Revolutionary Veins

by Rey Balor

  When she woke, there was no sudden start and no disorientation that threatened to overwhelm her. There was only the echo of life and death on her mind and the growing need to do something. She turned over, prepared to wake Illias, but his spot was empty. Theo dozed nearby, but the sounds of her quiet snores did little to reassure Olena. Half of her had gone, and the frustration that was left in his wake acted like poison.

  Standing to her feet with her furs, she realized that it was still the early hours of the morning, and the rest of the camp would be dozing for a while more. Training was always better in such silence, and although those in the Citadel believed the wolflings trained only by howling at the moon, they had to evolve during wartimes in ways the chained-folk would not believe. It was a constant realization, hanging above the heads of the Erie-folk as they worked — to survive the onslaught of the ways of the city, they had to adopt their very methods.

  Yes, they trained, but their training was far more wild. There were no instructors, barking orders and stripping those under their command of individuality. They simply met together, learning skills from each other that would aid in their survival. It was a communal affair, for to survive, they had to act as a community. Olena searched for anyone willing to lend their weapon, whether it be sword or spear, so that she could gather such strength too.

  As she neared the edges of their makeshift camp, she caught sight of her Da on watch — a sight that was wholly unsurprising, albeit slightly disappointing. With a hand still clutching onto the edges of sleeping furs, she took a seat beside him, trying to keep her annoyance from bleeding over. It did not work. She shot him glances out of the corner of her eyes and tapped her foot against the ground rapidly, both wanting him to speak and wanting him to remain silent. The instant he offered his daughter a greeting, she was a summer girl once again, forgetful of the lessons that had been offered to her.

  “I can do this,” she leaned forward, gripping the blanket closer around her. “I’ve earned it.”

  Da remained silent, recognizing this moment as her own.

  “I’ve made it my goal since I first held a bow in my hand. You told me that yourself. It’s time to break the cycle of rulers, change the fate of the planet. Fuck the cosmos.” Glancing at him again, she let out a soft, relenting sigh. “You think I should have gone with him, aye?”

  “No, I don’t,” he answered. There was weariness in every line of his face, and she wondered when the last time he slept had been. He was King, but before that, she had known him as Da — as Neilson Rivers, the only free man to wear bear skins of the legendary creature who had terrorized their home near a decade ago, to turn its bones into a flute instead of a weapon, to adopt those without a family into his own. He was King, yet she worried about him as if he had never carried the title.24 “You’ve been leading these people since you first held a weapon. You’ve given each of them your name, each of them a bit of who you are. You leave, and you’re leaving that behind. That’s harder than you’d believe.”

  “You’ll let me by your side when we turn toward the Citadel then?”

  “That choice falls on you and those who follow us, but if you listen close to the songs, you can hear them adding you to them — the wildfire woman, liberator of souls.” He closed his dark eyes for a moment, and it gave the appearance he had dozed off. When he stirred again, there was the edge of a smile. “Seems rather dramatic to me, but you know we love our legends.”

  She scoffed slightly, although she straightened where she sat, chest out and shoulders back. Even with the furred blankets still around her, her posture suggested the truth: she had caught and killed for the skins herself. “I never wanted to be a legend. Just wanted to do what’s right.”

  “That’s the start to all legends. Do you remember the one I used to tell you as a girl?” Before she had the chance to answer, he was continuing. “We don’t remember their names, but we remember their stories. The woman was going to destroy the wildlands, drunk off the blood of a recent battle and carried away, and her mate laid in her way to stop her, urged by the stars themselves. She stepped on him, could have crushed him, but she recognized him beneath her feet. She calmed, but despite this show of destruction, she is known now as the Mother. Do you remember why?”

  “No,” she lied, feeling like she was learning her forgotten lessons all again.

  “Her belly was getting large with a child of her own throughout it all. She did it all — the battle, the almost destruction, the relenting — for what she believed to be right, and in this case, it was for the future of her unborn child. It was a small act, and I understand it’s one that the Citadel would forget, but it’s these actions that turned her and her mate into legends.“25 Wise old man, Olena thought fondly, and she nudged his shoulder with her own to show she was still listening. “They’ll say only cruelty breeds legends, but sometimes it’s giving up on that cruelty that gives legends life.”

  “So come peace or war, my place is by the Erie-folk.”

  “As his was always to return to the Citadel one day, however brief.”

  She left still dissatisfied but placated for the moment. The camp was beginning to come alive like some extended body, each limb gradually gaining feeling back as they moved. Laughter from children, the smell of breakfast, clanging from old weapons — her home was tangible in the space of a few acres. Even when the elders looked to her wistfully and asked, “what was it like, being split in two,” it did not take away from being part of such an alive world. Being parted into two did not mean that this part of her had to crumble.

  Chapter 6: The Space Station

  “In the beginning, there was no darkness and no suffering; there was only an expansion.”

  Death’s Lament, 1.1

  The birth chamber was a cylindrical room off Nikola’s own chambers. It was the only part of the station that none of the Light Bringers had access to. They were allowed intimate knowledge of every wire of their home, every crack in the system, every possible thing that could go wrong, but they were not allowed into that inner sanctum. No one asked why, for it was steeped into their understanding not to enter it. They had been turned docile in this regard, and they kept their sights locked onto the future, instead of the place they had come from.

  Nikola always stated that his life had been a simple one until Hypatia stormed into it. Even in the artificial womb she had come into being in, she was different — some anomaly that marked her as strange from conception. The old man said it with kindness, as the anomaly was marked as a thing of praise on earth. Curiosity, it was called… What a strange word for something so loaded, and the first Pat had heard of it, she lit up with brightness in her eyes.

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” the other kids chanted at her, trying to remind her there was no place for such a thing on the station. If they did not follow the strict laws and stayed on the path they had been assigned, they would perish.26 With only a thin barrier separating them and the pure end the people of earth seemed to worship, it was all they could do, and she could accept that.

  It didn’t stop her from snorting in return, “But satisfaction brought it back.”

  It was near a year ago when she had pushed her way into that last, unconquered spot of their world. She hadn’t brought her journal with her, afraid someone would see the notes she would inevitably scrawl down and report her. Unsure about the punishment for breaking the rules, she wanted no record of her crime.27 Entering the birth chamber was a selfish trip, one she thought she would keep to herself, but it was one she had to make. Once an idea wormed itself into her brain, it consumed her wholly. She thought incessantly of it, and she could hardly hold her meals down in anticipation.

  There was nothing extraordinary about the inside of the chamber. It was precisely as Nikola had always described. Ten round containers rested in a near circular precision, lining the back wall. They were empty now, but she could see tubes that would pump them full of liquids and nutrients necessary for growing life. Small cooling ch
ambers carried the precious supplies needed for the birth, continuing to hum loudly as she looked around. The light was dim, even with bookshelves full of logs on the opposite side, and the air was heavy and stale with disuse, tasting faintly of rust. Mechanics that Pat didn’t understand covered the floor, and for one who had been preached to about engineering since childhood, it was astonishing to see something so different from the things she had been taught. It appeared that they hadn’t been permitted in the space for the exact reason they were told: it was dangerous, for both them and the babies that would grow within the room.

  She huffed, unsure what she wanted to uncover but knowing it wasn’t that. That was…boring, in some strange irony, and Pat had left in immediate guilt over the reaction. Having no deep-guarded secrets was something the group should take pride in, but Pat kept the secret nonetheless — until she wrote the words for Marie to see in exchange for a secret of her own.

  Had it been worth it, getting rid of the only close secret she would ever have? Considering she could hardly sleep, she had to think the answer was a resounding positive. Such a state of mind came with the promise that something was occupying her thoughts, and what better project to be attached to than one that kept her up, that she wanted to be captured by, that drove her into the realm of ghosts? It was one that she could even convince herself was for the betterment of them all, even if Nikola would not tell her everything he knew and even if the other Light Bringers did not care to question.

  Blood, stories, ghosts, and sadness. It had the opportunity to be as devilish as Pat had once hoped the birth chamber would be — except, instead of being something that only a few knew about, it was something that none knew about. Had there ever been such a thing before? It was no wonder the girl laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling and asking if the ghosts in the ring saw such blackness out in the cosmos. It was no wonder the girl’s thoughts buzzed with possibilities. It was no wonder the girl wanted nothing more than to solve it.

  When possibilities were endless, it left the mind in wonder.

  She scrawled a few ideas in her notebook, but come morning, most would seem nonsensical. There would hopefully be one idea, however — one idea that stood out on its own as something that could be true. Biting her lip, she stared at her previous writings. Her room was suddenly too quiet. She pushed herself to her feet in an effort to leave such silence behind, and with no goal in mind, she took to the hallways. Maybe in the hum of the station, Marie’s words would begin to make sense; maybe in the noise around them, she could go back to the viewpoint she carried before the birthing chamber. Something spectacular existed.

  Of course, she would end up at the library. She always found herself at the library. Books were stacked in dusty piles, and half of them were rotted past the point of legibility. When she first entered, she gagged on the whiff of mildew that greeted her but quickly grew used to the odor. The room itself had once been a bedroom chamber, but that had been in a time when Light Bringers numbered in the dozens — a time before Pat could even conceive of. Her world began at her birth, and it was difficult to imagine anything coming before, no matter how illogical such an argument would prove. There was nothing left in the room now but the remnants of knowledge from years ago, handwriting clinging desperately to the brittle pages.

  Each of the books had been gone through at least twice, if not by herself than by Nikola. Some of the other children enjoyed poking at the words and imagining such stories come to life, but the number of tomes that were meant for entertainment could be counted on one hand. There was no room for entertainment when strict purpose was built into their station, and it made Pat’s nose scrunch with distaste. It also made her nose sneeze from the dust in the room.

  She picked up the book on the top of the pile and carefully flipped through it. She recognized Nikola’s handwriting, before it had gotten shaky and hard to understand, and it covered the length of repairs done on the station. On and on they went, and Pat could feel her mind fizzle as tiredness gripped her again. It was hard to escape with the words drawling on the paper, painting an image of wires and electricity. She curled on the ground, continuing to flip through the pages. Jupe Day, Terra Day, Saturn Day, Mercury Day — on and on the count went, reciting dull lists of monotony.

  “Potatoes came in on time in Sol 2843, great, really useful,” she muttered to herself, rolling onto her stomach. The book rested against the ground, looking more dejected than it had in its pile. “Oh, and flickering lights in the kitchen? What’s next here? Will the water recycler be fixed? Find out on the next page…”

  On and on the count went, and even when, two-thirds the way through the volume, she read something utterly strange, it took her three times rereading before the words solidified in her head. She sat up abruptly before they could be liquefied once more.

  “New bodies,” Pat repeated, voice high-pitched in astonishment. “New bodies, suspicious. New bodies, new bodies. What the…?”

  She reread one last time, just to be certain. Here was the proof that Nikola knew what was occurring, the proof that she was not the only one carrying such knowledge, the proof that it had some tangible effect on their world. The others might argue it was her overactive imagination, but the connecting points were right there, staring at her in the face. She bookmarked the page and picked up the next book, excitement returning to her once more.

  There was only the question of whether or not she would confront Nikola about it now or wait. In the now, she had her passion; in the following weeks, however, she could gather every speck of information she could find to present to him, giving him no other options but to tell her the truth.

  Eyes burning with a need to sleep, she kept her notebook by her side to scrawl down whatever information seemed relevant, and she got back to work. It was the side of curiosity none spoke about: curiosity alone was useless, but it was the determination that drove it that would cause trouble. As with the birth chamber, she was consumed by a need for discovery that could only end one way.

  Chapter 7: The Citadel

  “Neutrality by separation;

  strength by ruthless defense;

  renewal by rebirth;

  tradition by remembrance;

  purity by abstinence.”

  Death’s Lament, 1.15

  The Aegis were not a traditional guarding force. Guards held a sense of camaraderie between them. In the evening hours, they hung up their weapons and sat down with ale to bring out the personality the long job hours had denied them. For the Aegis, they were given no such relief. Their job was not a simple occupation; it was their identity, their livelihood. Their very breathing was an inhale of soldier and an exhale of religion. Some called them crusaders, but they responded to criticism like their lungs responded to the dust outside — not at all.

  In the evening hours, they did not hang up their weapons but instead, spent hours cleaning them, ensuring they shone bright.28 No longer did any of them have birthmates to call their own, Death having touched them all, and so they turned that affection and need toward their weapons. Rarely did they speak during the process of polishing, and it was only after they finished that they allowed themselves food and rest.

  Quietness was a form of meditation, and meditation was a large portion of their training. How could one defend the Queens, defend the sweet promise of Death that they represented, if they were not in touch with their own souls? The pistol by each of their sides was the only exception, being an heirloom designed for ceremonial purposes alone. The Aegis cleaned the guns differently than their personal weapons — with more caution than love — and as fingertips brushed against the vows carved so carefully into the handle, each was reminded of what being an Aegis entailed.

  There were five of them total as a mirror image of the five Queens — the five points to the star they represented. “We are all stars,” the previous captain had told Claymore the day they forged their own arming-sword. “It is selfish to worship the things we claim to be, but we are selfish cre
atures. Remember that, and rise above it.”

  Claymore, as the present captain of the Aegis, tried to tell their fellow shields the same, but the words fell flat now. Something had shifted in the past days, and Claymore knew what that something was. It was the same something that haunted their dreams, crept into their thoughts, and made its way into their ears in the form of doubt after doubt.

  The prisoner.

  “Trust me,” the Queen had asked of Claymore. Such a command was blasphemous in itself. The Aegis were not built for trust and secrets. They were built from the muddied mixture of pain and chaos to protect, to serve, and to be the hand of Death in a place Death abandoned. Trust was an emotion that Claymore had previously thought themself incapable of — not because they disbelieved in the good of others but because trust required intimacy. Trust, in its purest form, could only exist between two individuals who tasted the world and returned to each other anyways. Claymore couldn’t understand it.

  Yet they trusted the Queen. They trusted the way the woman spoke, with sweetness dripping from her tongue. They trusted her wide eyes and pink lips and the small dip of her nose. She reassured them in a way nothing else did. They trusted her far too much for someone who had no inkling of what the word meant. The darkness of their cheeks began to tinge with a deep golden color, and the toes in their boots curled as they fidgeted in discomfort at the notion.