Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  No. The Anwell house was just an empty building. Years had gone by since the fire, and he wasn't the person he'd been then. Her knowledge of it had nothing to do with him. He needed to focus on why they were there, nothing more.

  He clamped his eyes shut and buried his face in the pillow. He would need her determination more than ever come morning.

  Sleep was a devious thing⁠—the more he wanted it, the more it slipped from his hands. Eventually, he gave up and lay listening to the lake's chorus of frogs. He hadn't heard it for a long while, not in the metallic jungle that was Elavadin City. What a sad, pleasant sound.

  Chapter Twelve: The Garden

  Amaranth and Shakaya stared in silence, the seconds blurring into minutes. Morning birdsong belied the charred house towering over them. For Shakaya, it was the home where the enemy who'd taken everything from her had lived—a showcase of the Author's justice and of the revenge she'd had stolen, just like her family. For Amaranth, it was a memory that made it hard to breathe.

  Outside of their inner worlds, however, it was nothing more than blackened wood. A collection of overgrown ivy and collapsed beams. Still, the burned walls faintly formed the shape of a house. It had even maintained its two-story structure...although it didn't appear it would for much longer.

  "The back looks sturdier." Shakaya's eyes narrowed. "Let's go inside that way." She turned to her companion when she got no answer. "Am—" She stopped herself. "Arwin?"

  Amaranth barely heard her. Even though his eyes burned, he couldn't look away.

  Shakaya waited a while, before her fingers gently touched his.

  He startled, pulled back to the present. "Sorry..."

  She clicked her tongue, perhaps not quite sure what he was apologizing for. "Let's get this over with. I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to." She started walking, still holding on to his sleeve.

  As they approached the back of the house, a fence blocked their way. Beckoning them inside was an overgrown archway, miraculously still standing despite the fire and the years. What awaited them within made Shakaya's eyes widen and Amaranth's droop toward the grass.

  Cobblestone walkways spread out behind the house. Soot marks blackened the tiles and weeds reached out between them, but small animal statues lined the paths. Delicate chairs and tables sat unused. A wildflower bloomed inside a teacup filled with stagnant water. A circular pond and the short stone wall surrounding it accented the center of the yard, coated by green grime. Bare roots jotted up from the ground in carefully coordinated patterns and in a wide variety of shapes and hues. Most were naked now, long dead and buried by suffocating ivy. Others were only charred stumps that refused to wilt away. Still, a few stubborn blooms peered out from under vines and persisted despite the onset of fall. There were roses, lilies, lilacs, orchids, lavender, and a handful of other species. Flowers abnormal for the area and season bloomed ignorantly, defying even the decay. Only Translation suited for the task could have created such a sanctuary.

  A flock of songbirds flew off as Shakaya stepped inside, disturbing the silence with rustling wings. "A garden, I assume." A strange expression darkened her face. "It must have been lovely, once."

  Amaranth followed, dragging imaginary chains behind him. He squeezed his voice through his tight throat, "I'm sure it was."

  Shakaya studied a weedy, flowering bush near the pond. It had outgrown its original plot and reached over the mossy stone fence. "This is an amaranth here, isn't it?" It didn't look like anything particularly special, with cymes of tiny, reddish blossoms, but it was one of the healthier plants in the abandoned garden.

  Amaranth simply nodded. Shakaya didn't seem to notice, but he didn't look up. He already knew what she was looking at.

  She smiled slightly and plucked a cyme from its leaves. "It seems it survived the fire better than most of the other plants here...so maybe the myth is true."

  Amaranth didn't realize she'd stepped closer until he felt the tug at his scalp. He reached up and found the flowers nestled in his hair.

  Shakaya smirked, a glint that nearly looked like mischief in her eyes.

  Amaranth sucked in a breath that felt far too cold for his lungs, and for an instant, his heart stopped working. He shuddered, shaking off the shivers.

  Thankfully, Shakaya was already searching the rest of the garden. "It's strange... Lyrum don't feel emotions the same way Humans do, so why would they go through the trouble of creating something like this?" The light drained from her face. "The colony... The laughter... It's not what I expected."

  Amaranth looked up at her, his already tense heart beating faster. He wasn't quite inside his body—suspended in a crossroad. "They're still people," he'd told her once. Was this when he was supposed to say it again? After all these years? When those words marked him as a hypocrite and risked piercing through the illusions their relationship was built on? Was it worth it, now, when he needed her more than ever?

  Shakaya shook her head, as if her subconscious had peeked into his. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. There must be practical reasons." Her hand wrapped around his. "Let's hurry."

  Amaranth sunk back into his skin to find himself following Shakaya toward the burned home.

  He realized in that moment that he couldn't do this.

  For years, such an idea had been banished from his thoughts. It had to be, for a man with dreams as outlandish as his. He'd learned to avoid limiting himself with categorizations of the possible and the impossible. He'd learned how to manipulate emotion until he could nearly disable it at will. He'd learned how to smile when sorrow ate away at his insides and while fear shot up his spine.

  But there, in that moment, in front of that old burned building, he could do none of those things. He couldn't enter that house. Dizziness sent the garden spinning, as if his legs might give out if he didn't stop them, himself.

  He stumbled back, pulling against Shakaya's grip.

  She stopped and blinked at him. "What's wrong?"

  He swallowed the vertigo long enough to speak. "I-I'm sorry," he apologized again, stammering like a frightened child. "I...can't go in that house," he searched for the right words. "It... The house... It's too much like..."

  Shakaya closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the empathy inside them nearly seemed foreign. "I understand." She let him go. "Wait here."

  She did understand, he knew. Their pasts weren't so different. In a cruel way, it was one of the few things the two of them had in common. It was also, perhaps, what had ultimately brought them together.

  Amaranth managed a grateful nod. "Be careful. It...hardly looks stable."

  "I will," she assured, before vanishing inside the dilapidated back door.

  For a while, Amaranth only stood. A few minutes passed before his legs were able to carry him to the pond. He took a careful seat on the stone wall and waited, willing himself to stop shaking. Now, alone in the garden, he merely felt numb. He wanted to keep it that way. His eyes determinedly watched the cobblestone, afraid that looking up and letting something, anything, catch them would return the lump to his throat.

  Nonetheless, the breeze tugged at his hair and forced him to recall the flowers tied there. He reached up, the petals brushing against his fingers.

  The wilted cyme cradled in the girl's palm gradually regained its color and a satisfied smile lit her lips. In but a matter of seconds, she'd restored it to life.

  The boy frowned just slightly, the sorrow in his eyes contrasting the joy in hers.

  ...If only it was so easy to save a person, to restore them to health as if they'd never been ill. Even healing Translation had its limits. Sickness was one of them.

  It was just the two of them in the garden, sitting on the wall by the pond. Even the midsummer air was silent, still. The only noises came from songbirds singing evening hymns and frogs crowing in the shallows beside them.

  "What kind of plant is that, anyway?" he asked, trying to dismiss the frown from his face. It would upset her if she saw
it.

  "This? It's an amaranth!" Her blue eyes shimmered through strands of unkempt black hair. Due to her unruly lifestyle, it often escaped the red ribbon holding it back. "It represents immortality and eternal beauty. If you take good care of it, they say it's supposed to live forever!" She crossed her arms, grinning."Isn't that lovely? Delly says it's stupid, but I bet it's true! Don't you think so too, Anny?"

  He smiled weakly. "It's a nice story."

  "It's more than a story! Mama told me about it, herself!"

  He chuckled at her mock pout. "Then why did you have to nurse it just now? I don't think using Translation counts."

  "I'll take good care of it, and you'll both see!" Her brow creased with determination. "I'm sure it'll still be blooming long after I'm gone!"

  The smile fled his face. "Don't say that."

  "Why not?" She blinked, confused. "I would like that."

  "Because..." He sucked in a breath. "Because you won't be going anywhere!"

  "Everything dies someday, Anny. It's only a matter of time, really." She passed him a bittersweet smile. "That's why it's so lovely to believe in something that doesn't."

  "I won't let you!" His brown eyes met her blue with such resolute intensity that she fell silent. "I'll save you. I swear I'll save you!"

  She said nothing, holding his gaze.

  "I swear it," his calm voice belied the absurdity of his words. "You'll live a full life."

  "Anny..." Tears dampened her pale—far too pale—cheeks. "Thank you, but..."

  He shook his head, not letting her finish. "I won't let those stupid rules kill you. Not when there's a way! You'll live right along with your amaranth."

  Not saying anything more, she gingerly plucked off a flower and nestled it in his hair.

  "Eh?" He poked at it, bewildered.

  She giggled, drying her eyes. "Leave it! It's for good luck!" Her grin widened. "It suits you, actually."

  He sighed, smiling in spite of himself.

  Amaranth didn't realize he was crying until he saw drops hit the cobblestone. He ran a sleeve over his eyes, looking up at the old amaranth flowers she'd treasured so much. She'd died over twelve years ago. Yet the plant still thrived. In truth, he hadn't expected anything of the garden to survive the fire's hunger.

  "I guess you were right," he admitted, but no one was there to answer. Would seeing the few flowers left in the garden—strangled by ivy and thorns—have made her feel better or worse?

  "Oh, Lyn..." His stomach lurched with grief. It slithered inside him like a beast awakened from slumber, trying to break free from its cage.

  Lord, what would she think of him, now? What would any of them think of him, now?

  He didn't have to wonder, though, did he?

  They would hate him. They would be disgusted. They would even be afraid. And he wouldn't blame them. After what he'd done, after the things he was doing... Not even Lyn would forgive him.

  He wasn't the person she had known anymore. He wasn't the person who had sat by that same pond all those years ago. That person had died along with her. Along with her and everyone else.

  That person had broken his promise.

  His voice whimpered in his tight throat, fighting against his efforts to hold it back. Eventually, he lost the battle. Old sobs escaped before he pushed them down with ragged breaths. Tears dripped from his chin.

  "You could even rewrite the dead back into the world."

  Maybe... Maybe that person didn't have to give up on his promise just yet.

  Chapter Thirteen: Revenge

  Amaranth and Shakaya kneeled by Riksharre's southern shore, buried in the shade of a willow tree. The two of them had decided to hide away from the residential areas before discussing their plans. They were scheming murder, after all.

  Amaranth's eyes still burned, but he'd managed to pull himself together before Shakaya emerged from the house. Ten years of keeping secrets gave him plenty of practice at putting on smiles. Thank goodness.

  He looked up, watching the soldier study the yellowed piece of paper in her hands. "So...?" his voice scratched as he spoke. She hadn't told him what she'd found yet.

  A smirk sneaked onto Shakaya's lips. "We've got it."

  Amaranth blinked, admittedly surprised. "There was actually something still there?"

  She nodded, flipping the page around to show him. "Assuming the Council's hideaway hasn't changed in the last decade, that is."

  He leaned in closer, scanning the collage of faded lines and sketches. A map. It was a worn, finely detailed colony map. None of Riksharre's crannies escaped the aged ink. Even the abandoned underground prisons that once held enslaved Humans were laid bare.

  "I found this in what looked like a study. It was locked in a chest, but it was all too easy to break. I assumed there had to be something worth protecting inside."

  "Ah..." he stammered, choosing not to dwell on the ruined house. He focused instead on the map, itself. He'd never seen it before. His gaze paused on the signature in the corner—Olgin Anwell. So, the person who'd made it was... He tried to pull his eyes away, but those familiar, scripted letters drew him in. He ached to reach out and touch them, to brush away the ash at the corner of the page, to hold it tight. The words "Can I see that for a moment?" formed in his head, but he caught them before they left his mouth. It would be better not to ask. He tucked his hands into his pockets to keep them still.

  "It's here."

  Amaranth startled, snapping out of his memories to see Shakaya pointing at the opposite corner.

  "According to this, the Councilors meet in an underground building. The entrance is tucked under the roots of an oak on the colony outskirts. It looks like it was once part of their Human prisons."

  He nodded, looking closer at the Council's hiding place. The sketch marks were messier at that edge of the map, fading out to blank paper. "Is that really the only exit? It...looks like the map was never finished."

  "I don't know," she admitted. "If it were, the Council may as well invite an ambush, but we'll work with what we do know and prepare for what we don't."

  "How should we go about...this, then?" He'd leave the details to the expert. In Hazza, the Butterflies had swept him up and he'd simply rode their tide. He wasn't about to try concocting an assassination, himself.

  Shakaya shot him an unusually wide smile. It made him shiver. It was the type of smile that meant things weren't going to end well for someone else. "You mean you haven't figured it out yet?"

  Amaranth offered only another blink.

  Her blue eyes shimmered like the autumn sky. "We're going to set it on fire, of course."

  "Oh!" He gaped when what she was saying sunk in.

  Shakaya spoke as calmly as ever, as if they were children again and she were helping him finish one of the Academy's early assignments. "We'll start with the roots. It's hard to say how well the chamber below will burn without knowing what it's made of, but it's worth a try with that device of yours." Her smile played with the corners of her lips, as if it wanted to grow even bigger but she wouldn't let it. "Since you'll be the arsonist, you'll obtain the Inkwell if any of them die before they can escape. It's perfect."

  Amaranth swallowed, his throat aching as if the air was already made of ashes.

  "We'll have to take our supplies with us; we won't be able to go back to the residential area after the assault. I'll carry the travel bag. We'll also need to plan out multiple potential escape routes for ourselves. We'll have limited time to work with before the whole of Riksharre notices the fire."

  His heart beat faster as he imagined the flames licking at the forests, reflected in Riksharre's lake like a red sunset.

  "Still, the Lyrum burned down our old lives, so let's call this revenge," she seemed to relish the word, licking her lips. "I was too late for the Anwells, but the smoke will still taste sweet."

  Revenge...

  He nodded. "Let's do it."

  Shakaya chuckled, and a cold spider crawled up Amaranth's nec
k. It took him a moment to understand why. ...When was the last time he'd heard her laugh like that?

  "We'll need to be careful," her voice flattened, like she were tempering her own excitement. "More than likely, we'll only smoke the Councilors out. I'll guard the main entrance while you scout for escapees. Riksharre has surely planned for an attack like this."

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Fire reached for the sky with red tongues, breathing in ancient oak and exhaling it toward the blue as black smoke. Had the arsonist not stood watching, the flames may have been enough to set the forest itself alight. Amaranth and Shakaya simply stared. It was an awesome amount of power, devouring the tree with hungry orange fangs.

  Amaranth soundlessly opened and closed his mouth. He'd...really done that?

  Muffled noise came from somewhere behind them, obscured by the crackling fire.

  "Voices." Shakaya snapped to attention. "Search the area. If you see anyone, don't engage them. Stay hidden. Come and tell me where you found them." Her eyes, worried but fierce, met his. "If anything goes wrong, just whistle, and I'll be there."

  Amaranth needed no further encouragement. He crouched close to the ground and traversed the woods, relying on the brush for cover. A dissociated sort of anxiety pounded in his skull. As children, he and his sisters had sometimes creeped around like cats, stalking unsuspecting frogs and bugs to play with. This was just like that, he tried to convince himself, only this time, he was hunting for fleeing Lyrum or any signs of a counter attack. The stakes were a Hell of a lot higher. He moved slowly, staying in the shadows. If there was anyone out there, it would certainly be ideal if he saw them before they saw him.

  The telltale sound of footsteps prompted him to peer through the thorns, and he saw what he was searching for. Three guards hurried by, their faces tight with anger and their fingers strangling spears. A pair of startled eyes shot straight toward his hiding place.

  Shit. Amaranth froze as if he were made of stone. Had they seen him?

  Shakaya had said to come straight back to her, but if he made any noise at all, then the Lyrum would surely notice him. He swallowed, each twitch in his dry throat seeming impossibly loud. He was trapped beneath the guard's suspicious stare. Would the Lyrum leave if he waited, or would they come searching for him if he stayed there? Could he call Shakaya? If he whistled, would she reach him in time?