“What?” I ask, shaking my head and sitting up straighter. I brace myself on the bar and blink fast, the sudden movement making the room spin. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but my eyes focus just in time to see the smile playing on his lips.
“It’s too late for me to start over,” I double down, nodding but then regretting it. I need to stop moving.
My family is dead. I hold up my pointer finger. Somehow I’m not, but I probably should be. Two. The Compound was destroyed and most got free, but I cowardly sat there and watched it all happen. Three. Hell, my sister spent the bulk of her life trying to protect me, died for it, and nothing I’ve done has or will ever live up to that. Four. I look up, knowing that there has to be a fifth fucked up thing about my life, but I can’t quite remember it.
A large man sits on the stool next to me and the bartender fills a glass for him, then moves to serve someone further down.
“I was having a conversation,” I tell him, my tone belligerent.
He looks at me but turns away, shaking his head and judging me not worth the effort, no doubt.
“What?” I protest, standing up and forcing myself not to fall over.
“Are you going to be a problem?” he asks.
Fuck it. I can take him.
I wake up in an alley, the sun’s light escalating the pounding in my temples. I sit up, pulling my knees up to my chest, but a wave of nausea puts me back on hands and knees as I double over and retch into the shadows.
Stumbling through the streets of Brook, I struggle to find my way back to my room: a small square of space in the back of a cobbler’s workshop where Crow arranged for me to apprentice. I slip in as quietly as I can manage, hoping not to be spotted.
I started a week ago and can already definitively say shoemaking is not for me.
A mirror hangs on my wall next to the window. I study my feet, unsure if I want to look. My body aches in a way it never has and, with the realization that it is because of my lack of element, I fear what I will see. Hell, I can barely remember the night that earned me this pain.
I look up and face myself. One eye is blackened, barely open. My lip is busted. Blood stains my nose, mouth, and the left side of my face where it streamed out of my nose after I passed out. A view of the big man’s fist flying towards me flashes through my memory and I wince. He went easy on me, I realize; he did just enough to shut me up.
This is what I asked for. I wanted to be able to experience pain. I wanted my pain to show outwardly. I desired the scars that I earned.
I deserve the pain.
-
At sunset, I study the bar from the outside. The name—Flare—is carved and painted onto a sign hanging above the door.
I sigh and enter, sitting on the same stool as the night before. The same bartender is here again, lighting lanterns at a table to the side with another bartender.
“Same as last night?” he asks, returning to the bar and grabbing a glass. I nod. He fills the glass with whiskey and sets it in front of me.
“I’m Kale,” he says, still standing in front of me. I look up and meet his eyes. They reflect kindness, easily offered. His life has clearly been very different than mine. Regardless, I can’t help but respond.
“Zazi.”
He smiles and nods as though considering my name and finding it fitting.
“It’s nice to officially meet you, Zazi,” he says before returning to the lanterns. I watch him hang them on hooks above each table, his shirt lifting up just enough when he lifts his arms.
No, I tell myself firmly. I turn back to my whiskey, taking a long drink. I wince when the alcohol hits my busted lip.
Multiple drinks in, the bar now packed, I hear the table behind me start to talk about The Compound. Without turning—moving is a bad idea—I listen in.
“Trinity was right to kill them off. If they can blow that whole place up, imagine the damage they could do to our towns. It’s not safe,” the first voice says.
“Not everyone agrees with you. There have been attacks on armories. People are burning them to the ground in support of the talists,” a second responds.
“I’d like to see them try to destroy anything with me around. I’d end those mutant sympathizers.”
The next morning, as I study my bruised face in the mirror, I ask myself why I felt the need to attack the man. I’m not a talist anymore and, when I was, there was no benefit to it.
I look at my eyes, but all I see is my father. He spent my childhood getting drunk, picking fights, and pummeling anyone nearby.
There it is: the fifth fucked up thing about me.
I pull the cobbler’s knife from the kit next to my cot and study it. The blade is sharp, new—I just began my apprenticeship.
I don’t have my Aqua anymore to stop me, to heal my cuts before they’ve done their job.
I hold the blade to my wrist, the tip against my vein. I stand there, just like that, for multiple minutes.
I am worthless at everything I do. I couldn’t protect or save my sister—didn’t even try. I was a shitty talist and gave up instead of even trying to be better. Now, I’ve become my father, which proves I’ll never amount to anything more than a waste of space that destroys everyone they encounter.
The blade still rests gently against my skin.
Crow was wrong, I think to myself and then mumble out loud, “there is no starting over.”
But, no matter how many reasons I give myself, I can’t make the blade dig in. I throw it across the room instead and lower myself to the floor, back against the wall, and sob.
That night I find myself back on my stool at Flare, wanting the anger the whiskey brings. If I can’t kill myself, maybe someone else will do it for me.
This time, I don’t wait for someone to do something worth punching them. When I sense my inhibitions have left with all my fucks, I stumble to the first man available and start swinging.
The exhilaration and adrenaline keep me going, despite pain and intoxication. When I swing out at a second bar patron, Kale drags me outside into the alley.
“Get yourself together, Zazi,” Kale says, letting me go. I let myself drop the ground.
I don’t hear his voice say the words, though; I hear Fable, just after she shot our father. When I saw his body there, lifeless, blood pooling around it, I puked and ran outside. On the steps, I sobbed.
“Get yourself together, Zazi,” she spat out, voice full of disgust.
“I can’t,” I tell them both.
Kale kneels in front of me where Fable had taken a step back.
“Why not?” he asks.
“It’s too late for me to start over,” I answer, not looking up.
“You said that the other night. Why?” He was listening, then?
I look up at him now, searching his eyes for answers. “I have nothing left and I only ever end up doing harm.” I’m unsure whether it is the whiskey or trust allowing me to answer honestly.
“Even if that’s true,” he says, “that doesn’t mean you can’t change it.”
“I don’t want to be anymore,” I tell him.
He reaches out and traces his thumb along my cheekbone and I flinch, wondering if it is bruised or broken. “Let’s go get you cleaned up,” he says, helping me up and leading me to an apartment at the back of the bar.
15
Drex
16 Years Ago
Standing at the town limits and looking in at my hometown, I feel disproportionately tall. It is clear to me at once that I have outgrown this place. “I am only here for two days,” I say out loud, both a reassurance and a decree.
My father told me when I left that I could return at any time to visit, but I never did. There were always reasons not to:
I need to prove myself to Dr. Bosco.
I just gained his trust; I can’t slack now.
I manage an equal share of the workload and it would be disrespectful to push that on my colleague.
Now that Bosco is trainin
g a new assistant because Commander Franklin offered me a promotion, there is nothing holding me in Rockwall. Now that it doesn’t interfere with my work, I can visit.
Now that I can visit, I have nothing left to come home to.
The letter announcing my father’s death came the day after the spy’s hanging. It was from a man in town named Levi that helped my father—and other businesses, I’m sure—organize his records. Those memories, his words, that whole world… it all felt like another lifetime that I had purposefully left behind.
My thoughts catch on the word purposefully and I think of Mo. I may not have left her by choice, but I chose not to go with Barley.
I follow the streets that have not changed back to my childhood home. Inside, I walk the rooms. With me gone, only my dad lived here. I’m sure he still had friends over, I quickly tell myself, remembering nights from the past.
I leave my pack in my old room and walk back into town, entering the bakery to get to the room Levi rents for his office. I knock on the open door.
He looks up and smiles. “You have grown in the last few years, haven’t you, Drex?”
I smile, cordial. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you enjoying your life in the Guardia?”
“I’m a doctor in Rockwall, not a soldier,” I clarify, before remembering the question. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad.” He smiles. “Your father was always very proud of you.”
I don’t meet his eyes, but I nod once. Was he? I wouldn’t know because I never visited or wrote.
“His service is tomorrow morning. Would you like to wait until afterwards to handle business?” he asks, his tone warm.
I plan to leave just after—there’s nothing here for me anymore. “Now is fine,” I respond.
He nods, looking down at his notes. “You’ll be taking over at the clinic?” He sounds as if it is a foregone conclusion, but looks up and studies me when I don’t immediately agree.
I think of Cpt. Braga. Am I allowed to leave Trinity’s service and return here?
Do I even want to come back? I just turned down Barley’s offer to leave Rockwall with her and was given a promotion for turning her spy in. Why would I come back here to the town where I grew up?
The feeling of having outgrown this place returns. “No, sir. I plan to continue my career with Trinity.”
“Who will run the veterinarian clinic if not you?” he asks.
A moment passes before I shrug. “Not me.” Did my father not take on a new apprentice when I left?
“The town needs you, Drex,” he responds.
It doesn’t, though. What he means is that it needs a veterinarian. It needs my father, but he’s gone now.
“You need a veterinarian, not me,” I tell him, honestly.
“What are you going to do with the clinic, then?” he asks.
He’s really not understanding me. “I’m not staying, Levi. You can do with the clinic and the house as you please”
“Your father left them to you. He wanted you to take over for him.”
“And I’m giving them to you. I do not want to come back to live here. I’m happy with my life and I was just promoted.”
He starts to respond, but I cut him off, standing. “I came here to say goodbye to my father, but also to this town. After the service tomorrow, I’m leaving and I won’t be coming back.”
-
My father’s wooden box is lowered into the deep rectangular hole in the ground at midmorning. Many offer their condolences, but I nod and move away towards the edges of the crowd. I’m here for my father; I don’t need their thoughts.
A hand grips my shoulder and I turn, ready to dodge another stranger. Instead, I see Mo’s father, Max. “I was hoping you’d be here,” he says.
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Will you come by our house afterwards? It would be nice to catch up,” he tells me and I find myself nodding my agreement.
When the last shovelful of dirt covers the hole and the last of those in attendance leaves, I walk through town to Mo’s house. I know the small home well, of course, having visited frequently through the years with Barley. Like everything else in this town, it hasn’t changed. I can almost see her running through the door to meet us.
Instead, I walk up to the door and knock. Her mother Ginny opens the door, offering a subdued smile. “Come on in, Drex.”
We sit down at the table, lit by the flickering rays of the afternoon sun shining through the leaves outside the kitchen window. They ask how I’ve been and I tell them about the clinic in Rockwall. I’m not sure how much Mo told them, so I don’t mention my promotion.
“Do you know where our daughter is?” Max finally asks.
“No, sir,” I answer honestly.
“She and Barley disappeared the day after you left. Neither left a note,” Ginny tells me. I knew the plan was to leave and that we weren’t planning on saying goodbye. Our only plan was to head north.
“I miss her, too,” I say, cutting to the heart of their question. Is that true? I ask myself. Do I miss her?
I stop myself, all but visibly shaking my head. It doesn’t matter. I have my life and she has hers, wherever it may be, and the two do not intersect anymore.
“She loved you very much, Drex,” her mother tells me. Loved. Past tense. Does she mean that love is gone or that she is unsure whether Mo is alive?
I meet her eyes and she nods, the edges of her lips barely lifting into a smile. “She told me about you two.”
“I loved her, too,” I respond. Loved. Past tense. I don’t allow myself to question whether I still do.
“Did she ever tell you the story of the Morrighan?” she asks.
I nod, pushing back the memories.
“I hated that story,” Max says, laughing. “The Morrighan was the goddess of war, foretelling doom like a banshee. She loved it, though, with her mischievous smile and wicked laugh.” His voice trails off.
Her mom looks up at me. “She told me that if she was Morrighan, she wished you were her crow so that you would always be by her side.”
I nod, but look down and study my hands instead of answering. I know that she wanted that; I did too. To survive, I wasn’t able to go with her. My fallback justification, I realize, is useless now that I turned Barley down and let her spy be shot and hung. I just didn’t choose Mo and I need to come to accept that.
It was your choice, Drex, my mind shouts, fighting back the emotions welling up. You are not the victim.
16
Gray
I may have been the only one to see the talist hide in the lake, but I wasn’t the only one to find signs of them. As the weeks passed, the border guards at Caddo picked up more and more tracks and signs of movement. Every team logged more hours and got less sleep as we were sent out more often to cover more ground, going farther north than our ordinary zone.
Whenever I found any tracks, I connected with the earth to repair trampled plants and settle tracks back into the soil.
“You’d think being Terra, you would be able to track better,” Catt muttered a week in. I pretended not to hear her, but I knew that I would be trapped if she pushed it.
“What?” Jasper asked. Of course the one that despises talists the most is the one that has no clue what the elemental names mean.
“Terra,” Catt said, terse. “Earth. He should be the best tracker at the station by default, but he’s the only one that hasn’t discovered tracks.”
Jasper grabbed the front of my uniform and pulled me forward, face to face, so that I couldn’t look away. To his right Sgt. Smallwood turned away, allowing me to be ensnared.
“The only reason you are alive is so that you can be useful,” he growls, pausing for effect. “You are not being useful.”
I think of the average Compound talist and lie. “I was captured before I had any time to practice with my element. I may be a talist, but I’m not a good one.” I try to sound sincere, solemn. I am not trying to get out of this, I say to m
yself; I am just not good enough.
“Of course. Not only do we have a talist,” Jasper sneered, throwing me to the ground. “We have a defective one.”
Regardless of my efforts and because I could not be with every escuadra, a settlement was discovered about fifteen miles northwest of our station two weeks later.
That evening, Sgt. Smallwood called us into a meeting in a room that we had not been invited into before. Eleven guards stood around a large square table with a map of Trinity spread across it, discussing routes and strategies for attacking a small wooden block that represented the target.
The man at the center of it all looked up at us a moment after we entered. “Sargeant?” he said, questioning Smallwood.
“I think our trainees should come, sir. I believe they are ready and they need the experience,” he responded.
The man studied each of us and I felt myself naturally shift to attention at the scrutiny, though I was unsure if I wanted to be included.
If I didn’t go, I would not be required to help or witness fellow talists attacked. I thought back to the destruction of Haven and the deaths of everyone important to me, then quickly pushed that memory away.
If I did go, I would be expected to help. I would have to choose between helping in order to stay alive and sabotaging my team. I would like to think I would choose the latter, but Barley trained me to always assess the situation before blindly running in.
If there was no way to help and I did nothing, witnessing another massacre on the side of the attackers, I don’t know what I would think of myself.
I wavered on my decision as we marched away from the sun the next morning, unsure what I should choose. When we reached a stream and turned north, I hesitated, standing almost at attention watching the others walk away.
I cannot be a part of this, I told myself.
Jasper must have noticed the lack of footsteps behind him and he turned, then glowered back at me. He ran back to me, then lunged, knocking me to the ground. Pinning me to the ground, he continued to pummel me until I heard Catt’s voice to the side.
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