Hope in Paradise

by Elizabeth Kirby

  Hope in Paradise by Elizabeth Kirby

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Elizabeth Kirby

  All rights reserved.

  Formatting and cover design by Damonza www.damonza.com

  Edited by Ellen C. Campbell http://ellencampbell.thirdscribe.com/about-me

  ISBN-13 978-0-692-98320-1

  First Edition: December 2017

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter I: Beneath the Oak Tree

  Chapter II: The Fall

  Chapter III: Fire

  Chapter IV: Sky

  Chapter V: Run

  Chapter VI: Lullaby

  Chapter VII: Roster

  Chapter VIII: Genesis

  Chapter IX: Training

  Chapter X: Visitor

  Chapter XI: Simulation

  Chapter XII: Death

  Chapter XIII: Chione

  Chapter XIV: Offer

  Chapter XV: Sortie

  Chapter XVI: Blood

  Chapter XVII: Infirmary

  Chapter XVIII: Traitor

  Chapter XIX: Rayleigh

  Chapter XX: Starlight

  Chapter XXI: A Distant Memory

  Chapter XXII: Reunion

  Chapter XXIII: Spring’s Melody

  Chapter XXIV: Sunrise

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  The Arcadian’s Artisan. Yet another to add to his list. When had he gotten into this habit? It had been so long ago.

  As he hastily scrawled the novel’s name onto the notebook, he glanced over to his right. It was still there, lying on its side on the floor, water pooling around it, the shattered glass scattered across the room. He shouldn’t have done that. Now she would be angry with him again.

  Hopefully she wouldn’t mind.

  He set the notebook down on his desk and cautiously walked over to the shattered vase. Maybe it was still fixable. Maybe the flower hadn’t died. Still, he would have to wipe the water up before it stained the wood. He crouched and began picking up the glass. Even though the pieces cut him and stained his hands red, he didn’t mind. He still had scars from the last time.

  He continued to pile them up in a corner of the room.

  With that finished, he grabbed a rag from the rack behind him and mopped up the excess water.

  This was all in a day’s work. Customers hadn’t stopped by for years. They always had their apologies and their excuses, but was that really all it took? One person calls him out on his absence (which he had made up a plausible excuse for. Of course, he would never tell them the real reason) and they all flock away from him like he was the plague?

  Carefully, he picked up the flower and tears fell onto it. He hadn’t meant to cry. After all, why would he? Why… would he?

  Why was he still crying after all this time?

  Shouldn’t the tears have all but dried by now?

  Shouldn’t he have forgiven himself by now?

  He stood with the flower in his hand, setting it by the windowsill. Before he turned his back on it, he grabbed it once again. He… still had to return it.

  Yes, he did.

  If he didn’t, she would come back to haunt him. His dreams. His memories.

  All of it.

  Or had she done so already? This place was supposed to be his safe haven, a beacon of hope.

  So why did it remind him of her so much?

  He shook his head; there was no use dwelling on it.

  So he put the flower in his pocket and headed out.

  There was no going back.

  Chapter I

  Beneath the Oak Tree

  It was a preposterous idea. There wasn’t any way in the world that he would go and follow her.

  Not even after all these years.

  Their home was the safest place to be, she had told him, so why was there any need to worry? Everything would be fine.

  As usual, he hadn’t believed her.

  And, just like any day, she lay in bed, conjuring up a way to trick him. Why did he have to be so…so…?

  She couldn’t think of it.

  The first streaks of dawn had trickled into her room. She shielded her eyes from the onslaught, waiting for it to pass. The girl really didn’t really like dawn, because it meant her grandmother would leave, as usual.

  And, as usual, it seemed like she would have to find him again.

  He was probably hiding.

  The wood creaked as she hopped down the stairs two at a time, leaving just enough time to not trip on the last step. When she reached the bottom, the first thing she noticed was the note on the table. The half-light of the room had hidden it, but it was propped up by the sculpture in the center. She headed toward it and snatched the small paper up, hurriedly reading before setting it down with a sigh.

  It was true: Grandmother had left early again, though it wasn’t unexpected of her. Maybe she would come home on time, which meant earlier than ten. After all, even she needed her sleep.

  What was she always so worried about, anyway?

  “I’m off,” she said to no one, turning the knob and running out into the dawn. The door closed with a sharp bang that shook the letter onto the floor.

  Outside, it was freezing. Frost had formed on the fields beyond their home. Maybe it would snow, but that was unlikely, as it was spring. It was possible, considering the mountains.

  Her shoes clicked on the stones underfoot as she passed more fields of flowers. The variety was stunning, even today. It was like a rainbow out there.

  If only she could visit them.

  The town was near by the time the sun had risen to the middle of the mountains. Fences had begun to appear not thirty minutes before, and the cobble morphed to gravel, as if that were any better. Still, it was nice, the smells of this sleepy town: fresh bread from the baker’s, roses from the florist’s (which was fainter, since it was near the plaza), and the smoked ham from the butcher’s, who was probably not too pleased with her after her last outing. Even if she begged the owner, he wouldn’t let her in, which was depressing, because the hams smelled the best.

  There wasn’t a soul on the street. That was another mystery—usually there were some crowds milling about by now. Was there a festival today? No, there couldn’t be, Grandmother would’ve told her, and dressed her up, and….

  Where was everybody?

  Her mystery still wasn’t solved as she strolled into the plaza. She shook off a few hairs when she looked up to the brightening sky.

  He wasn’t here either. Was he really that hard to find? She started to take a step forward when—

  “Alex, is that you?”

  She turned.

  Alex knew it wasn’t him for two reasons: the voice was different, if only slightly, and he would never call her that.

  Although the man in front of her certainly was no stranger.

  “Yes?”

  In fact, he was one of the people she was hoping to see.

  “What are you doing out here at this hour?” The man’s dark ponytail looked frazzled, as if he hadn’t taken his hair out of it for days. His glasses were smudged, and his lavender-colored eyes were dull, unlike a certain someone. His plain work clothes were wrinkled from too many sleepless nights. On top of that, he looked like he would topple over at any moment.

  So she told him the truth.

  “I’m looking for Simon.”

  “Simon…?” The man seemed dazed, and then his eyes cleared of their
confusion, and he replied, “Oh, you mean Will. Last I saw he was in the garden.”

  “All right, thank you. See you later, Mr. Black.”

  “Same to you, Alex.”

  She shook her head and ran off toward the alleyway.

  In a sense, Appia was tilted. To the west, it rolled on its side with the hill to the river. Same as the east. Only north and south were flat, but those soon rose upward to the mountains.

  So, the alleys always led down. It was easier that way, and, more importantly, it had another use: sliding.

  “Yippee!” Alex cried as she rolled more than slid down the alley, dirtying her clothes and hair with mud. There was scrapes and bruises by the end, too, as the girl bumped along the stones, only stopping when she hit the brick wall of the butcher’s. She stood triumphantly and only cowered when her ears pricked at the man’s simmering rage from indoors.

  “It’s her again, I tell ya’! I heard her hit the wall!”

  She ran down another alley as he came running out with his knife.

  The girl nearly sprinted to the fields on her way down. The cobble tripped her up, but she regained her ground rounding the corner. A wall on her right and the fields on her left kept the direction straight, and soon, the sounds of rushing water filled her ears.

  Alex ran on.

  His house was close; it ran by the western river, Anselm. A waterwheel was attached to the side, creaking whenever water ran through it. She heard its noise as she arrived at the gate. Silently she sneaked in, clinging to the fence.

  Closer… closer!

  Her eyes flickered to and fro, searching. Only when she heard snipping did she stop, sliding behind a tree for cover. She knew this was too elaborate, but he had been ignoring her, hadn’t he? She hadn’t seen him for days! It was time for an adventure.

  Turning, she slipped out from behind the tree and glanced around.

  Nothing.

  Where was he?

  Alex was growing angrier with him by the second. If he hadn’t been the one, then where had that snipping come from? Where—

  She heard it again, closer this time. She hid once more, waiting. A shadow approached from the side. A second, much larger one popped up an instant later, presumably a ladder. A loud screech filled her ears, and she quickly covered them; it seemed the figure was struggling to push the ladder through the ground. Why hadn’t it picked it up already? It was crazy!

  But still she waited.

  Five minutes had passed, but she hadn’t moved an inch. The newcomer, on the other hand, had already covered three trees. She was impressed, to say the least. Now if only it would show its face….

  There! A snippet of unruly black hair, violet eyes shimmering in the sunlight.

  It was him!

  Alex nearly cried out for joy but for a second sequence of events and noise: more snipping, the rustling of leaves, and then… crash.

  She started laughing. She couldn’t help it; it was too funny. All of her previous plans of torture had washed away, and she ran over to help.

  His glasses were thrown to the side and cracked in two. There were leaves stuck in his hair, and apples strewn about all around him. Purple-blue bruises mottled his arms and hands, he sat on the ground, glaring at her with his violet eyes.

  She just stood there, cackling, tears in her eyes.

  As before, it was all too hilarious a moment to miss.

  “Cynthia…”

  She stopped.

  “Yes, Simon?” She was still giggling.

  “Could you stop?”

  “Why?” Cynthia stared at him evenly.

  “Or… at any rate, help me up?” He grinned weakly.

  She sighed and thought about it, and was about to say no when the last apple hit him on the head and her snickering resumed.

  “Cynthia!” he called in an exaggerated tone.

  “The apple…!” Cynthia was out of breath. She crouched and held out a hand. He took it, and she pulled him up.

  “Thanks.” he muttered before brushing himself off and returning to straightening the ladder at a brisk pace. The joyous mood had been washed away.

  Her anger renewed.

  “Fine then!”

  He turned. “What did I do this time?” He sounded even more tired than his father.

  “Nothing! Absolutely nothing!”

  “That’s not helping…” he murmured.

  She vented, chucking the fallen apples back into the trees. She had done this many times before, but still. He was about to stop her when she spoke.

  “Fine! Fine, fine, fine! I don’t care anymore. You haven’t spoken a word to me in days!”

  “I have not! You’re the one—”

  “I’m the one? You—” She chucked an apple at him.

  He caught it.

  Cynthia was speechless.

  “You? The reason I haven’t spoken to you? What about the fact that you haven’t stopped by for a whole week! And I’ve been standing around doing nothing but gardening!” He threw the apple back at her.

  She caught it. It was like a game of “Who Gets to Speak.”

  Cynthia bit into the apple, spitting out part of its core, and then continued to chew.

  “Hey!” Simon complained.

  “I had it first.”

  “But—”

  She glared at him. She picked up another apple and, this time, tossed it to him.

  She laughed when he missed.

  He still ate it, though.

  Was it always like this? Did they always argue? She couldn’t remember the last time they did that, but, then again, she never really did remember them. Maybe her brain was hardwired not to? It was strange.

  The sky was so beautiful. The mountains gazed down on them from above, their once snow-peaked tops patched with greenery. She reached her hand up to the sky, trying to grasp the enormity of them, and it hit her: that was it! The adventure of a lifetime.

  They could go up to the cliff again!

  But the only problem was him.

  Although, she had her ways….

  Cynthia jumped up, alarming the boy dozing off next to her. She stepped forward and grabbed his arm, yanking him up.

  “Hey—”

  “Come along!” she said as he began to realize what she was doing.

  “Stop—wait!” He twisted and squirmed, but her grip was iron. There was no stopping her.

  After all, an adventure was waiting.

  Chapter II

  The Fall

  Come along, huh? Simon thought anxiously as he felt Cynthia tug him along by the wrist. He had been through countless adventures with her, but this one felt like the last straw. This had to be the craziest idea she had come up with yet! Once, when they were just children, Cynthia had dragged him along like this, to steal some ham from the kind butcher next door. Needless to say, it didn’t end too well: the criminal mastermind had been swatted out like a stray dog, but as Simon watched her sprint out of the shop, she was smiling. Of course, that was before she shoved him back into the butcher, called, “See ya’ later!” and left him to deal with the angry man. Simon sighed gratefully as he finally felt her release her grip on him.

  “Cynthia,” he tried to ask her. “What are we—”

  “Be quiet!” she whispered back and he gripped the gentle flower in his right hand tight.

  Maybe she didn’t exactly deserve this flower after all, though he kept holding it. Simon glanced at his childhood friend and loosened his grip as he began to realize where they were.

  Why here? Simon wondered when he looked up at the impossibly tall monster. Why did she lead me here, to River Mountain?

  Much to Simon’s distaste, this mountain was Arcadia’s tallest and most infamous summit. Located only a valley away from their hometown of Appia, the fearsome mountain was named after the many rivers running around it like a natural moat. Few climbers ever tested their luck and tried to scale this monstrous beast, and scarcely any came back down.

  Sweat began to form
on his hands and he stole a glance behind him. Maybe he still had a chance to run.

  Cynthia turned back to him and smiled, eagerly announcing, “Let’s go!”

  He was about to protest again, but Cynthia had fastened her hand to his, forcing him to climb the mountain with her. He tried to back away, but her grip became tighter and he looked at her with terrified eyes.

  She noticed his expression, and, if only for an instant, it matched her own, but all she said was, “Don’t worry about it! I’ll get you up there if it’s the last thing I do!” She smiled back at him. He returned her smile and she started to search the rock for handholds. He put the light blue flower back in his pocket and took hold of the scraggly, rough rock of the steely beast.

  Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

  As they scaled the perilous mountain, Simon began to think about what a rough time Cynthia had given him about climbing. It had been a couple of weeks earlier when she’d dragged him out of bed at the brink of dawn for a “Climbing Lesson.”

  “First step: Do not fall!” she had called out like a drill sergeant.

  Simon tried not to laugh at her.

  Well, that’s obvious.

  “Step two: Grab—” the voice stopped abruptly and Simon looked up. There she was, silently glaring at him, an antique fan in her right hand. His eyes widened as he wondered where exactly she got a fan. This became a matter of no importance when Cynthia began to chase him around, whacking him on the head with it.

  “Pay attention!” she ordered him.

  Though Simon began to pay attention after that, he couldn’t help but chuckle every time Cynthia started another “step” of their lesson.

  Several times Simon hung precariously from the cliffside with only his own arms to support him. If someone had asked him only days earlier to climb River Mountain, he would’ve laughed at that person, but today was different. Somehow, Simon knew that he could carry on and reach the summit. The rugged, weather-beaten handholds of the cliffs weren’t about to faze him now. Simon continued towards the top.

  “Simon!” She shook his shoulder.