by J. L. Smith
“You doing okay?” he asked gently, lifting his hand and lightly brushing my cheek. I almost flinched from the pain, even at so tender a touch. Noticing my reaction, his face darkened and he said, “You want to talk about it?”
“Not yet,” I replied softly. “Soon.”
He nodded and surprised me somewhat by saying, “I want to kill her all over again for doing this to you.”
I smiled for a moment, before my heart turned to lead once more, “I want to kill him a hundred times over for what he did to Susie.”
“Yeah,” he pulled me towards him, burying his face in my hair as I nuzzled against his chest. “Me too.”
There was nothing much more either of us wanted to say just then, so we simply stood in the darkness, secure in each other’s arms. The worst part was that some small part of me felt relieved that it was not Rayder who had been killed. If I had to choose, I would always choose for him to be safe, even above myself. I could not stand the thought of a world without him in it. But, in these high-stakes games, none of us got to choose who lived and who died. And it was our friend Susie who had lost in the end. We would all have to learn to live with that.
It was early the next morning when we laid Susie to rest. As we stood in a little circle offering last words, I found myself gazing off into the distance, towards the rising sun. There was the odd buzz of an insect and call of a lonely bird, but otherwise the desert stood by solemnly, a great expanse of sand, cool and silent. I often found it cruel, the endlessness of it all, the way it merely seemed to watch, as we struggled in vain against the forces of the day. But, that morning, as I felt despair blackening all my thoughts, the sun tilted over the horizon, spilling soft, yellow light on the land. It bathed the red rocks in a warm glow, dispelling the grasp of the night air. Thorny succulents seemed to welcome in the new day, rustling happily in the slightest of breezes. It was a barren wasteland no more, but, touched by the sun, the reds and oranges and grays and greens came to life, the land waiting in expectation for the spring. Suddenly, I felt it was right, to leave Susie there.
We all said something, our words more of the same, but sincere and honest and, all too often, bringing fresh tears to our eyes. Everyone cried, but Rayder. He simply stood quietly with his hands in his jacket pockets, his sorrow written all over his grave face.
It was Stef’s words which I would always remember. She was calmer that morning, having exhausted herself the day before. The tears fell, but they did so with a grace I could not have foreseen.
“When we were younger,” she said gently, “we learned a poem once. I don’t know who wrote it or even if I have the words right. I can’t remember most of it. But, I’m going to recite what I can remember to you again, Suse, as we did that night we lay under our bed, trying to learn the words. At the time, we didn’t really understand them at all. I do now.”
She cleared her throat, “Stop all the clocks. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.” She paused, a tear trickling down her flushed pink cheek, “She was my north, my south, my east and west. My working week and my Sunday rest.” Her voice broke, “The stars are not wanted now. Put out every one. Because nothing now can ever come to any good.”
Wiping a tear aside, she continued, her blue eyes bright with moisture, “You are not just my twin sister, but my closest friend. Forever. And I know that wherever I go, you will go too.” Kneeling down and reaching out towards Susie, wrapped up tightly in a sheet of stiff white fabric by Rayder and Kieran, she whispered, “I’ll love you forever. I’ll miss you forever.”
We buried Susie deep in the ground then, Rayder, Kieran and Neal having taken turns to dig the hole. I felt as if a small part of me would stay with her in that cool sand, slowly eroding as time went on. Perhaps it was the last bit of my innocence, that fresh-eyed childhood belief that the world really is a good place. It is not, but there are still pockets of good that remain, people who can temper the harshness of this thing called life. Susie had been one of those people. And as Stef had said, we would miss her forever.
Chapter 23
Months later, the anger subsiding, the hurt still there, I watched yet another summer’s day fade away with Rayder, the sinking sun bathing the heavy clouds on the horizon in oranges and pinks. We had stolen away from the bus for some time alone, as we so often did around sunset. After we had buried Susie, we had made our way back to the bus immediately, the young kids jumping all over us like a litter of lost puppies when we had first arrived. Those a little older and with a little more worldliness had managed to keep them all mostly out of trouble. There had been fights to break up, bumps and bruises to tend, mouths to feed and nightmares to brush away with a warm hand in the middle of the night. But, they had managed it well enough, undisturbed by the outside world, although they had been only too eager to hand the burden of responsibility back over to us.
Susie’s death had impacted them as could be expected. There had been the initial sadness and shock, followed by many unanswerable questions, after which play and real life had resumed, Susie relegated to become a vague memory. Yet, real life was different from what it had been before, now that Balen was gone. Months had passed in somewhat of a blur, those of us who had gone on the mission determined to do only exactly what would bring us some modicum of comfort and joy. So, we commenced an array of hobbies. It gave us the space we needed to mourn Susie in our own ways. Thanks to the money which Aidan had insisted we keep, there was no pressing need to start something new. And so, spring had melded into summer, each of us passing the time as we saw fit.
Neal had taken to experimenting with hydroponics, throwing himself into the art and science of crop cultivation with a researcher’s vigor. Certainly, it was a way for him to keep busy, while dealing with the loss of not only Susie, but his mother. Of course, he was also fascinated by the process, soon becoming an expert and his harvests were helping to feed the lot of us. He had a tiny army of the younger ones assisting almost day and night, each of them heading up a mini portfolio.
Stef, on the other hand, had been far more reclusive over the months, surprising me by putting all her energy into her artwork. It was something I had not even known about her. She had amassed a collection of huge painted canvasses, a sort of homage to her journey of mourning. They had started out very dark and troubling, but gradually there was light infiltrating her pieces, the hope of a tomorrow with a little less sadness. She was starting to laugh more often and engage with the rest of us when she put down her paintbrush at the end of the day, her smile coming more easily now. Kieran was her North Star, her head always seeking his shoulder whenever they were together. While they had been close before, they were inseparable now. It was not that they spent their days together. In fact, it was the opposite; but there was a connectedness about them which was new, a certainty that they were each other’s person, for forever and always.
During his days, Kieran could be found with Rayder, the two of them tinkering away with a set of old motorbikes which were in serious need of a bit of love and care. Along with their small posse of adoring boys, they were slowly bringing the things back to life, whooping in joy when they felt the wind rushing through their hair after taking a newly-fixed-up bike for its first ride. It was a project which offered them endless opportunities for expansion, as they made trips to get parts, paint and all manner of accessories for the bikes. I imagined there was a fairly good chance that they would turn the whole thing into a business, a business with a great deal less bloodshed than our last one.
As for me, I had taken it upon myself to start educating the little ones, teaching them to read and write and think in the pseudo-classroom which Saffron and I had built from bits of wood, canvas and cardboard. Of all of us, she was the last person I had expected to be interested in my project, but she was at my side every day, drilling the kids with ideas and activities rather militantly, yet they loved her for it. In between Neal’s hydroponics and Rayder and Ki
eran’s motorbike repair center, the younger ones were hauled into our classroom, although they usually did so more than willingly.
My parents had always seen education as an investment and had imparted as much knowledge as they could into me. I had been too young when they had died and my education had fallen by the wayside with their absence. So, while we set about educating the children in our care, many of whom should have been reading but could not, we also educated ourselves, picking up where we had left off. Saffron, too, had seen many years go by without anything in the way of books. We wanted to change that, now that we were free of revenge’s hold. We had even discussed starting a traveling library in the area. Although for now, we were simply enjoying acquiring as many books as we could, taking day trips and even the odd overnight trip together to hunt down books. Ours was an easy companionship now, tainted by nothing and no one, our silences comfortable, our understanding of each other growing daily. Strange as it was, after Rayder, Saffron was turning out to be my best friend and both of us could only laugh at the irony of it all.
Yet, the six of us who had returned from Balen’s fortress were more than friends. We were family, inextricably knitted together by rage and sorrow and joy. In the winter which had gone by and the spring and summer which had since warmed our bodies and hearts, something beautiful had been thrown together, a rare gift of true family in our bleak and fallen world.
Now, watching the sunset with Rayder, both of us leaning against a pale, smooth red rock, I rested my head lightly on his shoulder as he stroked my bare arm. “You think it’ll rain?” I asked absently.
“Maybe,” he replied non-committally, kissing the top of my head.
We were quiet for a time, both of us soaking up the last of the day’s rays. “Do you think we should start planning for the future?” I said, even while I realized that I was not too concerned. “Like, maybe making money from some of our hobbies,” I added playfully.
“Yeah,” he said, squeezing me just a little. “Kieran and I have a few ideas.”
I laughed, “I’m sure you do.” When he did not respond immediately, I probed, “Care to elaborate?”
“In a bit,” he replied. “For now, let’s just watch.”
And so we did, until the land darkened completely, taking in the odd jubilant shout from one of the children playing some game in the distance.
“I think I’m almost happy,” I whispered into his ear, even as Susie’s face came to my mind again.
“I know what you mean,” he said, grazing his lips against my temple. Closing my eyes, I let myself breathe it in, the summer night, still new and expectant and warm, enveloping us in its welcome embrace. “Want to go back?” Rayder asked.
“A little longer,” I replied.
“Always,” he said, as I snuggled up more closely against his warm body.
End
Dear Reader
Thank you for reading my book! It has taken me years to write this book, as I’ve played around with different plot ideas, juggled motherhood and FINALLY plucked up the courage to put it out there for you to find.
I’d love you to review this book!
As a self-published author, your review will go a long way towards other readers discovering my book. If you could take just a few minutes to review this book on Amazon, Goodreads, or any other platform, I’d so appreciate it. I read each and every review I receive and thank you for your time in helping authors like me pursue our dreams.
Sincerely,
Julie Lynne Smith
About the Author
J.L. SMITH started out pursuing a career in numbers, only to realize she’s far more interested in words. A former high school English teacher, she spends her days trying to come up with cool copy for brands, enjoying the craziness that is motherhood, and getting stuck into a good romance (throw in the apocalypse, and she’s a goner). She does her best writing in bed with a cup of tea and loves to pair up mysterious, badass heroes with witty, strong heroines. She strives to take her readers on a magic carpet ride, over a world gone awry, with a villain or two along the way, and a good old-fashioned, swoon-worthy happily ever after!