by Tara Chau
All around us, pain unfolds. Cries of desperation and the clash of metal stings my ears. I focus on everything. Not just the danger in front of me. My eyes dart around the entire scene surrounding me, noting how close threats come to Ronnie and I. However, even the Shifters hesitate before entering Lucien Novell’s space. Before targeting his prey.
“Why?” I ask once he’s close enough to hear me over the loud cries. Once I see he nods all threats away from us. Other than himself.
Although the Protectors have sent a huge number of Shifters back to hell, I haven't given them enough time to rid them all. As a result, the killing continues on schedule.
"For many reasons, but just one example, to show the mighty Protectors that the mighty can, in fact, fall." He gestures to the dozens upon dozens of Protectors lying dead on the ground.
"You are sadistic. You're a ruthless murderer for no bloody reason!" I scream, "Do you see this? This slaughter and death?"
“I’m not blind,” he says, gazing around.
"Fine, fine, you can act like you're the damned Shifters saviour like you're going to bloody set this world free. But Lucien, know this, as long as there is still one of us, we have not fallen!" I cry. "We are not some pests that you can exterminate easily. We are survivors. And you, you Lucien Novell, are going to regr-"
Suddenly, a sharp intake of breath comes from behind me. It rakes through me violently, making me freeze. Lucien's eyes gleam with amusement, one eyebrow raised. I turn around stiffly to see Ronnie's wide eyes, full of shock and pure pain. My eyes follow her own gaze down to the axe embedded in her side. A shudder flows through me as she pulls it out slowly, red hot life seeping from the crimson wound. Ronnie drops the axe to the floor, following it down. Her body collides with the ground before I have a full grasp of what's happening. The loudest cries of dismay and horror echo through the room. Ty falls down to his sister, Gabe by his side, taking her head to rest it on his knees with blazing eyes. Snapping out of my trance, I turn back to Lucien.
“Help her,” I whisper, feeling some force inside me break. "Gods damn it, help her!” I scream hatefully.
Lucien simply blasts a loud whistle through the crowd, stopping the Shifters. "Sorry, but I can't,” he says before he and his army disappeared in a gust of winds death.
I collapse to the floor, broken, dropping all my weapons. Looking down at the fading girl, the ancient entity inside me expands.
“We need to get help, guys. We need to get Astrid.” I yell, eyes darting around the hall frantically.
I can’t see her anywhere. With the number of wounded, she could either be among them or attempting to heal them.
Looking back at Ty and Gabe, I see that there is something in their faces that shouldn’t be there. Defeat.
“I-I want to go home now, Ty,” Ronnie says weakly.
Ty shakes uncontrollably, "Okay, alright." He nods, "It-it's going to be alright."
I stare. Eyes wide but not seeing. Heart feeling but not reacting. Mind knowing but not understanding.
“Stop it,” Ronnie breaths, “Don’t be silly, you know I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m turning seven, you can’t lie to a big girl, they’re too smart,” she smiles.
Big tears slide down my cheeks as I clutch at her hand, willing my own life into her body as hers slips away. Gabe stares down at her, eyes full of misery, anger, and fear. They echo Ty's.
“I want to go home now,” Ronnie repeats, her breath shuddering and halting. “I’m tired.”
"N-no, you can't go to sleep yet. You have to wait, okay?" Ty says, breaking down right in front of my eyes.
Everything's hazy; tears blur my vision as I hear her speak again.
"I-I want to see mummy. When will she come?" Ronnie's bottom lip starts to quiver. No.
“She’s coming as quick as she can,” Ty assures, his eyes widening, remembering his mother.
"Don't cry," she says, looking up at all three of us. Gabe's eyes had started to gloss over, but he remains completely silent. "I'm going to see you all soon. I'll just sleep, for only a little bit, I promise."
“Okay,” I whisper, kissing her hand lightly, begging Dyla to help, “Okay, we’ll see you soon.”
Ty starts to cry desperately, gripping Ronnie close to him. "Don't get into any trouble without me, okay?" Ty says, shuddering, closing his eyes tight.
“Please, kiddo. Please stay. Please try.” Gabe says, bending his head to hers.
Suddenly, a high shattering cry rockets through the building. Anne skids to the floor next to us, her body shaking uncontrollably.
“Why aren’t any of you doing anything? Get help. Please-Dianna, you can- can you do anything? Just do something.” she pleads, her voice ragged.
“I- Anne, I can’t. I can’t do anything.” I breathe, my shoulders caving. “Ronnie,” Ty gasps, “Hey little sis, I love you. I love you so much.”
I can’t do anything.
Powers of Dyla and nothing to help the fading girl before me.
Nothing.
Not once, not even as she gazes up at the Sanctuaries roof for the last time, does Ronnie let one tear slip, not even as she looks to each and every one of us, not one tear.
All four of us look down at her, whispering one last reminder of how much we love her. The light in her eyes stutters, then is extinguished.
Anne cries, her wailing ripping through the room as her face distorts with agony.
Ty breaks. His body crumbling over the top of his sister with shaking shoulders and hushed, desperate pleading.
Gabe simply prays to Dyla while small tears trickle down his face. He prays to an Angel that is not coming, to an Angel that is not going to help. The weight of the world comes toppling down. It weighs down on my shoulders, back, heart, soul. The ancient thing inside me disappears, seems to flicker, and die with Ronnie.
The four of us stay in this crouched position until we a barely able to move, our wounds forgotten due to the biggest one of all. Ronnie. Unsmiling. Unmoving.
The quiet in my head is the loudest agony. It scrapes through my mind, raking its nails down the inside of my head with sharp stings. No sound coming from me, inwardly and outwardly. Water trickles down my face in harsh rivers, burning my eyes, but even my gasps for air are silent.
Everything is silent.
* * *
Gabe, Anne, and I sit in the room to the side while Ty explains to his mum everything. My shoulders slump, and I curl into myself as I see Elizabeth blanch, her face contorting into the very definition of pain and misery. She shakes her head back and forth, unable to fully process this.
I can see in her eyes she doesn't believe us, that it never occurred to her what could happen to her little girl. My body shakes with exhaustion and grief. I close my eyes, trying to savour the image of a smiling, healthy, alive Ronnie. The girl that I had spent the whole day with. That face blooms in my vision every time I close my eyes, only to be overtaken by the sight of her lying lifeless on the floor, that gashing wound straining the light from her.
Snapping my eyes open again, I try shaking away the phantom blood from my hands, only to realise that I’m still covered in it, some of the blood being my own.
Elizabeth rises from her chair, all four of us stand up quickly.
“Mum,” Ty begs.
“Be quiet, Tytus,” she says softly, striding over to me.
Before she can speak, my eyes start to rim with tears that I thought I had already shed. My lip starts to wobble as I look up into her dim eyes.
"I'm sorry, I was protecting her, but I got distracted. I was too focused on Lucien that I'd let down my guard, and now she's dead, dead because I failed my job,” I realise, babbling frantically.
To my surprise, Elizabeth simply pulls me towards her, wrapping her arms around me tightly. I try not to cry; I try to hold it all back. She cannot see me cry. By the time I lean back and take a step away, both our eyes are gleaming with tears threatening to
surface.
“You do not think about that, only about what you did to try and stop it,” Elizabeth says, nodding firmly.
I simply nod, tying a tight leash on my emotions.
“I want to see her,” she demands. “Alone.”
I take a deep shuddering breath; I can’t see her again. “Alright, Ty will show you. I-I have to go,” I stutter, giving them all a quick hug before I race towards my room.
I'm so close to just knocking down the door. Instead, I walk in slowly, slamming the door. Walking over to the attaching bathroom, I strip my clothes off and jump into the shower, turning the water to scolding.
I continue to shake even though I'm not even remotely cold, the water burning my skin. She's gone. She's really gone. White-hot rage flows through me, which I race to put out; I'm desperate to push down all the emotion that is going to block or get in my way. Looking down at my hands, I see that the dried blood isn't washing off—her blood. I let out a sob, grabbing a brush. I violently scrub it all off, letting the water turn a light shade of red. Surveying myself for any other trace, I spot blotches of black ichor still clinging to me. I sit down on the cold tiled floor, letting the water crash down on my hair, oh, my hair. Grabbing soap, I wash the ichor from my head, scrubbing and soaping endlessly until the smell is bearable. Taking my hands down to my legs, I tenderly wash my own dried blood from a shallow cut on my leg, not even having enough energy or caring enough to hiss as the wound reopens. Standing back up, I brace myself to step back out into the world, to face something other than hot water and blood.
Emerging from the shower, the steam swirls around the room, masking my face. Good. I think that if I look, I'll just manage to see the mindless skin of a girl. Stepping back out of the door, I don't even stop before racing to my house, allowing the stinging wind to wipe my mind for just a few moments. Entering my room from the balcony door, I change into clean clothes, baggy track pants, and a loose shirt before collapsing in bed. A knock comes at my door. Dad?
“Come in,” I say tiredly.
Dad peeks his head in, looking me up and down. I lift my head up to meet his gaze, pain already shooting through my spine.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to find a smile.
“Just checking it was you,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t spent any time with my daughter lately.”
"Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, Dad.” I sigh, “I'm tired, so can we talk about this tomorrow, maybe at dinner or something?"
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says with a smile before closing the door.
Laying my head back down on the pillow, I feel the slightest movement from behind me. “What?” I ask roughly.
“You left pretty quickly,” Gabe breaths, sitting on the edge of my bed. “And you didn’t tell me that you blamed yourself.”
“I cannot talk about this right now,” I say, digging my face into my pillow.
"Well, you need to. You need to let out what you're hoarding, Di,” he says softly.
“I can’t,” I say, voice breaking at the last word.
I hear Gabe shake his shoes off, then slide onto the bed next to me. Picking up the upper half of my body, he drops me onto his lap. Readjusting into a comfier position, I place my arms under my head.
“Sometimes, Gabe, I envy the fact that you don’t cry,” I whisper.
"No, you don't. It builds up. As I can tell, it's doing to you right now,” he says, peering down at my face.
“I can’t let it out,” I say quietly. Already I can feel it all threatening to resurface.
“Why?” he asks tenderly, brushing my hair with his hand softly.
“Because,” I admit, “if I start crying again, then I might never stop.”
“What else are you burying?” he asks.
I'm silent for a few moments, debating whether or not I can tell him whether or not I really know. "I-I'm afraid, Gabe. I'm afraid I'll forget her." Already I can't remember what she looked like this morning, alive and well. "I think that I'll forget her. I think it's inevitable."
Gabe's hand stops and rests on my shoulder, a small comfort. "Listen to me, Di. She can never be forgotten. If Ty remembers her laugh, I remember her eyes, Anne remembers her smile, and you remember the cute way her nose would scrunch up, then all these little things will bring her back to us. In us, Di, Ronnie lives."
At the sound of her name, I burst into tears, full sobs that rack through my body, leaving me clutching my stomach. Those two syllables make my heart crack. Tears stain my eyes, making my face red with anger and pain. I sit up from his lap only to curl back up into myself against his side, wailing as he wraps his arms around me protectively. I can feel Gabe's body shaking violently against me, the closest thing he can get to fully crying, the closest thing he gets to show his emotions, and it's enough. The two of us sit here for what feels like hours, only for it to feel like minutes at the same time. As my tears start to die down to a trickle, I unravel myself from the ball I have shifted into, groaning as my stiff limbs stretch out. Gabe looks down at me, his face a mask of sorrow.
Drawing my hair away from my face, trying to wipe away the tears, I speak, my voice hoarse and straining, “You should go to Ty, however much I need you; he needs you ten times more,” I say regretfully.
“Anne’s with him,” Gabe says, watching me carefully.
I simply nod, trying to hide my relief, and failing—a small smile tugs on Gabe's lips. Draping the covers over my shoulders tightly, I drop down on the bed and lie still, staring up at the roof.
“What do we do now?” I ask tiredly.
“Now? Now we do whatever the next right thing is. Whatever needs to be done,” he says, looking down at me.
The look on Gabe's face makes me wonder if he really is only seventeen. He looks too beaten down by sorrow and pain to be this age, has too much experience with this loss.
“Okay,” I nod, attempting a smile. Instead, it just makes my lips wobble.
Gabe smiles down at me, too practised at fake expressions. He leans down to plant a kiss on my forehead before slipping in beside me, holding me tight against his chest for the rest of the long, sleepless evening.
* * *
Arriving at the Sanctuary the next morning, I see every Protector running around, either attempting to scrub the blood from the floors and walls, picking up and trying to save any tech or some, I hear, are even arranging funerals.
Gabe and I search the halls for Elizabeth, Ty, and Anne, finally finding Anne in the training hall. She's not cleaning up the scattered weapons and busted punching bags but attacking one of the only intact ones, spilling more mess onto the ground. It seems like every other Protector had dropped everything and exited when she had entered, abandoning cleaning tools and dumping them on the ground.
As my boots clap on the floor, Anne stops her attack to look at us both, looking us up and down. "Elizabeth is in Maline. She wants Ronnie's funeral there, where she was born,” Anne rasps tiredly, "Ty is back at home. He's supposed to be going through her stuff."
One look at Gabe, and he nods, understanding the one word I clear my eyes to hold. Go. Gabe turns away from the two of us, giving Anne an unsteady smile. I can tell he’s taking in every detail on how she’s standing and her hollow expression, so am I.
I sit and watch her for a little bit, allowing Anne to let out whatever she is feeling on this poor, doomed punching bag. Eventually, she lowers her fists and draws in a huge gulp of air, walking over to me. We sit together for a while, silent, watching the bag slow its swinging, and then continue to watch as the sand flows onto the ground.
“Tell me, what do you need?” I ask.
“I need a cool shower and chocolate,” she says, getting up to walk to her room.
We stroll down the halls till we get to Anne's room. While she showers, I run to the canteen to beg the cook for a bar of chocolate. I arrive back at her room with only half a block to find Anne staring at a small dagger on he
r desk, Ronnie's. Purposefully not looking at it, I drag Anne to the bed, her hair still dripping water, handing her the chocolate. She smiles weakly at me, holding my hand firmly as she splits it in half, handing me the other side.
“I’m going to kill him,” I whisper.
“I think there’s a line of people who want that pleasure,” she seethes.
“I agree, a race then,” I say with a smile.
"A race." Somehow, she manages to wink at me, drawing a small smile; maybe it's the thought of killing Lucien. As much as I love Anne, I'm not going to give up my kill for anyone.
“When’s her funeral?” I ask, darkening the mood again.
“The day after next,” Anne says sombrely.
"I don't think Ronnie would like us to wear black. She didn't really like that colour,” I recall.
Anne sighs heavily, "We're Protectors. We don't wear black at funerals. We wear red."
“Why?” I ask curiously.
“To acknowledge that special blood has been lost,” she whispers, eyes gleaming brightly.
I only nod, already trying to think of something red to wear at Ronnie's funeral. A weight weighs on my shoulders once more as I realise her fate—one condemning her to the eternal black and coldness of the earth. I let one tear slip, lowering the bitter chocolate from my mouth. How can I still have tears to shed? But as I look over at Anne, she's crying as well, her eyes focused on some far off spot. She's somewhere I can't reach. Lately, it seems everyone's visiting that place.
* * *
Ronnie’s funeral is a thing of pure pain. At twelve pm on Monday, a doorway of blinding white light appears in the lobby of the Sanctuary, ready to take the select twenty people to Maline. Maline.
Walking through the portal, my stomach drops, a weight pounds me down to the ground. A cold sensation travels through my body, making me quake; somehow, I feel as if I am being unravelled and ravelled again, broken and remade. The feeling only lasts a few moments as I fall through the other side of the glowing doorway, the phantom feeling snaking up my back. I arrive in the great hall of Maline on my knees, shaking. Gabe walks out calmly from the blazing door behind me, giving me a knowing smile before haling me to my feet.