by Huss, JA
I smile a little. I can’t help it. It was fun. “Go away.”
“It was fun, you know it was.”
Then I frown. Because reality is suddenly slapping my face.
“What’s that look for?”
I look at Maart and sigh. “It’s over now. So who cares?”
He smacks my ass. “It’s not over ‘till it’s over. And we’ve got a five-hour boat ride back home. Make the most of it.”
I sneer at him, wondering what he’s implying. But he doesn’t bother to answer me. Just walks over to the edge of the container and jumps down. I pull my shirt and shorts on, then walk over to the edge too. He’s got his hand out.
“Take it,” he says. “I got you.”
And even though I don’t think his hand is gonna help break my landing when I jump, it actually does.
He gloats at me.
“Stop rubbing it in,” I say.
“What am I rubbing in?”
“The fact that this is the first day of the rest of your life.”
“Everyone’s first day.”
“Not mine.”
“Stick with me, Anya. You’ll see.”
I don’t know what that means, so I just ignore him and take my shower. I can hear lots of things going on down on the training platform, but I tune it out as I will my headache to go away.
When I go downstairs, I am surprised to find every bit of equipment put away in the containers. It looks like the first day I arrived here on the Rock four months ago and this is when the reality of my situation really sinks in.
It’s over.
My life with these people is over.
I suddenly understand what it might feel like to fight for your life on the mat. Waking up that morning knowing you might only have hours left to live.
But there’s one major difference.
They have a chance.
And I don’t.
The boat is actually very nice and has a cafeteria. Most of the kids stay on the deck, signing, and laughing, and playing their slapping games.
Ainsey is attached to Cort’s hip and even though I know Maart hates this, he doesn’t even shoot Cort a scowl. Just lets it go.
If Cort leaves his base camp today—and he will. I mean, why the fuck wouldn’t he?—then this is his last day with Ainsey.
I don’t bother him and he doesn’t come over to me, either. In fact, Maart is the one who hangs out with me all day as the ship crawls its way up the coastline of South America.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask him. We’re sitting on the deck, our backs propped up against some cargo hold, just watching the scenery go by.
“It’s a little village southeast of São Luís in Maranhão.”
“No idea where that is.”
“Brazil.”
I make a little o with my mouth. “So why are you hanging out with me today?”
“We’re sticking together.”
“Are we?”
“We are.”
“What’s that mean, exactly?”
“You’ll find out.”
My stomach does a little flip at these last words. But I don’t want to press him. I don’t really understand Maart. There are times—plenty of times, actually—when I think he’s on my side. But the few times when I think he’s out to get me just wipe all those positive thoughts away.
He’s… sorta terrifying. And not in the same way as Cort. I’m not saying Cort is dumb. Nothing about him leads me to believe he’s just some dumb, low-IQ fighter. But he doesn’t have that cunning look to him the way Maart does.
He’s not calculating, and Maart is.
I don’t know why Maart is in such a good mood. It might be because I’m finally gonna be out of his life. But I don’t care. I’m not in a good mood at all. I don’t want to be on this ship. I don’t want to go to their village. I want to stay on the Rock and never leave. Just—collect rainwater and fish for food. Train all day and lie under the stars at night.
I’m never going to have a life as good as that again.
Snap out of it, Anya. Survivors do not dwell on the things they have lost.
And it’s very clear that Cort is clinging to Ainsey today in order to avoid thinking about me.
Or, hell, who am I kidding? He gives no fucks about me at all. I am just a pretty girl he got stuck with. He made the most of it, and that’s all it was.
This… is even more depressing. So I put all of it out of my mind and head down to the mess hall to eat my last meal. That’s what it feels like, anyway.
I didn’t eat much last night. We were too busy drinking—and fucking—to take part in the massive feast that the kids had. And this morning I was a little hungover, so I didn’t have breakfast. But now it’s nearly lunchtime and I’m famished. I ask for all the things in the food line. A grilled cheese, a cup of strawberries, two chocolate milks, a side of French fries, a green salad with ranch, and two bags of nuts to keep for later, just in case I’m in a situation where a bag of nuts saves my life.
But all too soon it is clear that we have arrived. And when I go up on deck I see that the ship is maneuvering sideways up against a large concrete dock. I look around, taking it all in.
Except for the dock, there is nothing here. Just a sheer cliff wall, the water below—the dark color indicating that it is deep and there is no beach down there—and then beyond the rock is a canopy of tall jungle trees.
Brazil. Not much different than other jungle places I’ve been.
Monkeys and birds chatter and squeal in the thick foliage as a gangplank is put in place so we can disembark. But even after it’s firmly in place, no one moves to get off the boat.
I walk up next to Maart. He’s leaning against a railing, watching Cort talk to the ship captain. Rainer is talking too, but his words are directed at the kids. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a ritual.”
“What kind of ritual?”
“Going-home ritual.” He says this like everyone knows what a going-home ritual is.
“What’s it entail?”
He beams a smile at me. “Watch. And you’ll see.”
A few minutes later Cort is the first to leave the ship. He walks down the gangplank and then continues down the dock until he is standing on a large flat rock. He puts a hand up, whistles, and then Rainer walks Ainsey up to the gangplank and gives her a little push.
Ainsey doesn’t need that push. She runs down that gangplank. She runs all the way to Cort.
Maart clicks his tongue next to me. But he doesn’t elaborate on that noise, so I’m left to assume what it might mean. I know he’s frustrated with Cort’s attachment to Ainsey. We all know that. But what does he expect Cort to do? She’s his child. And today he will be leaving her behind.
Cort bends down as Ainsey approaches. He puts up both hands, palms forward, and Ainsey punches them, like she’s on the mat back at the Rock.
Cort laughs. I can’t really hear him, he’s too far away, but I know what it looks like from a distance.
Then I see Ainsey’s lips moving. “Is she talking?”
“Yep. They get to talk again. And their first words belong to Cort.”
Ainsey must have a lot to say because she talks, and talks, and talks. Cort laughs and smiles like she is the light of his life. But finally, he nods at her and points to the trees behind him.
Ainsey nods back and then, without any more discussion, she disappears into the jungle.
“Where’s she going?” I absently ask Maart.
“Home,” he says. “She’s going home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY - CORT
Ainsey’s voice is sweet, so sweet, when she finally speaks to me.
“I did it!”
“You did it,” I agree. I’m kneeling down so we’re eye level. I put my hands up and she automatically begins to punch them.
“I didn’t speak at all,” she adds.
“I know,” I say, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m proud of you.”
&
nbsp; “I’m so big now, right?”
My heart has never felt sicker. But I rally and smile. “Yep. You’re big now, Ains.”
She keeps talking now. Like she’s got piles and piles of words collected up inside her that need to come out. She tells me about her time on the Rock. Just certain moments of it that were important to her, I guess. And then, finally, she lets out a long breath and goes silent again.
“Are you ready to go back home?” I ask her.
Her gaze wanders to the jungle behind me. She nods, and signs, and speaks all at the same time. And my sick heart melts into a big old goopy mess. “Yep. Yes. I’m ready.”
“OK. Off you go then. Go find Cintia. OK? She’s probably training. So just go find her and sit down on the mat until everyone is home. Can you do that?”
Ainsey nods. And then, without another word, she turns, walks off, and disappears into the trees.
Zoya comes next. She has stolen a book and a beaded bracelet from the game room. I eye both those things. “Do you have something to tell me, Zoya?”
She tilts her chin up, nods, and then says, “I should’ve taken more. Next time I’m taking a whole suitcase with me.”
“Is that right?” I laugh.
“Yes.” She is not laughing. She is dead serious. “Because every day is another sad fight. And if they make me fight for these sad things, then from now I will also fight for happy things.”
She spits into the dirt at her feet. Salutes me. Sidesteps. And walks off into the jungle without another word. I don’t even know where she comes up with this shit. It’s not like she’s sitting around on her ass watching TV and picking it up from old war movies.
It’s always been like this. They are always different when they leave the Rock than when they got there. And I don’t care how many times they get to do that, this is always true.
This ritual we have, these kids getting off the ship… they leave something behind out there in the ocean. They don’t even know they do this, but every single time, without fail, a Zoya gets off that boat and meets me here and my world shifts.
This is a learning moment, and a teaching moment, and in this moment, I am both student and teacher. Trying to decipher Zoya’s words and actions so I don’t lose her underlying message.
But I don’t have much time to think about Zoya and her new Zen attitude because all my kids are waiting to come ashore and speak their mind to me.
They do this one by one. Some of them have profound things to say, like Zoya. But most are just proud of themselves. Most just want to be told that I am proud of them too.
So that’s what I say. Because they are still innocent. They are just kids. And even though they all know that ugly, evil, real-life monsters are coming to get them, this is not the day to think about that. This is the day to go home and let out that long breath they didn’t think they were holding.
Jafari is the last of my students to meet me on shore. He’s at least two inches taller than he was three months ago and if this kid makes it to fifteen, he will tower above me.
I rough up his hair. “I’m proud of you, buddy. This was a great summer for you.”
He grins, tight-lipped.
“You can talk.”
He nods.
“Or you can stay silent.”
He signs, Yes, to me. And I wonder for a moment if I’m actually helping them at all or just justifying all the ways in which I am going to get them killed.
I can’t bend down to look him in the eyes the way I did Ainsey because he’s in that awkward stage of tall. So I just put both hands on his shoulders and say, “Jafari. I know that maybe you think silence is safety, but… there is no safety. You get one life, son. Just one. And you need to find the joy in each day. So if staying silent gives you joy? Hey, I’m fine with it. But if you’re doing this to test yourself or for any other reason, then I would like you to reconsider.”
He draws in a deep breath and on the exhale, he says, “OK, Cort,” and gives me a nod. Then, without ceremony—no hug, no handshake, no look over his shoulder—he walks off into the jungle.
Rainer comes next. He and I greet his kids together. He is most proud of Rasha and this lightens my heart a little. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe Rasha does have it in her to go all the way? Maybe she will be the first girl to ever make it into the Ring of Fire?
I hope so. And that hope is both sad and good at the same time.
Life is a tradeoff.
You can make it all the way and lose your soul.
Or die fighting to keep it intact.
Who is to say one is better than the other?
I am most proud of Budi. He and I have always been a little team and when he walks up to Rainer, Budi greets him with laughter and some of his original hand-slapping moves. But when he looks at me, he bows. He bows low. And he holds it there just a few seconds too long, letting me know that this is his heart speaking now. With his eyes downcast, he says, “Thank you, Cort,” in a small, low, voice.
I picture that day I first saw him in the Muay Thai camp on the other side of the world. He was a quiet, still, solemn three-year-old boy. Udulf wanted one of the loud ones. One of the showoffs. But I said no. I wanted Budi because of his smallness. Because even though his eyes saw everything, his mouth said nothing.
I wanted him because of his… gravity.
This boy has gravity. He is heavy and larger than life. He pulls things towards him and holds them close.
He is so much like Maart, my heart hurts.
But there is no time to dwell on all these thoughts running through my head right now. Soon he’s gone too and Evard is coming towards us. He bows to Rainer. Then he takes one step to the side and bows to me. He says in his small voice, “It’s not fair.”
Rainer and I look at each other, then at Evard. “What?” Rainer asks.
Evard slowly lifts his head up to look at Rainer, then pauses to peer into the jungle to see if any of the kids are hanging around to spy. Finally, he looks at me and repeats it. “It’s not fair.”
My stomach tenses because I don’t need to hear the accusation in his voice to feel it in my gut.
“What’s not fair?” Rainer asks.
Evard is still looking at me. “That I get to leave and they don’t. I think I want to—”
“Fuck you.” I cut him off before he can get those words out, the anger in my voice surprising both Evard and Rainer. Even me. “Fuck you, Evard. Don’t you say another fucking word. Do you understand me?”
He looks down at his feet. But he nods his head.
When I look over at Rainer, he’s got his lips pressed together to keep his mouth shut. I know he wants to tell me to shut up. But he holds it in as Evard walks into the jungle.
Then Maart is there. And right behind him is Irina, so thankfully, there is no time to discuss this.
Irina is, without a doubt, Maart’s current favorite. I try to think back, to recall if it was always this way, but it wasn’t. Last year she was just another girl like Rasha.
She hugs Maart tight and long. And when she pulls back, she says, “You are a dick,” in her thick Russian accent. She points her finger in his face. “You should not treat me like little sister. But I still love you.”
She shakes Rainer’s hand. It’s been a few years since he was her teacher, so those bonds have loosened over time. But with me she stops and sighs. Like she is about to lose her patience with me. She pats my chest with an air of familiarity most wouldn’t dare and leaves her palm right there, on my bare skin, over my heart. She nods her head to Maart. “He is ajarn. Fine. But you?” She huffs as she looks up at me, her blue eyes narrowing down into slits. “You are leader.”
Then she removes her hand from my heart, nods her head one time, and walks into the jungle.
“Fuck.” Maart sighs, running his fingers through his long, thick, messy hair. “This shit feels very heavy today.”
Rainer and I both look at each other, because he doesn’t know the half of it. But neither of u
s fills him in on Evard’s almost-act of defiance.
This is not the time for regrets. There is nothing else to be done. In a few minutes we’re going to walk through that jungle and then it’s all going to be over.
There is nothing to be done.
Peng comes next. Then Maeko. Then Paulo. Each of them pauses and has a small, whispered conversation with Maart. All three have tears in their eyes. They will miss him, and there’s no way to hide that.
If I am the sick heart, Maart is the cold heart. He locks people out. He doesn’t let anyone in to warm him up. He is cool, and even, and unshakable.
But today is not just any day. It is our last day. And if Irina were still here, she would pat his chest too and she would set him straight. She would say, There is no cold in there. It is nothing but fire.
I sigh and then, finally, Anya is walking off the ship. She looks nothing like the girl I met four months ago. Not even close. Her body is brown now, her skin glowing from the heat of the sun, her muscles tempered from the weeks of training, her hair wild from the rain, and the wind, and the ocean.
She is a goddess in her bare feet, and her borrowed denim shorts, and her tattered white tank top.
And even though, of all the kids that just walked off that ship, her future is the most precarious, she is smiling in a way I’ve never seen before.
She is happy.
“I just want to say”—Maart’s low, soft words tear me away from the beautiful girl walking towards us—“that if ever there was proof that what we are doing is good, she is it.”
I scoff. “How do you figure?”
Maart turns his head to look me in the eyes. “Just look at her, Cort. She is nak su. They are all nak su. We have raised warriors in this camp. We have taught them all the skills they need to survive. It’s not their fault the entire world is corrupt. It’s not their fault they are born, and live, and die in the shadows of the forgotten.” His eyes dart down to the skulls tattooed on my body, then rise back up to meet my gaze. “And it’s not our fault they were forced to fight their way into the next world. We. Raised. Warriors. Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”