by D. S. Murphy
“It’s what they called you in Havoc,” Jacob said. “Because of your marks, and because you’re a thorn in the king’s side.”
“More like a pain in the ass,” Luke sniped.
“All lies, I’m sure,” I said. “What else did he tell you?”
He gestured for us to follow him, and we walked into his cabin, shutting the doors behind us. It was a modest little one room house, with a wood stove, stairs that lead to a sleeping alcove, and homemade furniture. For the first time in days, I felt like I could let my guard down.
It was clearly meant for one, or a small family, and it already felt crowded with all of us. Jazmine crawled onto the sofa, resting her head in Camina’s lap, and the rest of us sat or stood around the table, which was already furnished with eight or nine mismatched chairs, and full of dirty dishes, sketches of the landscape, notes and cigar butts. In the back, a spiral staircase led up to a shallow loft and sleeping space.
I jumped as a tongue lapped my hands under the table. I looked down to see a large furry dog with gray eyes and golden fur.
“That’s just Cooper,” Same said. “He’s friendly.”
“I can tell,” I said, scratching behind his ears. “So, what else did he tell you?”
“Let’s see... that you were chosen by the king’s son, moved to the citadel, joined the rebels, survived a slagpaw attack, then broke out of the citadel, with the rebels, after winning the trials. On the back of a fucking slagpaw, no less.”
“That would be me,” Trevor said, raising his hand.
Sam’s eyes widened, looking back and forth between Jacob and Luke.
“So there’s more to the story,” he said.
“Would you have believed me? Also, I’m not entirely to blame for that version of your legend.” Jacob said, taking a long drink. “Curate Marcus can never stop talking about you on his visits.”
“You’ve seen him?” I asked eagerly.
“No, not since he went back. He left before Havoc fell. I have no way of getting in touch with him, and he doesn’t know this place exists.”
“You forgot about the part where she ruined the royal wedding and blew up half the citadel,” said a young woman with red hair, pouring us glasses of water. She was several months pregnant, and carrying a toddler under one arm.
“That wasn’t me!” I said, rolling my eyes.
“But you were there,” Jacob said. “You were seen. It’s part of your legend, whether or not you accept it, everyone else will believe it.”
“I also heard you lost your mother recently,” Sam said, leaning forward and putting his hand on top of mine. “I’m sorry.”
“She wasn’t even my real mother,” I said, feeling a stabbing pain in my breast that made my eyes water. It happened weeks ago but the loss was still fresh. I didn’t feel like I deserved it, like it belonged to me. Especially when her real children had been taken, as collateral damage.
“If you loved her, then the pain is real, regardless of blood.” Sam said gruffly. I nodded, grateful that someone finally understood.
“Jacob also told me about your quest. That you’re working with a scientist.”
“I’m not all that,” April said. She blushed, leaning forward until her dark hair hid her face like a curtain.
“Even so, I’ve had the men foraging in anticipation of your arrival.” He gestured towards a small workbench in the back, with shelves and a small first aid cupboard. I thought it was just a healing center at first, but then I saw the medical equipment and machinery.
Half a dozen black tablets were plugged in next to a computer, with a monitor.
“You have power out here?” April asked.
“Only in the cabin; we’ve got a small generator under the falls. When the men go out, sometimes they’ll find an abandoned car with a bit of gas in it.”
“What’s with your phone obsession?” Jazmine asked, nodding to a pile of black devices stacked in a tower against the far wall.
“Communal library,” Sam said proudly. “Most of them are useless, but sometimes if we can get them to charge up, they’ve got all kinds of stuff on them. Most of the data is corrupted, but the ebook files are easiest to parse, and we might get lucky and find a handful of new books. We put them all on the computer, we’ve got thousands now, and then let people check out phones or tablets to read them.”
“Holy shit,” April said. “That’s genius.”
“Why thank you,” Sam said, with a mock bow. “But it wasn’t really my idea. Whoever lived here before, they were an off-gridder. Moved out here before the conflict, survived decades, even had kids. I found an old computer beneath the floorboards. It already had a few hundred books on it, all the classics. I’m just adding to his collection. It’s really quite something. Like a diary of the collapse of man. The internet and media were cut pretty early on, so after a few years it’s mostly conjecture or rumor; he had a ham radio too, where he’d sometimes get messages. That’s probably how they eventually found them.”
He nodded to the blood stains on the wood floor and scratches along the walls.
“We gave them a good burial.”
“It’s amazing,” I said, pursing my lips. “But we don’t have it. The antidote, I mean.”
“But you found what you were looking for?” Jacob asked. “The king’s original home?”
“We found it,” I said, chewing my lip. “But it wasn’t abandoned.” I wasn’t sure how much to share, so I didn’t offer any more information. The others knew about Mrs. Hartmann, though they still didn’t fully comprehend what we’d gone through, it was more like a bad dream, fragmented memories. They hadn’t seen the horrors I had. Even so, I felt bad for just leaving her there.
And there was someone else: I had to tell Damien. I didn’t want word getting back to him from anyone else, that his mother was still alive. And I still didn’t know what to do with the information she’d told me, about the ash. It was too large, too scary. I knew I’d have to tell them eventually, but I didn’t want the word to get out until I’d decided what to do about it. I didn’t trust Sam or Jacob not to do something even more reckless. We needed a real plan.
“Actually,” April said, pulling out the folders I’d given her earlier. “I took a look at those notes you gave me when we were waiting for you. Check this out.
Reversal procedure. There’s a process and a list of ingredients. I’ll need some time to go through it, but it might be something. At least it’s a place to start.”
We found our way down to the bathing area; a cold water pool next to one of the cliffs that edged the compound. The river had been divided with wooden planks into multiple streams of rushing water to stand under. It was freezing, but felt refreshing after our ordeal, and helped clear my head. When I came back, Penelope had already traded her colored beads for a variety of more fitting accessories.
“When in Rome,” she said, tossing me a leather string of squirrel skulls to tie back my hair. I kept most of the haul from the store we’d looted, which was still relatively clean and dry, and found the others. They were sitting closer to the main fire, under a covered structure, stretched out in long folding chairs.
Young girls were painting designs on their bare feet with dark red paste.
“What’s going on here?” I asked.
“Henna and red ochre,” one of the girls said. “Mixed with honey, aloe vera and cooling mint. It helps with the burns.”
“It actually feels pretty good,” Camina said.
I shrugged and sat next to them.
“I can do it,” said a young girl with round cheeks, reaching for an extra brush. She reminded me so much of Loralie it hurt.
“You’ll have to wait until we’re done,” one of the older girls said. “She’s too young. She’ll mess it up.”
“I will not,” she pouted.
“It’s fine,” I said, reaching for her arm and pulling her closer. “I’ll just be sticking them in my boots a
gain later. Everyone has to practice on something. Nobody is perfect the first time.”
The older girls frowned, but didn’t protest this time when the younger girl picked up the brush and sat close to my dirty feet, studying them like an artist with a blank canvas.
She marveled at the sharp patterns on my wrist and palms, and then began covering the bottoms of my feet with the red paste, carefully adding vines and thorns that crept across my toes and ankles.
“Now your hands will match your feet,” she smiled.
“Can’t wait,” I said. The wet paste tickled at first, but did seem to lessen the throbbing heat from the burns.
I let myself relax into the chair, watching as a group of men began beating softly on large round drums. Slowly at first, a low vibration I could feel more than hear. Then voices sang in harmony, with haunting off-key notes. People started dancing, but it was like nothing I’d seen before. Everyone was doing the same steps, turning in place, and moving their wrists with sharp precision.
It wasn’t until the girls came over with drinks that I noticed they’d finished my feet. Jazmine handed me a cup and I frowned at the fizzy pink liquid.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Wild rhubarb and strawberry cider,” Luke said. “It’ll help with the pain.”
“Give me your knife,” Trevor said, appearing over my shoulder.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’ll sharpen it, they have a forge here. A sharp knife is a safe knife.”
“Until you stick it in someone,” Jazmine giggled. “Then, not so safe.”
“How much of that have you had?” I asked.
“Not enough,” she said, tossing back the rest of the cup. “I’ll go get us some more.”
Penelope sat next to me on one of the wooden stumps surrounding the fire. She’d arrived so quietly, I didn’t even notice her. We sat in silence, watching the tribal dancing.
People were smiling and laughing, but there was also a cautious hush to the celebration. The flames never lept too high, the drums weren’t too loud.
Even way out here, they aware of the dangers in the darkness, careful not to let their enthusiasm brew to excess.
“That’s an elite skull,” Penelope said, pointing out a man wearing a fanged skull as a beaded breastplate.
“It’s not the first I’ve seen,” I said. “Just, stay sharp, okay? We won’t let anything happen to you.”
I heard Trevor’s voice and looked over to see him laughing with a few of the men. He stood in the heat of the outdoor forge, sharpening the blade of my knife. I knew it was his way of protecting me, of looking out for me. It was nice watching him in his element.
After my second cup of cider, the others pulled me up to dance. We each showed off a few of the moves we’d learned in our compounds, trying to teach them to each other. April’s version of dancing from Havoc was mostly jumping around and shaking your head hard enough to get dizzy and crash into each other, which we found hilarious.
Jazmine had found a long string of punctured coins from the Before and wound them around her waist. She rattled them while jerking her hips in controlled movements, coiling her hands hypnotically. The crowd had cleared space for her, and at one point I couldn’t tell if she was following the beat of the drums, or commanding them with her hips.
When she was finished, there was a round of applause. Then the beat picked up again, and we spun around in lines, trying to learn the steps that everyone else seemed to already know. It was a blur of painted faces and feathers and metal bangles that flashed in the rising sparks.
I laughed, stumbling away from the line when it became too fast. And then, Trevor was there. We moved together, as the drums rose in intensity. I pressed my body against his, feeling the pulse of our heartbeats, and felt a throbbing ache deep inside me. The burns on my feet itched, and the feeling seemed to rise up my legs until it threatened to consume me.
I thought about how he’d kissed me and how I wanted him to do it again. But then I remembered the arguments we’d had, and the secret I was keeping. How could I be with Trev, until I figured out what I was going to do, and what I’d tell Damien. Thinking of my fiancé was like being doused in ice water. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. Was I still engaged to him? Did it even matter? We hadn’t formally exchanged vows. He’d chosen me, but I’d never chosen him. I’d never even been asked. That wasn’t my right.
I was trying to kill his father, and I’d left his mother rotting in a cage. Her words burned in my ears.
Who’s to say you weren’t chosen for this?
That this isn’t your destiny?
Even if we saw each other again, could he ever really forgive me? My cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and I felt sick and dizzy.
“I’ll see you later,” I said, pulling away from Trevor and waving at the others. “I need to get some sleep.”
I headed back towards my tent, my head spinning, stumbling in the darkness. I blinked up at the pitch black canopy of trees, so dark the falling ash looked like snow flakes.
The sky is still there. Just hidden.
Yesterday, my plan was to find a cure for the elixir, a way to weaken king Richard and end his tyranny. I thought maybe I could fix the system from the inside. Live together or die apart; the founding principle that had been hammered into me since birth. I’d left the compound, but I’d never really given up on the rhetoric, or the elite. I cared about Damien and Tobias, and now Penelope. Being an elite didn’t make you evil. It was about the choices you made. But I realized now how naive I’d been. Getting rid of king Richard wouldn’t fix everything, it couldn’t.
I lifted the flap of my tent and ducked inside. I lay down against the furs and blankets, and closed my eyes, feeling the world spin beneath me. Somehow that only made my fears and anxieties sharper.
Did Damien know?
The question was always on the tip of my mind, every time I tried to lay still. I wanted to push it away, but now that there were no distractions, it came rushing back with a vengeance, blocking out everything else.
Every moment we’d shared. When he saved me from Nigel and his buddies. When he chose me off that stage.
He must have thought I was a fool. No wonder he felt guilty about his father’s system, about the weight of the lies. He was poisoning everyone, the polluting the whole world, to force humans to remain in his blood factories, and be grateful for the opportunity.
The camp was quiet at night, despite its size. There were predators out there in the dark woods, and we all knew it. Still, there was something comforting about not being shut in, buried beneath the ruins of a fallen civilization. The open-aired tents let in a cool breeze that smelled like smoke and pine needles and freedom.
It wasn’t like Algrave, when we could literally sleep outside with no fear, but it was something. More than I expected.
Luke slept in the cabin with his uncle. I was supposed to be sharing my tent with Jazmine and Camina, but they hadn’t returned yet. Muffled conversations and the slight twang of a guitar kept me from dozing off, as well as the occasional moan from one of the tents next to me.
For a moment I yearned for my big soft bed and large room in Damien’s apartment. But then I remembered, someone had attacked me there with a slagpaw. Inside the utopian citadel of lights. It might have been more comfortable, but it wasn’t any less dangerous.
Despite Sam’s good intentions, I didn’t trust these people. I knew Penelope wasn’t safe here. We couldn’t afford to overstay our welcome, which meant, I had to figure out what our next move was.
Part of me didn’t want to. Why put ourselves in more danger? Why was this my responsibility at all? I’d been resisting making a choice, or speaking the truth out loud. I knew when I did, everything would change. Right now, the elite were tentative allies. Our plan was to prevent a war, prevent thousands of innocent deaths. I knew whatever stunts the rebels pulled, it was the compounds that would suffer most.
They hadn’t seen Quandom, like I had, or experienced the three-day ‘punishment’ when King Richard turned off the citadel’s purification engines. Sure, it could be survived for a few days, as long as we were well supplied. But it was unnatural to be shut in like that, for too long.
The worst of it was, I liked it here. Even living in the ash. I liked it more than I had any right to. It let me dream of a future, a life, that I’d never even been able to envision before.
I slept for a few hours, but got up before dawn and took a walk, wrapping my blanket around me. The path through the tall trees led to a rocky outcropping, not more than a cliff’s edge, framed by burning lanterns that illuminated the low boughs of the large pine trees. Messages written in paper were tied to forking branches with twine. Half of them had been burned away, leaving only blackened bits of twine, but some of the folded slips of paper remained, waiting for the spark of falling ash that would ignite them. I pulled a few open with my fingers to read them.
It will be cold this winter.
I pray we have enough stores to last the season.
Dear Grandma, I miss you. May your soul find rest.
What am I supposed to do now, without you?
I frowned, peering over the edge of the cliff. Hundreds of feet below, a pile of bones and fabric caught my eye. This was a cemetery of some kind. Now the messages made more sense. This was a place to remember the dead, to send messages into the afterlife, or pray to whatever power was up there listening.
I’d never really had time to mourn my mother; the woman who raised me. I hope she’d received a good burial, before I was arrested. I hoped someday I’d get to go back and lay flowers at her grave. I picked up the pencil thoughtfully, but I couldn’t think of anything to write, so I set it down again and backed away slowly.
A little further down the path, a few benches were set out, and a hammock hung between two trees.
I leaned back against it, watching the ash fall. The view was clear, but I could see almost nothing in the darkness. Far, far on the horizon, I thought I saw a patch of light that might have been the citadel. But between the landscape and the sky, I couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other started. It was just a blank void of nothingness as far as I could see.
