A Light From the Ashes

by Rachel Anne Cox

  “Why? Why are you here?”

  “I came across that man in the tree by accident just a minute or two before you did.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  “I was following you.”

  “Why?!”

  “To try to protect you.”

  “Protect me? You’re not making any sense. None of this makes any sense!”

  “The code still makes sense. Helping people still makes sense.”

  “That damn code. Share you fire, take care of them until they can stand on their own, right? Well, I can stand on my own now, Sam. You don’t have to take care of me anymore. You’ve got a wife now, anyway.”

  “Fine, I’ll go, but you shouldn’t stay here in case the murderer is still around.”

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “I still don’t know that you’re not the murderer.”

  Sam looked into Gemma’s tear-filled eyes. He hadn’t seen her this frightened since they were children living in the wild together before they even met Kyle, when she would wake up screaming in the middle of the night. He walked a few steps forward, placing his chest against the barrel of the shaking gun. “Yes, you do.”

  Gemma dropped the gun and fell on her knees before him. “He was my friend,” she cried. “This is my fault. I got him involved. Now he’s dead. My squad members killed in the square. It’s all my fault, Sam.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s this war. It’s the Corsairs.” He knelt and took her by the shoulders, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her. “It’s like Z says, we can only control how we react. We can’t control their actions. Now come on, Gemma. You can’t do this here. We’ve got to go. Come on. Walk with me. I’ll go back to Jesse’s Hollow with you.”

  “No, you go. You have to get back to . . . to your wife.”

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “Yes, you can.” Gemma wiped her face, pulling in her tears with a deep breath. “It’ll be good practice for you. I can take care of myself now, Sam. I have to.”

  “I’m sorry about all this, Gemma.”

  “So am I.”

  * * * * *

  Just as Sam was walking up the drive home, Sophie came across the field to join him.

  “Did you find the necklace?” he asked.

  She held it out for him to see as they came into the shadow of the porch, moonlight falling around them. Sam saw a sparkle of tears in her eyes.

  “Sophie, I’m sorry about earlier. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know it was important for you to find it . . .”

  “That’s not it,” she interrupted.

  “What is it?”

  She tried to speak, but felt a tightness in her throat, a lurching in her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.” The words tumbled out as she ran for the bushes.

  Sam held her hair back until the episode had passed.

  “Feel a little better now?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  “My sister. She’s alive. She’s been living in the Forbidden Grounds.”

  “What? That’s incredible!”

  “Oh, Sam, she’s been out there for years! You know what it’s like in the woods. If I had known . . . even thought there was a chance she was still alive, I would have gone after her. But they told me she was executed, even gave me her necklace as proof. Why did I believe them? Why didn’t I keep looking for her?” Sophie was breathing quickly, still feeling sick to her stomach.

  “Everything was crazy in those days. You probably would have just gotten yourself killed if you had tried. Sophie, we can’t keep looking back. That’s not where the answers are. All we can do is try to go forward now. We’ll help her. We’ll bring her back home. That’s all we can do.”

  “Is it? Is that all we can do? I’ve got to try to make this up to her.”

  “Let’s take one thing at a time. Let’s bring her home safely first. Alright?”

  18

  THE COLOR OF BLOOD

  T he taste of smoke was bitter on Kyle’s tongue. Smoke still seemed to be all around him, in his hair, his clothes. He could hear the roar of the flames as if they engulfed him along with the deserted house. He sat on the back porch of the home he shared with Gemma, waiting for her to return, wondering if the fire still burned. Although fire was a necessary part of his existence, Kyle had always hated it. The smell, the sounds, the blinding orange glow that stayed within your eyes even after you looked away. He hated it all. And as he stared into the twilight, he thought he saw the flames rising up over the horizon, moving nearer.

  There was no fire except in his memory. No light on the horizon except those of the lightning bugs. No hissing or crackling, only the cicadas singing their nightly tune. But in his mind, it all blazed up, leaving him with nothing but smoke.

  He heard Gemma’s steps in the house, heard her calling for him. But he continued to sit in the smoke left behind.

  Gemma’s hand was on his shoulder. The minutes of her search for him had vanished; her quick appearance startled him. “What are you thinking about?” she asked with a hesitation in her voice.

  Silence borne on the still air gave Gemma her answer.

  “There’s a strong smell of smoke in the air tonight,” she forged on.

  “Soon everything will be smoke.” Kyle’s voice was a whisper. Gemma wasn’t even sure she’d heard him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything, everyone I’ve loved, is eventually just kindling for the fire.”

  “Even me?” Her voice shook. She took a deep breath to calm the shiver that went deeper than her skin.

  “How many lives do you think we’ve lived?” He ignored her question.

  “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve lived about four I guess: one with my parents, one in the woods with you and Sam, one with Z, and now one with you and me.”

  “Do you ever feel like we’re just living the same life over and over again until we get it right?”

  “Maybe.” There seemed to be some hope in his question. She started to think maybe it wasn’t too late for them after all.

  “Remember that time I was sick and you made me soup out in the woods? You said it was the soup your mother had made for you when you were a little girl.” Kyle continued to stare into the encroaching darkness. The only light was coming from the lantern in the kitchen behind them and spilling around their feet.

  “I remember. It’s one of my fondest memories with you. When you let me take care of you.”

  “And you sat there feeding it to me, wiping my head down with a cold cloth, dripping water from the river. No one had ever done anything like that for me before. And nothing was ever quite so simple again.”

  “Kyle, are you alright?”

  “Did you do it?” he whispered.

  “Do what?”

  “Or was it just your friends in the Watch?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He stood quickly, knocking over his chair, turning on Gemma like a wild animal, growling his answer. “Burn down my house. Someone did it. So just tell me, was it you?”

  “Kyle, let’s not do this again. You aren’t making any sense. How can I possibly answer your questions if I don’t even know what you’re talking about?”

  “What aren’t you telling me? I know you keep secrets.”

  “Oh, really? And what aren’t you telling me? Why did you have another house? What is all this about?”

  “We’ll never really trust each other, will we?”

  “How can we if the only conversations we have are made up of accusations and suspicions?”

  Gemma heard herself in his accusations. Heard the fear and suspicion she’d heaped onto Sam. And hearing it made her ill. Kyle was right. None of them trusted each other anymore. How could they?

  She wondered how they’d gotten so far away from the tight-knit group they used to be. Wondered h
ow anything or anyone could have come between them. And part of her longed for the simplicity of living out in the woods with Kyle and Sam, knowing who they could trust and knowing clearly who the enemy was. Nothing would ever be so clear again. But this was what happened when you lost people. The losing wasn’t always all at once, but sometimes a little at a time. First you lost time with them. Then the trust would go. Eventually, there would be nothing left of the people or relationships that once were.

  That night, sleeping alone in the bed while Kyle slept on a thin pallet downstairs, Gemma dreamt of the river. She and her boys and the river. All being pulled and torn by the lashing waters and relentless current. In her dream she reached for Sam. She couldn’t see through the rapids where he was looking, but he swam away from her. Water constantly assaulted her mouth and nose as she tried to keep her head higher than the waves. She tasted the metallic taste of the water, felt the twigs and grass in her mouth. The water stung her nose and the back of her throat. Turning to see where Kyle had gone, she glimpsed him gasping for air as he went under, until all around her was only water and rocks as far as she could see.

  * * * * *

  Sophie closed the kitchen window, blocking out the chill and fog in the morning air. The sun shone through the gray mist, sparkling in the tiny crystals of dew. Autumn was coming. Sitting back down at the breakfast table with Sam and Ethan, she picked listlessly at her food. She yawned and wished she could just go back to bed. Ethan looked like he was sharing the same thoughts.

  “You’re not eating, sweetie. Can I fix you something else? There may still be some strawberries in the garden,” she offered.

  Ethan shook his head, staring down at his plate.

  “You’ve hardly eaten anything in days. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “You’re not eating either,” he said into the grits now cooling on his plate.

  “I’m not feeling very well this morning.” Sophie’s voice was hoarse. She took a bite of her food, forcing herself to swallow, and knew almost immediately she’d made a mistake.

  “Me either.”

  “Do you have a fever?” She felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

  “No. Can I just go back up to my room now?”

  “I suppose. What are you going to do today?”

  Sam didn’t want to watch Sophie beat her head against a brick wall anymore. The whole meal was becoming uncomfortable for him. He knew she was just trying to help. But she was pushing too hard. “Ethan, run on up to your room, boy. I’ll call you when I’m heading out to the fields. You can help me start the harvest, eh?”

  Ethan nodded and ran upstairs.

  Picking up her plate and Ethan’s, Sophie dumped their contents into the compost bucket. The splattering sound almost sent her running for sink, but she held down her food valiantly. “There’s something wrong with him, Sam,” she spoke through tense throat. “He’s not himself.”

  “He’s had a hard few days. He just needs time to adjust.”

  “Maybe we all do, I suppose. But have you noticed something about the children? Not just Ethan. They don’t cry anymore. They just hold everything in as if they think it’s pointless. I just wish he’d talk to me. He could always talk to me.”

  “He’ll talk when he’s ready, sweetheart. Why are you pushing so hard on this?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just worried about him. I want to take care of him. I want him to know I’m here for him, no matter what.”

  “He’s not Laurie, Sophie. I know you think that you let her down. But you didn’t. And you’re not letting him down either.”

  Sophie gripped the side of the sink, fighting down the nausea and back the tears. She wished she could just close up her body like you close a door.

  Stepping behind her, Sam rested his chin on her shoulder. “He’ll talk to you in time. Now what’s all this about you not feeling well? Do we need to take you to the Council of Doctors?”

  “No, my stomach is just still upset and I feel a little dizzy, that’s all. If you grab me some ginger from the garden, I’ll make a tea that should help.”

  “I will. But even still, I’d feel better if a doctor saw you.”

  “Sam, it’s nothing.”

  “Tea, and then we’ll go to town.” He was already heading for the back door.

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  Sam only grinned.

  * * * * *

  They heard it before they saw it—the sound of skin on skin, bone on bone. Walking into Boswell, Sam and Sophie turned the corner toward the square. There, in front of anyone who would watch, two Corsair soldiers were beating a man on the ground on the side of the road. The man no longer moved but lay with his arms around his head and his knees up under his chin. But still the soldiers hit him, taking turns in a team effort like they were chopping down a tree. Blood turned the dirt under him into red mud.

  Across the street from Sophie and Sam, two other men walked by close enough to be splattered by the man’s blood. One stopped and looked as if he wanted to intervene. “Shouldn’t we do something?” he whispered.

  “Stay the course,” the other man answered, pulling his friend past the unpleasant scene.

  Sam thought how strange this dance was they were all locked in together. The Corsairs taking one aggressive step forward after another, and the citizens always taking a step back.

  Sophie moved as if she were going to cross the street and try to do something about it. Sam put his arm around her shoulders and continued walking forward, blocking her way. “There’s nothing we can do right now, Sophie,” he whispered.

  “I have to try.”

  “No. No you don’t. Try to think about it rationally. The man is probably already dead.”

  “That’s worse.”

  “What would you be killing yourself for?”

  “For what’s right.”

  “Would you dying here today change anything?”

  “Maybe it would.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. You can do more good if you stay alive, now come on. We have to get you to the doctor, alright? Come, on, Sophie. Please.”

  They walked the rest of the way in heavy silence.

  A breeze blew the fog clear of the square, catching leaves along the way, marking the beginning of the year’s long farewell. Sophie felt sick with all the words she’d never said, all the times she’d had to walk past and say nothing or do nothing about the atrocities the Corsairs visited upon them. She was filled up with them until she thought she’d burst. Just the thought of Laurie living all those years on the other side of the Border, alone in the broken-up world of the past, was enough to make her feel as if she’d throw up. She felt like a river filled up with all the rageful storms, flowing and racing out to the sea, but not fast enough. Already, she felt her banks and old levees of the past built to shore up against an overflowing river now cracking, collapsing, breaking with the weight of the water that could no longer be held back.

  The square was filled with other people as silent as Sam and Sophie. They all went about their own business, speaking only when absolutely necessary. The birds went about their jobs of finding food, building nests. The squirrels silently did the same. Looking at the ground as he walked, Sam saw a line of ants crawling and slithering like a snake toward their goal. And they all moved together like gears in a clock, but separated, silent. The only sounds were the continued blows of the Corsairs on the man on the ground.

  Into this busy silence of everyone knowing and keeping their place, an old man stumbled and reeled his way into the square, falling into line behind Sam and Sophie at the Government Office as they waited to see a doctor. He spoke quietly to himself as if he were having a normal conversation. A smell of sweat and urine emanated from his slouching form. Sophie and Sam turned slightly to see him shuffling in place behind them, from one foot to the other. His clothes were tattered and worn, transparent in places. They wondered how long he’d been living out in the woods and if he even ha
d the identification papers necessary to get him food and new clothing. He seemed uncomfortable, but more than that, he seemed genuinely frightened. Crumbs from his last meal decorated his chest-long beard, white with hints of black and gold. He was a calico cat who had forgotten how to clean himself.

  “Are you alright?” Sophie asked.

  Sam tugged at her sleeve, trying to signal her to leave it alone.

  “Never a thief that takes from none. Never a soldier that marches without killing. A winking, twinkling star is brighter than the moon.”

  “Can I do something for you? Maybe you’d like some water.”

  “No feast, no feast tonight,” he continued, looking all around him, but not at anyone. “Have to wait until the battle’s over. Hungry after a fight.”

  “Sam, I think he was a soldier.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. Let’s just leave him alone, alright.”

  “He needs help.”

  “Never!” The man’s shout startled Sophie. She clutched her lurching stomach. “Never gonna catch us. Not us. We’ll find a hiding place, eh Jarom?”

  Hearing this, Sam leaned down to put his face just in front of the man’s. “What did you say?”

  “No better place to hide from the traitors than down by the—No! Won’t tell. They’ll never make me tell.”

  “Sam, what is it?” Sophie was starting to be genuinely concerned, not just for the old man but for all of them. She felt as if some outside force had thrown them all together, stirring them in a pot of pain, memory, and fear. In her mind it was as if she heard just a piece of an old forgotten tune, grasping and reaching at something she couldn’t quite remember. Looking in the eyes of Sam and then the old man, she knew they both felt the same.

  “Nothing. Just turn around.”

  “It was that damned redhead. Can’t ever trust a redhead. She gave us all away. Gave us all away.”

  Sam and Sophie moved forward in the line. The old man grabbed Sophie by the shoulder and whirled her around.

  “You! It was you. Gave us all away. Sent Jarom to the executioner.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry, I don’t know you. I think you’re mistaken.”