Not as nimble as Mara could be though. When he turned back toward her, she was standing, knees slightly bent, legs wide, waiting for him to attack again.
He narrowed in on her, an invitation for her to make the next move.
Mara had no problem obliging. She tossed the pole into her dominant hand, resituating it in her grip. In a full sprint, she dashed in his direction. Anticipating the impact, the man prepared for his counterattack, a left swing notched back, ready for release.
A meter’s distance away, she launched the pole into the air. It flew high above his head, scraping past the top of his thick skull. It was the perfect distraction. As far as he was concerned, she had not only missed, but also just lost her only weapon.
He boasted at her failure, only to notice her lowering herself to the ground. At the right moment, she flattened completely, skidding between the burly man’s wide, open stance.
Passing through the opening, Mara rotated onto her belly. She was practically on all fours by the time her momentum gave. Free from the tunnel his legs provided, she sprang into the air. Her fingers laced around the staff still in flight. As she descended to the ground, she gripped the pole and slammed it atop her opponent’s head. A loud whack emanated throughout the grounds.
Surrounding the small space in which Mara had to work with, spectators gasped and cheered, thoroughly enthralled by the match. Mara could neither tell the fearful apart from those eager to learn, all the scowls blending into a smear of humanity. She didn’t let their expectations muddle her thoughts. Every one of them thought the man would win. They wanted him to win. They would be sadly disappointed.
He wobbled only slightly, enough to confirm his disorientation.
Mara planted her left foot and jutted her right into his back. The man let out an embarrassing airy exhale on impact.
As he stumbled around to face his opponent, she dug the tip of her pole into the ground again and sent herself flying in his direction. She released a battle cry as her elbow found his face. A deafening crunch brought everyone to silence. The man fell down, unconscious, rendering Mara victorious.
She bent down and mockingly patted him on the chest. “Better luck next time, big guy.”
Mara smirked at her victory. Her audience gawked, impressed by her power and skill. No one made a sound; there was no applause or cheer. “And that,” she said in their silence. “That is how you fight without use of your powers. You’re all dismissed for breakfast.” As the crowd parted for her projected path to the gate, she basked in the fearsome respect they had for her.
The sanctuary, Hope, had given her a chance at recreating herself, at being someone other than who she had been in Italia. Here, she was Associate Sentient Mara Giordano, commander of the community’s defenses. If one of the inhabitants of Hope had been trained in combat, there was a strong chance that she had been the one delivering that training. Everyone regarded her as the strict trainer she was, someone not to be crossed. It was best that way.
As the crowd started to disperse from the training grounds, a woman appeared beside Mara. “I sometimes forget you weren’t born doing this. You make it look so easy.”
Mara scoffed. Some might argue she had been. She grew up loving to dance, but her father had insisted that she learn to protect herself, as every Giordano does. Sparring mimicked dancing though, so the two were more alike than people would expect. After all, when it came down to the basics, both were a masterpiece of strong and precise footing and being able to read and outmaneuver your partner.
Sometimes when she trained, Mara fantasized that she was dancing instead. Despite her father’s valiant protesting, she had been allowed to take one dance class a week, along with her other studies.
Mara missed the beauty of the art form, reveled in memories of her heart opening to a melodic tune or the swirl of a dreamy ballad. Whereas fighting almost always portrayed morose feelings, song and dance could inspire a wide spectrum. It was self-expression, and therefore one of the only ways in which she knew how to cope with a complexity of issues. It was why she still found time to dance in the mornings, although she always told Sean her morning routine was a long, strenuous jog. A small fib, but one that prevented him from joining her. That was a part of herself she didn’t intend on sharing with anyone.
Never again.
Leaning her pole against the fence, Mara’s gaze fell over her shoulder to the petite woman with straw hair and a southern accent. Tamora Quinn, one of the few Berkeley students to make it to Hope with Mara. An untouched, an Awakened impervious to the powers of other Awakened. It was likely only because of Tamora that Mara even stayed in the Unions, not that she felt any disdain toward her for it, just that, had they not met, who knew what the last year and a half might’ve looked like for Mara.
“Why didn’t you charm him though?” Each vowel that left her lips was whiney and shrill but held the innocence of small child. “It woulda been an easy win.”
“Did you miss the speech I made before the fight?” It wasn’t that Mara didn’t like Tamora. The woman was bubbly and nice enough. But sometimes she could be a little clueless. “We can’t always rely on powers that we know so little about. Besides, our abilities are limited. What if I charmed him and another person attacked me? If I don’t train my muscles, as well as my power, I’m useless.”
Tamora’s jaw unhinged with a click of her tongue. “I wish you would’ve shown me that same courtesy. Maybe I wouldn’t be short a cute blouse.”
When the two of them had met, Mara hadn’t known she was Awakened. It hadn’t been until Tamora had startled her just outside the dorms that Mara’s power revealed itself. Baby blue wisps of light had poured from her fingers, giving both of them a scare. But it had been Tamora’s complete submission afterward that had Mara really concerned. Anything Mara had demanded, Tamora willingly obliged. Mara hadn’t known what to do, so she’d ordered Tamora to her dorm. At least that way she’d be somewhere safe. It was only once they were inside that Mara had noticed she was wearing the meatball sub she’d been eating prior to Tamora’s encounter. At the time, she hadn’t realized that her power was all-controlling, that even something simple like asking to borrow something would be taken more like a blood oath.
Considering the attack on the school that followed shortly after though, had they not run into each other that day their lives might’ve been completely different.
“Or maybe you’d be dead,” Mara said starkly.
Tamora tutted. “You and that cheery disposition. Winner of the Miss Popularity contest, everybody.”
“Sorry, I’m just…” There was no excuse really. Tamora was sweet, and Mara just didn’t believe in anything short of bluntness. And, admittedly, her thoughts were elsewhere, as usual. “I was going to send my daily message—”
“Say no more, Mara darlin’. I’ll let you get to it. I hope you hear something about Italy soon. What’s that hand-thingy you always do that means ‘good luck’?”
Though she was growing more impatient the longer she was able to complete her task, Mara couldn’t resist the opportunity to share some of her cultural heritage. Sometimes, moments like these made her feel not so far away from home.
Sticking out the pinky and pointer finger on each of her hands, Mara angled them to point at the ground.
After struggling to get her fingers to cooperate, Tamora copied the gesture, mostly. “Good luck. I’ll see you around.”
Mara pinched forth a smile. “See you.”
As Tamora scampered down the road, Mara couldn’t wait to check her ulipsi and grabbed it from her pocket. The metal was warm from where it had been resting against her leg. More notably, to her surprise, excitement, and dread, there was a glow bleeding from the inside.
Mara flipped the mirror open to retrieve the message awaiting her.
Chapter Five
Santiago
“They keep pushing us farther out,” his sister said, eyes like pinballs bouncing from house to house as they crept.
Graciela lowered her center of gravity as she weaved between buildings. Her voice wavered but was thick with humor when she whispered over her shoulder, “Soon the only place left for us will be in the jungle.”
Even though they hadn’t seen anyone else for a couple days, hostile or otherwise, Santiago followed her lead and clung to the edge of the shadows as well. “Maybe that’s the best place for us now, away from everyone.”
“Don’t think like that,” she chided. “We’ll find somewhere.”
Thoughts of the place he’d dreamt about a few nights ago came to mind. The food, the joyousness, the sense of community and security he saw on the faces of all the people there. As they wandered through abandoned neighborhoods, heading further and further outside the city, Santiago couldn’t stay focused. The dream still had him vexed. The weight of the necklace in his pocket still taunted him. But what kept his mind the most occupied were the possibilities that one simple dream had offered.
For the first time in months, it felt like he had a chance at a normal life again, one not plagued by his Awakened affliction.
Santiago felt like a small child when he asked, “Do you think there will ever be a cure?”
Graciela visibly faltered while approaching one of two shacks visible along the dirt road. She peered inside and, once she deemed the place empty, turned back to clarify. “A cure?”
“Yeah, for being…” Santiago turned to the road, a long tan line that stretched as far as the eye could see one way and curved out of view in the other direction. “Like me.”
He felt her staring at the back of his neck, so he turned to face her. The look she gave him broke his heart, but not as much as the current of emotions that poured from her afterward. Though he still couldn’t discern one from another using his ability, the look registered nonetheless: pity.
“Santi…I…maybe,” she said softly and walked to the front door of another home and peered inside for goods.
If it wasn’t for the staggering pain her feelings caused him, he might’ve laughed at her pathetic attempt at a lie. Instead, he resumed his suffering in silence. To think about a cure was ridiculous, let alone of the one the woman in his dream spoke of. Even if they wanted to, there was no way for them to get there. California was a big state, not to mention half a world away.
They spent the afternoon doing the same thing: Santiago letting Graciela lead them around, investigating a random house or two that caught either of their attention. There wasn’t much to be gathered: toiletries that people had left behind, some preserved food, an occasional vegetable growing in a garden.
The sun was starting to set, faster than anticipated. Graciela pointed at the end of the road and walked past a dead streetlamp. “What about that one? It looks like a nice place to stay for the night?”
But Santiago wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. His vision had narrowed on the streetlamp and to one of the dozens of sheets of paper stapled to it. To the bird with the white head and brown outstretched wings. To the border of red, white and blue with sparkling stars in the background.
“Impossible…” His words were barely a burst of air.
“Eh?” Graciela was still pointing, but now she was looking back at him. “What is it?”
The flyer called to him, and he tore it from the pole, a second later being thankful he hadn’t accidentally ripped it in his hurry. It even felt the same as it had in his dream. “Impossible,” he said again, this time with more force and clarity.
“What’s impossible?” Graciela asked, buzzing from somewhere behind him.
Though discolored and vague with wear, the outlines of the three American Unions were still identifiable. Dozens of dots glittered the flyer, and the three large star-shaped stickers were exactly where he remembered them. But he only had eyes for the one in California. Santiago felt his head spin.
It was all real. The place, the woman, maybe even what she had said about empaths. It was all he needed to convince himself of the importance of the journey.
When he staggered away from the pole, he bumped into Graciela’s readied hand. She was examining the flyer from over his shoulder. “I told you the American Unions had sanctuaries.”
No doubt that, from her perspective, Santiago was just in awe because he had protested that there would be such a thing like functioning sanctuaries. She had no idea he’d actually envisioned one of the places on the flyer. Since he couldn’t just come out and tell her either, it would have to stay that way. Graciela worried enough about him and his ability already. The dreams would only complicate things.
“Yeah,” he feigned a laugh. “I guess you were right.”
“See! There’s still hope for us,” she said with a gentle nudge. When she turned her attention back to the flyer, she seemed to be noticing something of importance, something Santiago had missed. “Hey! I recognize that symbol.”
He stared at the word AwA beneath her finger. “Yeah? What is it?”
She sighed painfully. “I can’t remember exactly, but they were all over the news before…”
“The end?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But these people, this organization or whatever, made it sound like it wasn’t the end. It seemed like they were advocating for laws on behalf of the Awakened, providing them aid, training, stuff like that.”
At first all he could do was stare. This conversation was opening up a whole new series of doors he hadn’t even known existed. “Okay…but that was what? Half a year ago, since we last had television?”
“It’s only been a few months,” she swatted as if trying to get rid of the question. “Maybe they made this flyer to show people where they could go for help?” Her finger landed on the outline of Texas. “There’s a dot right near the border. It wouldn’t take too long to get there, right?”
Although it sounded like a decent plan, Santiago felt a lump in his chest. His sister was recommending they go to Texas, but he didn’t want to go there. True, it was the closest sanctuary listed on the flyer and therefore probably made the most sense to travel the least amount of distance. But, if they were going to Texas, then why did he dream about California?
“I know you don’t like the idea of being around other people,” she continued, still believing that she needed to persuade him. “Especially being around other Awakened, but they…”
It was also true that just the thought of encountering one Awakened made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Willingly waltzing into an entire community of them? No way. The Awakened were too unpredictable and dangerous.
But who else would be able to give him what he needed? Who other than the Awakened would give them the time of day? And how would he ever find out if that dream had been real?
He needed a convincing enough reason for Graciela to agree to the longer journey though.
Deep in thought, Santiago replied, “They could have answers.”
He’d never seen his sister’s demeanor change so rapidly, like a ray of light had just illuminated from every one of her pores. “Exactly! They could know things. They could help you. It might be our only chance.”
“You’re right,” he said, and before he could finish, Graciela leaped and squealed in a pitch so high that he wondered how neither of their ears were bleeding. “You’re unbearable,” he groaned, though the curves of his mouth were saying otherwise.
“If joy is unbearable, then let me be unbearable.” Warmth exuded her, the kind that drew anyone in and always had. Even now, Santiago felt its contagiousness. “We should start first thing tomorrow, before you change your mind.”
If there was one thing Santiago knew for sure, it was that he couldn’t afford to change his mind. Getting rid of his Awakened ability was the only way he’d live to see his twenties. And, if you asked him, tomorrow wasn’t soon enough. But darkness was
growing, and lethargy was beginning to cramp his muscles and blur his vision.
“Tomorrow it is. But not Texas.”
All elation drained from her expression. “What do you mean? Where else would we go?”
“Here.” He leaned over the flyer still in her hands and traced a finger from the small black dot in Texas to the silver star in California. “It’s larger, so they’ll have more resources and more information for us.”
“How do you know it’s bigger?”
“Because,” he gave an unenthused shrug. “There’re only three stars on the map, but at least another fifteen black dots. I’m just assuming the stars mark the main hubs, and the black dots are probably like outposts.” Not to mention, he’d seen the place in his dream. It had been much larger than any of the other sanctuaries they’d encountered in the past.
She studied him intently, eyes widened and fixed. “You actually want to go to the larger community? The one that will have more people. More… Awakened.”
It wasn’t a lie when he said, “I don’t want to go anywhere. But with our circumstances, it’s the best option we have.”
Graciela smiled sweetly, hooking her arm under his. “Then we go.” With more of a skip than a walk, his older sister steered them to the house at the end of the block where they’d sleep for the night.
Her eyes lit up when she pushed open the door and turned back to meet his gaze. “Maybe they’ll even know what started this!”
It was doubtful, but he found himself saying anyways, “Maybe.”
Still, he couldn’t help but consider how nice it would be to know why he was different. That would be the day.
Chapter Six
Sean
Sun beamed through the window, illuminating Sean’s room with a late morning warmth that reminded him of home. His bleary blinking widened as he bound from his bed with a jolt. He must’ve slept in, something he tried doing, well, never.
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