Sway's Demise

by Jess Harpley

  “Really, Isla. We’re going there tonight?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Sway looked to Isla’s still fork, and full plate, then crossed her arms, “But you’re not going to eat, until I praise your god, correct?”

  “Our God, Sarah.” She leaned forward, tone full of annoyance.

  “I’m not explaining myself again. You know how I feel about this!” She stood, pushing the plate away, “Goodnight.”

  “Get back here and finish your dinner, young lady!” Isla yelled, but Sway’s anger was too great to face her with any amount of decency.

  “I’m full. Thank you for the dinner I collected from the chickens I raised, then hauled to and from the catacombs.” She slammed the door with little satisfaction.

  Why couldn’t she just leave her alone about this? It was her belief, her faith, and Sway could place it where she wanted. If she didn’t want to praise the god who caused all the suffering in the world, that was her choice! The thoughts circled through her head infinitely as she screamed into the pillow.

  Calming herself to rational thought, she pulled the bunk bed away from the wall, retrieving the exacto knife and wooden heart. She whittled at it for an hour or so, hiding it under the pillow as Dmytre came to bed.

  “She didn’t eat until almost ten minutes ago. She’s really mad.” He peeked over the top of the bunk with hazel eyes, flickering candlelight casting playful shadows on his maturing features.

  “That’s her business, not yours.”

  “Why can’t you just say Amen?” He dropped to his bunk, blowing out the candle with frustration.

  Sway rolled onto her stomach, lighting the window candle. “Because it’s one of my core values. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  He mumbled, “I understand you’re being a chickenbutt.”

  She bit her tongue with frustration, then hopped down from the bunk, and stomped to the door. “Amen,” echoed off the darkness, sounding spiteful. She vaulted back into bed, pulling out the blade and nearly smooth walnut heart.

  “Was that so hard?” he poked.

  “Dmytre, I only like to say words I mean. I just lied to Isla. I don’t want to praise her god, and that’s my business.”

  His voice quivered, “Do you hate him because he killed your parents?”

  Her teeth clenched as the blade slipped into her thumb. “He didn’t kill my parents, he allowed them to be killed. He didn’t send the Priyon, or start the war, but he let it happen. If he loves us so much, why would he allow us to suffer like this? I think it’s because there isn’t a god. No god would allow this.”

  “That’s not true. He’s teaching us.”

  The words struck her. Was he just repeating Isla, or did he believe it? Was there a lesson to be learned from all the pain? Even if there was, Sway thought she’d learned quite enough.

  “Go to bed, Dmytre.” She sucked on her sliced finger, stopping the flow of blood. Setting the heart aside, she blew out the candle and cleared her mind. She needed to be refreshed for initiation.

  Dymtre’s voice peeped in the darkness, “Sarah?”

  “What is it, runt?”

  “Will you tell me about the war again?” He pulled himself up to her bunk and she groaned.

  “No.” Facing away, she hoped he would disappear, but he lingered.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the saddest look ever. Protruded bottom lip, eyes welling with fake tears, frown plastered to his face.

  She sighed in defeat, “Fine, get up here.”

  His eyes lit with excitement as he wiggled onto the top bunk.

  “Don’t you want to read something a bit happier, or at least story driven? Like Peter Pan, or The Lord of the Rings?” He shook his head vigorously and Sway laughed, “Alright then.”

  He lit the candle on the sill, snuggling against her shoulder. She reveled in it for a moment. A little brother, something she’d never had before, but didn’t know what she’d do without.

  She pulled a small press, self bound history book from the window ledge, and flipped to the beginning of the Priyon War. Why the kid was obsessed with it, she had no idea, but it was the fastest way to get him to sleep.

  She cleared her throat, “May 7th, 2046, the Priyon colony ship crash landed in Roraima, Brazil. Within hours, military forces from Mexico, United Kingdom, United States, Russia, China, and Japan were on site, investigating the technology, despite Brazil’s protests.”

  He moaned, “Blah blah, this part is boring. Skip ahead.”

  Passing the information about how the Priyon’s parasitic offspring infested the bodies of humans, using them like communication conduits to work the peace with humans, which inevitably fell apart, she flipped the page to the start of the war.

  She mumbled, searching for what he was interested in, “November, 2047, ambassador shot, breakdown of communication, ah!” She pointed to the paragraph, “Here it is. Civilian casualties numbered in the thousands on the first day. Governments from around the world helped with the evacuation of every country in South America, but many of the inland cities were left to fend for themselves.

  “Priyon combatants were discovered in Southeast Asia as the threat continued up to Panama in the west. Canadian, United States, and Mexican forces fought together at the pinch point to stop the Priyon infestation. Unable to hold them off, the armies were extracted, and the U.S. sent in six, ten kiloton nuclear warheads.

  “A hundred thousand Priyon were eradicated in a single move, but the Priyon army seemed to be endless.” She added emphasis to the words, though he didn’t care how it was delivered. “They passed through annihilated Panama, up into Honduras, where they were nuked again. The Priyon retreated back to Brazil, and the west thought they’d won.” Dymtre yawned and she paused.

  “I’m fine, keep going.”

  “Not willing to destroy the crash site for the valuable technology it held, the Priyon threat was pursued by the United States and Canadian air forces. Meanwhile, in the east, the Priyon spread through most of China like a plague, feeding off the moist, tropical climate of Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos.”

  Sway took a deep breath, turning the page. The image of the final gathering sat atop the text, World summit on Priyon Threat and Japan’s solution.

  “The remaining leaders of the world met in Iceland to discuss further use of nuclear weapons. It was agreed if we were to have a planet remaining when the war was done, we could no longer use weapons of mass destruction. So, governments of the world threw funding into the only remaining solution, Japanese war machines,”

  “Yes,” his eyes were alight with a craze, “the robots!”

  Messing his dark brown hair playfully she returned to the text. “Seven years after the war’s start, the first Mechanical Infantry Unit, or Mew,” she pronounced the acronym and Dymtre looked to her with annoyance, “I mean M.I.U., was deployed. Upon exceeding all expectations, the M.I.U. facilities went into high production.

  “Japan deployed the units in the S.E. Asian civilian areas, against the requests of the United States and Canada, who were nearly out of resources to combat the enemy at their door. The Priyon army was resilient, but not enough. The M.I.U.s pushed them farther and farther to the coast of the South China Sea, where a second Priyon colony ship was discovered!” She gasped at him, to which he was not amused.

  Sway frowned, “If you don’t enjoy my story telling, maybe you should read it yourself.” Passing him the book his eyes bulged with fear.

  “No, I love the way you tell it. It’s fine!” His wide grin was completely fake, and also completely adorable.

  Sway’s heart melted, and she snuggled closer to him, pointing back to the text, “Ok, where was I. Second colony ship, yes. The Priyon were not as helpless as we thought, revealing their own host of aircrafts and watercrafts. They spread themselves thin to South Africa, Australia, Southeastern United States, and the Mediterranean.

  “Japanese deployment forces could no longer
keep up with the demand, enlisting many countries in assisting them. The lines between governments, military forces, and nationalities began blurring. We were humans, fighting an inhuman threat.”

  Dymtre’s breathing was even, and a peek at his eyelids revealed they were completely shut. She looked on to the rest of the text.

  The Priyon aircraft, though few, were devastating. They destroyed military bases all around the world, but by the time the human forces were subdued, the Priyon were decimated by the remaining M.I.U.s. Through the savagery of war, the M.I.U.s gained something unexpected: a consciousness, and a conscience.

  All things came to a close very suddenly. Ambassadors visited the last remaining leaders of humanity, requesting a ceasefire. The M.I.U.s retreated to scattered parts of the world, many of them ashamed of their actions, or hating humans for forcing them to fight, abusing them like tools.

  “And here we are today.” She whispered, closing the book and returning it to the makeshift window shelf. Rolling onto her stomach, she blew out the candle once again and flopped onto the pillow.

  Second of Ka, the Eighty-fourth year of D’Mjak

  I was wary to discuss until I was sure, but we’ve finally done it. This is our last push across the northern hemisphere, and the cities are falling with ease. Eighty of their planet cycles was apparently just enough to end their elders, the ones who remember the war, and make way for a generation which was not so paranoid.

  My dreams persist. However, these days, I dream of Earth skies, not Arrodaunt. I’m wondering if it all means something. The prophecies never resonated with me, you know that, but we all dream of Earth now, all the battle commanders. At least, the ones who talk cordially with me. I’m curious if that’s why Plynk left. Dreams can be so vivid, even terrifying.

  Do the Priyon dream as well, I wonder? I know, they’re said to be without thought, but what if they can? What if the dreams don’t come from the inside? What if this Paradise is trying to communicate with me?

  I have a wandering mind of late. It must be why so many battle commanders were retired from Earth. I’m hoping the end of this war will be my retirement. We’ll see. I love you, and miss you. Please don’t forget me.

  Chapter 3: Initiation

  Dawn had not yet broken, and Sway woke to Isla at her bedside, whispering gently. “Get up, sweetie, you need to eat before you head out.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are. I am too. I just,” she huffed, seeming to find it difficult to articulate, “I just don’t understand you.”

  “Teenagers, they’ll kill you.” Sway grinned and Isla chuckled.

  “I hope not. Come down for breakfast. I bartered for some sardines, your favorite.”

  She was bribing Sway back into her favor, but she’d accept it. She hadn’t tasted sardines in nearly eighteen months, and missed those smoky, salty little buggers. The way the fish bones popped in her mouth was a special treat she relished, though she didn’t know why.

  Isla turned as she reached the stairs, “Your shower is still waiting for you. I reheated the water though.” She was really bribing her.

  Sway crept out of bed, careful not to rouse Dymtre. She had no intention of sharing any of the little fishies with him. He couldn’t possibly appreciate them with the palate of an eight-year-old.

  The gray and blue Beacon suit was set out, along with a fresh towel. Her nerves surged as she looked at it. The same suit her mother had worn. The hole in the left shoulder had been patched, but the bloodstains couldn’t be lifted.

  She pulled herself away, strapping the shower shoes to her feet to tromp out for her frigid sentence. Though the air around her raised goosebumps, the shower felt fantastic. She lathered the soap quickly, then shut off the nozzle, shivers increasing.

  “Hurry, hurry,” she whispered into the early darkness. “Little fishies waiting to be devoured, and you only have a few hours. Don’t dally now, little,” she paused, “cow? Jeez, I’m bad at poetry.”

  She gave her head one more good scrub, and turned the nozzle back on, rinsing clean. Drying with even more haste than she showered, she scrambled to get the Beacon suit on and escape the freezing morning. The damp towel didn’t do much to warm her head, but kept her soaking, long black hair out of her face and off her neck. With a brief moment to take it all in, she rubbed her finger over the patch on the breast of the suit. S.Way - Initiate. Soon it would say Member.

  Stepping into the kitchen, Isla immediately pointed out at the shower, knowing Sway hadn’t dumped the runoff into the garden. She sighed, jogging back out.

  They were lucky they had a very nice greenhouse. There were several winter squash, which were almost mature, and even more blackberries. It was a shame though, Sway thought, they had to give almost their entire haul to the community storage, but that’s how the community continued to work. They all sacrificed for each other.

  Sway’s family did get to keep all of the herbs they grew, but Isla unfortunately used them for medicine. Her cooking could really benefit from the extra flavor. Yarrow wasn’t very tasty, Sway knew from an awful curious venture, but she would kill for some of the ginger and cayenne pepper.

  By the time she made it back in, her little snot of a brother was about to bite down on one of her precious fish. She snatched the plate from his hand, declaring, “Mine.”

  “Isla!”

  With a mouth full of fish, she pointed at the one in his hand, “Ou take a bide first, an if ou like it, I give ou one.”

  He shoved the whole sardine in his mouth and chomped down three times. On the fourth chomp, his brow pushed together, creases forming at the edges of his lips.

  “Don’t you dare spit that out.” Sway glared at him as he raised his hand to his mouth.

  Isla brought a hard boiled egg to the table along with two carrots and a handful of raspberries, echoing Sway’s warning, “Swallow it, Dmytre. It’s good for you. Lots of calcium for strong bones.”

  He gulped hard, then grabbed a fistful of raspberries. “You can have those nasty things. I get your egg.”

  “Oh yeah, and you have a really tough day ahead of you?” She plopped down onto her chair.

  “Not today, but one day. I need to grow big and strong so I can join Beacon, just like you.”

  She messed his hair as he beamed at her with affinity, and she stuffed the second to last fish in her mouth. “Keep dreamin’, kid.”

  She passed the plate to Isla. “Thanks, gotta go!”

  Sway’s clean boots sat next to the door, yet another bribe, and she smirked.

  “Thanks again.” She laced them up, fingers trembling with anticipation, and tossed the damp towel onto the coat rack.

  “Forgetting anything?” Isla stopped her at the door.

  She patted her suit down, feeling the exact-o knife she needed to return, the standard issue blade at her hip, the initiate badge pinned to her shirt, and said, “I don’t think so?”

  Isla flung her arms around Sway, kissing her cheek, “You’ll do great.”

  “I know.” Sway patted Isla’s back and she released her, tears forming in her eyes.

  “I’m so proud of you. You may not be blood, but you are my daughter.” Sway nodded, a lump growing in her throat. Would her own mother have said goodbye to her at the door with tears in her eyes? Would she have been proud, and smiling? Sway would never know.

  She smiled, “I love you too, Isla.”

  “Good luck!” Dmytre flapped his hand from the table, crunching down on a carrot. Sway waved back and closed the door behind her. The street was empty and calm in the early morning. Sunlight was beginning to peek over the houses, and she realized she was going to be late! With a spring in her step from the delicious breakfast, she set off at a run.

  Stopping first at the craft storage closet, she found paper clips on the table suitable for picking the lock. It opened after a few moments of flustering and fiddling, and she returned the exact-o knife to the shelf.

  Back on course for the traini
ng facility, she tried not to let nerves get the best of her, mostly to keep the fish down. There was no way she was going to waste such an expensive treat by vomiting from worry.

  The morning was, once again, dry, and the resident hunters were up early, smoking some kind of meat. Her mouth salivated at the thought of Woodland Caribou Stew, though she was already full from the fish. Just thinking of a big bowl full of potatoes, carrots, and caribou, with a fresh slice of bread slathered in creamy butter brought a pang of hunger she knew didn’t exist.

  Quickening her pace, she returned focus to the day’s undertaking. The other six initiates were filing onto the retired soccer field when she arrived. With a hop and a skip she merged seamlessly in line with them, right behind Reese.

  “Cutting it a bit close?” He whispered as they marched to attention.

  Smirking, she whispered back, “I like to be prompt.”

  “Initiates!” The cell leader, Xander Blake, addressed them and they snapped into a salute. He was a burly, twenty-something with a close-shaved head, offset strikingly by dark brown eyebrows and gold eyes. He waited for the murmuring of the crowd to die out. “Are you ready for what’s to come?”

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  He paced. “You’re not ready. Look at you all, just children.” He pushed Leandra, the oldest of the cell, and she stumbled, but returned to attention.

  “You’re scrawny.” Moving on, he gripped Eli’s bicep and shoved him menacingly. Eli faltered as well, but returned to his position, towering over Xander by several inches.

  “You’re weak!” He poked the hilt of his Bowie knife into Reese’s stomach, who grunted in pain, but stood upright still.

  Then, he stopped in front of Sway, and her heart beat with fury.

  “You’re naive.”

  She straightened with a gulp.

  “How can I teach you?” Xander’s gaze bore into her, and a cold sweat gathered in her palms, “Initiate Way, how can I teach you?”