by B.T. Lowry
The next morning, Pradah arrived before the arched entrance of the chapel. Raiyans and Ilunians shuffled in. He didn’t know if Heyo was inside. It would be better if he didn't see this.
Pradah hadn’t brought a knife in case someone searched him, but he’d long trained his body to be a weapon. The warrior’s code forbade him to fight an inferior opponent and required him to announce himself first. But this place proffered no clear path of honor. A warrior had to do the needful for himself and his people.
Pradah felt more fear now than when he'd fought trained warriors. Principles from the warrior's code battered him, tortured him. A warrior shouldn't kill innocents. A warrior shouldn't attack even the worst enemy while they're performing their worship.
He pushed through it all and stepped toward the entrance.
I'm not a warrior anymore. I'm a warrior’s ghost.
“Come to finish the job?” came a high voice on his right, a boy or a woman.
A slight figure emerged from the shadow of an awning next to the door, then limped on crutches into the daylight. It was the boy who’d been trapped under the rubble, Mata and Tinsa’s son. He was small and moved like an old man, yet he stopped Pradah with piercing green eyes.
Pradah couldn't lie to him. “I have.”
“Know how I know you're behind it?” asked the boy, raising thin eyebrows.
“You tapped into our communication?” But it couldn't be. Farmer had designed their gear to keep out the city's security forces. How could this boy have broken in?
“I’m no tech expert,” the boy confirmed. “Just a child.”
Heyo's powers were coming back. It could be the same with this boy; he was half-Raiyan after all.
“You sensed it?” said Pradah.
The boy smiled. His face was round and soft. “I can do things even the old ayurs couldn't do." There was no pride in his voice, just excitement. "I’m helping Heyo get his abilities back. My mom’s helping too, but not as much as she thinks.”
“Your mom’s practices are from her devil.”
“Mmm. She doesn’t understand. She’s proud and preachy and she doesn't really know what her religion started around... but she has sometin' real. There's but one Creator. You don't understand either but you could. Heyo does a little."
Pradah let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Something about this boy soothed him.
“You don’t speak like a child," Pradah said.
“Who’s young? We all have histories afore this life, if we can 'member them. I’ve been in your both cultures too many times!” He balanced on his crutches and looked at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. “This body here comes from both worlds, yours and theirs. Strange, isn't it?”
It was true. The boy’s green eyes were a mix of the Ilunian yellow and the Raiyan blue, his skin a tone in between.
Pradah paused before the door, somehow grateful for this obstacle. He'd carry out his mission in a moment. "Are you a priest or an ayur?" Pradah meant this in jest, but it came out sincere.
"Oh you know," The boy smiled sheepishly. "I like the Creator, but really I’m looking for peace inside, so I make it outside. I like my two parts to get along."
Pradah shuddered. He felt somehow that this boy could read his heart. “I don't want to fight," he said quietly, "I don't. But we can't have peace with them. Your mother’s people stole our land and broke our spirits."
The boy nodded sharply. “Yes, and I know why they could do it. Do you? The Raiyan ayurs got corrupted. You all talk like you're victims and everyone here's so bad, but your own people made a big mistake or you never would have come here. My father told me everything. The ayurs allowed the fall, even helped, took big bribes of power."
Pradah didn't say otherwise. He'd seen it himself. He was surprised not to be angry.
“There’s something big coming out of this," said the boy, his eyes shimmering. "The hoops of many nations are joining. These city people like the future with all their technology, forget where they come from. You all honor the past so you're like their parents. You can help them."
“You think we'll all cooperate?” Pradah demanded, but he found his fists loosening, his determination falling apart.
The boy shook his head. “Not everyone. You’re a warrior so you should keep your revolution. But don't fight my mom." He raised one eyebrow conspiratorially. "The rulers of this city are the bad ones. You want to smash them.”
Then he smiled. Beautifully, innocently. Pradah hadn't seen a smile like that since he'd left Raiya.
“And the corrupt ayurs,” said Pradah, smiling a little in return. "They're bad too."
The boy nodded in an exaggerated way like it was all a game, then looked through the archway, into the chapel. “There’s a service going now. Do you want to come in?”
Pradah paused, then took a step forward.
THE END
Outro
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