by Nik Korpon
I flinch, then breathe. “We need to talk.”
“You’re goddamn right we do.” She stomps back to the table and plops down in her seat, pushing her plate to the middle and crossing her arms. Her nose twitches and I find it perversely cute given the situation. “You don’t come home for two days and think you can parade in demanding an audience?”
“I was home last night and left early.” She starts to speak but I cut her off. “Look, Emeríann,” I say, taking a deep breath, “Forgall’s dead.”
Her arms slip off her chest as if they were greased.
“There was a bomb this afternoon, over in Macha. Hidden in a trash container near the sidewalk. Definitely a Tathadann job. This wasn’t random. There was some power behind it.”
“Those bastards.” She snatches her glass and indiscriminately hurls it. It shatters against a bar in the window, sending glass shards raining down over the alley between buildings. “Goddammit!”
“A bunch of shrapnel completely destroyed his gut. Looked like a pink and grey sieve.” I let go a long sigh, the vials at my waist throbbing. “We need to send someone to bring his body back.”
“I’ll go.”
“People are going to be watching. You should not be seen over there.”
“You are a known quantity,” she says. “But I put my hair up and wear some baggy clothes, no one will notice me.”
I consider arguing but can see that it’s useless. She’s going. “At least get someone to go with you. Call Lachlan.”
“They’re going to get theirs for this. Swear to Nimah, we’re going to bomb the everloving shit out of them.” She bites her lip so hard I’m afraid she’ll tear through the skin, her chin trembling, her eyes glassing over. “You were right, someone talked. Maybe followed him. They had to.”
“No. He said there were scouts following me,” I say, lowering my voice as if it might help me dodge some responsibility. “He said he was there to take them out and protect the plan. For all I know, the bomb was meant for me.”
“Goddammit, and you want to go back over there? You’ve done enough for one day, thanks.” I want to respond but don’t, knowing she’s more right than she knows. She shakes her head, runs her fingers through her hair and pulls it back, wrapping it around her fist. “Well, what the hell were you doing in Macha? They’re hunting their own now too?”
I pick at the food on her plate, offer a noncommittal shrug. I have no reason to lie to her but prefer not to talk about my dead family when possible. But if I make something up it will look like I’m trying to hide something I did.
She cocks her head, runs her tongue across the edge of her teeth. “Why were you there, Henraek?”
“I had to follow up on something.”
“Follow up on what?” she says. “And for the love of all that is holy, I don’t want to hear about Aífe today.”
I blink, sniff, smell the lingering dust on my clothes, because it’s all I can do. I don’t always tell her the truth, but I won’t lie to her.
“Dammit, Henraek.” She huffs and pushes her chair away from the table. “Really?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Didn’t you say you ignored her because you were so busy with the Struggle?”
“Not quite, but this–”
“If I remember correctly, you said, ‘Drove her away?’ Maybe by doing things like coming in when she was asleep and leaving before she woke?”
“That’s not true. I never said that.”
“No, you admitted it. When you were really drunk. You already did a pretty good job of ruining your marriage because of all that and now you want to repeat it by–”
“She was murdered, Emeríann.” I meant to state it but it came out as a yell. Her mouth is still open, her hands up slightly as the reptilian part of her brain says to defend herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”
Her hands lower but she does not speak.
“She was murdered. I saw it in a memory.” She mutters something like surprise, but I keep going. “She went to talk to someone we used to know. They started arguing. She almost threw a chair at him.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, not wanting to talk about this with her because it violates one of our most important and unspoken rules, but, with everything else, I cannot stop my mouth from moving. “Out of nowhere, he stood up and went inside the building. One of the men with him turned and shot her in the face. I saw pieces of her brain stick to the glass door. And Walleus knew about it. He won’t say it, but I know him. I know he’s hiding something, or protecting someone. Maybe someone else, maybe himself.”
“Of course he is. Maybe you’ve been there so long, you’re starting to forget. Or maybe you’ve been watching too many memories.”
“Emeríann, of all nights, tonight is not the one to fight about this.”
The muscles in her jaw flex and roll, her cheeks sucking in as she inhales quietly. An eyetooth edges out and puckers her bottom lip.
She lets out a long breath and says, “I’m sorry.”
I shrug because what else am I supposed to do? “I didn’t mean to dump on you. It’s been an incredibly shitty day.”
“No, Henraek.” She takes another breath then leans forward and touches my hand. “I’m sorry, but Aífe is dead. I know you miss her. I miss Riab every day too. But they’re dead, and we’re not.”
“It’s different.” Aífe’s murder changes everything. It obliterates everything I’ve known for the last six years.
“You’re right, it is, because I’m trying my best to move on with life. You complain about all the people who buy the poison you harvest but you’re no better than them because you still live in your own memories. You’re a self-loathing junkie who’s too proud and self-absorbed to realize it. You’re held captive by the dead.”
“But Donael might not be dead.”
Her face falls, and I can’t tell if it’s sympathy or pity.
“Em, they told me back then that both of them died in the riot,” I say. “So if she didn’t, then maybe he didn’t either.”
She presses her fingers against her eyes, tears leaking around the edges. “Dammit, babe. He…” She stutters for a moment, looking for words or stalling or trying to temper the edge of her tongue. “He would’ve found you by now.”
My shoulders sag, and her words speed up, as if she could re-inflate me with assurances, condolences.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to say this and I know how bad it hurts to hear it, I know how it rips into you until you feel like everything inside you is pouring out all over the floor and there’s no way to stop any of it.” She presses her hands to her chest and the tears flow freely now. “But he would’ve found you by now.”
“He could be out there.”
“The city isn’t that big. Someone would’ve seen him and told you, or told him where you were and he would’ve come. I mean…” She’s nearly screaming it in frustration while her voice breaks with tears. “Dammit, Henraek. He’s dead.”
The rushing in my ears vanishes, silence a tactile being around us. “He’s not dead until I say he is.”
“It’s not easy to accept. I know it. I get it.” She wipes her hands over her eyes, drags her sleeve across her nose. “But you have to. Stay with me, stay with the living. It’s OK to hurt but letting it consume you is no different than a white flag.”
My pride starts to puff up my chest, to fight anyone who says I have surrendered. But she’s right. Donael was a smart boy, resourceful, and there aren’t that many people in Eitan. Word would have gotten around, either about him to me, or me to him.
But probably dead does not mean actually dead. I’ll prepare myself for the fact that he is likely dead, but I’ll also chase down every lead I can. One way or another.
I stand and go into the kitchen, bring the bottle and two glasses, pour us each a tall one. I set my chair next to hers and pull her close. Her skin smells faintly of wood smoke and liquor sweated through pores. I wonder if she c
an smell Forgall’s blood on me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For a lot of things.” I raise a toast to the lost and swallow it in one gulp. The liquor burns my throat and I tell myself that’s why my eyes are watering.
She sucks in hard, squinting away the burn, then pours us another. She waits for me to look at her before toasting. “The future is unwritten, love. But a week from now, the ceremony, the bomb, it’s going to give us a pretty big pen. We can use it to create something new, and all of them – Donael, Riab, Aífe – they’d be proud of what we’re going to do.”
She kisses my forehead and says she needs to go, then raises Lachlan while changing her clothes. I give her a hug and tell her to be careful before she leaves.
The apartment is eerily quiet, the ghosts of Riab and Aífe flitting through the still air.
I could change my clothes, give her a two-minute lead then follow her. Observe her from a short distance, far enough so I won’t be made but close enough to help should they need it. Familiarize myself with the others in her group, the way they interact, the way they organize. Make sure they’re all who they say they are.
I lean forward and feel the vials press against my stomach.
But for all I know, there are scores of scouts positioned around Findchoem to watch for me, and I will lead them right to Emeríann and the others. As observant as I may be, I can’t watch entire blocks. Hell, I hadn’t even noticed the scouts Forgall was trying to clear out. Forgall said that we were safe. He was a good man, and Emeríann is a smart and self-reliant woman. She will be fine out there.
So I tell myself.
I sit in the silence for a few moments. Then I open the gate to let Silas in, pull out the viewer and insert the vials.
Even if Emeríann doesn’t understand the need to have closure, to have something resembling answers, she would understand that in order to create something new, you need to know what came before in order to build on it, make it better, stronger. It’s not a white flag or being held captive. And even if it was, sometimes you need that. The heart wants what the heart wants, and sometimes it just wants to bleed.
I hit play.
For the reputation he had as an unpredictable liability, Toman lived a surprisingly quiet life. Even when viewing two hours per minute, he moves rather slowly, even with fully functional legs. Office, park, hologram shop, water repository. Sometimes he walks through the lower west quarter with Belousz and his elderly mother. It’s odd but I would prefer to know as little as possible about Belousz so that I can fantasize about killing him without guilt. I hit play to find some insight and find them only discussing some woman. “Snakes don’t care where they’re going as long as there’s grass, I told him. Didn’t listen though, because he’s the boss,” he says, and I believe we may actually agree on something.
I go to the kitchen and grab a glass, debating the relative benefits of bourbon or homebrew. At the rate his life is developing, it might be a long night, so I opt for bourbon. My tongue tingles with the memory of pure water. I’d turn on the faucet but I don’t want more disappointment.
When I sit down on the couch, I find Toman at an open-air café table, glancing over at Mebeth. On the far side is the other man, still behind that fern.
I hit play and hear Aífe’s voice. Static crackles and Mebeth’s voice drowns out some of Aífe’s words, but she’s threatening him. He says something about things working their course, that he can’t rush a process like this, and perhaps he should prescribe her something. This bastard could not be more vague and utterly useless to me if he tried. Aífe begins to scream in her rapid-fire way that makes me anxious and homesick in equal turns and Toman glances over to the man across from him, who relaxes back in his chair and glances back. One eye is the dead grey of a shark. The other is covered with an eye patch, covering his still-fresh wound.
I should have killed him when I had the chance.
Aífe continues to scream for a moment about what will happen if he doesn’t end it but Toman is getting bored and the sound of her voice goes in and out and I can’t understand what she’s saying. Mebeth stands and walks toward the café. Belousz watches him, and once he’s inside looks to Toman and nods in a way that carries gravity. Then he follows Mebeth. Toman stands, levels his gun, and fires.
He walks into the café. Mebeth asks Toman and Belousz if they’re hungry. They have great tapas here, he says, and he’ll order something for everyone. Then he walks through a door into the kitchen, Belousz standing at the edge. Toman pours himself a drink, drains it, then follows Belousz to the front door. There are two loud cracks behind them that I believe to be gunshots. Outside, they lift Aífe’s body by the arms and legs, carry her to the alley and, on the count of three, hurl her into a trash container to be ferried away.
I failed you again, Aífe. I let them live. I’m sorry for all those that I killed during the Struggle, that I’m betraying the oath I swore because of them. But Belousz and Mebeth, both of them deserve to die. I’m going to kill Belousz myself, but I’ll need assistance getting to Mebeth. And I know who can help.
18
Walleus
Donael is in rare form when I get home, running around while kicking an imaginary ball. I have a thought to tell him to stop but I’m too hungry and instead stand in front of the refrigerator, gnawing on cold rib-eye and swigging steak sauce straight from the bottle. Apparently he’s recovered from the trauma of a dead foerge. Now I need to overcome my dead Forgall. Behind me, the crashing noise stops and when I turn, Donael and Cobb are staring at me like they’ve stumbled on a talking horse in their kitchen.
“What?” I say.
They stare at the juice running down my forearms, the sauce smeared over the corner of my mouth.
“Can we have some?” Donael says.
“Do you want it warm?”
Donael says no. Cobb clicks twice. I set the container on the counter, get out the milk, and set the bottle of sauce between them.
“Bon appétit,” I say, and they dig in without ceremony. Father of the year, here. But could you do this, Henraek? Give him meat from a farm, not a park? I don’t think so.
After Donael has consumed a half-pound of grilled meat, I ask him what’s gotten him so crazy.
“We’re all going to dress up like Concho Louth for school tomorrow and run down the hallway.”
“The hell you are dressing up.” I glance at Cobb. “Don’t repeat that.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
He gives me a death glare that is eerily reminiscent of Henraek. I remember seeing that glare many times, usually followed by Henraek tipping back his bourbon then laying his gun on the table, the barrel pointed in my direction.
“You will not, under any circumstances, dress up like the best Hoeps player in history. Are you listening to me?”
“I’m standing right here,” he says. “Yes, I hear you.”
“But are you listening to what I’m saying?”
He chews on the edge of a bone, staring at the counter for a minute before saying he understands. “But everyone else is going to.”
“And everyone else is going to be picking bamboo splinters out of their assholes for the next week. And don’t you repeat that, either,” I say to Cobb. “The Tathadann has brought some stability to Eitan. They’ve let us eat good food like this and they’ve provided a school for you, let you get an education so you can do something important with your life.”
He nibbles at the last bit of meat then dredges it through the leavings of sauce in the container and gnaws on the bone again, mainly as a way to consume sauce. The whole time I can feel him waiting.
“What, Donael? Say it.”
“I know about those memories you watch.” He drops the bone in the container and wipes his face on a dishtowel. “I remember some of that. Dad used to talk about it before he got shot.”
“I’m sorry you do. There’s nothing good about it. You won’t have to deal with anything like that aga
in.” I put my head under the faucet and take long gulps of water. The image of his face when hearing Aífe and Henraek were dead still breaks something inside me.
“Mom and Dad wrapped their dead friend up in our bathroom. They used the sheet from my bed and when I asked them where my sheets were, they told me we had bed bugs.”
“Donael, come on,” I say, nodding at Cobb. “He understands a lot more than you think.”
“Good. He should. It happened, right? If we can’t wear certain colors or say certain names, he should know why, right? What’s he going to do when they beat him for it and he doesn’t know why?”
“Enough.” He flinches when I say it, and I didn’t mean to be so loud. “Can we talk about something else, please?”
The phone in the living room rings.
“Why are you defending them?” he says. “You used to hate them.”
“Things change. People change.”
“I don’t change.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “They give us food and a roof. That’s a hell of a lot more than me and Henraek had when we were little.”
“I don’t understand how you can fight so hard for one thing then give it up and go with the total opposite.”
“They teach you anything in history class?” He opens his mouth but I cut him off. “No, of course they don’t. There are thousands of things that happened fifty years ago, thirty years, people who fought and people who led, but they only tell you what they want you to know. But you can’t even know that’s true because half of what they erased was filled in with constructed memory, so most people don’t know if it’s their own memory or something they’ve heard a thousand times. The truth is, Donael, the Tathadann’s not that different from who came before them.”
“That’s not what my dad said.”
I twinge but don’t show it. “Henraek had more balls than reason. The role of any government is to screw the population slow enough that they never notice it. The ones before the Tathadann allowed the Resource Wars to happen and it tore apart countries. The ones before that started wars with each other to get revenge for the wars their parents started with each other. It doesn’t matter what their name is. They’re all screwing us regardless.”
