Renegade

by Antony John

  I looked past Griffin to the east. The sky was shifting color, a hint of blue-gray after a long night of black. The birds that had become eerily silent since our return to Roanoke announced their arrival. Surely the timing wasn’t a coincidence. This was the beginning of a new era of reconciliation. Griffin was making sure of it.

  I wished that he would hurry, though. Being in the center of Skeleton Town seemed to be making him more powerful than before, but the adrenaline that had kept me going all night was fading now. I needed to rest.

  Nyla loosed hands. I figured she’d had enough, that the pain was too much for her, but she was listening as the old man spoke. Although he was still frail, the lumps on his neck had receded. He’d been healed as suddenly as Dennis and Rose. When he raised a hand and waved at a small group nearby, the clan folk’s murmuring became louder.

  Eyes closed, Griffin rocked back and forth. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to conserve energy, unable to take any pride in what he’d just done.

  A woman ran toward us then. She had what looked like a sandbag slung over her shoulder, but it was actually a child—a young girl, maybe five or six years old. The mother laid her daughter tenderly before us. “Please,” she begged. “Please save her.”

  Just as I’d feared: There were far sicker people here than the old man we’d just helped. And this girl was one of them.

  “Is she . . .” Alive, I was going to say, but I couldn’t ask the woman that. So I put my ear to the girl’s mouth and felt her shallow breaths warm me.

  “Can you do it?” the woman asked. “Can you save her?”

  We were so tired, and I didn’t want to risk Griffin’s health. Even if we helped the girl, who was to say that she’d survive? I was about to explain all this when Griffin leaned forward and placed his palms on the girl. With or without me, he was going to try.

  Reluctantly, Nyla and I linked hands. Joined with Griffin again, we combined. This time progress was slower. The girl was in a bad way, and we had so little left to give. I tried to stay upright, but as my vision grew fuzzy, I lost balance, broke contact, and fell away from him.

  I got back up—I couldn’t let Nyla and Griffin do this alone—but quickly fell back down again. In the distance I saw Kieran’s father holding him close, just as my father had once held me. It was as if the world were being turned upside down, so I closed my eyes. I just needed a moment to recover.

  My eyes snapped open as someone jostled against me. The small girl was gone—cured, I guessed—and in her place were at least twenty people: men and women and children. They clamored for attention, and ignored each other’s pleas. Griffin had presented them with an easy and immediate cure for Plague. No one was willing to be patient.

  Beside me, Griffin was shaking his head. Curing the girl must have made him woozy, because he lost balance and fell backward. A strange sound was coming from his mouth, and I just had time to turn his head to the side as he vomited onto the street.

  “Enough,” I tried to say, but the word was drowned out by the clan folks’ appeals. “Please,” I said, but it was pointless. They surged forward.

  A man grabbed Griffin’s arm. He had dark, sunken eyes, and blood-red welts around his neck. “Help me,” he moaned.

  Griffin was crying. He wanted to cure them all, but he couldn’t even keep his eyes open.

  “I said, ‘help me!’” the man yelled. He shook Griffin.

  I lunged forward and took the man’s wrist. Full of panic, I got in a single powerful shock before we fell away from each other. The man crashed into his neighbors, I fell back, and Griffin was unconscious. He’d suffered too.

  I held my breath. If the clan folk were ever going to attack, now was the moment. We were too weak to defend ourselves. But none of them were looking at us. Instead, they edged back as the other elementals took up positions behind us.

  Marin stepped into the no-man’s-land. The woman who had once treated my brother and me like we were barely human was now our protector. And Skya was with her.

  “Our elements have limits,” my mother shouted. “If you don’t let these children rest, they won’t be able to cure any of you. For your own sakes, give them space.”

  I waited for the clan folk to respond. There was muttering, but no consensus.

  Before I passed out, I saw the sun peeking over the battered shells of Skeleton Town. It was a new dawn, but I’d seen that sun before. I’d seen it as I’d stood on the beach at Hatteras, dreaming of a time when I might be useful to the colony. I’d seen it on Sumter when I’d woken beside Rose, sure at last that we’d found a place that was safe. How often had that sun reeled me in with its promise of hope and change? And I’d believed it every time.

  But I’d been missing the point. My future wasn’t about one day, and it certainly didn’t rest on something as reliable as the sunrise. Every day that I lived, my future was about me and my element. There was nothing more unpredictable in the world.

  CHAPTER 37

  It was the smell that woke me: something burning. As soon as I covered my mouth with the edge of my tunic, the smoke changed course.

  The sun was high—early afternoon, I figured. Close by, clan folk were using broken timbers to shuffle bloated rat carcasses into sacks. Other people collected the sacks, and traipsed away in a perfect straight line. I couldn’t see where they were headed, but I was sure they would be burying the rats, preferably a long way from Skeleton Town. From the thousands that remained, they’d be doing the same job for the rest of the day.

  I tried to stand, and thought better of it. I needed a moment to get my balance. Every part of me felt tightly wound, like a knot that might never come undone. As I lay there, I began to sweat, just from being awake.

  I rolled onto all fours. When I was sure I wouldn’t pass out, I stood and took a few tentative steps. The clan folk line snaked northwest past the buildings, toward the plume of smoke that rose diagonally even though there was no wind.

  As they waited for their sacks to be filled, the clan folk watched me. I felt like I was like being observed by a dozen Guardians, suspicious and disapproving. But none of them threatened me. Whatever Mother had said to them at dawn had at least won us a reprieve, if not the clan folks’ complete trust.

  I joined the line too, mostly to show that I was willing to do my part in the recovery process. As I took my place, all conversation ceased. They knew who I was, and they must have known I’d played a part in what had transpired on the water tower. How much more uncomfortable would they be if they realized the extent of what I’d done?

  The young man beside me pulled a water canister from the hook on his thick leather belt. “Here. Looks like you could do with some water.” He held out his canister. “Go ahead. There’s plenty more where this came from.” I must have looked puzzled, because he continued: “Two of your kind can test the purity of water. We’ll have all the drinking water we need.”

  Your kind. There was no mistaking those words—we may be coexisting, but ours was still a fractured colony. In their excitement over unlimited drinking water, the clan folk might be willing to overlook our other elements. But one day, those elements would resurface. Would they still appreciate us then?

  “You’re dehydrated.” The man refused to give up. “You have to drink.”

  I surrendered, resigned to playing my role in this forgiving new world. But as our hands came together on the canister, my element passed through the metal. He inhaled sharply.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. The apology was a reflex—one I’d probably get to use a lot from now on.

  “It was nothing,” he lied.

  I raised the canister to my lips and drank. The water was cool—maybe the finest water I’d ever tasted. I fought the urge to finish it.

  “Listen,” the man said, “I’m sorry about your father. I lost my father too this week. He was older than
yours, but I loved him. I wish he was here to see this.”

  I held out the canister for him, but then thought better of it and placed it on the ground instead.

  “I’m Brent, by the way.” Smiling.

  We didn’t shake hands. “Thomas.”

  “Well, that canister is yours now, Thomas. Drink it wisely.” Before I could refuse, he received a sack of rats and rejoined the line.

  A few moments later, I followed him. Beyond the buildings, the clan folk had worn a clear path through the wild grass. At the end of it they emptied their sacks into a large pit. Ananias stood at the bottom of the pit, shirtless, setting the carcasses alight with both hands. Dennis stood at the rim and used his element to fan the flames. When the smoke climbed vertically upward, he redirected it away from us with the slightest flick of his fingers. Eventually, all evidence of the rats would be gone from Roanoke Island. The moment couldn’t come soon enough.

  When he saw me, Ananias ran up the bank. He was only a step away from me, arms outstretched, when he hesitated—he didn’t want to be hurt. Then, shutting out his fear, he pulled me into a tight hug.

  It was uncomfortable for me, and no doubt worse for him, but he still didn’t let go. Surrounded by strangers, he clung to me.

  “Where are the others?” I asked.

  We broke the connection. “Marin and Rose are by the water tower,” he answered. “The tank still holds a little water. Griffin and Nyla are in the shelter with Skya.”

  Skya, not Mother. How long would it be before that word felt real to us?

  “We’ll release the dead tonight,” he continued. “Or bury them. The clan folk need a day to think things through. To mourn.”

  “And you?” I asked. “Do you need a day to mourn?”

  He leaned back, so that we were eye to eye. Tears mingled with sweat. “When we were standing on the street yesterday, with those ropes around our necks, Jossi said stuff about how the Guardians used to treat non-elementals. I called him a liar . . . but Alice didn’t. And neither did Father. I wanted Father to deny everything, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.” He stared at the ever-growing mound of rats. “Do you remember when we were young—how Father would carry the three of us . . . one on his back, and one on each arm?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I remember.”

  “I used to think he was the strongest man in the world. Back then, I didn’t know there were different kinds of strength . . . that on the inside, he was weak.”

  “He wasn’t weak, Ananias. He carried all three of us, and he ran through the waves, and you and Griffin never even felt his element. Or mine, which means he must’ve been keeping me away from you. The control that must have taken—the willpower—I just hope I can find a small part of it for myself.”

  Ananias was growing restless. As so often before, he needed a moment alone, but duty called. “Who am I now, Thomas? I’m definitely not one of them”—he pointed to the line of clan folk—“but I’m ashamed to be an elemental. Where does that leave me?”

  The clan folk were working well together, calm and methodical. They were also glancing at Ananias as they emptied their bags, each and every one of them. And I didn’t see suspicion or frustration in their eyes; I saw admiration for what he was able to accomplish. Their version of Ananias was the same as mine: tough, relentless, uncomplaining.

  “You’re in the middle of everything now,” I told him. “And that’s exactly where you need to be. You’re a bridge . . . the link we need to make this work.”

  “And you?” he asked.

  “Me?” I thought about it. “I just need to stay out of the way, so I don’t shock anyone.”

  Ananias chuckled at that. It didn’t occur to him that I was serious.

  “I should keep going,” he said. He trudged down the bank into the smoldering pit. “If you see Alice, tell her I could do with some help. I’m tired.”

  Was it tiredness, or Plague? It had only been one day since we’d come into contact with the rats. It might take another day before the symptoms showed—for me, as well as for him. “Why Alice?” I shouted.

  He wiped his arm across his forehead, but he was so covered in sweat and grime that it didn’t help at all. Soot from the fire traced shadows across his chest that made him appear even more muscular than usual. “Now that Father’s gone, she’s the only one with fire.”

  Dennis had been watching us the whole time from the other side of the pit. I joined him there. “Ananias isn’t the only one who’s tired,” he said. “I was in the shelter earlier. Griffin and Nyla can’t keep up.” I must have looked confused, because he continued: “Lots of people need healing, but there’s only one solution. It’s tough when no one can take your place.”

  Was he talking about Griffin now? Or himself? After all, he was the only one left who could control the wind. But he made it look so effortless. He sculpted the air as we talked, and never missed a beat. I reminded myself that he was still the same nine-year-old Dennis who had wailed as we left our Hatteras Island colony a few weeks earlier. But he wasn’t that boy. Recent events had left their mark in every look and action. Age had never seemed so meaningless.

  I could tell he had something more to say. “What is it, Dennis?”

  “Are you going to take over my element again? Like you did on the tower.” He turned his fingers, gathering the smoke into a tight spiral.

  “No. I won’t do it again.”

  He nodded, accepting the answer. But it wasn’t enough, of course. As long as I could steal his greatest power, how could he ever trust me again?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. And I was sorry—more than he could know.

  I left the pit and cut through the buildings. Picked up my pace as I reached the street. In the distance, Rose and Marin worked beside the crumpled remains of the water tower. For years they’d been an efficient team, and finally they were together again. But something had changed: Rose was in charge now. I could see it in the way her mother followed as she pointed, and the way Rose planted her hands on her hips—if it wasn’t a look of defiance, it was certainly a gesture of independence. I wanted to speak to her, but I wasn’t sure what to say. And as I reached the intersection, something else caught my eye.

  Another line of clan folk snaked across the street in front of the shelter. But this line wasn’t moving. These people weren’t working. Most weren’t even standing. Quietly, patiently, they waited to discover if my brother could perform yet another miracle. Or if the Plague that was so visibly consuming them would claim them first.

  CHAPTER 38

  There’s a line,” a man shouted as I headed for the shelter door. Then he saw me and a flicker of recognition passed across his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were one of them.” He stepped back, hands raised defensively, and almost tripped over rat carcasses. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

  The people behind him were silent now.

  “No,” I said.

  The shelter door opened, and my mother stepped out. Her features bore a striking resemblance to mine. There was an older woman with her too. Between them, they supported a young woman not much older than Ananias. Her neck was bruised, but I guessed that she was in much better shape now than when she’d entered the shelter. She stopped when she saw me. “Are you his brother?”

  I knew she was talking about Griffin. “Yes,” I said, eyes still fixed on my mother.

  She nodded. “He’s the answer to my prayers. I woke believing that this would be my final day on earth. But I was wrong.” Her eyes sparkled, the only part of her untouched by disease. “I look around me and I don’t even see dead rats and broken buildings anymore. I see hope. I see the start of something new.”

  Her eyes flitted between me and my mother. She wanted us to say that we saw it too, this world transformed, this time of breathless optimism. Mother gave her a smile, but how could I agree when my mot
her and I were staring at each other like the strangers we were? I didn’t know her any better than the young woman she supported. If I had been anyone other than who I was, at least we would’ve hugged, but even that was out of the question.

  “We need to talk, Thomas,” Mother said finally. A tear pricked the corner of her eye. “There’s so much to say.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  The young woman slid out from under Mother’s arm, and the older woman shepherded her away. Meanwhile, Mother surveyed the line as if she were looking for the ripest piece of fruit on a heavily laden tree. She settled on a man who was probably the same age as Father had been.

  “Thomas, can you help . . .” She trailed off as she remembered that no, I couldn’t help this man—not without hurting him. “Hold the door, will you?”

  I kept it open as she passed through, her arm wrapped tightly around the man. Two elderly clan folk followed him, too weak to help, but too concerned to leave his side. His parents, I guessed.

  The smell from the rats was almost as bad inside the shelter as it had been outside. The tiny windows near the ceiling had withstood countless storms, but last night’s explosion had destroyed them all. It was quieter, though. Calmer.

  Griffin sat in the corner, back pressed against the wall. Dark shadows circled his eyes. His bony shoulders curved forward. Nyla was next to him. If anything, she looked even worse than he did.

  Mother laid the man before them. He didn’t move as Griffin and Nyla twined fingers and placed their hands on his chest. The process was eerily efficient, as if they’d already done this several times. The man moaned slightly, but otherwise remained still.

  At first, I watched Griffin and Nyla. When their faces grew tense and tired I turned my attention to the man. At some point in the past few days he would’ve had to come to terms with his own mortality. Now his life could start again. Surely he would recognize it for what it was: a gift from an elemental.