by Sarah Chorn
It wasn’t, and Vadden knew that. Kabir and Amiti secretly provisioned fleeing peasants who were hoping to make it to the Red Desert, at great risk to themselves.
“You sound so fatalistic,” Vadden murmured. This time a tear did escape, sliding down his cheek. Incredible how much pain could be packed into one small drop of water, an entire lifetime of it. He felt hollowed out. “I wish you’d reconsider.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, my brother,” Amiti whispered, clasping Vadden’s hands in his own. “We’ve been together a long time, old friend.”
The silence that followed was heavy and full of meaning, padded with memory, affection, and unspoken words. One more farewell in a world that was full of them. This was Eyad’s true crime. It wasn’t the starvation, the mass deaths, or the irreversible destruction of culture. It was this merciless march of goodbyes, each one harder and more final than the last.
“One more thing, Vadden,” Amiti said softly, almost as an afterthought. “This issue between you and Eyad…”
“It won’t affect anything,” Vadden bit out the lie.
“Do you even know what you’re doing anymore? Or are you just running around, risking lives in an attempt to thumb your nose at the Premier? Seeing how far he’ll let you go before he snaps?”
“Of course I know what I’m doing,” Vadden hissed.
He always knew. The knowledge froze his blood. The memory of that night, the absolute glee he’d seen on Eyad’s face while he thrust his knife into that infant’s chest, had branded itself on Vadden’s soul. Eyad had always had a cruel streak, but that night he’d seen how easy it was for his husband to give in to it, and how much he loved doing just that. That had changed everything. That was the first time Vadden had seen Eyad for who and what he truly was.
He’d run into the night to escape the horror he’d witnessed, hoping his power-drunk husband wouldn’t follow him, and spent the years trying to help where he could, to right the wrong he’d helped commit. He’d broken people out of forced labor camps, stole grain from state convoys and gave it back to the starving. He had taken money from officials a few times. He’d framed corrupt commissars, helped sneak peasants across the border to the Red Desert, reunited families, and started secret counter-revolutionary action groups in communities all over the Sunset Lands, with varying levels of success. Eventually Neryan had joined him, thrown his weight to Vadden’s cause with gusto.
Vadden’s hands were stained red with his sins. He was not innocent. His knife had taken a life that night as well. They’d planned the event together. In his naiveté he’d never expected Eyad to turn into what he was now, nor to change the land in these ways. In his cowardice, he’d decided to run rather than stay and face the truth of what they’d done. The goal had been to throw off the oppressor’s yoke, not trade one form of slavery for another.
“I know what I am doing, Amiti,” he repeated, only partially certain he was telling the truth.
“Vadden, you can’t undo yesterday,” his friend replied evenly. “Whatever happened between you and Eyad, it’s over. My advice, and this might be my last bit of it, is to stop living with one foot in the past.”
His words were wise, and so easily true for just about any other situation, but Vadden couldn’t let it go. He was guilty and had to rectify that. He’d helped turn the Sunset Lands into a place steeped in fear, drenched in want.
Amiti shook his head, letting his dreadlocks fall around his face, smothering the pain he felt with shadow. “I know your history with Eyad is complex and painful, but I worry that you’re running toward whatever is haunting you, rather than away, and you’re taking innocent bystanders with you.”
“Amiti—” His friend’s name had all the pain he’d ever felt poured into it. It slipped past his lips and fell between them like an avalanche of regret. “This isn’t something I can run toward, or away from. My past is why all of this is happening. One day there will be a reckoning. Until then, I need to keep Neryan, Seraphina, and Mouse safe. I wish you’d come with us.”
“I’m sorry,” Amiti whispered, pulling Vadden in close. “I’m so sorry. I wish… I wish everything were different. I wish we’d met in another time, another place, that we could sit around the fire and laugh like friends, living as though tomorrow was a promise rather than a threat. I am so full of wishes, my brother, I feel as though I am swimming in them.”
He paused, pulled back, put space between them. “I can see my end coming at me as surely as the sun rises in the morning. We won’t see each other again.”
“Don’t say that,” Vadden said, not bothering to hide his tears.
“We both know it,” Amiti said. “Soon they’ll arrest me for being a subversive and I will go to one of their camps and that will be the end of me. Don’t be sorry. I knew this would be my end as soon as I met you, and I walked toward it willingly.”
“Other people will feed the refugees you sneak food to, Amiti,” Vadden said. Amiti had the grace to look startled that Vadden knew this detail about his business. “Someone else will surely take up your cause if you go. You don’t need to stay here and risk capture and possibly death so a few more people can have one more small meal on their way to the border. Let someone who doesn’t have as much risk hanging over them do it.”
“I can’t,” Amiti whispered. “They trust me. There’s no other waystation west of here. This is the last chance many of these people have to get food. I can’t just leave, Vadden. I am needed here.”
“I should go,” Vadden whispered. There was nothing else to say.
“Yes, you should,” breathed Amiti. “Go to the cabin in the woods. Let Seraphina rest there before you make your next move. There isn’t much food in it, just potatoes and maybe some dried apples, but it’s better than nothing. Better than what most people have.”
“Thank you.”
Vadden left then, turned his back on his friend, the man who had been with him for ten years, and walked into the common room. He met Kabir’s sad, knowing eyes, and abruptly couldn’t handle it anymore, couldn’t handle one more goodbye. He turned on his heel and stomped out the back of the inn, through the small kitchen garden, past the empty stables, emerging in a field that ran between Amiti’s property and the forest beyond. He fell to his knees in the dry grass, painted silver by the brush of the moon, and howled his pain into the night, flinging his fury at the stars until he had no voice left with which to cry.
Until his strength was gone, and he was nothing but a broken man shouting at a moon that didn’t care.
“Damn you, Eyad,” he hissed.
“Vadden?” Mouse’s voice broke through his pain, forced him to pull himself back together and calm down. “Are you okay?”
“We have to leave,” he whispered.
“Amiti and Kabir?”
“Aren’t coming. We have to go and… we’re leaving them behind.”
“Oh,” she replied. He heard her sniffle, saw her wipe away a tear, and then there was nothing but silence while they both glared at the night.
Amiti
They’d left a week ago, just walked out of his life the same way they’d walked into it, with a clatter of boots and bodies in motion. The door closed behind them, and since then Amiti and Kabir had been with each other, locked in with their thoughts, and alone despite their company.
Waiting.
This was that horrible span of time where waiting was all they could do. They were waiting for something to happen, for someone to arrive and end their misery, for something in the delicate balance that had become their lives to move in any direction. Man wasn’t meant to stand still. This was its own form of torture. The future hung over them like an omen, sharp as the edge of a blade, framed by a hangman’s noose. The unknown and the anticipation were uninvited guests sitting between them. It was worse than anything he’d ever felt before.
They only had a small amount of food left. They were nearly scraping the bottom of the barrel to keep themselves alive, and even that was b
arely enough. Neither of them was sleeping, just holding each other through the night, wondering if this might be the last time they’d get to do that. Then, the next day would roll past like a thunderstorm with no rain, and he’d feel almost angry. What were they waiting for, all those guards and secret police that kept walking past?
They could leave, but neither of them wanted to. The inn had brought them together, lifted them up, made them who they were. It had given them a prosperous, comfortable life, despite the struggles all around them. They would rise and fall with it, a show of loyalty to the business that had done so much for them.
More than that, they needed to stay to help those around them. Kabir and Amiti worked hard gathering supplies, bartering for food where they could, hoarding their rations; so those peasants who traveled by on the road or snuck through the woods behind their property, desperate to leave the Sunset Lands behind, had a chance of succeeding. Their inn had become an underground waystation for the hopeless; for those who would die if they stayed, or die if they were caught leaving.
If they left, those people would have nothing. No safe haven, no waystation, and no food.
They’d have no chance.
But the inn was empty now. Bereft of sound, haunted by the ghosts of happier times; days when the common room was so full people ate and drank standing up. Nights when the muses blew through, leaving songs and dreams behind them like daffodils in spring.
It had been a good life. A happy life. A well-lived life.
Behind him, Kabir was banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. They had next to nothing to cook but the familiar sound was comforting, and Amiti appreciated the effort. He held a rag in his hands, stained by use, and ran it across the already clean countertops, memorizing each pit, each mark, each scar and whorl in the wood; stories worked into the worn surface for those who knew how to listen.
Somehow, he’d known the minute he’d met Vadden that he carried his end with him, but despite that, he’d believed in him. More than that, he’d liked him. Vadden had never asked for more than Amiti had been willing to give. Just some information here and there. Nothing too dangerous. How had everything gotten so tangled?
Suddenly, Kabir’s firm hand rested on his shoulder, forcing Amiti out of his brooding. He hadn’t noticed his husband come into the common room, hadn’t heard him stop working in the kitchen. He’d been so lost, he might as well have not been present.
“It’ll be okay,” Kabir whispered. Amiti heard the lie in those three words and let it cower between them like a kicked dog. “We’ll get through this. One way or the other, we will get through this. We’ve been through rough patches before, and we’ve always made it. This is no different.”
Kabir was always so positive, that was one thing Amiti loved about him. Kabir balanced him out. He was the light to his dark, the levity to his solemn nature. No one would ever have guessed that it was Kabir who was the revolutionary, or that it was Kabir who had pushed Amiti to help Vadden. It was Kabir who suggested they start acting as a funnel for certain kinds of information, and start sneaking food to fleeing peasants.
He had been so upset when Premier Eyad had banned all religions. On reflection, Amiti realized the night they were forced to take the alter of the Three from their back room and burn it in front of watching guards, earth talents who were prepared to pull it into the ground if they hadn’t put it to blaze, was the night Kabir broke. That was when he realized his revolutionary core. He could give up a lot, but giving up his culture and belief was one step too far.
Amiti wove his fingers through his husband’s, gaining support from his strength, his stoic calm and hope in the face of so much looming darkness. “Do you think Vadden is okay?” He asked.
“He has to be. They are a week out, probably comfortable in that cabin by now, planning their next move.”
“I wish he’d stop running and start living. He won’t listen to me,” Amiti muttered. “Won’t put the past to bed.”
“Some people carry burdens that are too heavy to put down,” Kabir replied, his voice a calming whisper.
Silence pulsed like a heartbeat, and that’s when he heard the sounds of men and horses and shouting outside. Booted feet and people with dark, resilient purpose.
This was it.
This was his fate greeting him. This was the inevitable ruin he’d chosen when he’d met Vadden and decided to foster the young, screwed up lad rather than send him on his way. He was shocked at the buzz of excitement he felt, the tingling, pulsing surge of energy that was flooding him. Adrenaline was mixing and merging into a chaotic mélange that demanded action. Any action. He couldn’t just stand there, hands on the countertop, while men approached from outside. It wasn’t in his nature to wait for things to happen to him.
He ate up the distance between the counter and the front door with three large steps, and flung it open. Surprised soldiers in the livery of the Premier stood on the other side—seven of them—all young and well-fed by the looks of them, four wind talents and two nulls. Their eyes were hard and cold, ready for a fight. They’d come with a wagon, so at least they weren’t planning on killing the two of them on the spot.
“Kabir, go cook up the last of the ham.”
“Why?” his husband asked, baffled.
“Just do it,” Amiti ground out over his shoulder. Kabir shrugged and made his way into the kitchen. A few minutes later, smoke billowed from the chimney and the smell of sizzling meat filled the inn. Amiti turned his attention back to the soldiers, and called out in his loudest, most jovial tone, “May I interest you fine soldiers in some meat and ale?”
“Sir,” their leader began. He was a tad older than Amiti, with hair going gray at his temples and a chest puffed out with self-importance. “We aren’t here to carouse—”
“Yes, I know, but the day is fading, and doubtless you gentlemen have been on the road for most of it, working hard for our Premier.” He was really laying it on thick, but that was okay. “Have a meal, eat your fill and arrest us after.”
For a moment no one moved. This was obviously not part of the plan, but a career as an innkeeper had taught him how to spot a hungry man, and hungry men are easily led by the promise of food.
“If you try to run,” the captain growled, pushing past him, “we will find you, and we will kill you.”
Half an hour later, everyone sat eating the last of the food in the inn. The place was barren, but it was good to have the smell of cooked meat perfuming the air, and the sound of laughter echoing against the walls.
“This won’t get us to let you go,” said the captain, Anatoly. He was more relaxed now, his men laughing and boisterous, spirits lifted, happiness filling the inn along with bodies. “This won’t get us to look upon you favorably. If this is a bribe, it will not work.”
“I know,” Amiti answered honestly.
“We came here on direct orders from the Premier. He gave them to me personally. He wanted me to come arrest you and your husband,” he jabbed a finger at Kabir for emphasis. Kabir’s eyes widened but Amiti gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Apparently he believes you’ve been harboring some subversives.”
Amiti laughed and waved a hand in the air. “They moved on a week ago.”
It was too late to hide anything now, so why try?
“Figured as much,” Anatoly replied with a shrug. “Do you have more ale?”
“No sir, you and yours are eating and drinking the last of our stores. I apologize.”
He let out a long, low sigh. “This country is drying up, isn’t it? Should be winter outside, but it’s so hot we can’t even wear our lightest coats. When was the last time we had a storm? A year ago, at least. Right now, I should be pushing through snow knee deep but…” Another sigh. He fixed his eyes on Amiti. “Why did you do this? Why feed us? Why invite us in? What was the point?” As though kindness was a snake, and he expected it to bite him any minute; and didn’t that say more about the Sunset Lands than anything Amiti could
have put into words?
“I wanted to hear my inn full of laughter and life one last time,” Amiti heard himself say, his hands rubbing the countertop he’d propped his elbows on for so many nights, over so many years. He realized then that this had been his way of saying goodbye to his old life, before he had to enter his new one.
Their eyes met, enemies finding neutral ground, two men who were about to do something neither of them wanted to. People with no way out.
“We should go. We have a long distance ahead of us.”
“Kabir,” Amiti whispered, reaching for his hand. They were both shaking now, the full weight of the moment falling on them, heavy as the universe itself. The soldiers stood up, ready to do what they came to do.
“I’m here, husband. I will always be here.” Kabir’s deep voice washed over him, and Amiti closed his eyes. Closed them against what was happening. Closed them against the unknown.
Just closed them.
He breathed deep, memorizing the smells. Hearing the memories, saying goodbye to his home, to everything that made him who he was. “We won’t come back here, will we?”
“No, sir. We have orders to burn it down.”
He winced. Oh, that hurt. That cut him deep. That would leave a wound that there’d be no recovering from.
“Where are we going?” Kabir asked.
“The forced labor camp, Slotskaya,” Anatoly replied. One simple word that held both hell and creation itself in it. Slotskaya was a notorious mining pit up in the northern Ox Mountains where almost no one survived. Those who went in, never came out.
“Oh,” Amiti said. He pulled air in, forced it to fill his lungs. This was all too real. Acute agony seared him. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, Premier Eyad really has it out for you two.” Anatoly clapped him on the shoulder as though he hadn’t just ruined Amiti’s life.
Everything in him stilled.
Waiting.
Waiting for his soul to shatter. For the sound of breaking glass to fill his ears like a lamentation. Sometimes that quiet space between heartbeats says more than a scream ever could.