For the Clan

by Archer Kay Leah

  Roan's hand balled into a fist, crushing the canvas. For a second, she worried he might stab her with the needle.

  "You can tell me," Cayra whispered. "If I weren't involved, what would you want to have happen? What would make you happy?"

  He threw down the canvas and cord.

  "What, Cayra?" Roan spat out. "What? You want me to say I thought of him every day I was stuck in that hellhole? That I cried myself to sleep over how much I wished he was with me? That I begged to every conceivable so-called god just to see him one more time? Because I will; I'll say it a hundred times if it means you'll leave me the hell alone, you and these screwing-with-you rhetoricals."

  Roan jumped off the table. The ropes landed at his feet and the canvas slid to the ground. "What does it freaking matter what I want? I live in reality, not some pretty little world with butterflies and goddamn glittery unicorns. There's no chance for him and me, I get that. We lost everything. That's painfully obvious without you sticking your nose in and rubbing mine in it." His face reddened more as he jabbed a finger at her. "You get to keep him, that's all that matters." He threw his arms open. "I'm the loser. I get the consolation prize. I get to watch him be happy with you."

  "Why does it have to be like this with you?" Cayra yelled back. "Fine, it hurts. I'm not trying to make it worse. But why—why—does it have to be so black and white? Why can't we find something better other than you hating me and making me feel like I'm three inches fucking tall? Like it's all my fault?" She hopped off the shaking table, trying not to stomp on the canvas. "Now give me a serious freaking answer. If I wasn't a factor—if Jace came to you wanting more—what would you do? Would you want it? Would you seriously consider something more serious with him, other than just burying everything? Would you want to make up for it all?"

  "Yes!" Roan leaned towards her. "Does it make you feel any better? 'Cause it sure as hell makes me feel like shit. You think it sucks feeling three inches tall? Try feeling like a big nothing for the whole of your life then come talk to me about what I'm feeling."

  His voice cracked, his words wavering. Stray tears appeared from underneath his sunglasses, glistening on his cheek.

  This was who he really was; what he'd needed to say.

  Wasn't this the fight she was supposed to have with her husband?

  "I'm not your enemy." Cayra clasped his arm. Roan flinched but didn't pull away. "And I'm sorry for how it went down. But I'm not trying to rub your face in it. I'm trying to help."

  Roan grunted and tried to snatch his arm back. Cayra held on.

  "No, listen. The two of you—your feelings didn't die, no matter how much you felt like they should've. And now that you're back, all of those feelings are flourishing. So maybe it's just like my plants. We plant the seeds and they bring life to our horrid plastic world. Maybe if we do something about you, it'll bring you life, too. Maybe you can stop feeling like you're nothing."

  "You're not making any sense."

  Sighing, Cayra sat on the bench. She hadn't considered telling him anything about herself, other than what she had to. Now it was all she could think about. "Notice how many kids we have?"

  "What?"

  "Kids, Roan. Jace and I. How many do we have?"

  "None."

  "Exactly, and you know why?"

  Roan said nothing.

  "Me," Cayra whispered. "We've been married for ten years and nothing. God, we've tried, so hard. Then we gave up actually trying, thinking that'd work, but no." She stared at her fingers while she wrung them together. "Took me awhile to accept it, but it's my fault. Could be radiation, toxins, whatever we've eaten, for all I know. Or maybe the air I breathed when I found Deliverance wasted. Could be anything. Maybe I'm just broken."

  Silent, Roan sat on the bench beside her.

  "And Jace," she continued, "sweet, loyal Jace, he's done just about everything he could to make it easier. I told him to just sleep with some other woman, have a couple kids, keep the clan healthy. That's part of who we are. We need new blood to keep the clans alive. And part of his job is to make sure that happens. But he doesn't. He refuses every time." Cayra swallowed uneasily, recalling the discussions. Most of them had ended in her crying. "Says he loves me too much."

  "You're lucky," Roan murmured. "Other women would kill to have that devotion."

  "I know, and it's killing me. I love him just as much. I want him to be happy; really, genuinely happy. We wanted a family, kids running around, doing foolish things. It's really hard for me to admit to anyone—let alone myself—that I can't give him that. But this, this I can do for him."

  "Do what?"

  The words came easier than she expected. "Let you two happen."

  "What?"

  "I won't stand in your way. I won't lie and pretend to be a jealous wife. I'll stand aside and let you have your relationship." Cayra watched the green stalks swaying in the field. "If you make him happy like I want him to be, then fine. I'd rather have him happy with that little spark you flare up in him than wasting the potential with me alone. If we can't have the family we want, the least I can do is give him something else. He's made it clear he won't leave me, and I'm not leaving him. So maybe it isn't about leaving. Maybe it's about adding."

  "I don't think—"

  Her mind made up, Cayra stood. "Like I said, I'm not your enemy. I really am just trying to help. And my husband's welfare is my business." She offered the canvas to him as if it were a white flag of truce. "Thanks for the talk."

  Cayra released the canvas into his grasp and walked away, wrapping her arms around her for self-assurance. Her marriage was loving, secure, safe, and a comfort she'd sought refuge in for a decade. Never had Jace failed to support her or offer her anything and everything she needed. But they'd always been friends first. That hadn't changed, no matter how many marriage vows there were. This was the time to keep up her end.

  This was where being his wife mattered most.

  05

  Why couldn't she have left it alone?

  From the safety of his tent, Roan watched Cayra work her way through the camp with a wicker basket, green leaves cascading over the brim. She stopped at each tent, offering the inhabitants bundled herbs she'd cut fresh from the gardens that morning.

  Cayra had yet to visit his tent to show him the same courtesy. He hoped she wouldn't, that she would pass him by as if he didn't exist. That she would ignore him, for all their sakes. The situation was already complicated enough, and she'd teased more honesty from him than he wanted. They didn't have to be friends or even exchange pleasantries. He was just some guy taking refuge. She didn't need to do a damn thing for him or pretend she wanted to.

  Settled on the end of his bed, Roan focused on the worn food sack in his hands, determined to fix the holes before it became useless. To his relief, there were a lot of things in the camp that required mending. It was one of the only things he could do to waste time. In some ways, fixing torn fabric comforted him, reminding him of being a child, proud to contribute to the clan despite how meagre using a needle and thread could be. It had been something to give, showing he was part of their family group. It had made him feel as though he belonged.

  In other ways, it made him sick. There were moments when being back in his room in the Mire-Leeds facility would've been better. He didn't know how to act around the people of the clan. Everything he wanted to say came out wrong, but they chastised him for his silence. Any time he wanted to help, he was intimidated by their stares, knowing their expectations were higher than he could meet. Except for those who expected him to fail, and he hated the idea of failing.

  And whenever someone started asking personal questions, he shut down. If he didn't, he'd only yell at them, acting like the monster they believed him to be.

  His personal feelings were none of their business.

  Neither was his broken heart.

  "Damn it," Roan muttered, flinging the bag across the bed. Cayra's words haunted him, stealing his focus. He'd let her see him
vulnerable. Now the sting of her mind games seeped between his thoughts, making the last four days worse than the few before. As much as he didn't hate her, he wanted to. While she had every right to approach him about Jace, she could've just as easily let it be. She could've thrown herself at Jace whenever they were in Roan's company just to make sure he understood Jace was off limits. The effect would've been the same.

  Instead, she had wanted to talk.

  And what good did it do? None. Jace hasn't talked to me since. So much for helping.

  At this rate, staying was going to break him faster than the governtary.

  It could do even worse: it could actually kill me. Maybe I'll make it easy. Just put the muzzle to my head and get her to pull the trigger. She's already kind of doing it.

  He needed to disappear.

  Roan pulled on his thin leather gloves before pulling his pocketknife out of the clothesbasket. Reminded of his bulletproof vest and collared shirt, he considered taking everything and leaving completely. Retrieving his pistol and JK00 wouldn't be difficult. They were stored in the weapons tent with the rest and, given his good behaviour, he was allowed access to them.

  And go where? Sure, I'll just walk around in uniform. That'll keep me alive out here for all of thirty minutes. He shoved the knife in his lower right pocket. What would be the point in leaving? There was no refuge from his refuge. And I am not going back. I'm miserable, not stupid.

  At least this brand of torture didn't include wires shoved into his brain. At least he had the right to make decisions.

  The river, Roan decided instead. Quiet time spent by the river was a better choice than running away and getting caught. He hadn't been there on his own yet. No time better than now to test my freedom.

  Tromping through the camp then the field towards the trees in the south, he was content with the silence following him. The less he explained himself, the better. No one in the clan would've wanted to know the truth—and he'd promised not to start trouble.

  The moment he stepped into the forest, Roan felt as if he could breathe for the first time in weeks. Since being thrust into the camp, he'd struggled to get his bearings. After removing his sunglasses, he studied the full canopy, taking in the lush green hues. The intermittent chirps of birds among the rustling leaves stirred memories he hadn't revisited for years. How many months had he spent on the run with his mother, Anna? How many woods had they trekked through, begging the clans for food and shelter? They had fled from the Guelph Expanse so quickly, his head still spun just thinking about it. In a matter of an hour, they had gone from a family trying to survive in a metropolis to refugees backpacking just to hold on to a measure of freedom. All those years his mother had worked her hands raw as a short-order cook and night janitor in a corporate building had crashed into nothing.

  Vivid memories plagued him, taunting him with the panic of his six-year-old self. He'd tried a thousand times to forget the morning his mother had come home, interrupting his homeschooling with Jeanette, a Ven sympathizer. Anna and her coworker, Miriem, had hurried through the tiny apartment like lightning, gathering parkas and stuffed hiking packs that served as survival kits with rope, water, dehydrated rations, and whatever else his mother had acquired. Between frustrated cries, Roan had caught snippets of explanation. Someone at his mother's work had seen her cleaning the coloured contacts she used to hide her red irises and reported her to a governtary recruiter. "We have to run, to keep ahead of the governtary," his mother had told him, ushering him into the backseat of Miriem's small car and hiding him between their packs.

  The last time he had seen Miriem, he'd waved at her from the hidden tear in the metal fence that formed the outer barrier of the metropolis. He'd barely finished yelling goodbye before his mother had gripped his hand and pulled him into a run. The running continued even when they were taken in by clans who had taken pity on them. Four clans, each with food to spare and a soft place to rest. Comfort that never lasted longer than three months.

  "So we don't overstay our welcome or cause trouble," Anna had said. Trouble he hadn't understood until he was old enough to experience the terror and misery from being captured.

  How many times had his deadbeat father, Dominic, thought of them, wondering if they were dead or alive after abandoning them? How many times had he lied to the governtary, denying he had sexual relations with a Ven? Dominic Gordon, fancy financial consultant and complete douche, treating my mother like a novelty item. Thanks for choosing reputation over people, asshole. It's only fun until someone gets knocked up.

  Being human was hard enough on anyone. War had ravaged the planet. Around the same time, the world had followed North America into financial hell in the sinking ship they'd built from illusions. The only thing Canada retained was a government in an identity crisis. Blurred lines between parliament officials and military had more than earned the name "governtary". Democracy was dead; military state was king.

  Yet the clans fared almost no better. Their fractured system survived off of scraps, scrounging from contaminated land and bartering away half of what they owned to protect themselves from the governtary and each other.

  Of it all, being the other type of human made life unbearable.

  Vens walked, spoke, and did everything the same way as everyone else. It was the fact they did things no one else could that terrified people and turned Vens into targets. Magic was a powerful tool no one understood.

  Once upon a time, no one had magic, he remembered his mother telling him. We were all alike, all as one. Our skin was different, but we all bled the same. We were limited in the same ways. Then suddenly, there came a chemical spill, and it did funny things. Not all people were the same. Some could make amazing things happen with their hands and minds, changing matter and energy from one form to another. Their powers grew and passed onto their little ones. Their irises blazed red and black. Their fingerprints disappeared, and they could feel things no one else did. From these courageous souls, a new species of human was born.

  A species the governtary collected and controlled, as if Vens were insects they could mount in stifling boxes.

  Roan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The familiar headache in his frontal lobe was returning. He breathed in the thick fragrance of the pine trees. This was supposed to be relaxing, not finding new reasons to hate everything about the world.

  In the open green space between one wood and the next, he stopped at the river and dipped his fingers in the warm water. Time and human interference had taken their toll on the Thames, leaving the river to its current state. A little more than twenty feet across, the clear water looked waist-deep from where he stood on the gradually declining bank. Slow and quiet except for the occasional gurgle to his left, the water flowed over the rocky riverbed towards the wide bend towards his right. Trees with low-hanging, leaf-heavy branches stood in clumps on both sides of the river, their gnarled roots jutting out from the parts of the bank above water. In the past, the river would've been wider, grander, but the fact it still existed was enough. This was as much a paradise as anything could be after the Water Wars, and he'd heard clans had killed for access to such places.

  For him, it was the place to wash away what dark thoughts he could shake loose.

  Roan threw his glasses to the scraggly grass, then his gloves, boots, and socks. He sat on the edge of the riverbank and turned up his pant legs before dangling his feet in the water half a foot below. The last time he'd been lucky enough to savour such a moment was weeks before being taken from Clan Teach. At the time, he hadn't realized how much simple pleasures mattered. How much they were a luxury.

  Why did it have to take losing everything to realize how fragile the small things were?

  "Hey, would you stop polluting the water supply? Are you trying to start the next war or something?"

  Jace's voice was louder than Roan would've expected. Roan scrambled to stand.

  With both hands up, Jace stopped at Roan's side. "No. Stay. I'm just kidding. You
can do whatever you want." Jace stared at the woods on the other side of the river. "Actually, I might just join you," he said, removing his heavy boots and tossing them aside before sitting beside Roan.

  "So now you're following me?"

  Jace shrugged, circling his feet in the water. "I was bored. Told the sentries I was going to check up on you. They noticed you'd left."

  "More than you did," Roan muttered.

  Jace hung his head. "No, I noticed."

  "While you were ignoring me."

  "I wasn't—" Jace growled softly. "I've just had things on my mind. I didn't know what to say. These last few days have been… weird. I had to wrap my head around it."

  "Have you now?"

  "A little. Kind of. I guess."

  "And now you want to talk."

  "Something like that."

  Roan's legs went still in the water. He didn't want to hear it. Whatever it was, he wanted Jace to keep it to himself. This was supposed to be his space to recollect any measure of peace he could, not be reminded of everything he'd lost and wouldn't ever have.

  "Roan, look at me."

  Jace's soft tone worried Roan. Focused on Jace's eyes, Roan waited to hear something he already knew.

  In the weighted silence, Jace leaned into Roan. Their lips met in a gentle touch, Jace's bottom lip grazing Roan's as Jace hesitated and took a shallow breath. Tilting his head back, Jace drew Roan's lips fully to his, exhaling while their mouths fumbled through the motions.

  Afraid to breathe, Roan pressed his lips harder to Jace's, taking in Jace's breath as his own. Deep down, he felt as if his insides tangled, yanking on his desire and coiling it around his gut. This couldn't be happening.

  It shouldn't.

  "Wait." Roan pushed Jace back. "What is this? We already talked about this."

  "I know." Jace leaned his forehead against Roan's. "Then Cayra happened."

  "What did she say?" Roan asked hoarsely.

  "That we shouldn't be idiots and bury everything. She wants us to be together and see what happens."