Mira crossed her arms and stuck her chin out.

  “You never done anything so dumb in your whole life!” Aoi said, clenching her fists and striding up to Mira.

  “What’s that? No, I don’t have any cheese, little miss mouse,” she retorted, putting her hand to her ear.

  “You asked for it!” Aoi cocked her fist back and jerked it forward, but Mira ducked out of the way and Aoi’s punch struck the tree. The bark cracked and the tree shook. A bucket of paint, tied to the branch right above Aoi with a tape measure, shook loose and dumped its contents down on Aoi’s head. She froze in shock when the cold, wet substance splattered down on her head and shoulders. Everyone turned to look.

  “You better have another trick up your sleeve because you’re in big trouble now!” she screamed. But Mira did not have another trick, and her face turned grave and pale. Aoi effortlessly launched Mira through the air with a sideways push, which sent her flying into the trunk of another tree. She collided with it and came down hard on her ankle.

  Before she had time to move, Aoi was on her again. A terrifying look in her eyes, she cocked her fist back for another punch, but this time Forst stepped in. He caught her punch with one hand and lifted her by the stomach with the other. Aoi rocketed upwards, snapping a few twiggy branches and clearing the top of the tree by twenty feet.

  “No fighting!” Fortst bellowed, while Aoi’s ascension slowed. She hung weightlessly in the air for a moment before quickly falling back down into Fortst’s arms. He set her down and looked at the girls. Mira couldn’t get up and tears trickled down her cheeks, even though she restrained herself from any overt pouting.

  “What’s the problem here?” he said. “You better believe I’m not one to miss out on a fight, so the next one who starts anything will have to take me on as well!”

  Fortst looked to make sure all the students were listening, and Aoi returned to the group.

  “Ok, let’s pack everything up and head back to the school house!” he ordered. He started to walk away when Mira spoke up.

  “I can’t get up,” she said, muffling her sniffling. Fortst jerked back and took a look at her ankle, already red and swollen.

  “This looks serious. We’d better get you home as quickly as possible.”

  Carrying her on his shoulder, Fortst marched through the woods. The students, still wearing the paint they couldn’t rub off, followed behind. Arriving at the school, the students lined up so Fortst could announce the winners. At the end of the line, Mira sat down on the grass. Her nerves built up in anticipation of the results.

  “Everyone did a great job today. I’ll turn you lot into fearsome fighters yet! So, finishing in first place is Roselyn!” The students clapped weakly as Roselyn stepped out of the line to join Fortst. “For second place, Vern beat out Aoi by a hair. There you have it, the three captains for the team competition!”

  “Wait a second!” Mira burst out. “Aoi is soaked in paint and she couldn’t have finished more than fifteen or twenty seconds ahead of me! And Rowland only had me by ten seconds and he has a lot more paint too. How much paint equals how much time?”

  “Ehhh heh heh. That’s a good question,” Fortst said. He looked around sheepishly. “Enough to give you fourth place. Congratulations!”

  Trying to get out of this sticky situation as quickly as possible, he promptly dismissed the class. The students, excited about the weekend, ran in all directions as they gathered their things and prepared to leave. Mira, steaming, remained stranded on the ground.

  “The least you could do is carry me home!” she shouted. Up on his shoulder, the only thing that could distract her from the pain of her ankle was imagining ways to get back at the man who carried her. If he had to learn to take her seriously too, then so be it.

  Jeana met them upon Mira’s return and immediately flew into a raging panic.

  “What happened? Where did all this blood come from? How could you let this happen, Mr. Fortst? Of all the irresponsible things!”

  “It’s just paint, Mom, not blood. I did hurt my ankle though, and I can’t walk on it.”

  The bloodthirsty look that Jeana had made Fortst recoil with more discomfort than he had back at the schoolhouse.

  “Just wanted to make sure you got home ok. Great job today,” Fortst muttered, turning tail to run for it and not daring to look back.

  ***

  Mira couldn’t get out of bed the next morning. It didn’t help that the pain prevented her from staying asleep no m
atter how many times her mother worked her magic on her. Restlessly, she twisted and turned but couldn’t find a comfortable position. She wished for anything, anything that would make the pain go away.

  Soon the darkness receded from her room and the sun shone through the window. Jeana said she would run into town, dragging the healer against her will if necessary. While waiting for her mother to return, Kevin kept her company, feeding her breakfast and playing silly games with her.

  “Finally!” Mira exclaimed when she heard the front door open. Creaking steps meant they were ascending the stairs, and soon Jeana and another woman entered Mira’s bedroom.

  “Hi, I’m Nora the healer,” the other woman said. She only had hair on the left side of her head, the length of which gradually increased the closer it got to her ear.

  “Hi,” Mira replied, barely able to look away from her ragged, patchy hair.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Nora asked.

  “My ankle has transformed into a tomato. Ok, that was a joke. Sorry. It just really hurts and I think it’s broken,” she said.

  “Ok, well either way I have just the thing for you,” she said.

  “How do you heal, exactly?” Jeana asked.

  “It’s pretty simple. She just needs some of my protein.” Nora took a pair of scissors out of her pocket and cut a hunk of hair from her head. She held the clump of scraggly hair in her hand.

  “I recommend you cook it in something so it goes down easier.”

  “How interesting,” Jeana said.

  “Are you saying I need to eat that for my ankle to get better? I don’t think so!”

  “Yes, it is interesting,” Nora replied to Jeana. “But you know I heard that with the healer in Darmen all you have to do is get in some water with him to be healed.”

  “How far away is Darmen? Let’s go there!” Mira pleaded.

  “Oh, it’s much too far,” Jeana said. “This is your best option.”

  “You know, the body does heal itself. I could just wait it out.”

  Nora looked at the inflamed ankle and stuck out a finger to poke it.