Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  Kira blinked, “excuse me?”

  “You’ve just humiliated my entire race,” Ilya exclaimed. Despite only coming up to her chin, he did a good job of making himself look larger by puffing out his chest, “it’s difficult enough to be treated with respect. To be made such a mockery of…if my mother was here-”

  “That’s right. If your mother was here, which she’s not, because your mother doesn’t care about you,” Kira said in a factual tone she rarely used outside of teaching. Ilya shrunk slightly but didn’t look away as Kira clicked her tongue, “what breed of mother abandons her gravely ill child? If your answer is anything other than one who only gives a shit about herself, you’re wrong.“

  “Well I wouldn’t answer that question at all because that’s not what my mother has done, on account of me not being ill,” Ilya said.

  Kira scoffed and snatched the blanket sitting at the foot of Ilya’s bed which had been folded to her precise specifications, “well, if you’re so sure of everything how about next time you have a nightmare be a big smart boy and brush it off instead of hurling over your bedding like a baby.” She dropped the blanket over his head, sighing as he immediately ripped it away, “but you’re right about one thing. You’re not dying anytime soon. As far as I can tell, you’re completely healthy.”

  Ilya’s shoulders sagged, and he sat to re-fold the blanket, “then why?”

  “Why what?” Kira asked.

  Ilya looked up and held her gaze for a moment before shrugging. He continued his folding, “nothing,” he muttered, “why nothing.”

  Kira tipped her head to the side with a grunt as she dug into her jacket pocket. She turned to me with paused lips. I looked down, afraid to meet her eyes, “take this,” a vial tonic into my lap, “remove the bandage and let his eye breath, but ensure he drinks this. Actually drinks it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed he doesn’t always take what I prescribe. No more. He cleans his plate, he finishes every tonic to the last drop, and under no circumstances does he leave without my permission. Do you understand?“

  It wouldn’t make a difference if I didn’t, and so I nodded, “yes, Doctor Kira.”

  “You better, because I’m holding you responsible for his behaviour. If he screws up,” she clicked her tongue, “well, you’d best start praying to your Deities now,” Like that would help. The Deities had stopped listening to me many moons ago and now there was only static. Kira walked to the flap and pulled it open, only to look back over her shoulder with annoyed eyes, “and if you must know, it’s out of principle. My patients are my responsibility. They’re healthy only when I say they’re healthy. That’s especially true when a patient is underaged and doesn’t appear to have any family who give a shit. That’s why.”

  Rare is the one who can drink to oblivion without some regret come morning, and Doctor Kira was no exception. Whether her special brand of shame came from her harsh words or the agonizing throb of a hangover wasn’t for me to know. Whichever the cause, it resulted in her wordlessly pushing an unexpected visitor through the flap as Ilya and I were finishing up our spongy ham and cheese sandwiches.

  Wide-eyed and gaping, he looked every bit as shocked at finally being permitted entrance to our tiny one-room world as I felt at him being there. Stumbling inside, catching himself on the corner of our card table was the only thing that prevented Pogue from falling on his face, only for him to stumble one more when he looked up to find us both staring at him.

  If you’d told me three months prior that Ascot’s blessed Shield was a bumbling, blushing goofbag I never would’ve believed you. Never. Yet there he was in all his glory. I stood to assist Pogue to sit before he hurt himself, but he shook my hands off without looking from Ilya for a single moment. The Ilvarjo made no move to replace his mask as he stared back with equal intensity.

  “Ilya,” Pogue’s whisper finally cleared the silence as he plonked himself into my chair, “I’ve been so worried about you. I’m sorry.”

  Ilya frowned, “for what?”

  “For everything,” Pogue pushed Ilya’s plate aside to reach for a strand of his hair. He twisted it around his pinkie and took a deep breath, “it’s my fault. I coulda stopped Lucina. Coulda stopped you from going to the Umbra.”

  Ilya reached for his sandwich and took a bite, but that wasn’t enough to cover the flinch at Pogue’s words. He chewed slowly, purposely, before swallowing, “how did you find out about that?”

  It was Pogue’s turn to flinch.

  “Someone told me. It don’t matter,” he released Ilya’s hair and tipped his head, looking at Ilya’s eye that I hadn’t yet re-bandaged after cleaning that morning. It was significantly better than it had been, no longer bruised or weeping, but there was only so much that healing tonics and old medicine could do. A white line dashed through the red and across the pupil, tainting its purity. I thought it made him look like a cat. Pogue looked less entertained, “what happened to your eye?”

  “Oh,” Ilya brought his hand up to cover it, “an… accident. It doesn’t function anymore, so I understand if you’d prefer a new companion-”

  “Ilya,” Pogue stood up and took Ilya by the chin, forcing him to look up, “shut up.”

  Pogue smashed his lips against Ilya’s in a desperately passionate embrace. My mouth dropped open as my heart leapt into my throat. That…explained a lot. No wonder I could make such little progress with either. I’d been barking up the wrong tree, as per usual, but it wasn’t me. Their rejection wasn’t me. It was-

  My thought’s died upon conception as Ilya shoved Pogue away and jumped from his seat, backing up until his back hit canvas. His face was stunned, frozen in bewilderedness, as he replaced the mask with shaky hands. Unsure of what was happening, I leaned over and poked his shoulder. Ilya flinched as if my touch was fire.

  “Ilya?” Pogue took a step forward. Ilya shook his head and drew his elbows back, causing Pogue to pause mid-step.

  “I…,” Ilya choked out and squeezed the side of his neck with so much force that both eyes watered, “I, um,…” he looked up at the skylight for a moment before looking between Pogue and me, his red eyes dead as a hooked fish. Without another word, he turned and walked from the room. My mother’s voice screamed at him to get his ass back inside as I turned on Pogue.

  “What was that?” I demanded as the Shield blinked rapidly at the swinging flap, “just because you’re the big hero here doesn’t mean you can run around molesting people.”

  “I wasn’t. We’re meant to-”

  Whatever argument he intended to make was lost as Doctor Kira barged in, hands on hips and eyes glowering wildly behind her spectacles, “Kilco,” she said with horrifying calmness, “do you recall what was said yesterday?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “There are no buts here,” Kira’s voice became deeper with each word, “where is he going?”

  “He didn’t say. He just walked out,” I exclaimed and looked to Pogue to back me up. He merely stared at his boots. Coward.

  Kira tipped her head and mockingly raised her brows, “then you’d best go find him, shouldn’t you? Or else.”

  That unspoken threat said more than words ever could. Gritting my teeth, I nodded and went for the door, but not without accidentally stepping on Pogue’s foot as hard as I could. It was all his fault, after all. Still, I would find Ilya and wrangle him back. I had to. My sanity depended on it.

  Thirteen

  Entomophobia

  Fear of bugs

  It was surprisingly easy to find a wayward Ilvarjo. All I needed to do was follow the trail of spit to the training yard. Finding Ilya once there proved slightly more complicated, but I found him eventually, sitting against the opposite face of the rock I’d occupied only the day prior. With his knees drawn to his chest and his face swallowed up by his mask, he looked separated from reality, but even so, there was no sneaking up on an Ilvarjo. A single snap of a branch under my foot was all it took for his head to jump up, eyes ablaze with ferocity that would’
ve been heart stopping if not for the tears staining them. His posture relaxed as the fire was replaced by recognition, but he said not a word as he wiped away a tear that dripped from pale lashes.

  I looked at my hands, awkward and useless. All that krona the good doc had sunk into my education at Miss Emily-Jean Aberdeen’s School for Properly Bred Young Ladies, and still I was none the wiser to the womanly arts of comfort and poise under pressure. “So, um,” what were you supposed to do with your hands in such moments: offer a hug? Give an overly affectionate shoulder nudge? Make elaborate shapes with your fingers? Nobody had ever answered that question, so they hung limply at my side, “that was some kiss, huh?“

  Fresh tears glistened Ilya’s eyes.

  Strike one.

  “Surely the Shield’s breath couldn’t have been that bad,” I said with a weak laugh, figuring humour might be the answer, “even if it was, you’re still lucky. Half the women here would sell their firstborn for him to kiss them. More than a few men too, I’d dare wager.”

  He rested his forehead against his knees.

  Strike two.

  The yard was busier than it had been the previous afternoon, bustling almost. I could feel the eyes of the troops on us. We were not welcome, not wanted, and every time somebody barked a laugh a dense tremor snaked down my spine to remind me of that. I glared down at Ilya, “stop it,” I commanded, “you can be upset, but stop crying. Everybody is staring.”

  He didn’t even acknowledge that I had spoken.

  Strike three.

  Gnawing my nails, I contemplated my options. Returning without him was an instant no, and as lithe as he was, I was more so. No way could I drag him against his will. For a moment, I considered not going back at all. It was a big camp, surely there was a kind old merchant who’d never had children who desperately desired a daughter to carry on the family trade. Only my people skills didn’t exactly bode well for a career in market sales, so I shook that idea away too. That left only one option.

  Pressing my back against the cold stone, I slid into the grass beside Ilya. If he refused to go, and I couldn’t leave him, staying was the only logical solution. He looked up at me with a strange look in his eyes as I gingerly hooked my arm around his shoulders but didn’t pull away.

  Bingo.

  We sat like that for hours, silent and sullen. Sat for so long that the sun disappeared behind the Armoury and the foot troops began packing up for the night. Then came the insects, buzzing their way out of their hidey holes to feast on the scrap’s leftover from a hard day’s work. It wasn’t long before a flock of crows swooped in to crash their party, pecking away with vigour. Mother nature was a cruel mistress, indeed. One of the larger crows landed on the rock behind us, crying loudly above the rest, and still, Ilya’s head remained bowed. I turned to glare at the crow, waving my arm in a vain attempt to scare it away. All it did was stare right back, dead black eyes almost mocking me as it chirped away.

  Deities, I hated birds.

  Huffing, I turned back around. As I did a raw, pulsing sting embedded itself in my wrist. Yelping, I ripped my arm away from Ilya and rubbed in an attempt at soothing the pain. It was useless. The skin beneath my jacket sleeve was already red and oddly wet, the bite mark dipping and rising in place like neat cliff faces.

  “Are you alright?”

  Ilya was looking at me with concern, his eyes dry of any tears with a slight redder tinge than usual being the only clue he’d ever cried at all. I grunted “stupid bugs.”

  Ilya exhaled in a way which sounded almost like laughter and climbed to his feet, his spine cracking as it stretched. He hummed and flexed his fingers, cracking them too, before holding out his hand, “come. It’s getting cold.”

  The atmosphere inside was no lighter than the one outside. Oh, it was certainly brighter, but Ilya didn’t say another word. When our nightly serving of that damnable stew arrived he’d simply picked up his spoon and spun it around the bowl once, before placing his tray by the door untouched. Though my stomach was already unhappy from an interrupted lunch, I picked up my own and copied.

  Time continued slowly ticking by, and still I couldn’t find the words. Nothing comforting, nothing reassuring, nothing that could silence the voice in my head that whispered of failure. All I could do was bend my fingers back beyond the range of comfortable range of motion and let the pain drown out the sneers.

  It was only once the infirmary’s ambience of pained cries, rushing feet and clattering tool calmed for the night did that flap flick open as Doctor Kira marched in. On instinct, my back stiffened as she stared at the abandoned trays. Grunting, she pointed at me before clicking towards Ilya’s bed. I swallowed, but moved as instructed, patting Ilya’s knee as Kira dragged a chair between the beds.

  She covered her eyes and looked up with a smile. It wasn’t the mum smile, but the soft one she reserved for telling new mothers that their baby had some terrible infliction or a child that their beloved parent was never coming home again. “There’s nothing short of physically tying you down that’s going to keep you in here, is there?” She asked.

  Ilya shook his head, “I’ve never been one for bed rest.”

  “More like rest at all,” Kira said and snorted as Ilya glanced down, “you know, I’d learned in the past that you Ilvarjo are a stubborn lot, but I never expected you all to have such a natural disregard for your own health. I guess that’s how you’ve managed to remain in such high esteem with the Royal family, huh?”

  “I suppose so,” Ilya said and looked at Kira. After a moment, he raised his hand to pull down the mask.

  Kira didn’t even blink. She certainly didn’t stare as I had. She simply hooked her hands behind her head and said, “you know, I fully expected you to be reinjured from the Shield flinging himself at you. That’s why I haven’t allowed him in to visit before now.”

  “I thought so too, but…”

  “But what?” Kira’s tone was a perfect mix of concern and indifference that I could never hope to achieve, “what happened?”

  Ilya fiddled with the hem of his mask, “do you promise not to repeat this?”

  “Kid, I’ve taken an oath of confidentiality. Whatever you say doesn’t leave this room. Right Kilco?” Her eyes locked on mine with an unspoken threat. I nodded, scratching my wrist.

  Ilya turned his upper body towards me, as if unable to bare facing Kira as he spoke, “that wasn’t the first time the Shield has kissed me.”

  “And?” Kira prompted.

  Ilya blinked, “that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Should it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ilya frowned, “most Ascotian’s don’t support such unions.”

  “We are not Ascotian,” Kira huffed, “in Bethel, such unions are, well, not celebrated, but certainly accepted as a reality of life.“

  “Okay.”

  “But that’s not what’s upset you,” Kira stated after a minute of silence, “that I didn’t need to pry that from you under threat of bodily harm proves that. Why were you crying?”

  Ilya sunk down, massaging the lower part of his neck, “I cannot say too much, but somebody -something- has come between us.“

  “You’ve fallen for another?”

  “No,” Ilya said sharply before taking a deep breath. He bit his lip, “but they’ve fallen for me.”

  “Then tell them no,” Kira said, “it’s not that dramatic.”

  “It isn’t that simple either,” Ilya said. He turned to me with an oddly stretched expression, as if trying desperately to convey something. I shrugged, too distracted by the endless itch of my wrist to even attempt to decipher what. He wiped his lips and turned back to Kira, “the Shield despises them, and I believed that I did too, but when he kissed me just now I… I might’ve imagined myself kissing the other.”

  “Huh,” Kira clicked her tongue, “that is a pickle. You’d probably be shocked to learn that relationships aren’t exactly my forte,” she leaned in and squinted at his face, “how old are you?
”

  “Pardon?”

  “How-old-are-you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Kira sat back with a satisfied nod, “well, there’s your answer.”

  “How’s my age the answer?”

  “You’re fifteen. It’s a turbulent year in everyone’s life for it’s right in the middle of your developmental period. Your body is maturing, and so occasionally your chemical balance gets thrown through the wringer, causing all manner of emotional disturbance,” she smiled as Ilya turned to me with a frown, “it’s perfectly natural. Hasn’t anybody told you this before?”

  Ilya shook his head.

  “Oh, for fu-what do physicians in this country even do all day? No wonder the healers are all incompetent. Listen here,” she put her hand on his knee, “there’s nothing wrong with you. It happens to everybody. As for imaging kissing different people, sexuality is a complex thing. There’s a fine line between love and lust.”

  “You’re saying it doesn’t mean anything?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Kira said and removed her hand, “it could mean something, but it’s more likely to be something else talking.” She glanced down. Ilya blushed and crossed his legs as he tugged desperately on my arm. Again, all I could do was shrug and not make things awkward by looking down too.

  Kira stood with a snort and returned the chair to the card table before leaning against it with her arms crossed, “relationships aren’t that complex. They’re like heart surgery. If you encounter a problem, you only have two options: you either fight for it or you throw in the towel. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. If you have any other questions about your body changing you can always ask Kilco,” yeah, because I’d been a fifteen-year-old boy before, “but in the meantime, the Shield has his clearance exam tomorrow morning. He’ll certainly be naked. I ask that you contain yourself if you can.”

  With that said the good doc disappeared the same way she came in. Ilya gave me a confused look, “did she just invite us to spy?”