by Sarah Chorn
The green man’s companion stayed on his horse, silent and hulking, watching us from on high, though I had no doubt he was similarly outfitted.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” the lawman said, tipping his hat. He did not sound sorry. His voice was low and grating, and I hated him instantly. “We’ve come to talk to the girl.”
“Cassandra? She’s but a child. There couldn’t possibly be anything she knows that you don’t.”
“There’s been some unusual activity nearby. Seeing as how she’s the outlaw’s get, we think it might be worth checking up on her. Perhaps she’s been visited by the man. Mayhap she knows something, even if it’s small.”
We knew this would happen sooner or later, and I understood my role. I needed to be a child. I needed to protect myself with the armor of ignorance.
“She hasn’t seen her father in years. He dropped her off here and hied off to the mountains soon as the sun rose again,” Annie said. It was a lie, and the way the lawman’s eyes twitched made me think that he saw it for what it was.
“All the same, miss, we are under orders. We can question her here, or take her with us. Will you give us any trouble?” He shifted, the sun catching the pistol on his hip. Doubtless, he had his gun loaded with the stuff. In an instant, he could fire, and then what?
The moment grew teeth.
“It’s fine,” I said. I knew how this would end. “Let them question me. I’d rather do it here.”
I did not know that everything was about to change. These men with their horses and their guns had brought the next phase of my life with them.
He couldn’t sleep. Rose gave him a room, shared with Chris, and he spent the whole night tossing and turning. Finally, he decided to get up and walk his restlessness off. Do something besides wiggle the bed while the big man next to him snored himself stupid.
Rose, as it happened, seemed to run some kind of way station. A place for a person to stop on their way from wherever they had been, to wherever they were going. It didn’t feel like a way station to him, though. It felt like a mausoleum. The place where the lies he’d filled himself up with died.
His mind was as jittery as his body.
Arlen made his way into the main room, where he’d eaten dinner, and took his time walking around, before staring into the shine fire that threw off so much welcome heat, but still couldn’t quite manage to reach into the depths of his frozen soul. His eyes moved up, fixed on the antlers hanging above the fireplace before moving to the pictures hanging on the surrounding walls. Paintings, all beautifully done. One, in particular, caught his attention, a sunset over a mountain valley, hemmed in by steep, unforgiving cliffs, thick brushstrokes and clots of paint giving the scene texture as well as vivid color. His artist’s eye studied the work, fascinated by the technique.
“Your ma’s,” Rose said suddenly.
Arlen jumped, shoulders stiff. “I don’t—"
“Don’t bother with denying.” Rose waved a hand in the air and shoved a mug of tea into his hand. Peppermint. He breathed in the heady aroma and sipped. Felt it burn his tongue. “I know Chris as well as I know myself by this point, and I see his features written all over you. The only reason you’d be out here with him is if you knew it too. So yeah, that’s your ma’s work. She was a hell of a painter. Had a romance with sunsets.”
“Were you… Did you know her?”
“Not well.” Rose sat in one of her sturdy wooden chairs. “They lived way out where no one could reach them. Only saw them occasionally, when they’d come barter supplies off me. She was nice. She was never comfortable out here, though.”
“Why not?” Arlen asked.
“Didn’t know her well enough to be able to answer that.” Rose paused. Sipped her tea. “There wasn’t a drop of shine in her. Something about her seemed to refuse to let it in. Everyone else, they turn after being here a while, eating our food, drinking our water, all of it shine touched. It changes our coloring. Lila never did. Lived out here for years and never saw one streak of shine appear in her hair or eyes. Don’t know what it was about her. Probably never will.”
Arlen sat down, put his mug on the table, and ran his hands over the scarred surface. He didn’t know what to say, so he waited while Rose collected her thoughts, and then continued her story.
“When Chris hightailed it out of there, I brought the paintings here, so at least they’d have a place to be seen. That’s what I’ve always thought about her art. Some art a person does for themselves. Some art needs to be seen. Lila painted her soul into these pictures. Beautiful, complex woman. Too soft for this hard world. But you know what they say about soft people, right?”
“No, what do they say about soft people?” Arlen asked. Rose curled her lips a bit, a small smile. Just enough of one to put him at ease.
“Just because you are soft does not mean you aren’t a force,” she held her finger in the air. “That was Lila. She was soft, but she was a force. She could make a grown man tremble. She always wanted to both change the world and lose herself in it. She hated Shine Territory. Hated what it did to people. Hated how it changed things. Like you.”
“Me?”
“Those kids in the mine. A man don’t get that upset about something like that if he don’t have a soul. You’ve got a measure of freedom, Arlen, but be careful. Freedom is a wolf, and it will eat your heart.”
The night stretched between them, made itself comfortable. The frogs outside were loud, so very, very loud. He focused all his attention on them, tried to pour all of himself into the act of listening. He’d been too anxious. Too much had happened. In the space of a few days, everything he’d ever known, everything he’d ever thought, was turned on its head. He needed time. Time to breathe. Time to listen to the frogs and think of nothing but their songs. Time to stare at the stars, and ponder what mysteries lay between them.
He just needed time.
“You’re not in an easy place,” Rose said. “See lots of men coming and going through here, all of them broken in some way. That crack is running right through the middle of you. It’s not an easy thing, to see the world the way it is and love it anyway. What are you going to do, Arlen? Go back to the life you left on that train, or keep going?
“You could leave now. Chris will sleep most of the day away. Always does when he’s here. You could pick yourself up and walk right out that door, give no one your never mind. Don’t owe a soul a Fate-damned thing. Go south along the base of these mountains and you’ll walk right past Grove. Right to your sister’s house. From there, you could go anywhere. Be anyone.
“Or you could continue on with Chris. You’ll survive it, but you won’t recognize yourself at the end.”
He could feel that knowledge sinking into his bones and carving itself on his heart. Keep going. Discover the place where this entire conflict began. Find the start of his story. Or turn now, and live a peaceful, happy life, relishing his ignorance. Go back to what he knew.
Ignorance took too much energy to maintain.
“What is this place?” He asked Rose, changing the conversation, and he was glad when she let him.
“My homestead. We came out here from the east. Came to farm and fill ourselves up with the land. Got closed in when Matthew created the Boundary. Weren’t given a choice in the matter, and ended up trapped here like everyone else. No one asked us if we wanted to be stuck here forever.” She folded her arms over her breast as though hugging herself. “We did the best we could. Harold, my husband, got crushed in a mining accident, and I stayed. Turned our house into an inn for wandering souls. For people of the in-between, like us. Those who don’t have a place in this world. Everyone is safe here. This is sanctuary. This is sacred ground. In this place, I am the god, and I mark all your souls.”
Her words had a force to them, but she sounded tired. So very tired.
“Outlaws stay here?”
Rose glared at him. “Those who need to know where I’m at, do,” she finally said. It was both an answer
and not an answer at the same time. Arlen understood why. It was quite a risk to hand so much information to a man who was still dressed in a company suit.
“Where is he taking me?” Arlen asked.
“Don’t rightly know,” she said. “Can’t puzzle out Chris’s logic. Stopped trying years ago.” She studied Arlen. “If you could go anywhere, where would you end up?”
“I… don’t know. Everything is different now. Yesterday the answer would have been easy.”
Rose heaved out a sigh and stood, rubbing at a spot on her lower back. “Go to bed, boy,” she said, pulling herself to her feet. “Listen to the frogs, and let them sing you to sleep. You’ll need what rest you can get.”
He trundled off to his bed and, despite himself, fell into a quick, deep sleep.
“Come on,” Christopher whispered, his hand rough on Arlen’s shoulder. “Get up, damn you.” The sun was painting the room yellow through the lace curtains.
“What?”
“We’ve got to go. Now. I’ve packed our stuff, but we have to head out. The law just showed up.”
That got Arlen to his feet. He could hear voices in the belly of the house. Smell food and frying meat. Hunger was a clenched fist in his gut. “No time,” Chris said, his stomach audibly groaning. “Rose gave us some provisions. Put your boots on and let’s go.”
This was his moment, Arlen realized. The law was right there, on the other side of the wall. Nothing between him and the life he knew but a door. He glanced at the window. On the other side of that window was the great unknown. At the bottom of all that falling was an outlaw’s life and hard truths.
Out there was his past.
Chris watched him, violet eyes blazing. “You’ve got the way of it,” the outlaw said. “All you need to do is open that door and it’ll all be over. They’ll hang me, and take you back to your old life. I won’t stand in your way.” His words were punctuated by the muffled voices of the company men. Arlen’s old life. It would be so easy to open that door, to walk away. “What are you going to do, Arlen? Make your choice, and make it fast. Belly up with Fate. This is when you get to choose what haunts you.”
He was right. Whatever he decided, no matter what he did, he would always be haunted by what-ifs, and if-onlys. He would always have ghosts. He was torn. Sundered. He could feel that rift inside of him, swelling, bursting. The great unknown opening up within him, devouring everything, leaving nothing but darkness edged with teeth, and a lifetime of questions.
“Can’t wait forever, Arlen. Make your choice and make it quick.”
“How will we get out of here?” Arlen finally asked, biting out the question.
In answer, Chris threw open the small window, positioned a chair beneath it, and motioned for Arlen to shimmy through. Bracing himself, he pushed his head through, eyeing the drop. It would be a few feet. Not terrible, but it wouldn’t feel good, either. There was some standing water under the window, which would make some noise as he landed, but it was a risk they had to take. There was no other escape. They couldn’t stay here, with lawmen on the other side of that door. “Quiet,” Chris hissed. “Lower yourself down slowly. I’ll hand you the pack.”
Arlen put his hands on the window, shimmied through it, and hung for a moment, angling his feet so he’d fall in the quietest spot, a clump of tall grass just below, near the foundation of the house. Hopefully, it would muffle the sound of his landing. The impact jarred his feet, up through his knees, stabbing into his hips. A second later, the pack landed beside him. He strapped it to his back. Then, Chris followed, landing just to the side of Arlen.
No sooner had they dropped than a door to the cabin opened and loud voices filled the air. Arlen’s heart pounded beneath his ribs. Lawmen. Had they come outside because Arlen and Chris had been heard, or had they gone outside to enjoy the morning? It was impossible to know.
Chris mumbled a curse and, with a jab of his thumb, indicated the way they needed to go, toward the forest behind the house, and the mountains on which it grew. They bent double so the tall grasses would obscure them, and made their way carefully through the soggy ground. All Arlen wanted to do was run away from those voices, away from danger, but Chris kept the pace slow and steady, carefully considering each step so they’d make the least amount of noise. Still, Arlen’s feet got sucked into the muddy earth, the wet noises he made as he moved sounded loud as a scream. The voices faded the further they went. Arlen let out a relieved sigh when the forest swallowed them up, hiding them from prying eyes.
Finally, they were well within the forest, and Chris angled them, not straight up the mountain that the forest sat on the edge of, but a bit to the north, skirting the side of that steep slope. “Where are we going?” Arlen asked, breath sawing in his lungs.
“Hush,” Chris hissed. “I think we left them behind, but maybe they had people out here. Maybe someone’s waiting.”
Obediently, Arlen closed his mouth, sensing the tension radiating off of Chris. He hadn’t thought about people out here, waiting, but now that Chris mentioned it, anxiety filled him up.
Chris stepped into a small stream and motioned Arlen to do the same. A few minutes later, he pointed at a tree and then motioned that he wanted Arlen to stay there while he doubled back, likely to hide their tracks.
Later, after more of this stopping and starting business, Chris apparently deemed them safe, and finally spoke. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Arlen asked.
“For picking me,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything and still—”
“I picked answers. I chose myself,” Arlen said. “I want to know what only you can tell me.” Overhead, the first clouds of a storm were approaching. He could already smell rain in the air. Already taste it.
Chris winced as though Arlen had slapped him. “That’s fair, I suppose.”
There was no more talking after that. No more shared words. They picked up the pace, racing through the trees toward a point Arlen could only guess at.
The first fat drops just fell when he saw it. A small log cabin nestled in a clearing between thick pines. All the way out here. Not even a wagon trail going to it, but the clearing was kept free of debris, obviously due to recent labor. A stack of logs was cut and leaning under the eaves on the western facing wall. There was what looked to be an old chicken coop, no longer useful, sitting off to the other side. A falling fence, the wood split and eaten through, sat on the eastern side of the house.
The cabin itself looked like any would. A door in front, closed tight. Two small windows, and a stone chimney. It was small and quaint, but very homey. “This is yours,” Arlen said, stepping forward. Studying it. Chris hung back in the trees, watching, saying not a word as Arlen made his slow journey around the property.
He could picture it, was the surreal thing. Picture this house and the family who lived here. All the way out in the wild, alone, but happy together, with nothing but nature and each other for company. A fire burning in the hearth. Dinner cooking over it. Children running around. Fresh meat from the latest hunt. Yes, he could see it. He could see a person being happy here. He could see a family finding sanctuary here.
He walked further, looking at the small paddock, probably built for horses. There was a rusted wagon falling apart nearby. A small cellar under the house dug out and then covered up with boards, likely storage for root vegetables and salted meat.
Further, he saw a patch of what had probably been a garden once. A few herbs still growing there. Mint, mostly, taking over the space.
Someone had loved this place once.
His heart ached.
He almost fell upon it by accident, nearly hidden by all that sprawling mint. Three graves, side by side. Names carved into the stones that marked them. Poppies. Flowers cut and tied with a ribbon.
Lila.
Alice.
Harmony.
It happened all at once. There was no slow tear. No building quake. No storm on the horizon. It was just him and one endless, inc
redible, torrential rupture. He was the great boiling earth. There was nothing left to him. Nothing left to fight. Nothing left to argue with. No more delusions, no more wondering.
He fell to his knees on his own grave. The grave his parents had dug and buried all of his small things in. The place where so many dreams had died and a life of lies was born. He knelt there and became undone.
His distressed cry tore its way out of him, its claws digging into his throat before thrusting itself into the world in a bloody, anguished birth. He screamed loud enough to shatter the world. Mountains were moving inside of him. The landscape was shifting. Lava was surging up through the crust of his soul.
His dead mother. His dead baby sister. His own grave.
Strange, how a body doesn’t have to bleed or break to experience a fatal wound. All his scar tissue was pulling apart, and in an instant, he felt like there was nothing to him but emptiness and pain. If a man fell apart alone in the woods, would he make a sound?
But he wasn’t alone.
Hands.
Arms.
A body pulling him tight.
“It’s okay,” Chris whispered into his hair. “It’s okay to feel. It’s okay to break. It’s okay to tear yourself apart.”
He was given permission, and he took it. Sometimes all a person can do is cry, and shake, and rail at the world. He sat there, held by his father, over the graves of the family he never knew, and screamed out his injustice at a world that did him wrong.
An entire life, stolen from him.
An entire family, stolen from him.
And why? He’d been able to dodge that question before. Been able to pretend that all of this was one big adventure, that it was someone else’s story he was living, not his own. Now, however, he could no longer do that. He was kneeling on his own grave. There was no avoiding it anymore. “Why did he take me?” Arlen asked.
It was still raining, but neither of them seemed inclined to find shelter. That house would be hard to walk into, Arlen knew. Hard to walk into, and not see everything he didn’t have. He’d been raised by the wealthiest man in the world, and he envied this log cabin life in a way he’d never known a person could envy. It was a kind of hollowed-out want that lit him on fire.
