Warriors

by Sarah Noffke

“I dreamed that Vider took you away from me,” Zack continues, his words coated with heavy misery. “That he converted you. Changed you.”

  I straighten. I’m unable to look anywhere else but Zack’s eyes, although all I want is to look away from him. A rapid chill knits up my back and then the stupidest thing I can think of falls out of my mouth. “Huh?”

  Zack watches me, his eyes shifting between each of mine. He’s studying the bewildered expression on my face and I’m studying the thoughts in my brain. And they don’t make sense. Not in my current world.

  Zack resigns with a breath. Sits beside me on the bed. “You must know that my greatest fear is that you don’t succeed. That they capture you.”

  “I’m an idiot,” I say, pulling my feet onto the bed and crossing them in front of me. “So, no, I don’t know that.”

  Zack gives me a confused glare.

  “Greatest fear?” I ask with a skeptical glare. “How in the world did I ever finagle my way onto your greatest fears list?” I say, trying and failing to sound light-hearted.

  “Em, you’re my best friend. The closest person to me. How in the world do you not know that I care about you more than anyone else? Are you intentionally trying to live in denial?”

  I shrug, draping my nervous hands in my lap. “I just figured that with all the stuff you have at work I was the least of your concerns.”

  He closes his eyes for a half beat and then looks at me with sincere annoyance. “Right, I’m so enamored by the robotic Reverians I work with,” Zack says, his words dripping with sarcasm, something he never uses. “Why in the hell would I consume my thoughts with the girl risking every waking moment to save a population of people who have rejected her her entire life?”

  I bristle and make to move off the bed, but Zack reaches out for me. Grabs my hand. “Don’t go,” he says, and I bring my eyes to his to find something I wasn’t expecting. A sincere desire. It looks all wrong on his face, and also too perfect. I want to run and hide and also wrap my arms around him and hold him to me. He is my Zack anyway. He’s my best friend and in being that, I’ve always felt possessive of him, but after his engagement I’ve resented him without knowing why. I know he’s doing it for the war cause, but it still doesn’t justify it. And I don’t know why. Can’t articulate it.

  Finally, after battling with a dozen emotions, I fling myself back onto his other pillow. “Fine, I’ll stay a minute more, but be sure to have this bed thoroughly cleaned. Dee will freak if she finds one of my long blonde hairs here.”

  Zack cringes, his shoulders almost meeting his ears, like he’s having a waking nightmare.

  “What? What is it?” I say, pressing forward, placing my hand on his.

  “I just can’t stomach the idea of sharing a bed with her,” he says, and leans back on his own side, a miserable expression on his face.

  I lie back next to him and strangely find I’m closer to his side of the bed. It must have been the angle I lay back at, but I don’t want to move away now that I lie inches from Zack’s face, hovering beside mine. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to marry her. We can still find a way out for you.”

  “I do have to. And no we can’t.”

  “She makes you cringe though,” I say. “How are you going to get around that?”

  He stares off, a cold look of defeat in his eyes. “I don’t know,” Zack says and his voice carries such regret. There’s a depth to his current sadness that I only half comprehend, but that’s typical. He’s too strong to complain, or to tell me exactly everything he fears.

  “Okay,” I say. “You know I’ll miss you.” I pause. “I say ‘you know’ because you already know that. I don’t want to think about not being able to see you anymore, so I haven’t allowed myself, but if I did I would think about nothing else.”

  “I know,” he says. “I feel the same way.”

  “You do?” I ask and turn to look at him only inches away. He’s staring at me with a quiet need. A yearning. And I think I know and then I don’t what his expression says. I can’t be reading any of this accurately right now. I’m an idiot. But then Zack reaches out and tugs my chin so it’s facing his. He angles his head in line with mine. He leans into me. I close my eyes, waiting on this moment. Aching for it. His lips are an eyelash distance from mine. His breath slides down my cheeks, sturdy and warm.

  Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm makes me jump.

  “Shit!” he says, jerking upright, away from me.

  My eyes flick to the bracelet on his wrist, pulsing and signaling an alarm. I’ve heard it dozens of times. He has five minutes to rest and fall back to sleep or he’ll be reported.

  Zack slaps a button on the side of the bracelet and it silences.

  I’ve already scrambled out of his bed, shaking the last few minutes out of my head.

  “Em,” he says, reaching out with his voice. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to,” I say, backing toward the door. “You need to sleep. Before you’re in trouble.”

  “No, I’ll deal with the sleep commission tomorrow. I’ll tell them I was just excited about the wedding. It will be fine.”

  The mention of the wedding coats my skin in needles. I shake my head and back away. “No, you’ve got to sleep. I’ve got to go,” I say, and grab the door handle and pull it shut as I dart out of his room and to my own. I crash into my bed and yank the covers over my head, hoping and praying he doesn’t follow me.

  I know that Zack cares about me. I’m the girl in his nightmares. But I won’t allow that to delude me into thinking there’s anything more than platonic feelings behind his concern. The almost-kiss was a result of his billowing regret. Because even Zack will admit I know him better than anyone else, and there’s no way he sees me as anything more than a friend. I can’t even begin to allow myself to believe anything different.

  Slowly my breaths turn to gentle raps and with each passing minute I know I’ve conquered the space between Zack and me. The space that in a few short days will be too vast. In a few short days our emotions and friendship will be singed until it only exists in our memory. And then it comes, a torrent of tears marking the end of the best friendship I’ve ever had. Soon it will be over. I cry the rest of the night until my tears sail me off to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The last thing I want is to face Zack. And since the gods know that and enjoy playing with me, I run straight into him as soon as I exit my room the next morning. I guess it’s tough to avoid someone when you live with them. I thought I heard the shower running and could get out of the house before he was ready.

  He’s dressed for work in a navy blue suit. Black tie. His chin is tucked and he’s regarding me with a brutal stubbornness. From his room I indeed hear the shower running.

  “Uh, is someone taking a shower in your bathroom?” I ask, angling my head around him.

  He shakes his head. “I knew you wouldn’t come out of your room until you thought the coast was clear.”

  “Oh, you know me so well,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. “Clever trick.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, a playful half smile on his face.

  “Well, you’re wasting a bunch of water. You should turn it off,” I say, moving by him and heading for the stairs.

  “After we talk.” And for the second time in twenty-four hours and the second time in our entire life he reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Em,” Zack says, pulling me around so I’m facing him.

  I eye his hand wrapped around my wrist and then bring my gaze up to his. He’s giving me that look from last night. That one that breaks my heart with what I can’t have and am also about to lose. “Zack, I’ve got to go.”

  “We need to talk,” he says.

  “If you want to talk about the projects then we can do that later,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

  “That’s not what I want to talk about,” Zack says.

  I pull my wrist from his grip. Shake my head at
him.

  “You aren’t going to allow us to discuss what happened last night?” he asks, disappointment in his eyes.

  The memory of our almost-kiss skims across my memory. “No, I think there’s no reason to discuss that lapse in your judgment.”

  “Em, you’re not being fair,” he says.

  “Save it!” I say louder than I intended. “Save it for Dee. For all the times you get with her. Save it for her porcelain ears to hear.” I know I’m being mean, but I can’t stop it. I don’t want to hurt Zack and yet I have to direct my pain and disappointment somewhere.

  “Don’t do this. Don’t push me away now,” Zack says. “Last night, I almost—”

  “Zack, we’re friends. Best friends,” I interrupt. “I totally understand that you’re stressed by everything and not thinking clearly. You don’t have to explain anything any further.”

  He lowers his chin. Pinches his mouth together. And regards me with a look that means he’s either completely pissed at me or completely pissed at himself.

  “And right now,” I continue, “is the perfect time to push you away. I need to do it to preserve my own sanity.”

  A muscle flexes in his jaw. “Em…” And although he only says my name, it seems like there is a round of punishing statements following it.

  “Look,” I say, “you know I don’t thoroughly agree with your reasons for marrying Dee. I get that it offers us many advantages in the war, ones we won’t have otherwise. But for a hundred different reasons, most of them that I won’t share, I don’t want you to do it. I’ve voiced that concern and you’re marrying her anyways. You made your decision and now I’m making mine. Just give me space, Zack. Okay?” I only just register his nod as I turn and bound down the stairs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Knowing mid-morning is the best time to sneak into my old house I recruit Parker to cover my work at the conversion lab for an hour. He’s all too happy since he has little else to do. Of course, Ren is cranky about the change. He’s worried it will draw attention to what we’re doing.

  I shrug off the indignant remarks he scolds me with as I sprint out of the lab. If Tutu requests I visit then I’ll risk getting caught and a host of other dangers.

  To my relief Tutu is the only one home when I slide in through the back door. I can feel her power in the house. No other Dream Traveler. However, my parents could return at any time and I can’t face them. Can’t risk confronting them and having to defend myself to get away. One day they will be punished for their crimes, but I don’t want to be the one who does it. I can’t be the one.

  The old floors creak under my shoes as I creep up the stairs. It’s been three months since the scent of the polished mahogany of my childhood home wafted by me. It instantly brings uninvited nostalgia to my chest.

  It’s hard to keep my head clear as I take the once familiar trek to the wing of the house Tutu occupies. Almost all my fond memories happened within the flower-decorated walls of her suite. Unlike the rest of the house, the furniture in Tutu’s wing is all Polynesian. I love that it has a flair of character with its engraved leaves and depictions of tropical birds. The rest of the house has straight-backed, uncomfortable furniture that’s upholstered in fabric as stiff as my mother’s appearance. Tutu’s furniture is draped in bright colors that invite with its softness and overstuffed pillows.

  I knock on her door and after a few seconds push it open to find the usually bright by day room dark with the curtains drawn. The usual smell of lilies springs to my nose and through the darkness I spy the vase of flowers on the center table. But there’s another smell that’s new. It’s pungent, with an undertone of musk to it.

  “Tutu?” I call out, my voice just above a whisper.

  “In here, child,” she says, her voice cramping my head with fear. The normal spunk is gone in her tone. She sounds tired, her voice a croak like she just woke up.

  I step carefully, making my way to her bedroom. Instinctively I know and can’t bear to see what lies on the other side of the half opened double doors. I slide the door back enough to enter, keeping my eyes low in the dimly lit room. From my peripheral I know my tutu is resting in her bed but I don’t want to look at her. Not yet. Tutu isn’t the type to lie in bed. She may not leave these quarters often but she still bustles around all day. A tread of her usual paths has actually been carved in the carpet.

  “Oh, quit being so skittish and get over here, child,” she says, her voice strained from possible disuse.

  I bring my gaze up to find her lying in her four-poster bed, the turquoise comforter tucked up to her chest. Her gray curls lie around her head on the pillow. And on her face is the same smile I saw almost every day of my childhood. Tutu may be stingy with her compliments and affection, but she is lavish with her smiles. However, this one holds an element of strain.

  “Tutu,” I say, the tears in my throat making my voice sound raw. I rush to the side of the bed and perch there at once. “What’s going on? Are you sick?”

  “No, child,” she says, an amused expression on her face as she shakes her head. “I’m dying. I’m done.”

  I choke out a tear. “No,” I say, pushing closer to her. “How? Why?”

  “My time is done. I’m done,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact. Indifferent.

  “So you’re giving up?” All my life Tutu has had a fire in her. One that fueled her passion. She told me she’d mastered old age because she knew how to think to keep herself strong and that old people died because their thoughts told them to. Of course, Dream Travelers do have a longer life span than Middlings, but Tutu is still the oldest that I know of.

  “Do you know what today is?” she asked, a cunning spark in her eyes.

  I shake my head, not even thinking about the question.

  “It’s my one-hundredth birthday.”

  “Oh,” I say, hiccupping on a tear. “Happy birthday,” I say but it sounds lame coming out of my mouth as I stare at the dying woman in front of me.

  “I’ve been feeling my end near for a long time and now I think the thoughts that have kept me on this earth have run out. I’m done,” she says again, but this time with a relieved smile.

  “But Tutu, you can’t leave me.” And I realize at once how childish my complaint sounds.

  “Oh, but I can and I must.”

  “Of all times, why now?”

  Her eyes fall on a spot on the other side of the room. Hover there for a second. “I made a promise.”

  “To who?”

  “Em, this would be a little easier if you’d leech me,” she says.

  “No!” I say, jerking upright. “Are you crazy? In your condition it could kill you.”

  “I’m going anyway and at least this way you’ll have the privilege to learn something I’ve never told a living soul.”

  The offer is tempting, but the idea that I could be what sucks out my tutu’s remaining life makes my head lighten.

  Tutu shakes her head at my indecision. “Em, the man I made a promise to stands in that corner,” she says, pointing with her withered finger. “I want him to tell you why today will be my last day on earth.”

  I press my eyes closed. Take a deep breath. Then I turn my gaze on the corner and leech my tutu’s gift. At once a ghost appears before me. He looks the same as I remember: three-piece suit, dark hair parted down the middle and pushed back, and an infectious smile under his neat mustache.

  “Ronald?” I say, looking from him to my tutu.

  He bows slightly. “A pleasure seeing you again, Morie.”

  “What promise did Tutu make to you?” I ask.

  He half strolls, half floats across the room, arriving beside me too fast. “We made a deal,” he says, his voice smooth. “I have enjoyed my time as a spirit on earth, but it is also a strange existence. I affect no one. I can do nothing. I don’t eat, drink, sleep, or feel. Yet, I’ve been all too happy to remain in this state for eighty years.”

  “But why? Why do you haunt?” I ask. Tutu once
told me that spirits stay on earth when they always have the option of passing because something holds them here, usually pain or what they believe is unfinished business.

  Ronald holds up a finger and grins. “Ahhh, I don’t haunt. I’m a special case. As your tutu is special with her gift.”

  My head is swimming with confusion. None of this is computing to why my tutu, the person who raised me, is lying in a bed about to die.

  Ronald must spy my confusion, because he gives me a sympathetic smile. “I have chosen to stay as a ghost all this time. And in return your tutu has agreed that she would pass on her one-hundredth birthday, if she didn’t die of something else sooner.”

  “Wait? What?” This all sounds morbid and then also strangely curious. “You two made a deal?” I say, looking from Ronald to Tutu.

  He nods triumphantly. “And now you want to know why, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say too loudly. “Of course I do.”

  “It is my distinct pleasure to inform you, dear Morie, that your tutu, Marylou, is the love of my life,” Ronald says. “She captured my heart both while I was living and for all these years afterwards.”

  “You’re my grandfather?” I ask, studying the man who looks nothing like me or my father or the man in the old photos.

  Ronald chuckles. “Heavens no. I’m the man Marylou loved and lost before she married the despicable Mr. Fuller.”

  I scratch my head out of nervousness. “Say what?” Now my eyes swivel to Tutu. “What is he talking about?”

  She gives a tired smile. “Ronald is the man who was supposed to be your grandfather. We loved each other all our lives. Grew up together. We were always planning to marry. But it was in this room that I watched him take his last breath. Due to his decision to not listen to me he died of a nasty case of pneumonia one winter.”

  “It’s been eighty years. You think you’d let it go,” Ronald says, a smile in his voice.

  “I wouldn’t dare do that,” Tutu snaps back. She looks at me. “Em, I’d told Ronald not to go off to the gold mines that season. That I had a bad feeling, but he insisted and he returned sick. Dreadfully sick.”