Blood Awakens

by Jessaca Willis

  Then he saw the movement again, just like he had seen during the previous night. With the sun shining directly above, the dark, ragged hood was unmistakable.

  The figure dodged behind a barn before he could get a better look.

  “Hey,” Santiago yelled after her. When he could no longer see her, he gave a swivel of his head to crane a better view. But the woman was already gone so Santiago darted after her. “Wait!”

  He leaped over a trough of slop to cut down some of the distance. The barn on his right was simple and wooden and he whizzed by the front doors in a blink. His hand gripped a beam, and he spun himself around the corner, just like he’d seen his sister do earlier that day.

  Abruptly, he stopped. He found himself face-to-face with the backside of the stable and the fence that enclosed the area. The woman, who should’ve also found herself at the same dead end, was nowhere to be found. That was impossible though, he’d seen her run back this way. She couldn’t have just disappeared.

  Just then, Santiago could feel her presence. Not through his power, but by the way that someone can tell when they’re not alone, like there’s a stillness in the air. Someone was nearby.

  An aged woman’s laughter erupted at his backside.

  Santiago spun on his heels, determined not to lose her again. This time, the elusive being didn’t run. She stood a couple of meters away from him. Even with her hand covering her mouth, he could tell she was smiling. She looked at him fondly, though he had never seen her before.

  “Who are you?” he asked harshly.

  Two eyes, charcoal brown, gleamed at him with more vibrancy than the sun itself. She shook her head and looked at the ground. Her smoky, coarse hair bobbed with the motion. She was small in stature but had a robust frame and her coppery, withered skin revealed the long life she had lived.

  With a twinkle in her eyes, her arm rose from her side to point. Santiago followed her finger until he had completely turned around. Again, he faced the dead end. But this time, he noticed a flyer posted on the fence.

  “That wasn’t there a second ago.” Suspicion murmured within him, but curiosity spoke louder.

  From his location, there wasn’t much to discern as far as details. It was the size of a postcard, with a red, white and blue border. At first it struck him as a meaningless leaflet, something of no importance that was now left behind to decay into nothing like everything else. But upon closer inspection, he saw the three countries shooting out from the background like fireworks. The eagle soaring in the corner watching over them protectively. With a sudden flash of clarity, he recognized the countries: the three American Unions, separated since the last war. Most notably however, were a dozen or more black dots, and exactly three silver stars—two in the Pacific American Union, one in the Atlantic American Union. Though Santiago had never been to any of the American states, he recognized one of the star placements to be in New York, another in a big state that neighbored Canada, and the last was somewhere near, but not quite along, the west coast. He wondered why there weren’t any in the Texan Union, but only idly.

  Ripping the flyer from the fence, Santiago shot back at the older woman in accusation, “These are the Union sanctuaries? Right now, we’re in California, right?” When he pointed at the third star in the west, he nearly popped a hole through the flyer. “Are we here?”

  The mystery woman now spread her arms into the air and turned toward the rest of the community. She bobbed her head, a gentle smile broadening as she watched him look from the map to the community and back again a handful of times.

  Although, admittedly it seemed to be larger than the nomadic towns he’d expected, Santiago still felt justified in his former assumptions. “This is it? This place was so popular it earned itself a silver star, but it’s just you and I here.” A tumbleweed all but bounced across one of the streets. He let out a dismal sigh. “I was right then. All of them have fallen.”

  In the blink of an eye, the woman was suddenly a mere hands-length from his body. She shook her head slowly, a frown prominent between her wrinkled, sagging cheeks. He hardly noticed her outstretched finger at first, the tip of it eluding to somewhere back out the alley. He felt inclined to follow her direction, though he wasn’t sure why.

  After assessing the safety of the street, an instinct Santiago had developed over months of traveling on the road that he couldn’t fight even in a place that was this deserted, Santiago veered right at the old woman’s urging. It was a straight path, one uncluttered and exposed, lined by shops on either side. Some showcased a variety of clothing, old, new, and refurbished. Others were small vendors of snacks, trinkets and things Santiago couldn’t even recognize or place.

  The path ended at a wooden fence with uneven boards nailed to crooked posts, clearly constructed by people with no construction experience, but it still stood, nonetheless.

  “Eh-hem.” The woman’s raspy cough made Santiago jolt. It was the first time he’d heard any noise here, let alone from her.

  With his full attention, she angled her head to the ground and Santiago followed her gaze to a small, shimmering object. The relentless sun only served to amplify the silver shine. At his feet lay a gilded, oval pendant almost the length of his entire thumb on a chain as long as his forearm. Santiago was no jewel expert, so he wasn’t sure what the plum-tinted gemstone crested on the center was, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. He picked the locket up for closer examination. Lightly, he traced the intricate swirls and leaves and, through his inspection, found a small, round button located at its base.

  With a weak release of pressure, the necklace popped ajar. As he flicked the locket open further, two profile pictures came into view. Both images were so worn it was impossible to distinguish any details, but he could tell each image was of a person. They looked like they might even be of children.

  When Santiago turned to the older woman beside him, there was something about her that made him feel uneasy. Not in danger, but cautious. It was the playful glint in her eyes that told him to prepare to be amazed.

  Without further warning, and before he could ask what she was doing, the woman snapped the fingers of her right hand and a flash encompassed everything. Once it cleared, the world of life had triggered around them. There were people everywhere, all around them. And they were alive, in action, as if they’d been there the entire time. Knees locked, Santiago stood dumbfounded watching friends conversing over an actual meal, children chasing one another on the dirt paths, couples walking from shop to shop, hands intertwined. Before him, folks everywhere were indulging in a plethora of life’s simplest tasks.

  At first, he took a step forward, entranced to see a life he thought was no longer possible. He couldn’t help but get caught up in the dizzying pace of everyone around him and found himself spinning just to take it all in, every person, every task. Each revolution he took caused him to take another and another.

  But his spinning slowed as reality settled. He reminded himself that this life was long gone and that there was nothing that could bring it back. Santiago had seen what happened to sanctuaries such as this. These people were only lying to themselves if they believed this place would last. Santiago faltered back defeated, until his legs hit the rickety fence.

  The sharp clanking of metal on metal caught his attention. The longer he listened, the more melodic it became, until the metallic noise intrigued him more than any of the strangers he’d walked amongst. With one final rotation, Santiago found himself facing the makeshift fence again. He finally realized its purpose: a training ground where people of all ages practiced sword fighting, arrow shooting, and, to his revulsion, their Awakened skills.

  In fact, most of the people inside were actively using their cursed abilities. Many he guessed to be novices, encountering the same difficulties with control and precision that started the wars in the first place. In one corner, a bolt of lightning whizzed past someone’s shoulder, nicking them by the judge of their scream. In another corner, the ground
morphed and shifted at the will of a woman’s frustration alone. At the back of the field, a few people heaved up boulders that must’ve weighed more than an elephant each with ease, then tossed them across the field even more effortlessly, their lack of accuracy breaking part of the fence.

  It was because of instances like these that they’d become so feared and hated, because his kind were trying to use powers that they didn’t understand and causing destruction because of it. Santiago believed they should be learning to suppress them. They were only human, after all.

  The horror of it all was sickening. This sanctuary, the people here, they were creating an Awakened army.

  All sense of excitement detonated for him, leaving nothing but an empty crater where hope had started to bloom. This place, it stood against everything he believed in. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from an Awakened sanctuary, but this wasn’t it.

  Fueled by rage, Santiago wanted to flee. He didn’t belong here and wouldn’t stay a second longer. But just as he was about to storm off, one of the trainers, a young woman who seemed to be in charge of it all, marched to the center of the field and demanded everyone’s attention.

  She spiked her weapon into the dirt, a long, thin pole, and leaned into it as she addressed her trainees. “Let’s run that drill again! This time remember why you’re here. You’re here to protect your loved ones, yourselves, and, possibly someday, each other. Remember that the next time you’re about to lose control and injure your partner. And partners,” she paused, plucking the pole from the ground and returning to the fence line, swagger in her hips. “Remember to dodge.”

  She had short, cropped hair, only a few shades darker than her bronzed complexion. Normally, Santiago preferred a longer cut for women, but this actually worked for her. Worked for him.

  But what he was really paying attention to were her golden-green eyes. He couldn’t peel his gaze away, like looking into a shimmering hazel fire. It had him entranced.

  Suddenly, Santiago was all too aware of his sweating palms, and with great irritation, he wiped them on his pants. What was coming over him? This was absurd. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen a beautiful woman before. In fact, he’d seen far more beautiful than her. Okay, maybe not far more. Definitely none with eyes as fierce, or as inviting.

  He realized then how long it had actually been. Him and his sister had been on the road for months, and even before that, it’s not like anyone gave him the time of day once they discovered his status. Things had been grim for a while now. This woman just might be the first pleasant thing in his life in months. For the time being, he was completely content with ignoring their opposing views.

  The woman in the field walked the perimeter, pole in hand as she observed the people while they again administered their attacks. Occasionally, she’d step in for demonstration. By the looks of it, she was an abled and tough instructor, and he wondered what she’d done before the Awakening. Certainly, she hadn’t always been a trainer. Or maybe she had. Instruction seemed to come naturally to her.

  “Take a water break,” she said to a young female fighter, skin opaque like a ghost until she flitted back into existence and walked away. It left the trainer with a man crumpled on the ground. He was clutching his head but appeared to have no serious wounds. “It takes time, practice, patience. We were all there once. In time, you’ll figure it out.”

  The confidence on his face was a thin crack. “Hopefully I don’t die first.”

  Though the woman’s words were kind, her face was expressionless. “You won’t die, not while you’re here. Everyone, even empaths, can learn to live here without pain.”

  “Empaths,” Santiago breathed, the word like smoke in his throat. He hated the taste of it, the sound of it just as putrid to his ears as the flavor was on his tongue. To be an empath meant to be a burden, to be doomed.

  But here, in this place, it was…different? At least, that’s what this woman had said. And she’d sounded so resolute when she’d told the man he wouldn’t die. As far as Santiago knew, all empaths died within the first year of exposure to their Awakened ability. Not while you’re here, she’d said, as if this place was something special, as if it could prevent the inevitable.

  Santiago turned to his elder companion. “Is this real?”

  She only continued smiling gleefully at him.

  Suddenly the sky above cast a shadow over them both, a downpour swift to follow. Rain plummeted from the clouds like pellets, some managing to slink their way down the back of his shirt. Santiago ran for shelter beneath a nearby canopy.

  Abruptly, Santiago noticed that everyone was gone as instantly as they had materialized.

  Except for the old woman. She stood under an invisible umbrella in front of him, untouched by the rainstorm, mouth wide open. Her lips didn’t move, but the voice that came out belonged to her without a doubt.

  “You must go!” He heard her words all around him, as if they flew through the air instead of out from her body. The next words rang in elongated vowels, like how he imagined ghosts would speak. “Go. There. You will be safe.”

  Thunder clapped, startling his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the older woman was gone.

  Stepping out from under the tent, he yelled up to the sky, “I don’t even know where this place is…” Other than somewhere in California.

  No one responded. Santiago shielded his eyes from the forceful raindrops, still looking up.

  The clouds sparked again with lightning. “Go!” she shrieked.

  The old woman’s voice began to chant the word repeatedly, each time sounding more insistent than the last. Her voice became as powerful as the thunder itself. Booming, it shook the ground below him with each word. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Then, gradually, it faded.

  Silence followed, and so did suffocating blackness.

  Santiago shot awake, covered in a layer of sweat that he at first mistook for rain from the storm. Just a dream, it had just been a dream, he comforted himself.

  Blinking, Santiago took a few haggard breaths to calm himself. He went to rub his eyes but felt something wrapped tightly in his palm. Santiago looked down to find the locket.

  With an impulsive sense of panic, Santiago sprang up and began to pace around the room. This wasn’t possible. If that had been a dream, then how did he have the locket? Why did he have it? Was he still asleep? Each thought interrupted the next and Santiago found himself drawing the only harrowing conclusion he could: this dream, which wasn’t even really a dream, was because he was Awakened. The dream, he wondered, was really more like a vision.

  Santiago winced at the thought. Just what he needed, more unwanted Awakened evil. It didn’t add up though. From what he understood each Awakened had a very specific power. Like how empaths could feel other people’s emotions on a visceral level, but they couldn’t, say, make fireballs from thin air like a fire temperal. Or have visions, that power belonged to dream walkers.

  So maybe it was just a dream.

  A dream that felt just as real as every waking moment he’d ever had.

  But dreams were also notorious for playing against a person’s greatest wishes and desires. It was that thought that finally eased Santiago’s breathing and he shook his head at his own gullibility. Of course, he’d dreamt of being in a safe place, with a beautiful woman, where empaths lived out their lives without fear of being consumed by their power. It was all the things he’d wanted as of late because it was everything he knew he’d never have.

  Sobering, Santiago plopped himself back on the couch, repeating to himself that it had just been a foolish dream. A figment, however convincing, of his own wishful but dumb imagination.

  The necklace glared up at him in defiance. It was still unlatched, just as he had left it in his dream.

  Santiago grimaced when he decided to flip it open, afraid of what he might find inside. The two photos remained, still blurs of white and gray. When he closed it, he noticed the unmistakable purple gem on the front.r />
  Santiago let out an aching sigh. It couldn’t have been a dream. People didn’t discover mysterious necklaces from regular dreams.

  Graciela arched and twisted on the floor, a high-pitched yawn to follow.

  Santiago wasn’t quite yet ready to admit what the dream—or vision, or whatever—was. Instead of waiting for his sister to fully rouse and bombard him with questions he himself didn’t have answers to, Santiago placed the necklace in his pocket. Later, he instructed himself, he’d get rid of it, so that it wouldn’t confuse him anymore. He already had enough problems to deal with.

  Chapter Four

  Mara

  Mara stood, pole in hand, ready for the attack. Her olive skin glistened with perspiration in the fading sunlight. Her lips spread slightly, allowing for deliberate, more controlled breaths as she assessed her opponent.

  The man shadowing her stood two meters high, at least two heads taller than she was. His broad shoulders ran twice the size of her frame, the flexed muscles resembling boulders stacked beside his bulky body. Veins bulged at the sides of his neck as he snarled. The man gritted his teeth for an added, menacing effect. There was no doubt he fit the bill for a typical roider.

  But she wasn’t afraid; no one was a match for her.

  They were locked onto one another like two missiles—precise, deadly, and waiting for the call to ignite into action. He squinted to convey his perilous intent. It meant nothing though, just mere intimidation tactics. Useless.

  Mara remained centered, always alert, like a wild lion about to pounce.

  The man thundered a battle roar and lunged at her, right fist first. Using the pole in her hands, she dug into the dirt to push herself to the side, dodging the blow and leaving the man off-balance. Mara twirled around and aimed the rod at the back of his knees, buckling his hefty weight on top.

  Without missing a beat, he used the momentum to somersault back on his feet. For someone of his stature, he still managed to remain nimble.