by Tara Chau
I had promised, once. Promised not to leave, as did Gabe. Now he has gone someplace I cannot follow, a place that could be heaven or hell. I know where I am. Hell.
As the shrieking of the world fades into white noise, the flames in my chest die, giving way to a hollow, empty feeling which is so much worse. I don’t cry. I don’t tremble or fall. It’s as if my body has completely shut down. Everything becomes hard. Everything from the intake of air to moving even one finger becomes a highly confusing and painful task. He is gone. Gabe is gone. All his hope, love and light, gone. Gabe, the best this world had to give, now extinguished. Everything goes still, the ruffling of tent flaps, the shuffling of feet, everything is now nothing. The world is light, the world is dark, the world is pain, and it is my world now. So, I take a breath, take a step, and then I run.
* * *
Tytus
From the corner of my hazy vision, I see her run. See her dart for the stairway that will lead her back into the world that will lead her away. One last glance at Anne, and I, too, run. Run after her.
Dianna’s steps are flimsy, her attempt to fasten her pace only causing more mishaps. It takes less than a moment for me to reach her, for me to catch her around the waist.
“No!” She cries, her voice breaking. “No, no, let go. Let me go.”
I tighten my grip, moving one arm around to take hold of her shoulders, then the other as she hits at me blindly.
“Please,” she says, finally sobs beginning to break the surface, “please.”
I swing her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. Her legs seem to wobble and fall just as mine do. We collapse to the ground, holding tightly to each other, holding tightly onto life.
“Please!” She wails, like the Gods and Angels can hear her calls, her pleas for him, to wish it not. Like they care.
I hold her, stroking her blood-drenched hair, her shaking body, and I curse. I curse at the world, curse it for the first time, but not the last, for taking away my brother.
Dianna
It takes a while for my eyes to adjust to the lights. Emerging from a deep inky black unconsciousness, I don’t waste time waiting to fully awaken before exiting my makeshift room in the Sanctuary’s infirmary. Every muscle and bone in my body quakes, barking protests which I promptly ignore. Doing the same to my reflection, which I can see through the eyes of every person I stumble past. Just by the way faces blur and the way the floor moves, I know I am not in any kind of state to be walking.
I have the faint memory of being present for Gabe’s funeral, a small intimate gathering of his closest friends and family. It was agony. Every second of it was a pain even the Sin could never inflict upon me.
My mind swims, and my headaches, with the effort I exert, beginning to climb the stairs that will lead me into the world. Disappearing into the night, I take a shallow breath of the cool fresh air. I drink it into my lungs, letting it fill the empty places of my body. As my steps become heavier and more difficult, my arms begin to shake. Gazing down at my hands, another memory slips to the forefront of my head, the light. That night, possibly hours, days, or weeks ago, is a hazy mess overflowing my mind. Making it impossible for my thoughts to evade it. But with my thoughts jumbled, crazy, and in some places missing, I am unable to access them. Unable to make sense of what had happened so quickly. I continue to look at my hands, continue to attempt to place together all the pieces of that night’s events.
And as the streetlights illuminate my hands, I remember my power. The ancient thing inside me throbs, a reminder of its presence. Biting the urge to scream again, I inwardly curse it. Where were you when it mattered? Where were you when I needed my power the most? It tugs again, but when I pull on it, urging it to make an appearance, it silences. Daring it to speak again, I dig deeper, determined to rip it from my insides. But it remains silent, crouched deep inside me. This time I don’t stop the hiss that escapes my throat but wince dramatically at what feels like knives running along the strings of my vocal cords. My weak knees buckle and fail to support my already stick thin body.
Falling to the concrete carpark road, I ignore the slight sting that cuts through my knees. I hit the ground hard, unprotected due to the hospital robe that I had been placed in, my fighting clothes location unknown. Kneeling on the ground, I continue to breathe in the chilling air. I lift my chin to gaze up at the shimmering stars, searching for the familiar crackling energy.
After only seconds of looking, I realise something. Maybe the reason I cannot reach it again is because I don’t have enough light left to harness it completely. My power is light, it’s hope, so it would make sense. It would be the most logical thing to happen since I walked into the Sanctuary that very first day. I have none left, no light left. It had flickered and dimmed the day my mother died. Became smaller and weaker once Ronnie left me and finally gave one last flare before it was destroyed. Just as Gabe had been. So, this is all that’s left, a trembling reminder of my once unwanted, underdeveloped power. My once blinding light.
* * *
Five days later, three of them unconscious, and the other two on my med bed, I am still struggling to stay in a standing position. Astrid had spoken to me once or twice about how the pain was too intense, too demonic for my body to withstand without beginning to fail. Because that’s what had happened, my body had begun to break, begun to unwind, being rotted and demolished from the inside. She had to explain this to me twice because the first time, I simply nodded and continued to stare at the corner. She thought that I didn’t hear her, didn’t understand, so she began again. What she didn’t realise, though, what I only now know, is that I simply don’t care. Don’t care that my body is half dead and will take months to recover, even with my rapid healing rate. Don’t care that I should have called my dad by now, don’t care that my friends sit beside me for hours on end, just vying for one word.
Anne especially had sat beside me, recalling what had happened, how everyone was dealing with it, and who had died. She spoke the same words again and again like it would somehow settle on top and then soak in eventually. Anne said that she herself had killed Lucien. Nyx sacrificed herself as a distraction and to save her, and how that weighed on her heavier than killing her ex-brother. Anne whispered into the latest hours, recollecting what had happened after the Xavia had run, terrified of the light I had radiated. She told me how she missed my own light more than she can ever voice. Still, I had simply started off like I could somehow transport myself back into that swirling black sea. Where there is no pain, no loss and nothing but water. And sometimes, when the tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and her eyes became smudged with red, I turned away.
No crying. That is my only condition, an internal bargain with my heart. I’ll allow the pain to enter, to circle and to destroy, and I will deal with this hole that grows bigger every day. I don’t see his grinning face, but I will not cry.
“There’s no point in crying over something that you can’t help.”
His harsh words are a reminder, the only words of his that I allow to affect me, the only words that enter my brain. These are the words that keep me on this side of life that keep me anchored. The one truth that does not hurt, though his voice, his voice is a shadow wherever I look.
My eyes crack open, and I look to the bed-side-table stationed at my left. The bed creaks as I turn further on my side to see what has been placed so carefully upon it. I blink, once, twice, and a third time just to make sure I’m not still asleep. Sitting beside me is a frame, carefully decorated with delicate roses etched into wood, and in the centre, a picture of Gabe and me. This shocks me, never had I taken a picture of the two of us, just something that I never thought to do. But right in front of me is the most beautiful image. It’s set in my living room, so it must have been taken when we had that movie pizza night.
It seems like so long ago, in a different life, a different body. As I peer across at our two joyful faces, heads thrown back in laugh
ter, cheeks flushed with colour, I smile. Though it now feels like a new sensation and the action could never be noticed by another, I let out a sigh of relief. Noticing the yellow sticky note clinging to the edge of the breath-taking frame. I read the neatly written words slowly, waiting for my head to remember the way, to remember how to decipher the symbols scrawled across the paper.
A memory, a promise. To remember the good times and to promise that there are more to come. Happy birthday, we will make it as good as we can. – Annabelle
I see that the date on the digital clock does, in fact, read the 26th of June. A thought occurs, and I realise that this will also be the first birthday that I spend without my mother, my seventeenth. So, I roll over, away from the photo, away from Anne’s beautiful words, and allow myself, one hour, only one, to cry.
* * *
The next time I wake up, which seems to only be three hours later, I feel myself wipe the tear stains from my eyes. I do not truly register the movements. A deep cough sounds from the end of my bed, my head snapping up reflexively. Malisa looks at me in shock before walking up to my side, lifting my upper body up and repositioning my pillows, so I am half up, half down.
“You look as bad as I feel.” She says with a weak smile.
Then I must look horrible, I think. Looking into her eyes, I feel every inch of the control that I had built up over this hellish week slip. Because her eyes, those familiar ember eyes, watch me with such intense emotion/ It reminds me of every time Gabe and I ended up in here, and he gave me that exact same look.
As those damned eyes look over my body, thin as a reed under the blankets, shaking slightly, her gaze becomes watery. Turning away from her, I glance back to the photograph, which is equally hard to look at.
“I’m sorry.” I choke. The first words I have uttered in a week seem nothing but appropriate.
“I know.” She answers mournfully.
I take a shuddering breath before opening my mouth again, somehow unable to stop the words that flow out next. “I-I don’t know what to do next, what I should be.”
“Come back.” Is all she says, looking to my stiff limbs again. “Come back, work, re-build, help, and you can find out.”
“I can’t help people if I’m broken.” I cave, this time it’s me who looks down at my useless body, “I can’t help you.”
Ignoring my words, her eyes become hard, her mask of stone slipping seamlessly over her sorrowful yet still stunning features. “The Xavia are still out there. Stop them before they regather, before they come back for their justice.”
“I can’t.” I close my eyes to let tears tumble down my defeated face.
The silence becomes the worst thing I’ve felt since waking five days ago. It drags on and on, creating tension that seems to be lethal.
“Who are you?” She asks finally.
A flash of a memory passes through my head. Gabe’s serious and hard features, his mouth moving, asking me a question.
“Make your choice, Dianna Iysador Reeds.”
Make my choice. Who am I?
His face in my mind turns soft, warm, loving. “God, you’re amazing.”
These words hit me square in the stomach, taking the air from my lungs. I close my eyes, fighting the urge to scream, but then another thought washes up.
“When I grow up, I’m going to be exactly like Di. She’s the best.”
Ronnie’s sweet voice fills my ears, making my body shake, the emptiness in my gut making me cry out.
“Someone very wise told me that as long as each of us remembers one small thing of her, then she’ll never be lost.”
Anne had spoken these heart-crushing words during Ronnie’s funeral. It is the same for Gabe, the same for that innocent, good part of me that had died along with him. I’m different now. I died and lived and died again. All so I could have that experience and know that I never want to do it again. All so that I could be ready for whatever comes next. So, I’m not going to waste any time trying to piece things back to the way they were before. I’m not going to waste time trying to fix myself. Everything that has happened must have happened for a reason.
But what if I fail again? Some inside voice questions.
What if I don’t? I answer, and that’s good enough.
Who am I? I am no one, and I am someone. I am good, and I am bad. Who knows who they truly are, what they need to do next? No one can answer those things. No one can know one hundred percent what the future will hold. But for now, I will answer those questions with certainty and nothing but truth. They may not remain the same. They may change. I may change. But for now… I am Dianna Iysador Reeds, and what I will do next will be the next right thing. Because this is it, this is what I have now.
A world on fire. But I fought for it, killed for it, sacrificed for it. Yes, it is cruel and unfair and merciless, but I cannot leave it to die just because of its wrongdoing. Yes, I am hurting, yes, I am bleeding, but I am also living.
Chax
Rising from the floor of my bedroom, I pant in unsteady breaths. My chest, slick with sweat, heaves up and down as I brush aside my damp hair. Hauling myself to my feet, I begin pacing the length of the carpet.
Nyx. Nyx is dead. I tell myself that dying is the final part of life, that it is no reason to be sad. I tell myself that she’s in a better place where she need not hide her true skin. Her wolf skin.
I am a seer, but I cannot see all. I do not wish that I could, but it proves to be quite inconvenient at times. Part of this gift dwells in my dreams. Visions tend to take form when the mind is at its quietest.
Part of me wishes I could dream of Nyx. Part of me does not. But I would like the option to dream of nothing too. Instead, I am to wake from dreams of darkness and coldness. Instead, I am to wake from the burning rage of one’s soul.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I attempt to steady my breathing. Yes, I would like the option to dream of my dead friend or of nothing at all. Though sometimes it is vital for the survival of others, that I dream of them in its place. As I stare at the figure of my reflection, I see the steel in my eyes and know it reflects that of the one I dreamed of. I know that when the eyes of ember flashed awake, they burned with the fire of one thousand hearts. And they hold no mercy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book has been the wildest experience I have battled through. It has taken years to get to this point where you can hold it in your hands and read it without countless spelling/grammar mistakes. I most certainly would not have completed it without the help of so many people.
All my thanks and gratitude to Joanne Martin, my wonderfully supportive and understanding publisher. Without her this book would not be complete and I would not have been given this amazing chance to be something great. Lauren McRae, Kris Toreses and the Golden Earth Publishing Team are also due a massive thanks for all their hard work and dedication. For editing, formatting, marketing and designing, which is what turned my amateur manuscript to a hard cover book available to everyone across the globe.
Endless thanks and love to my family for everything they have given me. My mum for her support and encouragement, pushing me to take a chance and not be scared of failure. She told me that even if this book doesn’t become big and bring in fame or glory, it has still given me an experience that I will take with me through life. Thanks to my dad, for not only listening to all of my rants on story lines and characters, but also adding to them. Your pearls of wisdom and one-liners are scattered throughout this novel. Kiki and Harrison, my siblings, thank you two too. You were so patient with me when I went on huge rants and encouraged me the whole way through this process. Never once telling me to stop talking about my book! Thank you with all of my heart to my grandfather. Without him I truly would not have been able to do this. Out of everyone, he made this possible. Thank you, Gong, for giving me this chance to reach my dream.
Now finally, thank you to my class and guardian teachers Anthony Martinson and Michelle
Agius-Hall. This book was written in 2019, but was continued through 2020 and 2021. Even though people have come and go over these three years, each and every one of you have helped me with this book. Something of all of you is in here, I promise. Experiences we shared with each other (like that camp in year eight with that terrible cold snap) are in here. You are my inspiration, my lovely class. So, thank you for giving me everything I needed to complete this. And everything I needed to continue it through the harshest parts of this journey, too.
About the Author
Tara Chau is 15 years old and is attending secondary school.
She lives on the Central Coast with her family.
Tara has been an enthusiastic writer since a very young age, taking inspiration from the people around her, movies, books, and the trials of life.
Rise of the Xavia is Tara's debut novel.
When Tara is not violently bashing at her keyboard and drinking gallons of tea, she reads, paints, draws, listens to music or her friend's sitches (situations), or watches movies with her family.