The Other One

by Amanda Jay

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  "Anyone there?"

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Once he managed to get a handle on his anxiety, he cautiously felt his way around the room he was in. Save for a pile of nasty smelling hay in a corner, and the dirt and grime that seemed to coat the rough floor on which he sat, the tiny room was bare. Bare and dark. It wasn't so different from his cupboard after all.

  Ezra shivered, trying to will himself to stay calm. He thought about Kaelyn. She must be beside herself with worry. He had no idea how long he had been here. It felt like hours since he came to, and he had no idea how much longer he would have to stay. Or if he would be able to leave at all.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  His head hurt so much he thought he would pass out again.

  Good for nothing.

  Can't get anything right.

  Your mother's lucky she isn't alive to see what a failure you are. His father's voice crawled out from the shadows.

  "Go away. This isn't real," Ezra whispered to himself.

  This isn't real, the voice mocked back.

  What a pansy.

  I'm ashamed to call you my son.

  Ezra pushed his hands over his ears and curled into a ball.

  Think of her. Think of her. He tried to pacify himself. He thought of her sleepy smile when he told her he loved her as she was falling asleep. He thought about how she felt pressed up against him when he had his arm wrapped tightly against her. He thought of her eyes, and the way they crinkled at the corners when she was tired.

  Hang on, those weren't her eyes. Kaelyn's eyes never got tired. Those were his mother's eyes he was thinking of. Perpetually tired, and often averted from him. Concentrating on something that needed tending to. There was always something that needed tending to.

  She was tired of you. Fed up of you. What a disappointment.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  "No! Stop!" he cried to himself, rocking back and forth.

  He had no idea how long he was in there for, slipping between delirium and consciousness, plagued by his father's voice and the ever-present dripping.

  He kept his eyes shut as he heard the door opening. It was just his father coming for him with the belt now. He had been through this before.

  "Get up," a rough voice said. It wasn't his father's.

  He slowly opened his eyes and removed his fingers from his ears. The light from the lantern that hung in front of him was blinding. The pounding in his head resumed with a vengeance.

  "Don't make me say it again."

  Ezra tried getting to his feet but his balance was off. He was grabbed hard from under his arm and yanked up.

  "Easy now, princess." There was a second voice. It was lower, and taunting. Something about it caused fresh waves of fear to crash down on him.

  He was half walked, half dragged out of the room, down an uneven corridor, and up a short flight of stairs.

  "Here," the rough voice said, dumping him onto a small stool.

  This room was small too, but there was light here, and a wooden table in front of him.

  "Drink," the same guard said, slopping down a mug on the table.

  Ezra gladly grabbed it and gulped it down. The water tasted bitter in his mouth, but he didn't care. He drained the cup and set it back down, realising only then that his hands were stained with spots of blood.

  "W-where am I?" he asked weakly, but the guard ignored him and walked out of the room, his keys jingling as he locked the door behind him.

  Ezra sat there a minute longer, his head swimming with apprehension of what was to come. He nearly jumped off his stool when the door banged open again.

  "Alright then, Mr. Orson." It was the taunting voice that he heard downstairs, and it belonged to the smaller guard who attacked him.

  The guard took a seat across the table from Ezra, and leaned back comfortably in his chair. He didn't say anything for a while, he just stared at him, his arms crossed, a smug look on his face.

  "I must say, I'm rather surprised." He spoke slowly and deliberately, relishing his words as he sounded them out.

  "I had you pegged for someone... larger. More capable looking."

  Ezra tried to ignore the sneer in his voice.

  "Where am I?" he tried again.

  "That's sweet. You think you have a right to ask me questions." The guard seemed to be enjoying himself. He twirled his thin moustache and leaned forward slightly in his seat.

  "Let me tell you the only thing you need to know, princess. You lost all your rights when you decided to kidnap that poor girl. You and your little friends. How truly idiotic are you, really?"

  "I didn't kidnap her!" Ezra's voice sounded high and feeble.

  The guard chuckled to himself.

  "Listen to me, princess. You and I will be spending some time together. So let's just stop pretending, alright?"

  Ezra closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn't happening, he told himself. There has to be a way that he could explain.

  "I didn't kidnap Ethel Monroe. I had no idea that this would happen. I just asked her for coffee. I wanted to talk to her, that's all. I had no idea that she would be taken. I had no idea that any of this was planned. Please, you have to believe me."

  "We have to believe you? That's so sweet of you, princess. Truly adorable."

  He suddenly reached over the table and slapped Ezra so hard that he almost fell off his stool.

  "Do you really think that we haven't found out your plans? Do you really think that I, Constantine Petrike, the Captain of the City Guard, would let something like this happen under my very own nose?"

  Ezra was felt dizzy after the slap, and the pain in his head was relentless. He felt like he was going to throw up.

  "No, princess. Not on my watch. This is the end of your naive little revolution. Did you really think you would be able to usurp the crown?" Petrike snorted.

  "I-I didn't..." Ezra stuttered.

  "You didn't what, princess? Didn't think?" The captain's eyes shone. He was enjoying this.

  "Please. I had no idea. I'll do anything you want. Please. Just let me go home to my wife."

  "Let's get this clear right now, princess. You don't get to ask me for anything. You understand? You do exactly as I say, and if I'm happy, and when I say happy, I mean really, fucking euphoric with what I have, then maybe, just maybe, you will be able to see your wife again."

  "Please. I'll do anything you want." Ezra hated the way his voice sounded.

  "Anything I want. I love that, princess. I really do. It makes me really look forward to this next part." And with that, Petrike stood up and opened the door. The large guard from earlier stomped back into the room and grabbed Ezra from behind.

  "What happens now?" Ezra asked, dread coursing through his veins.

  "Now? Now we dance." He twirled his moustache again, leaning against the wall as Ezra was shoved out of the room.

  OF KARMA

  Good things happen to good people. And bad things happen to bad people. And sometimes, bad things happen to good people. Life is arbitrary like that.

  But good things don't happen to bad people. Because the badness in their hearts will always pollute even the best of things. Those who don't know goodness will never know how to hold on to it.

  And for this reason alone, is why I believe, that no matter how unfair life can be, that we are the masters of our own destiny.

  TOM

  It had been a lazy Saturday afternoon and Skii and Tom were perched on the walls of the city temple. Tom had never cared much for what came next. He was there with Skii, who, for reasons Tom could never fathom, loved to watch the holy day ceremonies.

  "It reminds me that the good and the bad are always interwoven. That we have to try and balance it out, somehow. It reminds me that there is so much that I don't understand, but that I should never stop trying," she attempted explaining to Tom, who made a face and knew better than to argue when she got all glassy-eyed and philosophical like this.
In truth, Tom had always struggled with the idea of the Twin Faced God.

  He watched the two High Priests-- one in blue and one in green, as they spun the disk that bore a face on either side. The disk was the one magnificent thing in an otherwise bare temple. The metal lit up brightly next to the dust and dirt that surrounded it. Standing at least eight feet high, it reminded Tom of a giant coin being spun on its side. One side gold with green precious stones picking out the eyes, and the other side silver with blue. Worshippers gathered around the disk in a circle, on their knees, and prayed as it flashed gold, silver, gold, silver.

  Tom heard whispering over his shoulder and realised that Skii was praying too. He wondered what she was praying for. Tom never prayed. He had tried a few times, mostly because it seemed to matter so much to Skii, but he had found it hollow and selfish. How could he pray for himself when things in Mliss were so hard to come by? Food was never enough and someone had to forego a meal for someone else to have it. It seemed almost unfair to believe that the Twin Faced God would possibly favour Tom, when all of Mliss prayed for the same thing.

  But Tom could never hold his tongue with Skii for long. Whatever he held back would finally claw its way out-- for better or for worse.

  "So, what did you pray for?" he finally asked, as they made their way back to the Underbelly.

  Skii looked hesitant. They had been through this before.

  "Oh, many things," she answered, trying to sound casual. "You know, food, that we all get a pay raise at some point, that it will rain this week..."

  "That it will rain?" Tom couldn't help himself.

  "We need rain, Tom. It's been too long. Look how dry and cracked everything has become-- the ground, your lips. Maybe it'll even be more bearable at the Wheel if it cools off some. Why are you smiling?" she noticed, defensively.

  "Nothing," Tom said quickly, but he felt her eyes bore into him all the same. "It's just that, well, if there really was a Twin Faced God, don't you think he would have more important things to worry about, than to make it rain so it wouldn't be too hot at work?”

  Skii rolled her eyes.

  “Well, what would you pray for then? If what I pray for is so stupid?”

  “It isn’t stupid Skii. I just… never mind.”

  Skii turned to look at him. “There are things we don’t understand, Tom. Things we were probably never meant to understand.”

  “Now that, is ridiculous.”

  “How can you make sense of it then, Tom Cat? How? How can anyone explain why my parents left me, or gave me away, or sold me, or died? How can you explain how I don’t even know? That none of us know? There’s so much… there’s just so much that we can’t make sense of. I have to know that it happened for something. That someone out there knows what’s going on. Otherwise, what’s the point of it all?”

  Her voice rose as she spoke, her cheeks getting flushed.

  “I’m sorry, Skii. I didn’t mean to, well, I just don’t understand either, I guess. If there was a Twin Faced God, why he would let us go on like this?”

  "We don't know his plan, Tom.”

  “Doesn’t that seem like an easy way out, though? Chalk everything up to the Twin Faced Gods having a plan that we don’t understand when things go wrong, and thank him for his blessings when things go right?”

  “That’s not why I pray, Tom Cat. I don’t think that’s why anyone prays, really.”

  “Why, then? Why do you pray?”

  "For comfort, Tom. I pray so that I won't be alone."

  Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulder then, and lightly punched her in the arm the way they always did.

  "You'll never be alone, silly. You have me.”

  And they had scampered off in to the Underbelly, wondering what they could find for dinner. It was only much later, when they were back in the attic, and the city had sighed its good night, that Tom asked the question that seemed to have wormed its way into his head.

  “So you do think about it then? About your parents?”

  “Of course I do. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I suppose. I mean, I have thought about it a couple of times, but I never thought…”

  “You never thought that I think about it too, did you?”

  She was right. He was the one who thought about why things were the way they were. Why they couldn’t get out of this failing city. What other life there could be out there. Skii was, well, she was what held him steady. She was wise, often frustratingly so, and rational. If she had doubts too, if she thought about what else there could have been, then where does that leave him?

  Someone had told him once that he shouldn’t ask a question if he feared what the answer would be. But there was no fooling Skii.

  “Don’t worry, little one.” She wasn’t being patronizing. “Just because I think about what my family could be like, it doesn’t mean that I would change… well, you know.” Did he know, though?

  “So you’re saying that if someone came alone, claiming to be your long lost mother or something, that you wouldn’t just leave this dump?”

  “Of course I would leave, you idiot. Only a fool would stay here if they had another choice. But I’d never leave you.”

  Tom smiled to himself a little.

  “Now enough with this mindless rambling. Better get some rest. It’s your turn to go get us breakfast tomorrow, and I hate being hungry in the morning, you hear?”

  EZRA

  Ezra didn't know how many days he was there for. The guards didn't seem to stick to any sort of routine, or at least, that's what it felt like. Sometimes it felt like minutes between when a bowl of thin, tasteless gruel was pushed through a small opening on his cell door, other times, it felt like days.

  So far, he had been taken out of his cell eight times. The first time was for his meeting with Captain Petrike, the other seven times he was tied up and whipped, beaten, kicked, or almost drowned. The punishment varied, but each time, Captain Petrike would sit in a corner of the room, watching him, twirling his moustache with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips.

  Every time, after his lungs ached from screaming, and the rest of his body was numb with pain, Petrike would walk up to him and ask him the same question.

  "What does the Cause have planned next?"

  "I don't know. I honestly don't know." Ezra would plead. "Please, let me get back to my wife. I know nothing. We are having a baby soon. Please."

  "I don't quite believe you, princess," the Captain would purr, and the guards would haul Ezra back to his cell.

  "No, please," Ezra had sobbed the first few times. His body burned from the torture, but his mind felt like it would truly break every time he was left in his lightless cell.

  Bloody and raw, he would shiver in a corner, trying to stay awake so the dreams wouldn't come. Often he would wake up to screaming, and wonder momentarily whether there were other captives being held there also, until he realised that the screams were his own.

  He tried to calm himself by thinking of Kaelyn. He would remember each freckle on her nose and count them. But he was too plagued by worry for her to even let himself escape into his memories.

  The door swung open again loudly, and Rob walked in. Rob-- that was the name of the large guard who was always half-dragging, half-carrying Ezra to and from his cell. Ezra took him introducing himself to be a sort of kindness. Apart from his rough manner, Rob was not cruel. Not in the way that Petrike was.

  "Just give him what he wants," he had even whispered to Ezra once, before he had held his head underwater for what seemed like hours.

  Just give him what he wants, his father commanded as Ezra's body bucked and jerked as he swallowed mouthfuls of water. But what was he supposed to do? He had told Petrike every snippet of information he had, to which the guard just laughed and ordered more torture.

  "Time to go," Rob growled as he lifted Ezra to his feet again. He could barely stand straight anymore, let alone walk.

  Ezra wondered what they would do to him
today. He didn't know how much longer his body could handle this. There were times he honestly thought he was going to die. They were many times where he had even blacked out, and he relished the escape of his consciousness, even if it meant he would be brutally awoken by his dreams later.

  But today, he wasn't taken to the dungeon with the various torture devices, but back to the room where he first met Petrike. It didn't give him any relief, however. Ezra sat on the same stool and waited, anxiously wondering what kind of different torture they would have planned for him today. He closed his eyes and tried to count Kaelyn's freckles again.

  He kept his eyes closed when he heard the door open.

  "Are we praying, princess?"

  "Enough now, captain," a different voice spoke out. Ezra's eyelids sprang open at the new sound. Perhaps whoever this new person could be more reasonable?

  A thin, tall man sat before him. Ezra recognised him from the newspapers, but his mind was too muddy to focus in on anything.

  "Mr. Orson, my name is Viktor Udolphus," the man began in a solemn voice. But Ezra could only focus on Petrike, flinching every time the captain reached up to finger his moustache.

  "Mr. Orson? Are you listening to me?" he asked again. The words felt like they were coming from another room.

  The captain stood up and slapped Ezra across the face sharply.

  "Mr. Udolphus asked you a question, princess. Best you answer him quickly."

  Udolphus cleared his throat. "Perhaps Mr. Orson and I could speak privately for a moment? If you don't mind that is, Captain?"

  Petrike's eyes narrowed, but he nodded curtly.

  "Behave yourself now," he warned Ezra, stepping outside.

  "They've really roughed you up here, haven't they?" Udolphus asked, after the captain left. His question seemed kindly, even though there wasn't a hint of concern in his voice.

  Ezra didn't answer. He wondered if this was some different kind of torture they were trying today.

  "Listen, Mr. Orson. Believe it or not, I am here to help you. And correct me if I'm wrong, but it does look like you need all the help you can get." He raised an eyebrow as he surveyed Ezra.