And now it litters me like snipped threads. Dead. Gone, when Shanti brushes it away.
The piles of fallen hair stifles me—chokes me as if it's clogging up the air and I have to leave. I venture outside of our room. The sound of tears from the opposite end of the hallway calls me and I find Chima collapsed upon the floor. Her knees hugged into her chest.
Her bob is missing.
“A-Akane—” she sniffles, her eyes open. They stare at the wall. At nothing. She can't look at me. “s-she—she cut it all.”
When I sit down beside her, Chima brushes me with a glance. A hard stare. A face that asks me to leave—to go away.
But I can't. “I'm sorry.” is all I can tell her. “But look—you're still beau—,”
She stands before I can finish—teeth clenched. She stands and turns on her heel.
Leaves.
…
The soldiers don't come back for a day. For several.
But the streets are alive with them. Creatures made of steel and leather walk the white streets freely, brandishing swords. Brandishing death. They flock to Akane's shop like geese led by a trail of bread—begging for her services as a gerant. Demanding it.
Chima still can't look me in the eye when she passes me in the parlor—an air of cold about her—but Akane's still friendly. Still strong.
“They bring souls,” she tells me one evening as the sun slowly shifts towards the golden light of the horizon, “that aren't in no way related to them. The souls of their enemies. Of the men who died protecting Felicity from them. They expect me to bind a soul to their blade against the soul's will. All because they want to go back and tell their buddies—I've got a soul in my sword! Look!” Akane leans back in her chair, the thing suspended on two legs as she brings her eyes from the bay window to me. “And when the soul shows them things they don't want to see—they want to blame me. As if it's my doing.”
“Whose men are they?” I ask her, taking a seat across from her as she knocks back a cup of gray liquid that makes her shiver. “Where did they come from? Why did you cut all of Chima's hair?”
The last question startles her. Akane freezes—slides cold eyes towards me. “What?”
Her tone makes my stomach drop. But I repeat my question. “Why did you—”
Akane slams her chair's legs upon the floor. “I heard you.”
“Then—”
“Notice she has a new attitude now, huh?” and Akane chuckles, the sound dark and joyless. “It's not because of her hair, Naia. She's a whore—you forget? She didn't come from some cushy silkhouse—she came from the worst of things—a whorehouse. You think she hasn't had worse things done to her? You think having a bald head matters to her?”
Akane slides her empty cup across the table. It takes a dive off the edge, rushing towards the floor before it shatters into a million little pieces. Akane's smile is crooked—dark. The grin doesn't meet her eyes as her lids lower slightly. “See anything different, girl? Think we're missing someone?”
I've been sick for weeks—maybe a couple of months or so. The seasons have changed—snow has fallen and Felicity has become occupied by foreign soldiers. All of the girls tended to me before the cold rolled in. But when the snow fell and I started to feel a bit better, only Akane and Shanti waited on me. Checked up on me from time to time.
A soft silhouette moves behind cream colored paper. My door slides open—a voice calls my name. Tells me, “I'll see you soon.”
And then I saw the soldiers.
“Nyx and Chima aren't sisters, girl. Not anymore.” Akane comes closer, her breath hot. Spices tinging her scent. Sake sharpening her breath. “Sisters don't leave sisters behind. They share everything—love, hate, fear. But Nyx couldn't do that. She's gone, girl. And you led Chima to believe that Nyx and her had a sisterly bond—”
I'd say it's sister looking after sister. My words—my eyes widen at the accusation.
“You led her to hope—”
I'm telling you to believe there's hope. Can you do that for me, Chima? My command—a light promise between girls made after a night of nightmares.
“And now Nyx has run off. Disappeared in a night. Poof!” Akane throws up her hands. Lowers them. Stares at me blankly—glares at me harshly. “Now, the city's occupied by foreigners—you want me to tell you how long Chima hoped Nyx would return? You want me to tell you about her tears when I told her the truth?” Akane breathes, her tone grim, “Tell me, Naia, do you still hope? Do you still believe in sisterly bonds? After all that has happened—are you still okay with lying to yourself?” her words slur from her mouth and she cocks her head of red hair. Even her hair has been cut.
I bite my lip—hard. A metal taste enters my mouth and I realize I've dug my fingernails into the wood of the table. But I don't relax—I can't.
“I haven't lied to her!”
“Things are going to get worse.” she tilts her head again. Smiles crookedly—all teeth. “You think your disguise will save you? You think I can? Shanti? You think—you think Chima will ever forgive you?”
I shoot to standing—the legs of my chair screeching loudly against the tiles of the floor. “I won't sit here and be insulted by you, Akane!”
“Maybe you'll stand. Maybe I'll sit. Maybe I'll watch this last sunset with you.” she swallows. “Our last sunset.”
I sit. Pull the chair closer to the table. I look at her.
“I'm boarding this window up tomorrow.” she tells me. “So better enjoy this while you can. Before I destroy it.”
…
When Akane boards the bay window up, Shanti begins to sleep on the floor of the parlor.
“Are you our watchdog?” I ask her one night, jokingly.
But Shanti takes the question seriously. “I am better than that. I am your guardian.” Violet eyes are murky. Bags hang low under her eyes as if she hasn't slept in days. “When the reckoning comes, you'll thank the Fates I slept here.”
Her words frighten me—they send a shiver up my spine.
The reckoning?
I had no idea what she meant.
When I bring it up to Akane, she simply shrugs it off.
“You know how old she is, right?” Akane smirks. Rolls her eyes as she piles beige sacks of rice in the far corner of her room. “Shanti's been through some things. Seeing all those soldiers outside day after day probably brings back memories—bad ones. But if you're alone in your room—why not come sleep with me?”
I imagine Chima is lonely as well—without Nyx in her room. I think to bring this up—maybe we three could sleep together? But I shake the thoughts away when I remember—Chima is angry at me. Angry enough to…possibly hate me.
I take Akane up on her offer, moving my mat and single pillow into her spacious room. I lay my mat parallel to her own and find myself sleeping easier with another person so near to me. I trusted Akane. She reminded me so much of Yarne—her strength. Her fearless portrayal of the truth. She is like a mother to me. And one night, I woke to her curled about me. Combing pretty fingers through my shortened hair. Cooing to me as if I were her child.
I feigned sleep, enjoying the closeness. Savoring it.
Strong arms curled around me—hugging me tight. I could feel the wiry strength of her muscles as she pressed her arms around me. I could smell the scent of her skin—strange as it was, jasmine. An expensive scent. A scent that promised light purple petals and warm ginger winds. I found peace in her embrace. A melting peace that pressed the sands of sleep into my eyes and forced the outer world to fall away.
Safe.
I felt safe.
Truly and completely safe.
And I wondered if I've ever felt this way before.
…
Fourteen days.
Fourteen days of peace. Of safety.
We were only granted fourteen days before the soldiers returned—screaming at our door. Shanti shrieked. Rushed up the stairs and attempted to tear me from Akane's embrace.
Around the doorway
, Chima appeared.
Just as the door downstairs exploded. The men whacking it away with weapons.
“They're here—they're here and I knew it would come to this.” Shanti looks at me with wild eyes. Glistening. Glistening with tears. “Akane—I'm taking them away. I'm hiding them.”
Akane yawns. Sits up and lets me go. “What do they want?”
“They're going to take them. I know they are. I know what they're going to do—Akane, you need to help me save them. I'm not letting them take my sisters again. I'm not!”
Shanti trembles. Wrings her hands. Lashes out and grabs me by the wrist. “Come, child. Come—come now. Veah, I'm not letting them take you. I'm not—I'm going to be a good sister this time. This time—this time I'll protect you!”
We gasp—we jump—when jars crash to the floor. When the table downstairs shrieks and the men are screaming—screaming something about up the stairs.
I think they hear us.
“Right.” Akane sighs. Moves to separate Shanti's hold on me. Beckons to Chima with a hand and she comes to stand behind Akane. “I know what to do.”
And she backhands Shanti across her cheek. She draws blood.
Shanti thumps to the floor. Lifeless.
The woman turns.
“Both of you,” she tells us—her face iron. “I love you. You're like the children I could never have.”
I take a step back as boots slam upon the stairs—as steel clamors and jitters and Akane—
In an instant—a moment—a second of air.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Akane rams her knee into Chima's stomach and the air leaves her. Rushes from her as she collapses to the floor. As Akane moves to slam her heel into the back of Chima's head.
“Stop!” I scream.
But I'm too late.
I'm too damn slow and there's a sickening crack. Multiple. Fractures. Fissures. Chima's limp and there's blood—trickle, trickle. Pooling. There's teeth.
Akane rams her heel into the girl's head again and again—slam—slam—crack.
And Akane changes her target. Moves to stomp savagely on the girl's neck—but she's already gone.
She's already gone.
I lash out—grab Akane's shoulders. I look into her eyes—but it's like she's not even there.
“They can't take you.” she whispers to me—shoves me. Wraps her hands around my throat. “I won't let them.”
The corners of my vision fade.
As men pour into the room.
As a man knocks Akane onto her back and I fall to the floor.
And she strikes out at them—weaponless.
When steel flashes in the darkness—peeled from a scabbard as I blink—gray levels with her neck. Makes contact with her skin. Slices. Bites through bone and comes away bloody. Red. Crimson.
Wet gurgles. Steel slides through tight flesh and her head's gone.
I fall to my hands and knees. I vomit.
But the soldiers take me as I am.
12. Rose Blossom Snow
They march me through snowy streets.
A sharp wind whips past my face—it burns but fear has made me numb. Sorrow has made me a husk. Still, I tremble. I hug my arms around myself as I am met by a crowd of others. Men. Screaming—crying—fighting as they are pulled from the warmth of their homes as I have been.
Behind me, I hear the soldiers talk.
“We got the Kokoros boy.”
A hrumph. “There were two.”
“About that…er—,”
A throat clears. “Did the family commit…?”
I shiver.
“Yeah.” the soldier behind me swallows. “All dead.”
“He said they'd fear conscription…but…”
Silence as the wind howls. As men crowd around me—frightened. Hugging themselves. Calling out into the starless night. Asking the Fates for deliverance. Some walk stone-faced—accepting what the Fates have gifted them. Others cry. Some are no taller than me—little boys. Children.
And a scream turns into wet gurgles from my right as a man rips a sword from the scabbard of a soldier. But a dagger appears in the soldier's left hand—rushes across the young man's throat before I can even blink. He thumps to the white ground. Red blooms around him. It stains the snow as the blood pools, blossoming around the body. Opening like a rose as a woman cries out into the night.
They're dead—they're all dead.
Akane tried to save me.
I could still feel her hands wrapping around my throat. Choking me with pretty fingers. Silky skin snakes around my neck. Fingers tighten.
White hot pain explodes from the center of my back as a heel prods me.
“Keep up with the others, runt.” A hard voice. Steel. “Next time, it won't be my boot. Go on.”
I turn to try and catch a glimpse of his face but I trip into the snow. Sharp crystals bite into my hands when I catch myself and as steel slides from its scabbard, I'm on my feet and running towards the shuffling group up ahead.
Where are they taking us?
The question is murmured over and over—it's screamed, and the screamer howls in pain when he's cuffed. We are together in this darkness—this fear as the wind howls a chilling swansong that pecks at our ears and quickens the beating of our hearts.
They're all dead.
Why can't I go with them?
I don't—I don't want to be here.
But if I run…
Bodies fan out around me—there's barely any room to place one foot in front of the other. Soldiers snake around the outer edges of the group to catch runners. To catch the slow ones and make them keep up. An eerie white blankets all, covering the large slanting roofs of buildings with black windows. Where the ghosts of old families still prowl, their spirits left behind when they fled in fear of this army. When they fled in fear of invaders.
We should have ran. We should have left.
Why didn't we leave?
Did it matter?
Did it matter to think of such things?
They're gone. They're gone now.
And nothing matters. Not anymore.
13. Bitter Winds
I do not stop my tears. I cannot—and they freeze upon my face as the wind bites brutally. Shrieking past my ears as I tuck my chin and hug myself tightly. As a shivering body slams into me from behind—pushing me into the next man who ambles forward. Loses his balance and rights himself before it's too late.
In this march, too many have been trampled.
In these miles we have walked, too many have fallen out. They are taken by the unforgiving hands of winter—freezing by the roadside come the dawn.
But the sun hasn't risen yet and the night carries on as we move towards an unknown destination.
I am not even sure if we are in Felicity anymore. The buildings have petered out. A high wall of wood stands strong on the horizon and I think—this must be the border—as the man in front of me moans. Falls. I move to help him, but I'm pushed forward from behind. Forced to keep going.
To step on him.
He doesn't even bother to scream when I walk on him. When his wrist snaps beneath my meager weight. When the group moves on, stomping him into quiet dust.
I bite my tongue to keep from crying—but the tears come anyway. The salt stinging my face as the wind bites and blows and howls.
When the sun begins to peek over the horizon, silver clouds roll in. Swallowing the sky as we pass beneath a monstrous wooden archway, going through Felicity's border and onto a dirt road that's cut into a field of yellow grass. Dead grass.
This is when the rain comes.
The water hardening into drops of icy sleet.
A crack ripples through the group, the sound coming from my right and I think of Chima. Her head crumbling in on itself. The bones snapping—crackling as Akane rams her heel into the poor girl's skull. Again, and again, and again—
Acidic bile burns my throat as it rushes up. I think to keel over and vomit—bu
t then I remember the hundreds who have fallen out of formation only to be trampled. To be left on the roadside to die.
I hold it in. Swallow it.
I've—I've grown sick of myself.
My fear—my cowardice.
I should have gone with them.
I should have died in that room!
But these men took that away from you—it was they who killed Akane—these people brought this on you. These people—
I feel something warm, now. Something grows deep inside my chest and it strengthens me.
Makes me shiver more.
Hate.
I hate them.
I hate them all.
Althea, this invader, Hana—all of them.
If I had never left the Orthella, this would have never happened to me.
Never.
The horizon opens wide, the yellowed fields bowing. Farther up, I see a wooden bridge that spans a wide river—a violent spread of water that screams as the wind gushes. It rocks at the bridge and attempts to climb it, only to fall back in on itself. Shards of ice glint in its gray body, the shards rushing down the expanse of angry waters until they're gone. Until they no longer exist.
We cross this bridge single file. The soldiers yelling at us to make an orderly line. There are thousands of us—we shiver—we limp and we cry—and it takes what feels like countless hours to arrange all of us into a shambling, lurching, line. One by one, we begin to cross the bridge. The line moving unsteadily. Lurching forward only to halt suddenly, and then lurch forward once more. I am some ways away from the bridge when I hear water rising. I look up with wide eyes as it crashes angrily over the bridge—it's gray arms ripping two boys along with it when the water recedes. The tide is strong—savage and angry. Like an animal. Like a man. The soldiers make no move to save the boys as they scream and cry—the tide rushing them forward like fleshy shards of ice. Tugging them along with its current until they too disappear. Their cries distant until the children no longer exist. Just like ice. So many shards of ice.
We continue to cross.
When I finally make it to the bridge, a man behind me tugs at my arm. Grabs my hand and I turn. I stare into two blue eyes and a twisted nose—misshapen. He's taller than me—but he's all bone—and his knees knock together as he steals a pained glimpse towards the water. Brings his gaze back to me.
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