The Reformation

by Garggie Talukdar

  But Fey was alive right now, and that was enough. At least, that was the lie Celine told herself as she readied herself with a smile to greet her friend.

  “Stel’s safe. She’s here, Fey. Your mission was a success!” Celine called out, rather than her usual greeting.

  Fey deserved to know. This project was her passion, and Celine knew that part of Fey was holding herself responsible should anything happen to Stel, so the news that the girl was well and with them would hopefully be a huge relief for Fey. Maybe it would help her recover.

  But Fey made no response, and Celine had to hold back a fond smile. The girl was so rarely sleeping, and maybe she could benefit from some well-deserved rest. Celine walked slowly up to the chair pulled up by Fey’s side, careful to tread lightly as to not wake the girl when she noticed something was wrong.

  People didn’t sleep with their eyes partly open.

  With her heart suddenly racing, Celine lunged for Fey’s wrist, careful of the tubes, to check the girl’s pulse.

  Thrumming, low and faint beneath Celine’s fingers, was the pulse of a dying girl. Celine’s heart dropped. “Help!” she suddenly yelled, moving her hand so it was pressed against the girl’s ceratoid artery instead, desperately convincing herself that she probably just counted the beats wrong, that Fey was fine.

  But there is was, her heartbeat faster than ever but so weak, and Celine choked back a sob. “Jax, January, Z, anyone!” she shouted, pulling herself away from Fey and towards the door so that someone could hear her, because Celine didn’t know what to do. And of course, today, was the day that the medics were coming in late, because Fey’s status was unchanging and goddammit—Celine couldn’t let Fey die.

  But by the time she shouted for help, her plea desperate and echoing back to her by the palace halls, and she came back to check Fey, a still chest and empty pulse all that was there to greet her.

  Fey was dead.

  Fey was dead.

  Swaying on her feet, Celine watched her friend, still lying there, dead, when she was alive just a second before. Celine had felt her pulse with her own fingers, but now that disappeared, a hollowness filling in the gaps.

  “Of course,” Celine whirred on the quiet voice to see January, standing still in the doorway, eyes wide as he clutched a glass of water in white-knuckle grip. “Of course,” he murmured again, making no sense as he tentatively took a step, slowly moving over to Fey’s bedside.

  “Jan? What happened?” Celine asked, feeling her throat closing up, the distant sensation of panic clawing her ribs. Fey was dead. One breath in. Fey was dead. One breath out.

  “5 minutes. That’s all it took,” January said, his voice careful as he set the glass on water down on the table beside a journal that Fey regularly documented in (“I have to stay sane one way, right?” she had said dryly when they asked her about it) Celine wanted to ask him more, get him to explain, but she was choking on her own suppressed sobs, building resistance against her swallow.

  Celine moved away from Fey, unable to stay any longer, allowing January to take her place. Fey was dead.

  “I was here, with her. 5 minutes ago, she was alive enough, and speaking. And she asked for water. So, I got her water,” he said, his voice detached, and Celine felt her chest tighten in preparation for what she knew to come next. “And now she’s dead.”

  Fey was dead.

  His hand ghosted by the edge of the bed, his eyes not leaving Fey’s lifeless face. “Should have seen it coming,” he finally said, gently closing her eyes and sinking into the seat beside her bed in a fluid motion.

  “January-”

  He turned to look at her, his eyes dry but hollowed out. “She told me to read page 100 of her journal if she died. That means that she knew, and she sent me away so she could die alone.”

  Celine pressed her eyes shut, nothing decipherable over the roaring blood in her ears. “Oh my god,” she managed before the sobs came wracking out, no tears but gasping breaths, each one tearing her respiratory system down.

  She could faintly hear the sound of paper crumpling, and she knew that January was trying his best to fulfill Fey’s last wishes, but her heart clenched as she heard January hiss, knowing that this was hurting him the same way it was hurting her. The same way it would hurt all of them once they would find out.

  The rest of them didn’t know, Celine realized, her eyes flying open. Her gaze flittered over to January, who closed the journal with an unsteady breath, running his fingers over the cover, eyes dry and a twitch in his jaw. And even though Celine wanted to comfort him, help him and maybe even herself in some way, she knew that wasn’t what January needed. So she watched, as he propped his elbows on the bed, resting his face on his palms, murmuring an “I’m so sorry” so quietly that Celine doubted that she even heard it. And while his face was unstained of tears, Celine knew that he was just as torn about it as she was. It had only taken her months to fully understand that.

  (but Celine didn’t really have time to blame herself because Fey was dead)

  The blood in her ears was roaring so loudly, thudding with each deaddeaddead, so she wasn’t even surprised when Jax seemingly came out of thin air to appear next to her, his knuckles clutching the bed’s railings tightly.

  For all that Celine knew, he could’ve come from thin air; she was so numb, so she was surprised when she distantly heard herself say, “She’s dead.”

  Jax didn’t say a word, his head instead bowing to the corpse of Fey, hands folded as his body shuddered silently. And somehow, through tear-blurred vision, Celine could see the look of pain on his face as the young king gasped in agony, before he turned himself away from the bed. He moved so he was facing the wall, left to deal with his grief alone, because he was the king, and that was just another thing that just had to happen.

  “How’s Fey doing?” Z’s sunny voice broke in as he burst into the room, uncharacteristic amidst the silent sobs that filled the room. “Wait. No, no.” There was a pause. “Stel-”

  “No! She can’t be gone!”

  Celine turned her head so she could see Stel for the first time in weeks, her face more full of shadows, her voice still somewhat different then how it was before as it cracked with fury. Because Stel Hathaway wasn’t just sad, she was angry.

  Z had his hand held out to stop her, but nothing could get in the way of Stel Hathaway as she strode towards where Fey had once been alive, before suddenly freezing in the middle of the room, seemingly unable to move any further. “No.” she whispered again, her resolution breaking as tears filled her eyes.

  And that’s when Stel broke, as she fell to her knees, her sobs like empty howls that echoed in the back of Celine’s mind, a soundtrack to a tragedy she wished she never had the chance to witness. Z was already on the other side on Fey, crouching by her side as tears streamed down his face.

  And this was it.

  Fey was dead.

  Celine wanted to say something, (what exactly that was, was long hidden in the deep recesses of her mind), but she was exhausted. She was staying up all night to either watch over Fey or worry about her, and now Fey was gone, and Celine couldn’t possibly have time to grieve, because the world just kept turning, didn’t it?

  She didn’t even know that Stel got back, Celine realized, mid-sob. Fey didn’t know that Stel had safely arrived, but maybe that was a good thing. If she learnt the truth about just how pointless it was to be fighting, it would’ve been too much. At least now, Fey could rest with her job completed, her battles won.

  Celine was almost glad that Fey didn’t have to live through her pain any longer, because she knew that with all the information that Stel had gotten them, there was no way that war wasn’t on the horizon. And Fey didn’t deserve to live through that too.

  And Fey definitely wouldn’t be their last casualty in the long war ahead of them. (and they were nowhere close to being prepared)

  Fifty-Three

  STEL cried harder than when she learned that her sister was su
ffering from Scorchen. She cried until her voice went hoarse and no more tears could leave her body, but even then, empty, soundless sobs shuddered through her. While the others knew Fey longer then Stel, Fey was still her mentor, her fellow worker, and most importantly of all, her friend.

  She first didn’t like Fey all that much, being the de facto leader of the infiltration project, the one that made Stel the puppet who would ultimately tie their fate. Gradually though, through countless hours working to make her the perfect Arleyene Crawford, she got to know Fey. Fey knew that she was going to die, but she accepted that and tried to help as many people as she could before she left; which was something that Stel would never tire respecting about her. And when she heard that Fey had taken a turn for the worse after learning that Stel made a narrow escape, Stel didn’t know what to do. The older girl had become the older sister that she never had. And now she was gone.

  Stel never saw as much as the others saw, despite being the spy at Elix. But now she felt the pain, she finally understood the loss. It wasn’t that living on the streets desensitized her, and neither did being a spy in the harshest conditions. It was the fact that she stayed strong and was stubborn to not see what she didn’t, that really made her mostly immune to what was happening. But along the way, little cracks were made in her shield, the chain reaction first started by her sister’s diagnosis, to the point where there was barely left anything to hold on to; nothing to protect her.

  And Fey’s death blew the entire shield up.

  Stel made a point not to cry in public in front of others, a resolution that she often had to break to earn sympathy for her false roles, but she had no hesitation to burst into tears right in the infirmary room. The walls shattered, and she knew that there was no going back. On the hellish world of Elix, she couldn’t think straight.

  Not that she could in grief either. But at least now she had a reason to her cause. Anger to her resolve. Sadness to remind her. And a courage that only Fey Downcley could shelter.

  There was a knock on her door. “Stel. I know that you’re in there. Please come out, you haven’t eaten in days.”

  “I ate yesterday.”

  Stel could hear Celine sigh on the other side of the door, “You’re supposed to be silent and open the door when I say that.”

  “That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” Stel said, the voice cracking at the end, betraying her emotion.

  “Stel. Open the door.” There was no point in arguing with Celine Hollingsworth when she used that tone, so Stel let out a shaky breath and slightly opened the door.

  “Don’t expect me talk,” Stel simply said, before turning back into the room, leaving Celine the option of coming inside. And she assumed that the Head Strategist did, judging by the mournful sigh and quick steps, followed by the door clicking shut.

  “It’s not your fault, you know.”

  Stel had turned her back, so she couldn’t meet the pair of inquiring, but still sympathetic dark eyes. She knew that if she did, the waterworks would start all over again.

  “Does it matter? She’s gone, Celine. She took the shock, and if I hadn’t have gotten careless and almost gotten caught—she would still be with us! Maybe it is my fault.” There was a brief pause, as if Celine was letting that sink in. And even without looking at the Head Strategist, Stel could detect something along hesitation playing around Celine’s words.

  “Stel,” she started, her tone soft. “It wasn’t your fault. We haven’t told you. Fey, she was feeling bad before you got caught, well almost got caught. This was a long-time coming.”

  Stel stopped her pacing immediately, thinking about what Celine had just said. “Wait, you’re telling me, that Fey’s condition was becoming worse and I didn’t know about it? Not on Elix, and not here either?”

  “We didn’t have a choice. On Elix, god knows what you would’ve done. It just wouldn’t be safe!” Stel finally turned to face Celine. Her mouth was left agape in her desperation, the helplessness in her voice ever evident in her eyes. But that didn’t stop Stel from letting go of her rage.

  “And on Earth? Here, in the palace? I suppose it just wasn’t safe enough, because of what I could’ve done! You lied to me.”

  Celine’s voice turned steely; her anger calm. “Don’t speak to me as if you’ve never lied, Hathaway. If this is how you would’ve behaved on Elix, I would hate to see what would’ve happened. It would endanger all of Earth. Every, single person.” Suddenly, she let out a shaky breath, going back to her now unsteady and rather quiet voice. “You know Fey, Stel. Never would she ever like to see you like this. I’m not apologizing, but I don’t expect you to either,”

  “Fine. We’ll call it a truce for now; but can you call a meeting? It’s been some time, and I have some news to share with you guys.” Stel bit her lip, partly out her fear of what she had found.

  “Now tell me, does this have anything to do with this suspicious looking souvenir that you brought back from your trip to the wonderfully tyrannical Elix?” Stel’s eyes widened at the mention of the box, as Celine called it, souvenir. And Stel was beyond bewildered when Celine pulled out a relatively small box from her comparatively big coat pocket. “Don’t worry, we haven’t gone through it yet, you get the chance to explain. Though I made a hypothesis of what blessing this wooden box hides.”

  “And may I ask just how you acquired said souvenir?” Stel asked, not liking the sly grin that spread across Celine’s face.

  “We have our ways. Now remember Hathaway, you called a truce,” A smirk was over her face, and Stel had to bit her lip to keep from smiling. And compared with what had happened over the course of the last few days, it was a refreshing change. “Meeting in five!” Celine called over her shoulder before the door slammed shut, resonating throughout the entire room.

  And without Celine’s presence to make the room seem much lighter than the thick misery that hung over it, there was an unmistakable, unshakable cold air that sent slight chills down Stel’s back. She knew that small, petty fights like this one, no matter of the cause, would cause small rifts in the group. And that was something that they couldn’t afford. They were already falling apart, and Stel didn’t want to willingly help that process along. Right before, it felt that maybe, just maybe, there was great hope that the group would withstand. But now a fuse went out, and if they didn’t find another source of light, they would grow dim and waver, a flickering star fighting for life; a star that once shone as bright as the sun.

  But then there was the matter of the meeting. Those almost never ended with joy and happiness. More likely, it would end with the position of two steps forward and one step back. Sometimes worse. But it was a known fact that the meetings were crucial, regardless of what happened during them.

  Stel couldn’t help but to tap her fingers on a desk, wondering what would happen. What she found was dangerous; but it would also lead them to possible freedom. And when she walked to the meeting room, the only though running thought her mind was how different their mission would feel when they walked out of that room.

  And then there was that vial cradled in that small box; so unaware of the great beauty, power, and despair it had caused the past. So unaware of just what it could do in the future.

  Fifty-Four

  STEL started to regret coming to the meeting. It was silent. A shouting match would have been better. The silence, on the other hand, was chilling. No one said a word, apart from Celine, who was explaining something, and if anything was said, it was in hushed whispers and emotionless tones. It felt off. Really off.

  Meetings were usually events in which they had to fight to say something. In which, yes, there were arguments, but they were family, and that’s how family worked. And in the end, something came out of it. But this? This felt like a ghost of what they called their meeting. The chairs were still set in their organized positions, the ceiling was still more real than the sky itself, and the files and ongoing projects were still haphazardly scattered all around the room. But some
thing felt missing. Or rather, someone.

  Fey would’ve made this place a whirlwind. Exciting, advantageous, and—well—not as bland as this. She made the meetings the meetings. Because there wasn’t one during which she didn’t start arguing with Jan, or clearing some point out to Jax, or helping Celine, or just joking around with Z, and most recently, there wasn’t one meeting in which she didn’t try to make Stel the perfect Arleyene Crawford. Not one.

  It felt like a graveyard. Honestly. It felt so lifeless in that room, that Stel felt that she couldn’t breathe. They were all in mourning. So was Stel, but her type of mourning was different. She wanted to shout out, ‘Stop acting like she’s dead guys’, but Fey was. Fey was dead.

  Apparently, Celine had enough of it too. “Guys. Would you please tell me that you hate my idea? That you love it? Groan, blink, eat, do something! You’re all lifeless rag dolls, and—ugh. Fey would’ve had your heads by now!”

  Okay, Celine was angry. And when she was angry, Stel knew from experience, she exploded.

  “And no, I’m not sorry because I said her name. She’s dead guys. She’s dead.” Her voice might’ve broken up on that last word, but that didn’t stop her. “C’mon. Say her god damn name. Fey. Fey. Fey. Fey. Fey. Please,” Something to substitute for tears, shone in the darkness of her clouded-over eyes.

  “It’s stupid.” Stel’s head whipped around at the voice of Jan. He hadn’t said a word, a single word, since yesterday. “It’s completely and utterly stupid, Hollingsworth.” Cold and dry. The first words that Stel had ever thought of when she met him. But now, after he started to become more bearable and kind, hearing him like this was almost frightening.

  Who knew Fey was capable of such things? Stel shook her head, as if that would get rid of her thoughts. Spending time in Elix, with the Immortales; it poisoned her. Her thoughts were more acidic now, harmful and tempting. She sometimes wondered how much longer it would take for her to stop resisting.