A Light From the Ashes

by Rachel Anne Cox

  * * * * *

  Behind Kyle and Gemma’s house, an old aspen tree held the place where life used to flourish. The tree had been struck by lightning and died years before. Now it was bereft of its outer shell, its fissured bark in pieces around its feet. The long white naked limbs stretched skyward, as it stood, the tallest tree in the forest, completely exposed. Kyle sat near the tree, using some of the branches for the task before him. Two large wooden poles lay on the ground, tied together with strips of fabric and rope. Kyle laced the strips together in a diagonal pattern between the two poles. He liked work like this where he didn’t have to think but could simply let his hands take over and empty his mind of all thoughts.

  Gemma called to Kyle from the back door before walking out to find him. She saw his jaw visibly tighten as she spoke. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m making stretchers.” Kyle kept his voice quiet, almost a whisper while he continued his work.

  “But what for?” Gemma handed Kyle a strip of fabric.

  “We both know something is about to get started between the Watch and the Corsairs.”

  “Why, what have you heard?”

  “I just mean I can’t imagine the Watch won’t stand by for long with the Corsairs doing what they’re doing with floggings and the Border fence.”

  “Has your friend told you anything about plans for the Corsairs?”

  “He can’t. He would be executed.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just thought if we had some way of knowing what they were planning . . .”

  “Then what could we do? Get ourselves executed by consorting with the Watch?”

  “Kyle, we’ve seen all of this before. Nothing is new. How can we sit back and do nothing?”

  “I’m not doing nothing. I’m going to try to get some medicines and bandages from the G.O. We should try to be prepared for anything. I want to be able to help as many people as I can.”

  Gemma placed her hand lovingly on Kyle’s shoulder. She found herself wishing again she could share her Watch activities with him, that they could work together and not always skirt around each other. “You really are a good man.”

  He stopped working and looked up into his wife’s face with a slight grin. “Was that in question?”

  * * * * *

  The slicing of the digging fork blade as it cut through the soft earth made a singing sound in the damp afternoon air. Sam enjoyed the work of farming, its routine and order, the satisfaction of seeing the fruits of his labors. He basked in the repetitive actions of cutting holes in the earth and dropping seeds in. He’d plowed the field the week before to prepare for planting the peas, beans, and spinach. Sam was embarrassed when Sophie tried to thank him for his help around the farm. She and the O’Dells had always worked the two adjoining farms together. Sam didn’t have to think about it, or even make the decision to help. He simply always did the next right thing that needed to be done. A field needed to be planted, so he planted it. Besides, physical labor helped Sam to work out his own inner demons.

  Sam sensed the government’s noose tightening around the villages. He drove his anger into the burgeoning ground with his digging fork. All around him buds and greenery were bursting from the confines of their winter shells. And yet the fences around the borders grew higher. The day before in the town square on Market Day, the smell of gunpowder hung in the air, burning the back of his throat. The Corsairs had shot a citizen of Boswell, supposedly for starting a fight with one of the soldiers, but Sam knew better. He’d seen the Corsairs pick fights with innocent people on too many occasions. And now their fights were turning deadly. It was fire and death that choked him. But here in the fields, his lungs filled with the green smell of new growth, sweet as freedom.

  The sun was starting to set behind the rise beyond the field. A rising chorus of crickets and cicadas signaled the end of his long workday like the quitting bell at the lumber camp used to. He stood, resting his arms on the staff of the digging fork. He surveyed the field around him, taking it all in. Far in the distance, well beyond the borders, a large plume of smoke rose, muting the sun’s rays. He knew there had to be a few people beyond the borders. He’d seen evidence of them in his travels, though he’d never seen them with fires as large as the one that was creating this much smoke. From his vantage point, he couldn’t quite pinpoint where the smoke was coming from. But it troubled him. Could it be the Corsairs, or perhaps the people they were claiming to protect the citizens from?

  Sam turned to see Sophie crossing the field toward him. He hadn’t seen her in the fields for as long as he’d been in Boswell. She always stayed close to the house except when she went to the creek.

  “How is the planting coming along?”

  “Slow, but sure.”

  “You should let Ethan come out and help you.”

  Sam slowly kicked at the dirt under his feet. “I could, but he likes being with you. And he’s asked if he can take the camera out to take some photographs to trade. He’s really got quite a knack for it.”

  “That’s definitely true. In fact, he asked if he could go back to the river this evening to take some. He’s there now.”

  “Not too many, I hope. There’s only so much film and developing fluid to be had, and when it’s gone, it’s gone. Still, I can’t deny him the little pleasure. It’s good to see him excited about things again.”

  “You’re good with him.”

  “So are you.”

  “Sam, I wanted to tell you . . . I mean . . . this is hard to say . . .”

  “You don’t have to say it, Sophie.”

  Sophie placed her hand in his. “I do. I do have to say it. You’ve been a great help. I don’t remember a lot of what’s happened over the past couple of months. But I know you’ve been here, and I have you to thank for my life. It’s strange, almost as if I’m just waking up. I’m not exactly sure how to go forward or what to do with myself.”

  “Come with me,” Sam said, leading her toward the edge of the woods. Along the straight line of the field he’d plowed, the trees and underbrush of the forest were barely held at bay. They seemed ready to push into the ordered lea and take over at any moment. Sam slowly approached one of the trees whose leaves shone bright green under the raindrops left by a morning rainstorm. “You see that drop of rain hanging from the bud of a new flower?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “Look closely at the raindrop. In the middle of winter, it can feel like there will never be another warm day or another sunrise. Nothing can ever escape the incessant brown and gray, I think sometimes. But then one day you wake up and there are little patches of green, tiny flowers opening up. There’s life in a bud and a whole world in a raindrop. They don’t think about those things. They don’t try. They just embrace what’s within them. People could be like that too, I think. What do you have inside of you? What’s inside of me?”

  “It’s a nice thought, I suppose. To think of the things we could do or be.”

  “When you were a little child, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  Sophie spoke softly, almost to herself. “Alive.”

  Sam paused for a moment, trying to push back his own harsh memories. “Of course, we all wanted that. But what profession?”

  “It’s not like we had a choice. But I guess I wanted . . . no, you’ll laugh at me.”

  “Come on, try me.”

  “Well, it’s not really a profession anymore, but I remember an old book my mother had about musicians. She could sing and taught me to play the piano. That’s what I wanted, to just sing all day long. Not really possible anymore. What about you? You’re a good farmer, and you worked at the lumber camp. Are those things you’ve always been good at? Did you ever want something else?”

  “I wanted to be a writer of books. Like you say, not really possible anymore, but it’s still fun to dream about sometimes.”

  “What’s the use of dreaming in a world like ours? Survival is the thin
g.”

  “What’s the use of anything, I suppose?”

  “I’ve asked myself that question a lot lately. My purpose seems to be lacking. I need an occupation, something to help me feel useful again.”

  “Remember the raindrop.” Sam was smiling down at Sophie. He started to lean toward her but stopped suddenly. “A raindrop,” he whispered.

  “Sam, what is it?”

  “Look over there at that smoke. There shouldn’t be able to be a fire that large outside after the kind of rainstorm we had earlier.”

  “What do you think it is? And where is it?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t like it.” Sam sighed heavily, knowing there were no answers to be gained in this moment. “Come on, let’s head back to the house.”

  “Right. That’s what I came out here to tell you. Dinner’s ready.”

  In the kitchen, Sam washed the dirt from his hands and lit the candles on the table as Sophie brought the pot of Brunswick stew over and laid out the three bowls. Sam thought of what she’d said about needing a purpose and knew it was time to give her the letters he’d found from the Watch. While Sophie had been her most ill, he had found them sitting by the door one day. He had suspected many times Sophie was involved in the Watch, but this was proof. He didn’t know what messages they contained and didn’t want to know. But he couldn’t keep them from her any longer. He walked over to the cabinet where he’d stuck them, tied with twine, and brought the letters over to the table, laying them at Sophie’s place.

  “What are these?” she asked.

  “I found them when you were ill. But I suppose it’s time you had them.”

  Sophie read through the letters quickly. They were short messages mostly, asking where she was, why she hadn’t responded to any contact. She realized what her absence had cost the Watch in resources and having to find someone to fulfill her missions. Then with the last letter from Foxglove, she was moved to know they had somehow found out about Bridget and cared about her well-being.

  . . . Know that the Watch is with you. We will protect you. Return to us when you can.

  Sophie ran her fingers over the words from Tennyson’s Ulysses. How did Foxglove know this was a poem her parents had read to her over and over? How could she possibly know that? Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. Sophie knew it was time to go back to the Watch.

  “Do you know what these letters are?” she asked softly.

  “Nope. Don’t need to know. I figure they’re your business. But it just might be that you already found the purpose you were looking for.”

  Sophie spoke slowly, “Sam, another war is coming.”

  “Now, how can you know that? The Watch may just continue their small missions, sabotage, minor subversions of the Corsairs.”

  “Is that all you think the Watch does?”

  “I have no idea, really.”

  “Well, regardless, someone’s going to make a move, either the Corsairs or the Watch. I mean the floggings and the borders are sign enough there’s a change coming. What I can’t figure out is why the floggings started again in the first place.”

  “A government official was killed here in Boswell. This is the Corsairs’ retaliation, I guess. Some people think the Corsairs did it themselves to blame the Watch and give them an excuse to come down harder on the citizens. But I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything, really.”

  Sophie looked over the letters and tried to piece what she read together with what Sam was saying. “Who was the government official?”

  “Credell, I think?”

  “Griffyth Credell?”

  “Did you know him?”

  Keeping her voice level, she replied, “A long time ago, I did.” She fought against the images flashing through her mind: hands around someone’s throat, blurred vision through tears. And behind it all she heard the words from Foxglove’s letter: The Watch will protect you.

  Sophie clenched her hands, forcing herself to stay in the present. “Well, regardless of what caused it, we can’t continue in this purgatory, this limbo, indefinitely. Something’s got to change. The question is, what will be required of us when the time comes, and will we be up to the challenge?”

  “I’ve fought my wars.”

  Sophie focused in on Sam again. She realized she wasn’t the only one with memories she’d rather forget. It shocked her sometimes to realize that others had suffered as she had. She reached out to touch his arm, but he moved quickly away from the table, pretending to go for the silverware to finish setting the places.

  “Something tells me you’re fighting them still,” she said. “In my experience, we can take our time away to heal our wounds, but eventually, there are some fights that find us whether we want them or not. This clash with the Corsairs and the Triumvirate, it was only a matter of time before it caught up with us.”

  “I won’t kill. Not again.”

  “What if we have no choice?”

  “There’s always a choice in how you react.”

  “But isn’t that what the Watch is fighting for? To give us back our freedom and our choices?”

  Sam turned to look into Sophie’s eyes. The moment felt burdened with a truth he didn’t want to carry. His heart didn’t feel strong enough for the load. He was grateful when Ethan burst in so he didn’t have to answer Sophie’s probing glance.

  “Wash your hands, boy, and sit. Our Sophie has made us quite the meal.”

  “I could smell the stew on the way up the drive. It’s my favorite.”

  “How many pictures did you take today?” Sophie asked.

  “Just three. I remembered what you said, Sam, about saving the film.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to, boy.”

  “I know. But I think I was able to get a butterfly before it flew away. The sun was shining on its wings. I can’t wait to develop it.”

  “I’d like to see that myself,” Sam smiled at him.

  They all sat around the table and began passing around the bowls of vegetables and fruit and the steaming bowls of stew.

  “My sister used to love butterflies,” Sophie mused, handing Ethan his napkin.

  Sam stopped what he was doing and looked up at this remark. “I had forgotten you had a sister. It’s strange. I mean, most families were only allowed the one . . .”

  “I know. Laurie was born just after the First Revolution began, in the Year of 10. I’m not exactly sure how it happened. I was only five. But she became my responsibility. I loved taking care of her. And on the quiet days when the guns weren’t firing, I would take her on short walks around our house. She’d always go searching for butterflies. This was her necklace.” Sophie held up the thin gold chain she wore with a small green butterfly pendant. Ethan and Sam had both noticed it at times, since most jewelry from Before had been confiscated years ago by the Corsairs.

  “Where is she now?” Sam wished he hadn’t asked the question the minute the words were out of his mouth.

  “After our parents were killed in the Year of 15—the year of the executions,” she took a deep breath, “we lived in the woods for a time until we came across the Romany village and were adopted. We were happy with them. The happiest years of our lives, if truth be told. But when the Second Revolution came and everyone was being driven from the cities and towns, everything was chaos. I’m sure you remember. Our adopted parents were killed, and Laurie and I had to follow with the exodus alone. Then the Border went up, with a guard station every mile along their original jagged fence.” She reached up and started twirling the lock of hair on the right side of her forehead, pausing before going on.

  “Laurie and I were separated. I looked everywhere and couldn’t find her. I went to the guard stations near where I’d lost her every day for months with no sign of her, no answers. Eventually they told me she’d been captured as a revolutionary. I knew she wasn’t a rebel. I tried to tell them. But it was too late. Nothing could be done for her.” Sophie looked
for absolution in Sam’s sympathetic eyes. She knew he understood, and she hoped his understanding would make her feel better about the past she couldn’t change. But the guilt pressing on her heart still remained. “I lost her, Sam.” Her last words came out as little more than a whisper.

  Sam saw the story play out across Sophie’s face. She always wore her emotions in her eyes, which seemed to tell more of the story than her words. His own experiences filled in the blanks. Years in the woods, fighting the Corsairs, and finally being adopted by Zacharias. With the history of their people written with the blood of their families, he knew he should have curbed his tongue before asking her too many questions. And yet something made him want to know every story she had to tell and to hear her telling only him. He finally looked down into his plate, unable to bear the pain in her eyes another second.

  Ethan reached over and took Sophie’s hand. She smiled at him through her tears.

  “Maybe I could draw the butterfly for you so you can see it before we develop the picture.”

  “That would be lovely,” she replied.

  Sam cleared his throat and took a long drink of water, emptying his glass. “I’m going to have to leave in the morning to go to Jesse’s Hollow for the mandatory town meeting. It won’t do to raise suspicion about why I’m not there.”

  “Ethan can stay here if you like.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. We’ll have a grand time together, right, Ethan?”

  The boy smiled at her. He wouldn’t think of leaving Sophie alone while Sam was away.

  * * * * *

  Sam tried to remember what it used to be like when he’d go to the town square for Market Days and even for the town meetings when he was a young man, he and Gemma walking hand in hand behind Zacharias. Even with the Corsairs in charge in those days, the air seemed less heavy, less charged with hatred. He had had a sense then that Zacharias would always take care of them, somehow the strength of this man, his father, would fight back all the fear and unknowns. He had believed Zacharias would be able to one day rebuild the world as it had been Before. But nothing was rebuilt, and the only changes were the ones hitting Sam now, seeing more Corsairs patrolling, and now standing at the entrance to the town square, demanding ID cards be presented so they could ensure all citizens were at the meeting. They had never taken it this far before, but somehow Sam was not surprised.