"Harlowe," Holly sat up with a wince and a whimper of pain. "Harlowe, you need to—" she broke into coughs again, more blood at her sleeve. She tried to hide her arm under the blanket. "You need to be okay. I need you to be okay. Even though I'm not. Alright? Remember who your friends are, your family. The only folks that'll care about you—" another coughing fit, "—the only ones that'll ever care, the only ones you can ever trust are people like us. People at the bottom of it all."
Harlowe stared at Holly in shock. She knew what was happening, what this meant. She knew what Holly was really saying.
Holly wiped at the blood on her lips with her sleeve again. Violent tremors in her arm made the simple movement nigh impossible. Holly let her shaking arm fall to the bed in defeat and took a few more wheezy breaths; her eyes closed. ". . . I know I can’t stop you, so if you do go after those guards . . . just don't be stupid about it, okay? And if . . . if you do, get that fucking bastard Geralt. To keep him from hurting anyone again, if nothing else. Just make this all worth something."
As Holly drifted back out of consciousness, Harlowe rushed out to find a doctor, but by the time she returned with him, Holly was lifeless. Gone. Harlowe had known it was coming even before she left, and Holly had known it, too.
The doctor left, and Holly's body simply lay there, eerily still.
Harlowe stared at her sister's body for a long time. Part of her desperately hoped to see the rise and fall of Holly’s chest. She knew better than to try and convince herself she was only sleeping, though. Fantasy was a luxury she couldn't afford.
She made fists, her arms trembling. She wanted to hit something, wanted to bloody her knuckles until she felt nothing but the pain of her hands. She wanted to tear at her chest and crack open her ribs to release the anguish crawling up her throat to devour her from the inside.
Instead, she sat on her straw mattress and stared at what remained of her sister. A war of emotions fought inside her, but it was rage that bellowed the loudest. Rage toward the guards who had destroyed her inside and out. Rage for the noble who'd sentenced her to death, knowingly or not. Rage for those born into a better life, with the power to do something good, but served only themselves.
She kept a glassy gaze on what used to be her sister. Memories flooded to the surface of her mind, but the one she clung to wasn’t of Holly. Her sister wouldn’t have wanted her to waste time grieving, she would want her to do something, to keep others from her same fate. Harlowe intended to do just that.
Determined, Harlowe gathered an old burlap sack, the biggest one she had, and carefully folded Holly's body inside. She paused and looked back at her bed, contemplating only a moment before she fetched the little box from beneath it and opened it. Gingerly, she brushed her fingertips over the little brooch. Harlowe grabbed her woolen cloak and fastened the brooch right in the center to hold the ends together. She couldn’t be sure that she’d be coming back here any time soon.
With one final look at the humble hole-in-the-wall she’d called home for so long, she grasped the ends of the burlap sack and slung it over her shoulder. She went out into the street and away from the city. There was only one way forward.
Drax flapped his little wings overhead, his worry clear through their bond. Where go?
Harlowe didn't answer. She carried the sack down the seemingly endless cobblestone until it finally gave way to the forest. A well-worn path led deeper into the woods, and she followed it for a time, but eventually she forked off the path to wander into the brush. Twigs and leaves caught in her straw-yellow hair as she pushed forward, and even more caught in the burlap, but she pushed on. She had to try this.
Along the way, she stewed over every injustice she'd witnessed, every friend she'd lost, every hurt she'd received, all because of the negligence of the ruling families, because of people who could have made changes but instead turned a blind eye. In their eyes, the poor weren't starving to death at alarming rates anymore, so equality had been achieved and they could pat themselves on the back. They even went so far as to offer the poor folk of the city their leftovers after every grand feast, handing out half-stale bread and cheese as if it were a treat.
It was insulting. And telling. Things in Varia weren’t going to change if it was left to only those in power. More lower class people would suffer. More Hollys would be beaten, raped, and killed. The Gavins. The Harlowes. Their indifference had been slowly staining her life, inch by inch, until she was soaked in it. Drenched. Drowning.
The weight of her sister’s body weighed heavily on her shoulders. She’d hauled much heavier things at the mill, but the burden was more than physical and it grew with every step.
The forest around her had grown quiet, Harlowe noticed. The sounds of birds and insects had died down to almost nothing. All she heard were her own footsteps, Drax’s little wingbeats, and the sound of the heavy sack scraping against the branches as she passed through them.
"I've come to bargain!" she shouted into the silent forest, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks. It was the first time she'd cried since all of this started, she realized. And it was the worst time to show weakness.
Drax landed on her shoulder and chittered, trying to soothe her. She shook her head and pushed through the tears, shouting again, "I've come to bargain!"
When there was no response, Harlowe closed her eyes and tried to remember the stories she'd been told. The ones about scary monsters that lurked in the forest, those that if they found you would destroy you unless you gave them something of equal value. With the right offering, they might even do your bidding. The stories were scarce in detail; those who encountered the beasts rarely survived. But how was one to find them if they were looking?
She recalled a single story that held promise, the idea rang true in her mind, so she laid her sister down and pulled out her knife, dragging the blade across the backs of her hands. She drank in the pain and let it ground her, then pressed the bloody backs of her hands against the trees on either side of her.
"I've come to bargain!" she called out again, hoping the desperation hadn’t bled into her voice.
This time, the forest responded.
Drax shivered on her shoulder, but didn't flee. The trees shook and the leaves trembled with the thundering footfalls of something big approaching. Harlowe stood her ground, staying firmly in front of the bag that held Holly's body. Finally, a dark shape emerged, surging forward with measured, heavy steps until it was mere feet away from Harlowe.
The creature looked canine, but its shoulders reached at least seven feet tall. Its eyes were wide and wild, fixed on Harlowe. A long tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth as it panted, filling the quiet of the forest with a gravelly rasp. Saliva fell to the ground in messy puddles as the beast regarded Harlowe, looking ravenous; on the verge of attack. His voice rumbled in her mind, deep and coarse. What have you brought to bargain? I can smell the hate boiling inside you. So strong for one so young. You have all the ingredients for a perfect soldier, don't you?
Harlowe stood her ground and clutched at the brooch at her neck. She kept her eyes on the beast and took a deep breath. If she died now, it wouldn't be so bad. "I'm no soldier. I'm just a mill worker, but . . . I've brought the only thing in the world I care about. Is that enough for you?"
The canine creature barked out a laugh and tilted his head. That depends. What do you want?
Harlowe gripped the trinket at her neck and looked back at Holly's body. ". . . Can you bring her back?"
The beast chuckled. Perhaps. But is that what you REALLY want, little soldier? The same thing could happen; there would be no assurance that she’d be safe. Those guards would be more than happy to rape her and beat her all over again.
Harlowe's eyes burned with angry tears. She didn't trust this creature, but he spoke the truth. Even if she brought Holly back, who's to say she wouldn't die the very next day? Holly wouldn't have wanted that.
I ask again, then. What is it you want? He rumbled, watching h
er with those wicked orange eyes.
Harlowe thought to herself. She'd buried their mother, had watched their father being loaded onto a cart to be incinerated with the dozens of others from their block who hadn't survived, and now all she had left was the empty husk of her sister. Death was no stranger to her or to anyone else she knew, but none of that made any of this okay. Too many people she had known and cared about had been failed by a city that barely tolerated them, if not outright abused them. Something had to change.
Harlowe took a deep breath and looked the beast in its fiery eyes. "I want . . . I want the power to change things. To make the people responsible pay. To make things better for us folks at the bottom. I want us to have a goddamn chance!" She pushed through her tears, unashamed of her crying. She had every right to, didn’t she? Why should she be ashamed of her emotions?
The beast rumbled deep in his chest, a pleased sort of sound. He sat on his haunches and stared down at her. I can give you this. But what do you have to bargain with?
Harlowe took a deep breath and stepped aside to give him a better view at the burlap sack. "My sister. The dearest thing to me in this world."
Ah, the beast barked out a laugh. But that is no sacrifice. You would have burned her body if you had not brought her to me. She is already lost to you.
Harlowe felt a pang in her chest. What else did she even have to give?
As if hearing her thoughts, the beast rumbled back, Without a sacrifice, no exchange can be made. Think quickly, soldier.
Harlowe reached up to stroke Drax at her shoulder, the little bird trembled with fear. Leave, he urged softly, leave!
Harlowe realized what the beast wanted her to do. The one thing she had to offer. She lifted a hand to her face and shook her head. "No . . ." Shock gave way to sorrow, and she fell to her knees.
You know what you must do, little soldier. . . . I can give you the power you need. Are thousands of lives worth this one little sacrifice? Or are you too selfish to help them? The beast laughed, mocking her. You are not the first to ask me for this. The rest left with their tails between their legs, the cowards. Too selfish. Too weak to do what must be done.
Harlowe cried as she lifted her hand to her shoulder once more, taking the little bluebird in her hand. Drax looked frightened. He trembled but didn't try to escape. That was the thing about familiars, they trusted completely. Without question. She stroked the top of his head gently, then leaned down to kiss his soft feathers. I'm sorry, Drax. I'm so sorry.
No! No leave! Drax fluttered his wings in her hand, chirping in distress as he realized her intentions. Want to stay! Want to stay!
Drax was a part of her soul. He was the only thing she had left to cling to. But she'd said the same of her sister.
Harlowe took another couple moments to try and calm the bird. This is bigger than us, Drax. I'm so sorry. She stood, holding the trembling bundle of feathers out in front of her.
Drax chirped louder, sounding much like he was crying. No leaving, please! No leave—
She twisted Drax’s neck in one swift jerk. The chirping stopped, and the tiny ball of feathers laid still in her hands.
The beast's mouth opened in a wicked grin. Harlowe clutched her chest as it tightened involuntarily and the air was ripped from her lungs. She couldn't breathe, couldn't take in even the smallest gasp. She fell to the ground on all fours and finally drew in a terrible breath as the bird’s body rolled across the ground, settling at the beast’s mighty paws. She wished for pain, something other than this horrible empty nothingness she felt in its place. Drax was gone. Dead by her own hands.
The forest was quiet again, save for the slow panting of the beast. Harlowe choked on a sob, shaking her head as her tears watered the ground below. Holly was gone. Drax was gone. She had nothing left.
The beast stepped forward with thudding footfalls. There, there. . . . I'm proud of you, little soldier. Now I know for certain that you're worthy. Come with me. I will give you the power you need to tip the scales.
Harlowe stayed down for several minutes, unable to move. Finally, she pushed up onto her knees and back onto her feet. She had nothing more to lose.
She had nothing.
Nothing but a purpose. From now on, the only stains she would allow on her life were the ones she painted herself.
She stood tall, forced her shoulders back and her chin high as she studied the creature. "Show me what to do."
C.L. Thomas
About the author
C.L. Thomas is an author, playwright, and all-around nerd for all things creative. Her play RAFT, co-written with Harrison Young, just premiered on stage in early 2020 and her newest novel, Rook, is set to premiere in 2020 as well. She lives in Phoenix with her wife and cats, living the dream in the valley of the sun. Check out her website online CL-Thomas.com.
Beyond the Distortion
By K.N. Nguyen
“You’re so full of shit,” Avery spat.
“Excuse me?” the voice on the other line replied. “I’m not the one who owes three people almost a thousand credits because they can’t manage their finances. What are you even spending your money on anyway?”
“None of your business,” Avery said through clenched teeth.
Silence.
“Are you in trouble again?” her friend asked softly.
“No! Why don’t you stop with the fake pity? I told you I would pay you back; I don’t need you acting like my mom.”
“Avery, you need help. Let me hel—”
Avery hung up the phone, her pulse racing thanks to the adrenaline flowing through her body.
“Pretentious bitch,” she muttered.
Avery ran her shaking hand through her hair before pushing herself off of her desk chair. She paced around her sparse room, alternating between rubbing her forearm and clenching her hands. The young woman struggled to control her breathing. She glanced at her dresser several times, noting the few credits lying on its surface. Biting her lip, Avery turned away, continuing her pacing. After several laps around her room, she turned toward her dresser once more. Closing her eyes, she sighed.
“Fuck it. I need to see Kettleman.”
Grabbing the credits off her dresser, Avery hurried out of her room and out to the street before she could change her mind.
Drool dripped down the side of Avery’s mouth. Her eyes rolled back, she sat slumped in the worn leather chair, an IV sticking out of her arm. The needle connected to a bag of opaque liquid. A worn label on the fluid bag identified the memories within as belonging to a J.C. Vidici, an adrenaline junkie who managed to get himself mixed up in some dicey situations. Avery’s body convulsed as she let the memories flow through her, causing her brain to release epinephrine into her body. Avery’s eyelids fluttered rapidly as she absorbed the illicit thoughts.
Vidici revved the engine of his motorbike, Avery watching the crowd cheer through his eyes. She felt the excitement within him, the racing of his heart, as he prepared for his stunt. It was all so intense, she felt like throwing up. With a final revolution, Vidici pressed the throttle and raced his bike down the steep ramp. The wind blew in his face, eyes watering as he squinted against the dryness of the wind. Avery’s stomach caught in her chest as she neared the end of the ramp. As they neared the jump, voices roared in the distance. In front of her, twenty-four cars were lined up, ready for the bike to soar over them. As Vidici, Avery held her breath, body tensing for the jump. Suddenly, she felt the wheel beneath her slip. The front of the motorbike began to slide on the ramp.
Shit! Shit! Shit! she panicked, hands tightening on the clutch.
A loud chime interrupted the experience, promptly cutting off the memories and killing her high. With a snap, the IV was pulled out of her arm and she slowly returned to reality.
The dimly lit room gradually came into focus. Avery felt herself sunken into a worn leather chair, her left arm resting on the armrest. A few other chairs lay strewn around her, some filled with bodies in various stages of th
eir Distortion high. One of the seats held an older man, his cheeks sunken in, reaching out frantically as he tried to grab at something with his bony fingers.
“That can’t have been half an hour,” she griped, rubbing the gauze wrap that now encircled her arm.
“Keep pressure on it for at least an hour,” the saloon owner, Kettleman, replied, his voice bored.
“C’mon, man. Just another five minutes. We were getting to the good part.”
“For another twenty credits I can have you set back up, babe.”
“Twenty?” Avery exclaimed. “The half hour was thirty credits.”
“It’s not healthy to have so much adrenaline pumping through you. Legal amount we can give you is thirty minutes. However, if you want a little more, it’ll cost you.” Kettleman bustled about, tending to his other customers during the exchange, his back to Avery. He reached out with his left hand towards her and rubbed his fingers together, indicating that money would be the only way to continue with her high. “You remember my conversation with Spider over there, don’t you?” He pointed towards the bony-fingered man who still grasped the air for some invisible object. “No money, no memories.”
“Viewing the Archives isn’t legal to begin with,” Avery grumbled as she rubbed her arm once more. “I’ll come back another day.”
The gaunt man nodded as he moved to put away the bag with Vidici’s memories swirling within and throw out the IV needle in a sterile box on the wall. “I’ll see you in a few days then.”
Avery headed towards the door, pulling her arm through the sleeve of her sweatshirt as she walked.
As her hand touched the knob, Kettleman called out to her. “Remind me the next time I see you. I found something in the Archives I think you’ll find interesting.”
Avery paused, her interest piqued. What will it cost me this time? she wondered. Avery nodded her head without looking back. The sunlight blinded her as she walked out of the dank tavern and into the streets. She brought her hand to her face, shielding her eyes. Blinking away the tears that came with the pain of the sudden brightness, Avery struggled to gauge how busy the road was.
The First Stain Page 15