Resistance: Divided Elements (Book 1)

by Mikhaeyla Kopievsky

  He turns to look at her, waiting for her response.

  “No…” she replies hesitantly.

  A small smile widens across his face, but he turns away from her before she can witness the full transformation. She watches as the muscles in his forearms flex, reaching up to run his hand over the recycler’s surface and stepping around its circumference. She follows him, her anxiety replaced with curiosity.

  Tracking around the lazy arc of the recycler’s circumference, she watches with interest as Seth pulls to a stop. The surface here is mottled, a flaw in the concrete mixture succumbing to cancer generated by decades of pollution concentration and absorption.

  Seth bends down to pick up a large piece of fragmented concrete lying rejected on the blanket of gravel. He runs it across the corroded surface, digging and gouging, sending concrete abscesses scuttling to the ground. When he is finished he reaches higher, to repeat the process at another stained spot slightly to the left.

  “Follow my lead,” he calls out over his shoulder.

  And then he slots his right foot into the lower niche, using the leverage to push himself up to grip the higher niche. With his free foot, he kicks and scrapes at nearby surface pits, finding purchase and creating new footholds. With his free hand he uses the concrete shard to claw new grip holes higher on the surface. And he climbs.

  Anaiya moves closer to the recycler until her palms lie flat against its cold exterior and her T-shirt fabric grabs at the elbows. She tilts her head back and her eyes alight on Seth as he scales at a constant pace, heading towards a horizon where the shadowed grey of the recycler meets the charcoal grey of the sky. This close, she can smell the sharp, dusty aroma of the crumbling concrete. A hailstorm of concrete gravel rains down the surface, skipping into her hands and falling harmlessly at her feet.

  Seth doesn’t look down, just keeps on climbing. Never slowing, never accelerating. He never falters.

  A sense of excitement, a small thrill of adrenalin, rises in Anaiya. No longer content to just watch, she takes a few quick steps back from the recycler before lunging towards it, pushing up into a vertical vault and gripping at the deep indentations. She loses herself to the motion of ascending higher and higher.

  The indented collar of the recycler sits less than three metres above her. One metre high, the void stretches around the girth of the recycler topped only by the solid concrete ceiling of the structure that rests one metre above the collar. Air rushes into the gap, sucked by powerful turbines ensconced below ground level. She feels it careen over her skin and pull her hair into a maelstrom around her face as she draws nearer.

  She is close to Seth now. Can clearly see the path he intends to take to reach the summit. Caught in the moment, she doesn’t wait for him to crest to the ceiling. She spies a smaller grip hold, a natural flaw in the corroded surface of the concrete, and uses the foundation of the collar to pull down into a deep crouch before springing up to find purchase in the crumbling dimple.

  It all feels too easy, her body instinctively positions itself in preparation for the layout, drawing on the kinetic energy floating across and through her, ready to lift her to the top of the recycler in one fluid movement. She almost gives in to it, almost succumbs to the temptation, almost falls back into her free-running Peacekeeper habits.

  The small voice in her subconsciousness screams for her attention, and before she lets momentum and strength carry her to the peak, she listens to it.

  You’ll be discovered. Your secret uncovered.

  The warning should pull her up immediately, but instead she lets it wash over her. Seconds pass and the urgency to move into her upwards twist or downwards swing becomes stronger. No decision will mean a painful ten-metre drop to the ground.

  She feels the fingers of her right hand tingle and begin to twitch as the indention resists her grip. Still she delays her decision.

  Her left foot scrabbles across the lip of the collar, desperate to stabilise her body as it rapidly moves out of alignment.

  And when time is about to make Anaiya’s decision for her, she clenches at the concrete beneath her right hand, pushes firmly against the surface at her feet and looses herself in a final movement.

  * * *

  HER BODY REPELS off the recycler’s surface, before settling into a long curve that lands her back on the collar’s platform. Dropping in a deep crouch to stabilise her shaky dismount, she pauses to let the air swirl around her.

  She steadies herself, placing her right palm against the fine mesh that separates the collar from the yawning gap to the turbines below. She flexes against it, testing its resolve as a barrier between her and the unseen depths of the recycler. It holds steady, the mesh pushing deep into her skin.

  Straight ahead, she can see the other side of the recycler frame the moonlit sky. Sheltered by the collar’s overhang and protected by the mesh, Anaiya lets it all wash over her.

  How did I get here?

  She is not as weak as she was back at Last Defence, not as distracted as she was at the izakaya. Here in the Edges – in the dark, in the isolation – the question finds a direct path to her consciousness.

  What am I doing here?

  The questions are clear and loud, the answers lost in a tangle of confusing and contradicting thoughts, sensations and fears. Fear is a new emotion for Anaiya, one that sits off-centred. She hates how it makes her feel, how it unveils her shameful vulnerability. But, mostly, she hates how it catches her unaware, how insidiously it attaches itself to her in simple, unguarded situations. Like now.

  “Anaiya?” Seth’s voice distorts and echoes in the small space within the collar. “Are you all right?”

  Simple questions. All of them. But no easy answers.

  “Stay there, I’m coming to get you,” he calls.

  Anaiya turns around as Seth swings himself down onto the floor of the collar.

  “Hey, butterfly,” he says softly, barely audible above the hum of the turbines. He advances slowly, crouching down to fit within the confined space.

  “Hey,” she replies, sitting down on the platform.

  Seth shuffles further into the air vent and settles down beside her. “Whatcha doing?”

  Anaiya shrugs, bowing her head against the rush of the oncoming wind.

  For a while they just sit there, backs up against the mesh barrier, subjected to the incessant air. When he finally speaks, Anaiya almost loses it under the drone of the recyclers and the echoes of the air beating against their vulnerable enclosure. But then he turns towards her and his lips, only centimetres away, spill the words into her ear.

  She doesn’t hear it all, only catching the last part, but to her, it feels as though it is the most important.

  “…you know there’s nothing to be afraid of. I won’t let you fall.”

  In the dark, small space, his hand reaches for hers. As they link, Anaiya is not sure whether the small action has removed the fear or merely eclipsed it. Regardless, it is enough.

  “Let’s climb,” she says.

  She doesn’t see him smile, only feels his grip squeeze her hand and his body shift beside her. He pulls her up, their bodies too close in the too small space. But she doesn’t mind, just follows him as he leads her towards the edge of the platform.

  “You go first,” he says, raising his voice so that she can hear him. “I’ll give you a boost and then follow.”

  He stops and turns, urging her to stand next to him at the lip.

  “Like a safety sheet,” he says, smiling.

  Anaiya can’t help but smile back. As a Peacekeeper, she had laughed at the Earth Elementals who toiled at cleaning building exteriors, at their nervous gazes downwards, despite the failsafe protection of the large elastoplastic sheets suspended below them. Safety sheets were for second- and third-lustrum Fire Elementals. Before tonight, the thought of her needing a safety sheet would have insulted her, but tonight…Well, tonight was different.

  She banishes the train of thought before it gains traction
and lets herself lean into Seth. Her hands reach hesitantly for his shoulders, her thumbs finding the ridges of his collarbone. His eyes never stray from hers.

  “The grip holds are in place, just follow them and I’ll meet you at the top.”

  His hands come to rest lightly on her hips. She shivers in the cold air.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  She nods.

  Her grip on him tightens, compensating for the loss of his hands at her hips. She lifts her right foot into the foothold created by his clasped hands. There is a weakness in doing this. In relying on someone else. In trusting them.

  Pushing up, she reluctantly trades his warm, solid form for cold, crumbling concrete. She takes her time scaling the wall, following the path Seth created only minutes ago. She can’t hear him following over the oppressive noise of the recyclers, vibrating below her. But she knows. Knows without looking down, without stilling the noise of the Edges, that he is there.

  It doesn’t take her long to reach the top of the recycler. As she pulls herself up over the edge, the distant city lights of Precinct 17 bleed into the night sky. She stands slowly, feeling the fibres of her muscles stretch taut and tingle, her eyes drinking in the far glow. The rustle of movement against the concrete surface pulls her gaze from the city.

  Seth clambers onto the platform easily. There is such a look of pure enjoyment and satisfaction on his face that Anaiya momentarily forgets her earlier crisis of conscience, lets herself enjoy the simple pleasure of standing ten metres above the ground and surrounded by the dark blanket of sky. It is so easy to forget her past, her future, out here in the isolated darkness. Except for Seth, who pulls at her fire while constantly reminding her of her new identity and mission.

  “Always such a rush,” he says with a breathless laugh.

  Anaiya laughs back. Typical Air Elemental; they were always searching out new emotions, heightened feelings, untapped experiences.

  “How often do you come here?” she asks.

  “A couple of times a year,” he replies, turning to look over his shoulder at the view behind his back. “Whenever I need some perspective or want to lose myself in my thoughts.”

  He pivots and crouches down until he is sitting on the edge of the recycler, legs dangling down the side. She imagines him here alone, just staring out at the darkness and beyond.

  “Want to join me?” he asks.

  * * *

  ANAIYA SITS CLOSE TO SETH, their bodies converging on each other to fight against the cool insistence of the night breeze. For a long time they don’t speak.

  Anaiya’s eyes drink in the sight of the sky. From up here, the Wall, though imposing, does not block the Wasteland sky. From here, she sees the midnight blue travel endlessly, punctuated by more stars than she has ever seen in her glimpses of light-polluted skies above the city. They are brighter over the Wasteland, and arrayed in a tangled, complex, random pattern of clusters – small stars like freckles interspersed against the shining beacons of larger stars. She sees music in them, a dark melody with bright notes.

  “What song is that?”

  Seth’s voice, clear and strong in the night, interrupts her reverie.

  “Hmm?”

  “The tune you were humming,” he says, turning his head to face her. “What song is it?”

  Anaiya starts at the realisation she has been giving voice to the night symphony she found in the stars. “It’s nothing,” she says. “I was just messing around with some sounds…”

  She lets her words hang in the silence, fighting back the confusion and embarrassment threatening to rise up and swallow them.

  “I liked it,” Seth says simply, turning back to the view before them.

  She smiles into the darkness and lets herself lean back to lie flat on the recycler’s roof. Seth lies down beside her and the two stare up at the black canvas above them.

  “Do you miss life in the Eastern Area?” he asks.

  Anaiya knows he is referring to her cover story, but she lets her mind drift over her life as a Peacekeeper. Does she miss it? As a Fire Elemental, she had never built emotional attachments to the things in her life. The buildings, locations, possessions and Elementals – they were all functional items that either helped or hindered her in being the best Peacekeeper. There was a familiarity to them, which was comforting, but does she miss them?

  She closes her eyes, trying to tap into her heart’s desires, the things she longs for when she is alone in her room at night. “I miss the feeling I used to get when I was lost in a job,” she says, thinking of the rush that always came with free-running. “And the satisfaction of knowing I was good at it. I miss being able to navigate the streets and laneways without thinking. But I like the thrill of wandering down unfamiliar paths in the Northern Area precincts and finding something unexpected. I miss cola-roasted pigeon at the Samedi Markets,” she says with a laugh, imagining greasy fingers and lips, her stomach growling at the memory.

  Seth laughs quietly beside her. She feels the movement tickle against her side, like a thousand rapid caresses.

  They fall silent again.

  “Do you miss anyone from your old life?” he asks after a while.

  Anaiya forces her eyes open and looks up at the sky, seeking out hidden details in the dark underlay. “I wasn’t that close to anyone,” she starts hesitantly, surprised, and somehow not, at how hard it is to answer his question. “At least I didn’t think I was.”

  She thinks of Niamh, and a whole new torment of emotions attacks her. Who is he to her? Are her feelings mutations of the relationship she used to have with him or new feelings she is building and discovering? She sighs, frustrated at not being able to make sense of her emotions, let alone articulate them. “Coming here has been confusing,” she says finally.

  She lets her head roll to her left, glancing at Seth. She knows he can see her looking at him, but he maintains his gaze straight up at the sky. Seconds later, warm fingers find hers and interlock in a tight grip.

  Anaiya sighs again, softer, more resigned. “I thought I had lost myself when I moved here,” she says, forcing down the barriers in her mind to let the words flow unencumbered. “Now I feel like I’ve been torn in two: one part of me pulls me back towards the Elemental I used to be, and the other pulls me towards the Elemental I can be, and I’m not sure which one I want to be or which one I should be. Sometimes I hate myself for being different and sometimes I hate myself for liking the different me, and sometimes I just get so lost in being me that I forget who I actually am.”

  It’s a messy tumble of words, an unfiltered stream of consciousness thrown out with no inhibition. The rawness of her admission pricks at her throat. She has voiced a truth she has so far kept hidden from even herself; it brings no welcome relief, no much-needed clarity, just an emptiness that reverberates with her harsh reality.

  “Don’t hate yourself for liking who you are now,” Seth finally says.

  The night above them grows deeper and the air around them colder.

  “I like who you are now.”

  The compliment catches Anaiya off-guard; she hears the simple honesty in it and is comforted.

  “I also like cola-roasted pigeon,” he says, turning his head a little to smile at her.

  Anaiya laughs. “Yeah?”

  “Definitely. The Samedi Markets have the best, but there’s a pretty good vendor along the Canal Delourq,” he says. “We should go sometime.”

  “We should,” she agrees, closing her eyes and smiling.

  “We’ll have to keep it quiet from Kaide, though,” he says. “If he finds out I’ve given away the best-kept secret in the Northern Area, he won’t be happy.”

  Anaiya laughs again and is giddy with it. She has never laughed so often as she has since her realignment. She wonders if her previous life was joyless or whether she was just incapable of feeling it. “How did you two meet?” she asks.

  “We met about five years ago. I’d met a girl in one of the Ravignan izakaya and w
e were sort of connecting with each other.”

  Connecting with each other. It was a uniquely Air colloquialism for a concept specific only to Air and Earth Elementals, both of whom were notable for the regularity with which they formed long-lasting, if emotionally unstable, connections with others of their Element. Earth Elementals, who craved and thrived on the mundane, often took the arrangement to its extreme and declared ongoing monogamy to each other in front of Air Priestesses.

  As a Fire Elemental, Anaiya had found the whole idea ridiculous and almost unfathomable. Tonight, however, shielded from the wind by Seth’s body lying beside her and comforted by his hand still grasping hers in the crushed void between them, she can understand the appeal of being emotionally attached in a deep and lasting way to someone else.

  “She was an Experimental Musician, did freaky stuff with sound mixing and wave distortion,” Seth continues. “She was actually pretty good. Although Kaide would tell you that she had a genius for a Sound Developer.”

  “Ah,” Anaiya murmurs.

  “She introduced us one night. I remember he was commandeering the music uploader at the bar, playing all of these chaotic sound mixes. I insulted his taste in music, he insulted my taste in fashion – I wore a lot of black back then – and then reminded me I was dating an Experimental Musician – who had overheard my insult and was rather less than impressed with my genius wit.”

  “Smooth,” Anaiya teases softly, her voice floating in the darkness.

  “Yeah, not so much. So unimpressed was my Experimental Musician that she left me to hook up with another guy at the izakaya. Kaide felt bad and, in his typical style, bought a round of drinks to apologise. We drank till morning, stumbled down to Precinct 19 to hit up some cola pigeon to fight the hangovers, and have been hanging out ever since. He was the one who introduced me to Rehhd, and Rehhd introduced us to Cress, Eamon and Yve, and practically everyone else in the Northern Area.”

  Rehhd’s name brings with it the inevitable and now-familiar guilt. “What is her story?” Anaiya asks, struggling to keep her voice casual.