Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  “Yep,” I said, still clawing at my wrist. Itch, itch, bloody itch. Ilya chuckled and fell back onto the pillow, and though I would’ve loved to join him, my wrist refused to be ignored. Growling, I ripped off my jacket.

  And froze.

  The circular bite mark had spread in both width and diameter. It was still an irritated red that felt slightly moist and hot to the touch like it had happened moments earlier. The small valleys had increased in both size and number until they appeared almost like the indents of teeth.

  Shit. That was some big bug.

  Fourteen

  Ornithophobia

  Fear of birds

  We didn’t accept Doctor Kira’s invitation, much to my great relief. It had taken hours to fall asleep that night, tossing and turning like crazy as my heart thumped painfully in my chest. Once sleep did finally overcome me, it offered little respite. At one point I’d snapped awake, seemingly without reason. Even for night time, the room was unusually dark. Dim light drifted in from the flap as it always did, but where the glow of the moon should’ve broken through the skylight above was a dark…thing. It took a moment to realize what I was looking at, but when I did, my body went rigid.

  Covering the skylight was a dark fluidly substance. I couldn’t tell if it was a cloud of smoke or a liquid, but that didn’t matter, because most horrifying of all, I couldn’t tell if it was inside the room or out. I was unable to force my muscles to move, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t run, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but lay there and watch whatever it was pulsed like diseased lungs heaving for breath.

  Then it opened its eyes.

  At least, I thought they were eyes. Glowing a brighter silver than the moon, there was a sickening popping sound as they emerged from within the substance, staring down, unblinking. And I had no choice but to stare back. I don’t know how long it took, but eventually sleep must’ve found me, for the next thing I knew it was light outside, the thing had disappeared, and Ilya was shaking me awake.

  As we ate breakfast in silence, I’d contemplated what it had been, chalking it up to a manifestation of stress at having to look at Shield in the buff. Pogue would be naked and I’d either have to look at him or explain to Ilya why I didn’t want to. Both options made my palms sweat. I pushed my bowl away untouched. And so the minutes ticked by and Ilya retreated to his bed, without saying a single word.

  I’d never liked him so much.

  In the end, it was Pogue who came to us. I hadn’t even heard him enter, just looked up and there he was by the flap, clutching his pack tightly to his chest. “Morning,” I said.

  Ilya glanced up from his book with a raised brow, before following my gaze. He sat up straight, “hello.”

  “Hello,” Pogue repeated a little too quickly. Several long beats passed and my mind raced. I was no better at breaking awkward silences than I was at comforting. Mercifully, I didn’t need to say anything, for in the next moment a wicked grin graced Pogue’s face, “that Doctor Kira’s really something, huh?” It was like a window had been opened, the tense atmosphere instantly replaced with fresh air.

  Ilya smiled back softly, “she certainly is.” He said and patted the spot beside him.

  Pogue’s grin grew wider as he practically bounced over. I crossed my legs and squinted at Pogue, relieved that he was fully clothed. “So, did you get the all clear?” I asked.

  “Sure did,” he replied, grin still in place as he looked to me, “I was right, right?”

  “About what?”

  “That you’d like Ilya more than me.”

  That was a weird thing to sound so thrilled about. I sighed, “well, I haven’t killed him yet.”

  Pogue actually cackled as he turned to Ilya, “and you like Kilco, yeah?”

  “Mmm,” Ilya hummed and glared at me. I glared right back. It wasn’t my fault he couldn’t take a joke. He turned back to Pogue, “let’s just say that I’ve shared rooms with worse.”

  Pogue’s grin shattered, “what do you mean?”

  “Precisely what you think I mean. Sharing with you is like trying to sleep near a hog in heat.” Ilya said dryly.

  Pogue’s gaped and Ilya smiled. Pogue laughed and grabbed his arm, shaking him in a unique variation of a side hug, only to freeze as his eyes caught mine. He let go like touching Ilya had stung and shuffled back with a horrified expression. “Listen,” he began, “I’m real sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to molest you. Just because I’m the Shield doesn’t mean I can kiss you when I want. I’m sorry.”

  “Pardon?” Ilya placed his hand on Pogue’s knee, “you didn’t molest me. I wanted you to kiss me. More than anything, I wanted that. It’s just…I’ve never been in a relationship before. It’s new to me, so I panicked and ran away. It’s me who should be apologizing to you.”

  Pogue looked up, “you’re not mad?”

  “Not at all,” Ilya said and glared over at me, “I actually wanted to see you last night, but Kilco incapacitated me.”

  Damn right I did.

  I glared back with equal intensity, “it took all day to get you here the first time, and I didn’t want to risk you running off again. Besides, he was coming today anyway.”

  Ilya’s eyes narrowed further. How were the Ilvarjo so talented at glaring? It had to have something to do with the eyes, “and you couldn’t have just said that?” he asked, “instead of kicking me between the legs and threatening to, how did you put it: pluck out my remaining eye and feed it to the dogs?”

  “Kilco,” Pogue breathed. It was impressive how shocked yet earnest he sounded, “you can’t kick a man between the legs. That’s a dirty trick.”

  “Dirty, but effective,” I said with a grin. Neither boy grinned back, and I huffed, looking at Ilya, “it doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

  “The pain comes and goes, but don’t worry. I’ll get you back. An Ilvarjo always repays their debt.” That seemed to be their motto. Yet after hundreds of years they still hadn’t managed to repay the Royal family for whatever had indebted them in the first place. Nevertheless, an Ilvarjo’s bad side probably wasn’t a desired place to be, so I pointed at the pack on Pogue’s lap.

  “What you got there?”

  “Oh, this is for Ilya,” Pogue pushed the pack at Ilya, smiling brilliantly when he frowned, “something you left behind in the desert.”

  Raising a brow, Ilya opened the bag and removed a small wooden box. A circle had been carved in the centre of it, around which the shape of a sun had been burned into the wood and weaved down to meet thin silver keys. Ilya held it close with tender caution, “my kalimba,” he said and pressed a key to produce a soft melody, “you didn’t leave it behind?”

  “No way,” Pogue said with a blinding smile, “I know how much you love it. Besides, our relationship wouldn’t be the same without it.”

  “Thank you,” Ilya said and softly pressed another key. A serene smile came to his face; the first sincere smile I’d ever seen from him.

  Pogue leaned over and reopened the pack, “there’s something else.”

  Ilya glanced up, brow raised effortlessly once more, “I cannot think of what else you could possibly have brought me.”

  “Take a look.” Pogue laughed as Ilya reached into the pack and withdrew a small flute made entirely out of pure emerald.

  “How do you play the flute with a facemask?” I asked.

  “It’s a piccolo,” Ilya said sharply as his face screwed up. He replaced the mask, “and I don’t. It’s the Shields.”

  “Really?” I was unable to imagine the clumsy brute even holding something so fragile, let alone making music with it.

  Pogue’s eyes met mine and he laughed. “Do you play any instruments?” he asked and took the flute from Ilya’s hands.

  “Does clapping to a beat count?”

  “No,” Ilya stated.

  “Then no, I don’t.”

  Ilya stared unblinkingly at me for a long moment before turning to Pogue. He pressed a few key
s and Pogue nodded, closing his eyes and raising his piccolo to his lips. Not only could Pogue play music, he played beautiful music. It was remarkable. That boy could barely read, yet with Ilya by his side, he produced a melody so magical that even the finest composers in Bethel might have cried. The music transported me to another world. One without war or troubles. A glorious fantasy where I didn’t need to pretend that I was anything other than what I was, where I didn’t have to hide my past, my future, myself. I could just close my eyes and be. As the music began to die down, applause joined it. I opened my eyes to find Doctor Kira and Melly standing in the doorway, watching the boys with serene expressions.

  “That was beautiful,” Melly said with a soft smile as the final note faded.

  “Mm,” Kira grunted as she squinted at the two boys, “it was. Have you been practising that piece long?”

  Pogue shook his head, “Actually, we’ve never played it before.”

  “You were improvising?” Kira asked.

  “I wasn’t,” Ilya eyes met Pogue’s, “it’s an Ilvarjo lullaby. How did you pick it up so quickly?”

  “I dunno,” Pogue said. He pushed a strand of loose hair behind Ilya’s ear, “you just play so beautifully that I can’t help it.”

  “Indeed,” Kira said dryly. She watched the boys a moment longer before her eyes narrowed and turned to me, “Kilco, come help me with something.” It wasn’t a request. I moaned. Listening to them play had been the most relaxed I’d been in years. I didn’t want to go with her but knew there was no excuse she would accept, so I reluctantly dragged my feet.

  “Here, catch.”

  No sooner had I stepped into our private apartment than something was flying towards my face. It was too late to prevent the thing from plonking me on the head, but I managed to grab it before it bounced off my nose. I looked down at the magenta wrapping of a fresh bar of galloping gaytime chocolate. “You’re not supposed to show me where you hide these.”

  “Please,” Kira scoffed. She sat at the desk and kicked her feet up, her own bar of chocolate in her hand, “we both know the only way I could successfully hide these from you is if I started stuffing them down my bra.”

  “Still, it’s tradition to pretend.”

  Kira grunted and took a crunching bite as I sat down across from her to unwrap my own. The desk was unsurprisingly empty- the good doc preferring to make use of the one in the central room to watch over her infirmary like a malevolent dictator- and looking around, the apartment was devoid of anything that needed immediate tending. I turned to Kira, “Was there something you wanted me to do?”

  “Yeah, I want you to learn when you’ve outstayed your welcome somewhere,” she said.

  Yeah. I caught sight of my wrist while nibbling at my bar and stared while allowing the chocolate to melt on my tongue. The bite mark was still there, red and raw. Swallowing thickly, I lifted it up to Kira’s eyes, “Hey, what do you make of this?”

  “Ilya got you good, huh?” Kira snorted, “serves you right for kneeing him in the jewels.”

  “Ilya didn’t do this. I got it in the yard yesterday.”

  Kira slammed her bar onto the desk, “one of the troops bit you?” she asked, “say their name and I’ll break the bastard’s legs.”

  “No, that’s the thing. Nobody bit me.”

  “Somebody bit you,” Kira traced a finger over my wrist with a concerned look, “these are human teeth indentures. Did you accidentally bite yourself in your sleep?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  I hadn’t. It had happened the day before. Of that I was certain. After all, I remembered every moment of the horrific night before. At least, I thought I did.

  Fifteen

  Metathesiophobia

  Fear of change

  Things change.

  It’s a truth universally acknowledged yet change still comes as a great surprise. Like the turning of the tides, change happens, and like the turning of the tides, change has a way of catching you off guard and dragging you further adrift than ever anticipated.

  The first change hadn’t felt like change at all. Under the threat of death if we weren’t back by the ring of the lunch bell, Doctor Kira allowed us to leave the infirmary. Anything is fun after weeks of isolation but spending mornings with the Shield of Ascot was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. People treated me better. We’d start at the top of a trading caravan with empty hands and finish with our pockets bursting, full of fruits and candies and other treats that tasted divine after so many repetitive meals. All without a single krona exchanging hands. Never once did anybody ever give Ilya a thing, but nobody spat at him either.

  Mornings were spent in the training yard. The proper one set up for the Royal guard. It was guarded around the clock so not just any pleb off the street could enter, and there I was. The equipment was new and designer, not rickety and makeshift like where the foot troops trained, and nobody stared as Pogue and Ilya sparred one another relentlessly.

  Their styles were polar opposite. While Pogue thrust and dodged on pure instinct, Ilya was sure-footed, seeming to move just outside his opponent’s line to wait for their stamina to drain before striking. It was impossible to judge who’d win in any given round. I wouldn’t have bet even if I could.

  As the lunch bell rang, we’d rush back to the infirmary. Ilya would concentrate on the homework that was still being delivered daily, I’d help Doctor Kira with clinic duties. As night fell, we’d stay up talking and joking until one of us fell asleep or the morning sun rose. Whichever came first. Life was good.

  Until it wasn’t.

  It was morning when I first noticed that things had changed. The chirp of birds had awoken me as usual and I cracked an eye open to look at the skylight, only to jump upright at Ilya’s empty bed. He rarely woke before me and never without reason. My heart beat fast as my legs became entangled in my blankets: where was he? Was he sick? Was he-

  “Good morning.”

  -sitting at the card table, mirror in hand?

  He didn’t even look at me as he gently pulled the comb through his hand. I frowned and untwisted myself from the blanket and sat across from him. “Morning,” I said and reached over, finding little resistance as I snatched the comb from his hand. My frown deepened. “It’s Wednesday, by the way.” Wednesday’s had become a thing after we had discovered a shared irrational dislike for the middle day of the week. Just another thing we had in common. He was supposed to give a mundane denouncement of the day, but all he did was place the mirror down and look up with a stiff smile. I picked strands of hair from the combs’ teeth, “you’re up early.”

  The stiff smile didn’t change as a moment of silence stretched on before he exhaled, “the Shield said he has a surprise planned for me this morning.”

  “Oh, right,” I twisted a strand of his pale hair around my finger so tightly the tip started to glow, “well, we can get dressed and head out early. The good doc won’t care as long as we’re back in time.”

  Another awkward silence filled the room. Ilya inhaled. Without retaking the comb I’d abandoned on the table, he gathered his hair up into a ponytail and nodded, “alright.”

  Pogue had many surprises up his sleeve. Like an excited puppy, he’d hurried through the maze towards the Armoury, and kept going. I held my breath as I was finally -finally- permitted up that marble staircase towards a paradise where colourful petaled vines twisted around marble columns and mature flower beds grew high to meet a leafy canopy above. A large fountain rose at the mouth of the staircase, its soft water welcoming but never overwhelming the symphony of life that was all around.

  Behind it sat the most miraculous sight of all. I’d only ever read about the twin doors in history books. Photograms were prohibited, but even if they weren’t, they would never have captured the grandeur in full. Large enough to accommodate dragons, some long-dead artist had carved elaborate patterns directly into the wood around a raised triquetra. In comparison, I was as tiny as an ant, but inside
my soul soared high above the branches. Every prominent figure in history had stood before those doors, and there I was. Even if it was only to hear Pogue babble on about his childhood.

  The practice had always seemed barbaric to me. I’d once asked Pogue to show it to me and, sure, if you squinted at the right angle the birthmark on his left shoulder did resemble the triquetra, but so must the birthmarks of dozens of babies born each year.

  If you squinted at the right angle.

  It was just Pogue’s rotten luck that he’d been the first born after the old Shield’s passing. Wrong time, wrong place, like every other unfortunate thing in life. Still, as he danced around a pillar, recounting how he’d once broken his wrist falling off it while trying to befriend a possum, I had to admit it didn’t sound horrible. That might’ve just been him though.

  Pogue was not the smartest or most refined of people, but what he lacked in class he made up for with that special something that couldn’t be brought, taught or stolen - no matter how much I wished it could be contracted like a virus by rubbing against his shoulder. When he entered a room, every lady’s head turned. Everybody stood to greet him. Children and animals alike flocked around him, and even the grouchiest cook in camp lit up as he approached each morning before swiftly pushing an extra cut of bacon onto Pogue’s plate.

  Even then, as he sat on the fountain’s edge, a colourful frog leapt from the water as if the universe itself was greeting him. I didn’t know if I believed in the Deities but that they’d chosen Pogue as their Blessed Shield was the greatest evidence of their existence yet. As if in a daze, I drifted towards him. He smiled and held out his hand, and without hesitation, I took it. His smile fell into a deep frown and he flicked my sleeve up further, “why are you biting one another?”

  Huh? I looked down. The bite mark was still there, still red and irritated. I scowled and pulled my hand away to rip down the sleeve, “we’re not biting each other.”