by Loren Walker
With difficulty they crested the first escarpment: Cohen holding onto Sydel’s hand and helping her through the rocks, Phaira picking her way through like she had done it a million times before, Renzo stumbling and swearing every few seconds. Finally, they reached the top, and peered over the edge on the other side. All four gasped at the sight below.
Nestled in the shadow and protection of the valley were thousands of tiny red wooden huts, spread across the land, like a vast carpet over the vibrant kelly green. In the center of the spread, there were a few larger buildings, also in red brick, and there were the shapes of temples to the west, on the outskirt of one corner of the sprawl. It was startlingly beautiful, and utterly quiet.
"What is this place?" Renzo asked, panting from the effort of climbing.
Suddenly, Sydel knew. "It's a Jala settlement. Yann told me about this arm. It's the largest Jala settlement in Osha. People travel from all over to study here." What was it called? She wracked her brain but couldn't come up with the name.
Phaira’s voice was faint. "We can't go down there.”
"We don't have a choice," Cohen said gruffly.
"Cohen's right," Renzo coughed. "Just keep quiet and let me do the talking."
Surprisingly, Phaira didn't argue with her older brother. So Sydel tucked the sword into her waist sash, and slid her arms through Cohen and Phaira's elbows, both so similar in a way. Together, with Renzo in the lead, they made their way down the steep ridge.
The huts drew into focus. Different shades of red, she realized, some were crimson, or fire-orange, or faded pink. And the structures weren’t next to each other, like she thought from above, but staggered, creating great, broken waves up and down the valley walls.
Movement at the entrance, the mouth of a dirt path, leading into the center of the town. People were gathering, men and women, both young and old, and of every skin color. They all wore faded trousers and tunics, but some bore sticks, and bos, and blades, while others were barehanded, with visible veins in their strong forearms. Sydel felt the muscles in Cohen’s arm tense.
Renzo raised his hands in the air. "Please," he called out. "We mean no harm. We just need shelter."
The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Weapons were held tighter in fists.
Renzo looked over his shoulder at Phaira, his expression pleading for her to step forward, to show some intimidation, or authority.
But Phaira’s eyes were unfocused, and her shoulders curved forward, her muscles slack.
Sydel was dumbfounded. What had CaLarca done to the woman?
Sydel gathered her strength and called out: "I'm one of you. A Jala, from Midland. My master was Yann Qin. Do you have a leader here?”
The crowd just looked at her.
“We beg of you, give us sanctuary," Sydel tried. “In the name of the faith - ”
“They need to fight.”
A voice hovered above the crowd.
Heads nodded in response. A few shouted to be chosen as opponents.
“Fight? We’re not here to fight," Renzo burst out. "Didn’t you hear what she said?”
“Show us what you know!” a woman called out.
Sydel searched for the source of both outbursts, but the crowd was pressing forward, and Sydel could hear the blood rushing in her ears.
Then her memory hit: this place was Soares Valley, where every resident was a martial artist, and a teacher within the community. Their Jala path was pursuing ultimate perfection in physical and mental expression. They lived here, they practiced with each other, they fought each other in the open, and practiced their faith. And just like any other Jala community, outsiders were not to be trusted, but to be initiated into the flock.
“Wait!” she cried. “We accept! We will fight!”
The crowd stopped. Renzo and Cohen stared at her, both with hands in the air, ready to defend against the mob. Phaira’s eyes were on the ground, like she hadn’t even noticed the situation.
Sydel couldn’t fight, of course. But the Soares people didn’t know that, and they had to play along with what they wanted.
“We will fight,” she repeated, her voice trembling, “in seven days.”
“Seven days?” Renzo squawked, but Sydel ignored him and kept talking. “My group – my family - we ask for seven days before we engage in combat and attempt to gain entrance into your communia.”
“What are you doing?” Cohen hissed under his breath.
“And in the meantime, you give us sanctuary," Sydel continued. "Until a decision is rendered.”
A faint grumbling came from the crowd, but Sydel knew there was no counterargument. Jala rules were the same everywhere, regardless of specialization. And the restrictions were the same, too, she knew: within the initiation period, there was to be no outside contact, and no leaving the borders, not without severe repercussions. That rule, they would end up breaking, Sydel knew, but the prospect of warmth, shelter and food overtook any future plans.
“Syd, we’re not joining anything,” Cohen was muttering, looking panicked. “What are you doing?”
A woman stepped forward, gesturing at the tower of houses. "Shelter east of the path is for women,” she announced. “West is for men. Sexes only mingle at the academy, or at worship, or on this path for training.”
Cohen snorted to himself. Sydel shot him a look.
Two men broke through the crowd, gesturing for Cohen and Renzo to follow.
Then strong, calloused hands landed on Sydel's arms, guiding her in the other direction, and more hands were prodding Phaira, propelling the women to the east side of the dirt path. No one spoke. As a group, they passed hut after hut, and finally one of the huts, orange-red in color, had an open teal door.
Inside, it was a simple shack; four walls, a firepit surrounded with a metal shield of some kind, and two beds on the ground, flat futons with heavy quilts, with neatly-folded bundles of clothing on each. Two women went to start a fire, and the others helped Sydel and Phaira to remove their dirty, damp clothing. Sydel clung to her body, embarrassed by the nudity, but Phaira had no response. Their old clothes were tossed out the door, and the new ones unwrapped: trousers and tunic bundles in some kind of soft, jewel-blue material. Another body ducked through the door, into the hut, bearing a metal platter piled with rice, vegetables, some unknown form of meat, and a jug of water. It was placed on the mattress on the right, nearest to Sydel.
Then the women left, as silent as they came.
Phaira and Sydel were alone. The fire crackled. Sydel realized that she’d forgotten to take a breath during this whole process, and sucked in the smell of the hut: ashes, and wet earth, and smoke.
"Come eat, Phaira," she said, sitting next the heavy platter, and resisting the impulse to lift and tip the contents into her mouth. "Come and sit. It will be okay."
Phaira sank onto the other bed. Slowly, she pulled her legs underneath the quilt. Then she turned to the wall, so all Sydel could see was matted blue hair.
Night fell, but Sydel couldn't sleep. Her thoughts went in circles, tighter and tighter until she couldn't resist; she closed her eyes, and let her Eko go, let it soar in all directions, searching for that presence. Nothing, nothing, just other bodies, hands, deaths, skins, desert and rock and sand and urban waste, and pressure, mounting pressure, so hard that it made it hard to breathe, and....
And there.
There she was, flickering in the forefront of Sydel's mind.
CaLarca.
No, she could hear the whisper of CaLarca's thoughts. It's not possible. Sydel.
It's possible, Sydel sent down the chain. You're faint, but I can hear you. You betrayed us.
It was not personal, came CaLarca's response, higher pitched than normal. If I could have, I would have never incapacitated you....
Sydel grit her teeth. You hurt the people I care for. They thought you to be their friend. As did I.
Are you coming for me?
Sydel didn't know what to say. Her emotions were swirling
so hard, she felt like she might burn a hole in the mattress and fall through to the floor.
CaLarca's words came down the Eko channel like waves. I have no regrets, Sydel. Everything I've done, it's been for my family. You wouldn't understand.
Tears formed in Sydel's eyes, angry, frustrated tears, and something else under her nose.
She touched her nostril. It came back dark.
She had to disconnect. It was all too much.
She sent her final message to CaLarca, before the darkness overcame her. I won't forget this. None of us ever will.
II.
Sydel woke with a start. Even bundled under quilts, the tip of her nose was frozen.
The other bed in the hut was empty.
Sydel sat up, fighting the wave of dizziness that followed, and felt her heart skip a beat. The altitude, she reasoned, waiting for her body to calm. When it did, she swung her bare feet to the dirt floor.
Outside, the view of the valley was spectacular. Threads of yellow lights snaked paths through the settlement, illuminating the night. With so much light, Sydel almost missed the spark of orange on the roof below. Then she smelled the smoke.
"Phaira, don't."
The ember wavered.
Sydel's eyes were adjusting to the night, and she could make out Phaira's silhouette, huddled on the red roof. Soon, Sydel could see the twisted cigarette in between Phaira's second and third fingers, smoldering.
Where had she gotten the mekaline?
"Come back inside," Sydel said, shivering and walking closer. The smell of the smoke was overwhelming. "Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."
"I can't.” She could barely make out Phaira's voice, but she did hear the crack in the woman's words.
"Why? Why can't you?" Sydel asked, inching closer, her bare toes gripping the red tile, until she stood at Phaira's side.
Phaira shook her head. "I can't. I just need to forget or - I don't know what… "
Sydel snatched the mekaline out of Phaira's hands and threw it over the rooftops.
"Phaira," Sydel snapped. "Whatever it is, it's not worth breaking your sobriety."
Anger spread across Phaira’s face like a horrible mask, and for a moment Sydel thought that Phaira might punch her.
Thankfully, no blows were thrown. Phaira was breathing hard through her nose, but the anger was fading.
Sydel exhaled with relief. "Come on," she ordered. "It's freezing out here.”
She reached down and took hold of Phaira's hand. “Your hands are so cold,” she told her, giving her wrist a pull. “Come on.”
Phaira didn’t resist, but rose to her feet, and let herself be led back into the hut.
As they entered, Sydel leapt back into her bed, shivering and thankful for the thick quilts.
But Phaira remained in the center of the room, still and silent.
“Phaira, come into bed."
Phaira’s head swiveled. Sydel could make out her glittering eyes in the dark.
Sydel lifted the edge of the quilt, waving her in. "Come on," she said gently. "I'm cold too."
After a long silence, Phaira did as she was told. The weight on the mattress shifted, and the two women faced each other, both heads on pillows. So close to Phaira, Sydel felt a strange, strong affection for the woman, how she was so powerful, but radiated vulnerability in that bed.
"Syd?" came Phaira's whisper. "Do my brothers know? About him and me?"
Him. She was talking about Theron Sava. Was that why Phaira was so distressed?
Sydel hesitated. She thought back to the Arazura, when CaLarca had made rude comments to Cohen about the observed relationship between Phaira and Theron. Had Cohen believed the story?
"No," she finally whispered back. "I don't think anyone knows.”
“You know.”
“I guessed at it. It wasn’t obvious.”
"I'm so embarrassed."
"Why?"
"Because I was wrong. About everything."
"What did he do?"
Phaira said nothing. But in the quiet that followed, it struck Sydel that this was something sisters might do, this kind of intimate confessions late at night.
No more words were spoken, so Sydel did her best to comfort Phaira, stroking her arm, pulling the quilts higher over her shoulders. I wish that she could have experienced some kind of happiness. Something other than death and violence and negativity. I wish for so many things for her.
Anger simmered in her belly when she thought of Theron Sava, for making Phaira feel like this. After everything Phaira had done for him! After Sydel had healed him, and helped to bring down the Red.
How terrible, she though, after going through so much trauma, for them not to have a moment of peace.
Who will be the one to care for you, Phaira? Sydel thought, as she watched Phaira drift into sleep. Who would you ever allow to do so?
* * *
When morning light cut through the hut window, Sydel blinked awake.
What a pretty flower pattern on the pillowcase, she thought, still half-asleep. Like a blooming rose.
But no, wait. They were white pillows, she remembered from the previous day.
Sydel lifted her head to look.
It was blood, spread in a radial pattern. She'd had a nosebleed in the night. The stain was the size of Sydel's head. The side of her face had been sleeping in that. Horrified, Sydel flipped the pillow to the other side and rubbed at her face, searching for flakes of dried blood.
Sometime in the night, Phaira had returned to her own bed; her back was now to Sydel. Thank goodness.
Then Phaira turned, startling Sydel. "I'm sorry about last night," she announced. "It won't happen again."
"Oh, Phaira, stop it," Sydel couldn't help but retort. "Don't push it all down again. That's how you get into trouble."
Phaira lifted up on her forearm. Her dark mouth opened, like she was ready to argue. Then she deflated with a sigh, flopping down on the mattress.
Sydel sat up, praying that there were no traces of red on her face. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Phaira shook her head. "It's stupid."
"It's not stupid," Sydel corrected hotly. "It's not stupid to have feelings."
"You don't want to hear about it."
"I asked, didn't I?"
Phaira’s jaw worked, like she was chewing on her words. Then she started to pick at the hem of the quilt, avoiding Sydel's gaze.
"He didn't want me,” she finally mumbled.
"Then he's an idiot."
A smile quirked on Phaira's face at the declaration, and faded just as fast.
"But you were together,” Sydel stated. "At some point."
Pick, pick went Phaira’s fingers on the threads. "I don’t really know what to call it.”
"Do you love him?" Sydel tried, as carefully as she could ask such a personal question.
The response came after several long seconds of silence. "I thought I did."
Sydel stayed quiet, waiting for Phaira to continue.
"I have to hold parts of myself back with people," Phaira finally admitted with a lowered voice, like she couldn’t believe she was confessing it. "All the time. But it felt like we understood each other. I could be weak, or blunt, or crazy, and it was okay. Though I'm probably wrong about that. I don't know."
Phaira glanced up at Sydel for the first time. "Is it like that with you and Cohen?"
Now it was Sydel's turn to flush. "I was weak from the start in front of Cohen."
"No, you got the best possible progression," Phaira corrected with a faint smile. "You might have seemed vulnerable when we first met, but look how much you've changed. No wonder he's crazy about you. He saw it from the start. The rest of us, it took a little longer."
There was another long pause. "I'm sorry things got weird last night."
"Phaira," Sydel said. "I've wanted nothing more than for you to trust me."
"I trust you," Phaira said gruffly. "Of course I trust you. Between Cohen ch
anging into a mountain man, and Renzo being so secretive, you're turned out to be the only reliable one in the family."
The word struck Sydel. Family.
Phaira looked down at her hands. "But I don't know what to do," she admitted. "I don't know what to do, or where to start, or if I have the strength. Everything that's happened, it's been my fault. If I had refused Jetsun when she asked us to help. If I'd been nicer to CaLarca."
"To my knowledge," Sydel told her gently, "Renzo was the one who pushed for action against the Red. And Cohen and I came because we chose to. And CaLarca…" She let out a tiny breath, holding back her anger. "I should have known that she was about to explode. I should have been able to protect you all. So we have both made mistakes."
Both women regarded each other in the dawning light. There was a sense of relief in the air, and truth, and reassurance.
It will be okay, Sydel told herself, trying not to think of the bloody side of her pillow, still hidden from view. It will all be okay.
* * *
When Sydel was able to stand upright, she and Phaira dressed and headed outside to explore. A thousand red roofs, descending and rising with the valley, greeted them. Around every corner, in every open space on the dirty path, the residents were fighting. No, not fighting, Sydel realized, they were training with each other. Sparring, they called it. Some with bare fists, some with sticks. Dust clouds rose up and down the path, as footwork changed, and steps were taken forwards and backwards.
A village of warriors. Sydel had never seen anything like it.
And neither had Phaira: by the look of her wide eyes, how they darted, taking in the activity; the slight flush of her cheek. There was a spark in Phaira, the first seen in days.
An idea struck Sydel. "You should jump in."
Phaira glanced over at her.