by Rowan Rook
"Shut it, Anny! Your voice is too loud," Aydel ordered in a hushed hiss. "Mom must have killed the Humans and brought back some of their stuff."
That...was a reasonable theory. Anson's curiosity soured as the siblings continued spying on their parents.
"She always finds all sorts of great things," Aydel muttered quietly. "We'll miss that when she's gone, huh?" There was bitterness in her voice. There always was whenever she talked about their mother's occupation.
Anson preferred not to dwell on the painful memory, but during an encounter with Humans a couple of years ago, he and Aydel had inhibitors put inside of them that prevented them from using Translation. Among the littermates, Ahlyn was the only one who still had access to her abilities. In truth, Anson hardly noticed the absence of his fire, but Aydel lamented the loss of her ice almost daily. It was driving her mad. Their mother was a skilled Lyrum soldier. His sister had wanted to be just like her.
"Delly..." he started, trying to find the right words to say.
Their father looked up at the balcony. Their mother did the same seconds later. Oops. Apparently, his voice was, in fact, too loud.
"Anny!" Aydel barked in annoyance. The noise didn't matter—their parents had seen them.
Olgin let out a laugh. "How did I end up with the world's nosiest children?" He smiled, warm but firm. "Go on, you three. Back to bed."
"No, it's fine." Illya beamed up at her daughters and son. "I've brought back a feast tonight. Come join in!"
Grinning, the girls hurried downstairs. Anson hesitated a moment longer, the thought of where the food likely came from weighing down his stomach, before following his sisters.
Riksharre's soldiers had departed on one of their biggest missions in years that morning. After months of reconnaissance, they'd targeted the Sentinel. The Lyrum hunters were only ever spoken about in hushed whispers around children, serving as the fodder for spooky stories and roleplayed villains. His mother had joined her troop to fight the literal monsters from the games he'd played when younger. While he'd worried a bit about her, he'd never doubted that she'd be fine. No matter what she did, no matter how dangerous her mission, Illya Anwell always came home, safe and sound. The same couldn't be said for the Humans she opposed.
Fanciful foods, many he'd never seen before, were spread across the kitchen table. There were fine cheeses, lean meats, and decorative desserts, along with several more bottles of wine and champagne.
"It seems the Sentinel intended to enjoy itself, but it certainly has nothing to celebrate now." Illya smirked, making no secret of her satisfaction. "I was the one who set their building on fire, so I was able to explore it freely. I salvaged some of their kitchen's treasures. Go ahead and have what you want."
Aydel jumped at the plate of meat while Ahlyn, smiling, selected a blackberry pastry. Anson picked lightly at a piece of fragrant white cheese.
Olgin came up behind Illya, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling his nose into her neck. "Feeding your children with your spoils? What a monster you are."
"The worst," she agreed, mirroring his amusement.
Something uncomfortable stirred in Anson's stomach as he listened to his parents laugh.
With her mate still wrapped around her, Illya reached over and poured three small glasses of wine. Each held only a few sips.
Anson took a curious sip and nearly gagged. It was the first time he'd ever tasted alcohol. The flavor was bitter and sharp, and it left behind a weird warmth as it wormed its way down his throat. Not wanting to look childish—it wouldn't be much longer before he and his siblings were considered adults, after all—he forced down the rest of his glass. His face must've made it clear that he wasn't enjoying it, since his mother giggled.
Aydel silently swallowed the contents of her glass. If she had an opinion, neither her face nor her tongue shared it.
Ahlyn, however, brightened when she took a careful sip. "It's good!" she chimed, following it up with more of her pastry.
Anson didn't understand how she could possibly enjoy it, but he found himself smiling as he watched his sister. Despite everything, she looked happy. She was small in comparison to her siblings, her skin tight to her bones and her cheeks sunken with illness. Yet it hadn't been more than a few months ago when she'd been confined to her bedroom, unable to walk and hardly able to speak. She looked much better. The treatments were working.
The three of them, Anson, Ahlyn, and Aydel, were very nearly identical. During Ahlyn's healthy years, it had been almost impossible to tell the two girls apart. She, however, had been the only one of them to fall ill. It wasn't fai, Anson thought. He and Aydel were fine, while no one expected Ahlyn to survive into adulthood.
Lyrum used herbs to dull pain and healing Translation to mend injuries, but that was the extent of their medical practice. Medicine was considered a science. Therefore, it was something they were not to touch.
Science was the highest form of heresy. It was dangerous and defiled by selfish intentions. It attempted to decode the Author's work and defy its will, instead of worshipping it for what it was. It violated the sanctity of nature and life. It dirtied their hands, hearts, and heads with Human thoughts.
The Author controlled the fate of its people. As tragic as it was, if the Author wanted to call Ahlyn away early, that was simply her path. It was her family's path to enjoy and love her for as long as the Author allowed them. Each hour, each moment, was a precious gift. That was how Lyrum thought.
At least, all of them except for one. Anson's lips curled into a self-satisfied grin.
Using the books and materials he'd found in an old Human carriage, he'd practiced amateur medicine for a couple of years, now. He'd done it all to help Ahlyn, and just a few months ago, he'd finally begun treating her. It was working. He repeated that thought again in his mind, treasuring it.
Ahlyn was a taciturn girl, quiet and gentle...although she was even more stubborn than he was. Perhaps she'd inherited that from her mother. She loved flowers, books, and life. Not once had Anson heard her complain about her health or the unfair hand she'd been dealt. She'd accepted her inevitable early death long ago. In fact, she'd accepted it much more gracefully than he had. All the same, he sometimes heard her cry at night, when she believed the family was asleep, and out in her garden, when she thought she was alone. It was too much to bear. He'd promised to save her, and it was a promise he wasn't going to break. He wasn't going to let the label of heretic stop him. The irrational fears of a sheltered society weren't going to kill his sister.
That was all a secret, of course. Aydel knew, but no one else. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen if he were found out. It wouldn't end well, not for him nor for Ahlyn. Still, that was simply all the more reason to be careful.
By the standards of their culture, the Anwell family was small. Most families housed cousins, aunts, and uncles, as parents sometimes passed away before their children fully matured, but Ahlyn's poor health wasn't uncommon in their bloodline. Every other relative was already gone. Even Illya and Olgin were old...very old. It was up to Anson to make sure his family didn't get any smaller. All three of them would make it. All three of them would one day have families and jobs and lives of their own. All three of them would always have each other.
"Did you really destroy the entire Sentinel?" his father asked his mother, incredulous and impressed. His parents slurred as they spoke, sipping wine directly from bottles.
The soldier nodded, her voice swelling with pride, "We stayed and watched, to be sure. We'd planted spies disguised as Humans inside the Sentinel, you see. It was perfect! Humans don't think 'beasts' like us can blend in, and that keeps them blind. They didn't see us even when we stood beside them. Before my troop arrived, our spies were waiting for us with the pretense of working security for the meeting. We completely outnumbered the Humans! I lit the house up with everything I had, while the others took down anyone who tried to escape. The Johannes themselves never even made it outside. Te
ll the rest of the Council that we can sleep more soundly."
Her mate kissed her forehead. "You're amazing, you know that?"
"I do!" She laughed, wrapping her arms around him and returning the embrace.
"Did you see any children?" Olgin asked after a content moment of silence. "Rumors say the Johannes had at least one daughter, but as far as I heard, no one knew for sure."
"Not even our spies knew for sure." Illya swirled the wine in her bottle. "The Johannes had some sense, at least. But I found a girl—maybe seven or eight—tucked away in one of the upper rooms. I blocked her in, and it was too high for her to jump. The fire should've finished her along with her family. I didn't see any others." She flashed him a grin. "The Johannes are gone."
Anson stiffened with disgust.
His parents held each other tightly, smiling comfortably—almost playfully. How could they look so happy when discussing something so terrible?
Nausea gnawed at his stomach. He put down the glass of wine and the last bit of cheese, suddenly lacking appetite. "You killed a little girl?" he asked his mother, frowning.
It was no secret that the boy didn't enjoy hearing his mother's tales the way his sisters did. All the same, he'd always imagined her fighting off Human soldiers—strong, dangerous men and women armed with bestial bloodlust and horrifying weapons the likes of which Riksharre had never seen before. The thought of her killing innocent civilians, much less children younger than he and his sisters, was far worse.
Illya blinked at him. "I didn't hurt the child. I locked her in her room."
"So you won't kill a Human child yourself, but you'll leave one to die?" Anson growled. That was like admitting she knew it was wrong.
Ahlyn and Aydel fell silent. Ahlyn looked at the floor, while Aydel glared into the back of his head.
His mother frowned. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Anny, you have to understand. The Johannes were the founders of the Sentinel. Had she lived, the girl would have grown to become just like her parents. She would have taken Lyrum lives. She may have even tried to rekindle the Sentinel, one day. Then everything would be for naught." Her intense green eyes studied him closely, as if she were trying to gage whether or not he truly heard her. "That's the way Humans work. They raise their sons and daughters as shadows of themselves. Child or not, she was, and always would have been, a threat to our people. Do you see?"
A few moments passed before Anson answered with a listless nod.
Aydel rolled her eyes and returned to her wine and meat, while Ahlyn slowly picked at her pastry again. Anson wasn't hungry anymore. He stood there for a few minutes longer, waiting for his parents to turn their attention away from him, before quietly slipping back to his room.
Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ
Shakaya cried, her head curled into her knees. Shaking fingers clutched the skirt of her white dress. It seemed she'd forgotten Amaranth's presence all together after he'd fallen silent.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer.
She gasped, resisting at first. When she realized it was an embrace, she gawked at him, tense and teary. A blush spread across her confused face. Like him, she clearly wasn't used to being touched.
Amaranth's eyes started to mist. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. It could have been simple sympathy. She would never realize the weight buried inside those three words.
Still, her eyes changed, her icy irises melting into a softer sky blue. As she would confide in him later, no one had ever comforted her that way before. Not even her parents, who'd said such things showed weakness. Certainly not Rickard.
Shakaya wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clenching him so tightly that her nails dug into his skin. She buried her red face in his shirt. Her heart pounded erratically against his while sobs shook her small body.
They stayed like that for a long while.
Amaranth sucked in a deep breath. "Just a few years ago, I had a family, too. We were happy." He hesitated, wondering if telling her this was really a good idea. His was the family responsible for what had happened to hers. The Johanne's daughter, though, never had to know that. "I had a mother and father, two sisters, a comfortable home... I still don't know why, but a Lyrum set it on fire one night."
He knew exactly why. He didn't know who, but someone had found out about his work with Ahlyn, and that someone had reported him to the Council. His father's two co-Councilors had seen fit to not only purge the heretic, but to execute the entire family.
Amaranth closed his eyes before they overflowed, "I wasn't home that night. My sister was sick, so I went out to get medicine." He'd sneaked away, foraging supplies and preparing another treatment for Ahlyn while his parents slept. He'd been the heretic, yet in the end, he was the only one who'd escaped judgement. "I came home to find it ablaze. I heard..." his voice caught in his throat, drowned out by the echoes of screams. "I was too scared to do anything. I was too scared to help them. I hid and waited, wanting to see them escape and come outside. But they never did!" Only Aylyn's red ribbon had escaped the house, drifting through her window on the wind. "They never did..."
His grip around Shakaya tightened without his permission. "The screaming stopped, and within a few hours there was hardly anything left of the house. They were gone."
Shakaya looked up at him. He hadn't really expected her to listen, but it seemed she had. An empathy he hadn't heard before warmed her voice, "We're alike, then." A small, sad smile creased her cheeks. "So alike."
When emotion reached them, her blue eyes reminded him so much of Ahlyn's.
Amaranth nodded, choking down the lump in his throat. "Yes...we are alike."
Chapter Seventeen: Begin and End, part II
The Lyrum stared up at the wooden ceiling, wiping his eyes with the back of a trembling hand. He wasn't sure if he'd slept or if his mind had simply wandered, free from his control.
After the incident at the fountain, his relationship with Shakaya had changed. He agreed to come the next time she'd invited him to lunch. They spoke instead of walking wordlessly while she'd followed him to his classes. He taught her some of the things he'd learned to help her while away the time until she could begin her own schooling.
In truth, he'd always been afraid of her. Perhaps...no, his parents had been right. A humorless chuckle barely escaped, catching on the mucus in his throat. Shakaya had taken more Lyrum lives than he cared to know, and he'd harbored the fear that he might one day meet the same fate. He, however, had also participated in the deaths of his own people. They were both alone in the world, both selfish, both stained by hatred and obsessed with their own ideals. They truly were alike.
But now...
His mind still foggy with shock, he found himself rolling to look at the bedside table. He wasn't sure how he'd arrived there, but he was back inside his cabin, lying in bed. A Human Butterfly must have carried him—Lyrum were lightweight, after all. Waiting for him was a glass of water, for all the good that would do. Beside it was his gun and the Not.
The Not...the device in which he saw so much of himself. Not quite Lyrum. Not quite Human. Not willing to accept the world as it was.
He sighed and held the discarded cuff over his chest, absently running his fingers across the metal surface. A flower insignia was engraved on the underside of the device. It was the signature Amaranth carved on everything he'd created. It suddenly didn't feel like his.
Recently, the only reason he'd worn the cuff was as cover in case he needed to use Translation. It hadn't always been that way. The Not had been a legitimate project. It was difficult without a Human subject to test it with, but he had made progress. The device could, in fact, channel Word, but not reliably use it for its intended effect. There had been times, though, just a few, when simple healing Translation had worked. It still held promise.
He'd begun the project by using his own body as his specimen. If he could give himself, a Lyrum, access to abilities he hadn't been born with, then trying it out on a Human s
ubject would have been the next step. Along with the other, more secretive projects he kept sealed away in his storage box—including a failed attempt to expand Lyrum lifespans with chemical means—its completion would have been one step closer to a more scientific equality between the two species—an erasure of the excuses that caused war. His original quest.
Now, he'd probably never work on it again. There was a copy of the current prototype at the Academy. Maybe one day, someone else would finish it. If the endeavor he'd embarked on succeeded, of course, there would be no need for such a thing. The division between Humans and Lyrum would fade. The lies society told would be silenced. No one would be rejected like he was. No one would die the way his and Shakaya's families had. The war would finally cease and the world would be at peace. Now, though... Now, that seemed like an impossible dream. He set the device back down on the table as his eyes started to sting. Lord, he'd been such a fool.
A hand reached toward him and held out a washrag.
He blinked, looking up to see Jeriko hovering above his bed. Heat rushed to his clammy cheeks. How long had the Butterfly been there? Suddenly, he was all too aware that the other man was Human, while he, in reality, was not.
It was strange. He'd always carried a certain dread inside of him—sleeping through countless nightmares of getting discovered and gutted by Shakaya or thrown into a specimen cell —but in some capacity, he'd managed to think of himself as Human. The same as Shakaya and Rickard. Not the same as the specimens locked away in cells and lifeless in the freezer. Not the same as Anson Anwell.
In a way, he'd told himself the same lies he'd sought to silence.
He took the rag and held it to his face, trying to block the tears in front of the Butterfly, but it didn't make much difference. Hell, it wasn't like he had any dignity left to protect, anyway.