by F. T. Lukens
Rowan was tense. Her body was taut as a bowstring, and her hand was never too far from her pulse gun. Asher was alert too, but in a different way, as if one wrong move would catch him up in his memories of the planet and his own capture. Ren had forgotten that as well. Asher carried as much emotional baggage about being back here as Ren and Jakob did. He, too, was a victim of circumstance, of wrong-place, wrong-time.
Jakob’s long strides and fast pace were too much for those not dirt-born, and several times he had to slow down, stop, and wait as the drifters’ bodies adjusted. He wore his frustration like battle armor; his expression dared anyone to remark on the speed. No one did.
They weren’t far from the village now. The snow had tapered off as they walked and the sun sank lazily into the horizon.
Ren recognized the landscape: the forest on either side, the trees with names carved in the bark—a ritual for betrothed couples. A boundary rock marked the entrance to the village lands. Ren brushed away the snow to reveal the language of his ancestors.
“What does it say?” Rowan asked, studying the symbols.
“It’s a warning to anyone who wants to do harm to the village. And it is a spell for protection.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? Those squiggly lines are all superstition?”
Ren stood and his shoulder knocked into hers. “Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t work anyway.” Leaving Rowan and her drifter arrogance behind, he caught up to the group,
Ren’s apprehension and excitement grew as they drew closer to the village. The snow had begun to blow again, harder than before. Everyone huddled in their coats except Jakob, who pushed the ankle-high snow out of the way with his determined stride. In front of them stood a small rise, and right over it would be the bowl that held the village.
Jakob plowed on, but Ren stopped at the bottom of the rise.
Asher ran into his back. “Ren?”
Ren swallowed hard. “It’s over the crest of the hill.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. I… don’t know what we’ll find.”
“Hopefully shelter,” Ollie said, rubbing his arms.
Ren ignored him.
Rowan’s cold fingers encircled Ren’s wrist. “We’re with you.”
“I know.”
Jakob stopped at the top of the hill. His silhouette, backlit by the setting sun, was bathed in reds and golds. His shoulders slumped, and he dropped to his knees. The anguished cry he let out ripped through Ren. He ran forward, pushing Ollie and Rowan out of his way. He tripped once, slipping on the ice, so his hands skidded. The fall didn’t stop him. He scrambled, boots kicking up snow, until he could sink next to Jakob’s side.
Rubble spread out as far as he could see. A few buildings stood, but they listed under the weight of the snow. Ren wrapped his arms around Jakob’s shoulders, and Jakob clutched at him, burying his face in Ren’s neck. His body shook, and his hands clenched the fabric of Ren’s jacket.
Jakob howled. Ren didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think there was anything he could say. He had no comfort to offer. Grief and pain surged in his middle, and his star sparked, but there was nowhere for it to go. There was no tech to draw from, no machine to flee into, to hide from the emotions raging inside him.
He didn’t know the others stood beside them until Pen knelt behind him and wrapped her arms tight around them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice watery. “I’m so sorry.”
“We need to move,” Rowan said. “Let’s go down there and see what we can find. I know it’s tough, boys, but we’re not safe standing in the open on this hill.”
“On your feet,” Ollie said, gripping Ren’s upper arm and hauling him up. Asher and Penelope pulled Jakob to standing, but Ren gripped Jakob’s hand tight. Jakob rubbed at his cheeks. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright with tears.
Ren didn’t cry. Tears had been wrung out of him months ago. But his body trembled, and his knees were weak as they walked down the other side of the hill and into the village. Ren and Jakob had grown up here. They knew every inch of road and path and maneuvered them easily despite the broken bricks and the detritus in their way.
“We should split up,” Ren said, his voice thick and scratchy. “Cover more ground.”
Ren didn’t mention that Jakob had grown up on the other side of the village from him. They could take stock separately, instead of slowing one another down. They had led such different lives in the same place. Because of their class differences, Ren wasn’t prepared to share his sorrow with the only person who could come close to understanding.
“Pen and Ollie go with Jakob. Asher and I will go with Ren. Meet in an hour by the big pile over there.” Rowan jerked her chin to what was once the town square and the mound of rubble which had been the council meeting place.
Jakob moved like a ghost; his once-brisk steps were slow and reluctant. His face had gone pale. The flush of anger and pain had been replaced with a sickly look. He seemed hollowed out, as if what had made him Jakob had been scooped away. Ren squeezed his hand in a gesture of companionship and then let go.
Ren had always been a dreamer, but since he’d been captured, been chased across the cluster, and merged with machines, he’d become pragmatic. Jakob had always held on to hope that the soldiers had been lying when he was told the village had been destroyed. After all, they had lied about blowing Ren out of the sky.
But Ren had known there was little hope. He hadn’t known what he would find when he walked over the hill, but it wouldn’t be good. He’d held no illusions about what he would find, but he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he hadn’t confirmed what he’d been told.
Ren was reluctant to lead Rowan and Asher to his home on the outskirts of the village, where it was tucked away in a crescent-shaped copse. His determination to find out what happened to his family whipped away with the snow on the brisk wind.
He stopped in front of what was left and put his hands in his pockets, desperate for something to hold on to. The door of the house stood, and the frame was held up by the crumbling sides. That was all, though. The roof was mostly gone; the sides had caved in. Its contents had been tossed into the street and the small yard, where they peeked through the snow.
Ren tried the doorknob, and it was locked. He laughed, loud and half-hysterical, and Rowan and Asher pressed close to his sides.
“This was where I grew up.” His voice sounded shredded, foreign to his own ears.
Asher and Rowan exchanged a glance but said nothing. Ren didn’t blame them. He’d had no idea how to comfort Jakob, and they had no idea how to comfort him. Maybe there was no comfort to be had.
He walked around the doorframe and stepped through a hole in the standing wall. With every step he took, his feet crunched on rubble mixed with mud and ice. A tinkle of glass made Ren bend down and dig with frozen fingers until he found a vid-still of him and Liam—too young and too happy—in front of the lake. Slowly, Ren stood and shook the picture free of the wood frame and broken glass.
“Is that your brother?” Rowan asked.
Ren nodded. His throat went tight and, suddenly, Ren realized his tears hadn’t dried up. He folded the picture and put it in his pocket. “I’d like to be alone for a bit,” he said. “To look around.” To mourn.
“Are you sure you’ll be safe?” Asher asked. His voice was gentle, and Ren resisted recoiling from it.
He peered at the destruction. He questioned the structural integrity of the building, but it had held on thus far. Ren was fairly certain he’d be okay, for a little while at least.
“I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll be right outside,” Rowan said and winced. “I mean, around the corner. Over there,” she amended, waving her hand. “Take your time.”
Ren nodded, unmoved by her uncharacteristic awkwardness. He stood still as the
y ducked through an opening in the wall and disappeared. Turning his head to stare at the scorch marks on the wall, Ren ignored the last glance Asher cast his way. Once the sound of their footsteps faded, Ren walked through the remnants of his home.
The last time he’d been here, he and Liam were racing through their chores, hoping to get out to the lake before the sun sank too low. An age had passed since then.
He went into the room he and Liam had shared. He stared at the chest of clothes at the end of his bed and thought about stuffing his favorites into his pack. But he remembered Asher’s mother had bought him new clothes, clothes made of finer material that fit better, and he had no use for homespun rags.
The bed that had been his was hidden beneath a fallen wall. Liam’s bed was cluttered with a few cheap books he had bought from another village kid. Ren fingered the pages. The sheets had shriveled, and the ink had run. The words were barely discernible. Liam would be furious they were ruined. He should put them in a drawer away from the elements. He should find the scrap of blanket Liam treasured and slept with constantly. He’d want that back. He should find the rock Liam had claimed was a meteorite and gave to him one birthday because it was a piece of a star. He should clean everything up for when they returned. He should… he should…
Ren shook his head. He wasn’t staying here.
He couldn’t stay here.
He snatched a comic from the bed and stuffed it into his pocket with the picture. He backed out into the hallway. The clench on his heart was painful. He swallowed the sorrow and moved to the room his mother and stepfather had shared. It was mostly intact, but the roof threatened to bow under the gathering snow.
Ren fell to his knees, shoved his arm under the bed, and felt for the keepsake box his mother kept there. It would have things his mother held dear, and though he might not have any emotion tied to them, his mother did. That would be enough.
But he found nothing. Frowning, Ren ducked to look into the sliver of dark space, but didn’t see the small tin box. That was odd. It wasn’t worth anything. It wasn’t worth taking by anyone other than his mother.
Unless… unless.
Hope was a dangerous thing, frightening, yet thrilling. Ren shot to his feet and tore open the closet door. A smattering of clothes hung there, but more were missing. He pushed the remnants to the side. The large pack his stepfather used on hunting trips was gone.
Ren ran to the kitchen. He righted a chair, climbed onto the counter, and reached to the top of the shelves. He pulled down the glass jar his mother used for her special sweet juice, and it shattered on the floor. He pushed aside the serving platter they used for birthday cakes and the pottery bowl his stepfather had bought his mother from the next town over. He stepped along the counter, perched dangerously, and swiped down everything from the cabinets; around him crockery rained, shattering and splintering along the floor.
Asher came running in and skidded to a stop as Ren flung open another door and pawed through the remnants.
“Ren? What are you doing? I thought the house was coming down.”
“It’s gone,” Ren said. His tone didn’t match the thrumming of his veins or the pounding of his heart. “It’s gone. They escaped. They had to have escaped.”
Asher frowned. “Ren, come down.”
Ren hopped to the floor. His boots crushed the memories to dust. “Don’t you understand? The keepsake box is gone and the emergency credits.”
“So? The soldiers took them? Ren, they’ve ransacked the place.”
“No.” Ren shook his head. He resisted the urge to shake Asher. “They were hidden. And the box has no value to anyone other than my mother. There would be no point for a soldier to take it.”
Placating, insufferable, Asher’s raised his hands. “I know you want to believe they got away.”
“They did!” Ren said, kicking over the nearest chair. It slid across the floor. “Don’t act like you understand. You don’t!”
“I know I don’t, but I’m trying here. Okay? I am not going to support you in a delusion.”
“Why? Why do you care?”
“Because I do!” Asher stepped around the table and gripped Ren’s shoulder with his good arm. “I do because I care about you. I still care about you and I’m not going to stop just because you hate me.”
“You only care if I’m a threat.”
“That is not true, and you know it.”
Ren clenched his jaw. He ignored that statement; he had to, or he might break in pieces. “And what makes you so sure it’s a delusion? The keepsake box is gone. The emergency credits. My stepfather’s travel bag. It all points to—”
“Rowan and I found a mass grave.”
Ren wrenched out of Asher’s grasp. Breathing heavily, he pushed his way past Asher and into the main room. With shaking hands, he unlocked the door and stepped out into the darkening day and the falling snow.
Rowan approached him. “Did Asher tell you?”
“Yes.”
Gently, her voice low, she nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. Is there anything I can do? Are you going to be okay?”
No. No, he was not. “I’m fine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Ren, it’s okay if you’re not—”
“I need a minute.”
Ren walked briskly to the path he knew so well. His body was flushed. Sweat gathered at his temples and the base of his hairline. It dried on his skin, and he shivered. Snow fell into his eyes and his hair. It gathered around the collar of his jacket and chilled him, but it didn’t hinder his progress. His steps didn’t falter.
He pushed through the low-hanging, snow-laded branches of the evergreens along the trail and ignored the bare, spindly twigs of the deciduous trees as they caught on the fabric of his clothes. The farther he went, the more anxious he became; emotions and memories overwhelmed him. Suddenly walking wasn’t quick enough. His body hummed with energy, so he broke into a jog, which turned into a full-out run. He sprinted, his legs and arms pumped, and his breath came in fraught gasps, until he stumbled wildly onto the beach.
Kicking up sand and snow, Ren fell to his knees at the edge of the water. Chest heaving, Ren stared out over the lake, flat as glass with the shore of the other side barely visible in the gathering darkness. A thin layer of ice glinted in the fading light. Underneath, the water moved, swirled inky-black like in his dreams.
His dreams, where Liam was alive and real and talked with him. I’m not here.
Sitting there with the cold leeching into his legs through the thin fabrics of his trousers, Ren knew. Liam wasn’t here. He wasn’t at the lake. He wasn’t in the village. He wasn’t in the ground.
Hope was dangerous.
“This must be the lake you talked so much about,” Asher said, coming to stand next to Ren at the water’s edge.
Ren hadn’t heard his footsteps and he jumped at his voice. He craned his neck and looked up. Asher stared at the lake.
“It’s not quite like you described.”
Ren frowned. “That’s because it was barely spring when I left.”
“Ah,” Asher said. He toed at the ground. “It’s nice.”
“It’s not.”
Asher raised an eyebrow.
Ren continued. “It’s almost always cold except in the heat of summer. The sand gets stuck everywhere. Things live in it, and they bump into your legs when you swim. And if you splash too much, the water gets too murky to see. It’s gross and it’s nothing like the clear fountains and warm pools on the drifts where you can swim and not be afraid of being pinched by a creature or getting tangled in lake grass.” Ren pulled his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.
Asher sighed. “I wasn’t comparing it to the water on the drifts.”
Ren didn’t say anything. The sun was
gone, and the sky edged from twilight to full dark. The broken moon was visible through the breaks in the clouds, as were a few pinpricks of stars.
“Was this the spot where…” Asher trailed off. He swallowed; his expression was pained, as though he realized his question bordered on cruel.
“Where I last saw my brother? Not the exact spot, but…” Ren waved his hand dismissively. “But nearby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. For everything. For all that’s happened. For pushing you away. For the people of your village. For your home.”
Ren stood. “My family is alive. They escaped. I know they did.”
Placating, Asher raised his hand and took a step back. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Ren. Whatever you need to believe.”
Ren didn’t register the doubt behind Asher’s words. Instead, he zeroed in on Asher’s limp arm. He wasn’t wearing a sling, maybe to hide the fact he had limited use in case they wound up in a fight. Asher’s fingers twitched.
Again, shame overwhelmed Ren, but not for his humble planet, or his gross lake. This was deeper.
“Last time you were here,” he said, clearing his throat, “you were attacked, injured, and captured. I’ve been selfish. I never thought about your feelings about coming back here, what that might trigger for you. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve not been yourself.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And how do you feel now?” Asher’s voice was hesitant; the question was weighted with meaning.
Ren tilted his head and watched the clouds drift. He blinked against a few wandering snowflakes.
“Ashamed. Guilty. Heartbroken. Hopeful.” He met Asher’s gaze. “Uncluttered.”
“Is that good?”
“Yeah.” Ren’s voice came out in a whisper; his breath made a puff of cloud. He stood and brushed off the back of his trousers.
“We should get back,” Asher said. “It’s getting too dark to see.”
“I know the way.” Ren stepped into Asher’s space. His pulse raced, and in the low light he saw Asher’s bemused expression. Carefully, slowly, Ren ghosted his fingers over Asher’s hand. “Let me fix it.”
