by Rey Balor
It worked, perhaps entirely too well. The softness beneath Olena’s steps turned to fire, and when she moved to face the scout, the smoke from the cinders of leaves beneath her painted her into the image of everything fearsome about the wild — gray eyes blazing in warning, hands curled to look like claws, feral grin replaced by feral scowl.
They stood close, near a breath apart.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Olena decided abruptly. “It’s not my job to decide life or death for you, girl. You’ll get yourself a trial, and it’ll be a wolfling one at that.”
Chapter 9: The Space Station
“In the palms of one’s hands, there are two options:
to cradle new life or to crush it.
Strength is defined by this choice.”
Death’s Lament, 30.6
The group could only be described as a gaggle — disorderly and talkative, they whispered to each other all the latest gossip. For a crew of ten, that gossip was intimate in all the best and worst ways, often probing in otherwise mundane parts of life. Pat was the only silent one, and she sat with her chin in her hands, staring out the port window at the distant sliver of moon. It was easy to drown out their words with a “yes, Isaac, we know Johannes makes up songs about his daily bathroom sessions — we hear them every day as well,” and she focused instead on the shiny spacecraft floating so haphazardly nearby.
From a distance, it was almost beautiful. The pod was ancient, but it remained newer than anything they had on their station. Sunlight gleamed off its metallic corners whenever it turned lazily in orbit, and it seemed a miracle that such a fragile looking object could punch through the earth’s atmosphere and hold its own. She wondered who had ridden it up. It was impossible to tell if it was one of the new arrivals or if they had just now crossed its path for the first time. Either way, she wondered who it was that would ride it back down.
Isaac tugged on her sleeve, impatient to hear her speak, but she simply shrugged him off, growing more stubborn in her silence. The things Marie had said rang in her ears still, and the longer she stared at the inky blackness of the outside world, the longer she became convinced she had to go outside herself to see it.
She stood suddenly from her spot in the corner and left the gaggle to their gossip.
Their station was by no means large, but when the only thing she had to compare it to was the blue world beneath them and the gray moon in the distance, everything shrunk to the size of a pinpoint. No matter how small the station was, however, she was even smaller, and it took her near ten minutes to walk across the length of it. There was no destination in mind; her thoughts were simply too loud to be in the company of others, and solitude teased her from a distance.
She blinked in surprise as she saw the entrance to the cockpit. It was rare for any of them to have reason to enter the only holy place left in their world above worlds, but she slipped inside anyways. The door closed gently behind her, isolating her from the rest of the station. It was crossing into the threshold of a place she somehow, instinctively, understood that she did not belong, but if it was solitude she hunted for, there was no better place to get it.
The front wall was a window to the outside, and she sat on the ground in front of it, pulling her knees to her chest as she stared. There was a reason they had deemed it holy: when one stared beyond their ship, something strange began to happen within them. There was a shift of mind, and suddenly, thoughts that had been unclear became crystal, and suddenly, loss of purpose became strength. It was a tradition to meditate here before one returned to the earth, and she could feel the tug of the planet nearby. She waited patiently for the shift to occur, eyes drooping closed as the seconds ticked forward.
How long Pat slept, she could not say, but she came awake with a sudden jolt of awareness. It was the same jolt that accompanied missing the last step of stairs in the dark of the shuttle, and it left her heart beating in much the same way. Little had changed in the view outside, but it was far more disconcerting how nothing had changed with her. The shift had abandoned her, and she curled up on the spot she had fallen, hoping it would find her again. Nikola blamed every sullen mood and heavy thought on hormones, but Pat felt it deeper than that. It was not sickness; it was life, and it called to her in the same way the earth did.
Another jolt traveled through her, but she was awake this time. Shoving herself to a standing position, she looked around the room. Without explanation, with only the feeling to guide her, she no longer felt alone. In space, loneliness was the primary emotion. Not feeling it was akin to opening her eyes and seeing she had mutated to form gills in the night; it was not impossible, only exceedingly rare and worthy of alarm.
A sound echoed in the chambers, unlike anything she could recognize. It did not stop after it began but repeated itself over and over in some grotesque memory of music, and she craned her neck in search of its source.
“Hello?” she called, but the sound dissipated her greeting.
Thrum, thrum, thrum.
She went to leave that holy place, afraid she had upset some long-since-dead spirit, but the door would not budge. Panic began setting it, and its coldness slapped her further awake. She had only wanted solitude, but she felt something else slip through the cracks of the walls with that blasted thrum, thrum, thrum that echoed so inhumanly throughout the room.
“Hello?” she tried again.
The others would come for her, she reminded herself. In a space so small, no one could go missing. They knew every movement, every worry, and every secret, but they also carried the same fear seemingly ingrained into their species. Every movement, every worry, and every secret held beneath the tongue of some dark creature… They wouldn’t come here. Born of emptiness, thriving in shadow, nightmares lurked only where fear settled in, and fear was in her now. It was an impossibility, and yet —
Thrum, thrum, thrum.
She slid to the floor, closing her eyes and placing her hands over her ears to block out the sound. It was then she realized the sound did not move through the air on waves as voices did, but it moved through the soul, echoing in a place deep inside her that could not be escaped. It was then she also realized what the sound made a mockery of — not music, but the steady beat of a human heart. She tried to scream in answer, but the sound stole that from her too.
Thrum, thrum, thud.
Pat’s head snapped up, dirty blonde locks stinging her eyes at the motion.
One of the ghosts from the ring around the earth hit the window.
They were nowhere near the ring of bodies, nowhere that would cause them to intersect with its path, yet she recognized it. It was a woman, and her helmet was wide open so that the small smile permanently etched on her face would be visible. Her skin was a translucent, pale blue from the cold vacuum she rested in, and red curls, so vibrant against the dark backdrop behind her, fought their way from the suit’s containment. Pat felt faint. Never before had she been so close to Death.
There would never be anything like the first dead body.
She remembered this lesson from her youth: People felt a mixture of things when confronted with their own mortality, especially after a lifetime being constantly shown they would never die — at least not easily, at least not without a fight. She was told the people of earth may lash out in anger or wither away in violence, but always, there would be peace on the face afterward; in the next world, they would find gratitude for the things she did for them in this one. Seeing the first body was difficult, but afterwards, it would be clear why the Light Bringers taught them the things they did.
This was what she was told. This was what she was meant to teach.
It was difficult to keep such lessons in mind when the woman floated so unnaturally outside the window. With a morbid curiosity spreading through her, Pat stepped toward the sight, reminding herself to place one foot in front of the next. Fear was a very real thing in their station, but it was rare and muted. Everything was muted in space, and that was a secret no
one dared speak aloud, even in their gossiping sessions. To feel something as vibrant as terror was alluring in the most twisted of ways. Pat reached her hand for the glass, craving it.
If only she remembered the myths the other children whispered about on the station, she would have known how curiosity was doomed to end.33 Some said it would burn in the way only truth could: divine, brilliant, and terrible. Some said it would bite in the way only denial could: pure, cold, and cruel. She touched the glass, and it was neither. It was only glass.
The cockpit door flew open, and she shrieked in sudden alarm as Isaac came barreling in. He shrieked in equal alarm, jumping back from the door as quickly as he had jumped in. They stared at one another as the race of the adrenaline in their blood slowed, and the silence soon gave way to laughter from the boy. It poured from him for far too long before he realized that she did not join in. She remained silent and turned around to stare once more out that huge portal to the outside.
Pat did not think she would tell him about the body. Some things, one shared — like the extra portions of food brought out for special occasions — but other things, one kept close to the heart. She kept this in mind as he shuffled uncertainly in the doorway, torn between staying and leaving, but as she returned her attention to the very thing she was trying to keep secret, that trickle of fear passed down her spine once more.
The woman was gone.
“It’s been hours, Pat. You can’t keep falling asleep like this,” Isaac spoke up, finally determined to enter the room. If the poor boy had to gather his courage here, she had no idea how he would survive among the people of earth. In the face of imagined monsters, his voice shook, and through squinted eyes, she could even see his small fists shake with worry.
“We need sleep to survive, don’t we? That’s all I’m doing — surviving.” Still in disbelief, Pat ran her hand along the dusky window. Nothing changed, but she had not expected it to. “Besides, when I’m asleep, I dream.” Dreams, reality… They blurred together in the station, and if she was not careful, she would lose herself to one completely; she was unsure which would be better. Dreams held answers that reality was too frightened to say.
Isaac huffed at her reply, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so. “You know I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Get smart with me.”
She would have laughed if she could not still feel the ghost of that loud drum echoing in her chest. Instead, she settled with rolling her eyes and turned to face him as if there was nothing else interesting in the world. It had always been easy to placate the others; they were naive in their acceptance. She pulled out her small journal and flipped it open to a new page, beginning to jot down notes even as she spoke. “Yes, you’d rather I just spout back whatever Nik’s taught us.” I saw her. “Maybe use a few less big words? I spend half my time sifting through the old archives, Isaac, so what you see is what you get.” She was there, I’d swear it. “Don’t worry. Once we get to the ground, we’ll part ways, and you’ll never have to suffer cleverness again.” Red hair.
Isaac wasn’t good for much, bless his soul, but he was good with pouting. His lower lip jutted out, his brown eyes grew wide with hurt, and his thin shoulders began to quake ever so gently as he tried holding himself together. “I don’t want to part ways with you or the others. You’re all I know.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We have a job to do. If you aren’t sure of it, you can lock yourself in your room like Marie or live out the rest of your days with Nikola.” The words were harsher than she intended, but a headache had begun pulsing behind her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to be alone. Thrum, thrum, thrum — it returned. “Aw, come on. Don’t do the pouting thing. I know you’re still doing the pouting thing. Just listen, okay? You’re all I know too, all of you, but that’s the worst reason to stay together I’ve ever heard.” If he ever made it to the earth, she did not think he would last long at all.
“You hate me, don’t you?”
Pat had never been around anyone younger than herself. Everyone in the station was her age, with the brilliant exceptions of Marie and Nikola. Even still, this was how she imagined being around a child was — completely exhausting. She went to his side and slipped an arm around his shoulder, leading him from the open room. It did not matter if she felt like his mother; she wasn’t,34 and he needed to grow stronger for it. From what she heard about the planet, survival of the fittest was not just a phrase thrown around but a phrase well practiced.
“Sometimes, I think we all hate each other,” she answered.
She led him to Nikola and left the thrum, thrum, thrum far behind.
Chapter 10: The Citadel
“To take the five sacred vows is to deliver your soul into salvation.
To fail in the five sacred vows is to deliver your soul into damnation.”
Death’s Lament, 2.30
The dark cloth was exquisite in every way. The black shimmer looked more like a shadow woven together than cloth, and when Claymore draped it over themself, it turned the umber tone of their cheeks to a color seen only at midnight. It felt beyond safe; it felt like royalty. They closed their eyes for a beat, trying to keep that foreign gesture of a smile from turning their lips upward. Such a gesture was inappropriate in an audience with the Queen.
Perhaps it was not so inappropriate when the Queen of the Summer Isles was the one who had given them the gift, beaming with pride as they donned it. There were no gifts for the other shields, but she assured Claymore that it was not out of favoritism that they were given the cloak. They had delivered information that would prove useful, that could save them, and such proficiency was meant to be awarded.
The cloak tickled the skin of their head, fueling that hint of a smile, but any insistence that it was merely their job to deliver the news fell on deaf ears. They accepted the gift as if it was their duty to do so, and the Queen, so unafraid to show the emotion bubbling beneath her surface, only beamed brighter for it.
Each of the Aegis had left for their daily duties to serve the other four Queens, but Claymore remained behind once more to speak with the Queen of the Summer Isles about the cracks in her walls. If an attack came, they would be weakened. If war came, they would crumble. Such news was never an easy thing to hear, but the Queen slipped an arm around one of Claymore’s own and began to walk with them, far from any eavesdroppers, to deliver her thanks. The gift came not even an hour later.
This was usual for the royal. Claymore knew she took people into her heart easily, and it began with a simple touch of the arm. This was highly unusual for the captain, who only touched people when they offered the blessing of Death. The Queens and their shields were always meant to be opposite sides of a coin whose worth would never expire.
Even if the gift had been spur of the moment, it made Claymore feel as they had when the Queen first took their arm — forgiven for a crime they could not yet name. They secured the cloak tighter around them, bowing their head once more in gratitude. No words could describe how perfect the material flowed from their shoulders or how it made the shield feel almost worthy of her presence.
“It is for more than the information you gave,” the Queen started. The long tendrils of blonde hair had been placed in an intricate wrap, and where she had stood in their last meeting shining in her nudity, fading images of birds in flight came together to form a pale dress. It was lovely, breath-taking, and far more revealing to the nature of the woman who wore it than Claymore could imagine. Pink lips pursed slightly before she continued. “You have always been a loyal servant to the five points of the Star, and for that, I thank you. I know it is your job to act as shield, but I have never felt half so safe as when I am in your presence.”
“It is my honor.”
“Honor is just a word, and answering a call to honor is simply a way of letting the world make your decisions for you. Tell me: what would you be doing had you not become an Aegis?” She tilted her head to t
he side as she posed the question, far too similar to the birds that adorned the garment she wore.
It was a question Claymore had never considered. “My fate was decided by Death, my lady, not honor. Duty called me, and I suppose honor simply came afterward.” They were met with a sympathetic look that nudged them to continue. “Birthmates in the Citadel are rare, but I had one. He was small though, too small, and he died before our fifth year. I did not follow him, and my parents took me for a curse. If you speak to the others, you’ll find they have much the same experiences. Death crowded us, reached its hand out to us, and offered us a chance to do its work — to do your work, my lady. I have no qualms about that.”
Something unrecognizable sparked in the Queen’s eyes, and they suddenly longed to have the Queen’s hand on their arm in comfort once more, uncertain if the expression was good or bad. Once touched, they could not be untouched. It was a childish thought, they considered sadly.
“Do you remember him?”
Claymore remembered the feeling of him more than anything about him, but the same could be true of any memory from decades prior. One can often recall the smell of a person or the skip in one’s breath as they neared, but upon closer inspection of their features, all senses seemed to fail. How did Claymore begin to explain this? When they thought of that almost-birthmate, they thought of the nights they had not been alone, the warmth of another beside them, and the gratitude that always accompanied not eating in silence. They recalled the burst of happiness as they played their foolish games, although the details of such fun had long been lost. It was having a second body outside oneself, and they remembered what that was — how the need remained, even now, to exist beyond the boundaries of their skin.