by Sarah Chorn
He was not full of butterflies, but bees. His excitement was gone. Now, they were here. There was no avoiding it. He clasped his hands in his lap and ground his molars together. Elroy’s small, private smile told him Arlen wasn’t hiding his anxiety as well as he’d hoped.
“It takes time to go through the Boundary. Can’t travel through it fast. Trains have to slow down to nearly a walking pace or none of us will survive, tonic or no. Don’t think anyone has ever figured out the why of it. The conductors and engineers know what they are doing, Arlen. Your father only hires the best.”
Arlen had taken the tonic, but still, doubt was a dark voice whispering in his ear. What if he didn’t survive?
Would anyone even notice? He felt so… inconsequential.
The train inched forward. Elroy opened his bag with fluid, purposeful motions. Sterling closed his eyes as though not seeing the Boundary would somehow make it easier. He leaned his head back in his chair, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he ground his teeth, and waited.
Arlen saw it.
Saw the Boundary coming at him with all the inevitability of tomorrow. Nearly translucent, but rainbow-hued, it gleamed and glittered as it drew near, a few inches thick, not much more. Such a small thing to have such a massive impact. At the front, a few people moaned and clutched their heads as that shimmering wall moved slowly through the train car. One person vomited loudly in his bag. Arlen’s heart thumped. Sweat beaded his brow.
And then it was on him, and he felt… nothing. He watched, mystified, as the shine coated his body. He turned his hands this way and that, marveling in the glow.
Relief flooded him. He was fine. No vomiting. No wetting himself. Nothing to tarnish the proud Esco name. All that worry, for nothing.
Across from him, Elroy was emptying out everything he’d eaten in the past year. Sterling was clutching his head, moaning. He pulled a vial of something out of his coat pocket and drank it. Even the conductor, at the front of the car, was noisily sick, yet there was Arlen, feeling absolutely nothing.
No stomach upset.
No sweating.
No headache.
He felt fine. No, he felt better than fine. He felt stronger. More alive. Like he could climb up the nearest mountain and touch the moon if he wanted to.
Arlen looked out the window again, pondering the mystery of the Boundary, and his non-reaction to it. It meant something. He just wasn’t sure what, yet.
He breathed deep and focused on the world outside his window. The sky was brighter. The landscape, more colorful. The world was so full of intention, it was reaching out to write itself upon his heart.
“Never saw anyone make it through without at least getting a headache,” Elroy muttered. He fished out a similar vial to Sterling’s and downed it.
It was then that Arlen realized his father never gave him a curative to take. It was as though Matthew hadn’t expected him to get sick. He had known, somehow, that Arlen would pass through untouched. As if the tonic was just a show, something he took to fit in with everyone else.
Nothing Matthew Esco did was ever without a reason.
Arlen had been different all his life. This just made him that much more aware of it. Suddenly, his relief vanished. In a room full of sick people, he was obviously the one standing out, already attracting attention. Should he pretend to throw up? Would it help?
“The Boundary is beautiful, is it not?” Arlen asked, carefully staring out the window rather than his companions. The Boundary was fading behind them, and the mountains were starting to level off. No houses yet, no lights from any towns or cities. They were still in the middle of nowhere, and the train was picking up steam. They’d be arriving at Freetown soon. Within an hour, he guessed. He flipped open his pocket watch, an ancient thing that still required winding, rather than the shine powered ones everyone else used. Ten o’clock.
He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Sterling and Elroy exchange a loaded glance.
“What?” Arlen asked.
“Are you well?” Sterling asked, looking worried suddenly, eyes probing Arlen, seeking some malady.
“I’m fine,” Arlen said.
“It affects everyone differently,” Sterling mused. “Perhaps you—”
“I’m fine,” Arlen bit out again.
“The Boundary is invisible, Arlen,” Elroy said, his voice low, worried. “It’s marked by stones and a wall in some places, but it’s not actually visible to the naked eye. Perhaps we need to get you to a healer in Freetown.”
Well, wasn’t that something.
“Ah, my mistake.” He turned his attention back to the window so he wouldn’t have to see any more silent conversations so full of uncomfortable meanings.
It was hard being set apart by station, by perspective, by life, and now by shine. Arlen had been fighting to go west for most of his life. The great, yawning frontier always called to him, all those open skies and untamed mountains. It was a place where a man could live whatever life he chose. There was a certain unabashed freedom in the idea that always appealed to him. Despite his yearning, his father had always denied him the opportunity to travel, preferring to keep him close. Now, Arlen was here, and the Boundary felt more like a shroud than a rite of passage. One more difference distancing him from everyone else.
“Will we have lodgings when we arrive in Freetown?” He asked. Anything, to change the focus.
“We’ve rented rooms near the governor’s house. It’s nice enough. Nothing as grand as we have back in Union City, mind. When we leave the city, things will be pretty rustic, but you’ll be so busy you won’t notice. Now, Arlen, your father has told you about the people out here, right?”
“Of course.”
“Good, best prepare yourself to meet them. For the love of everything holy, don’t drink the shine, and for Fate’s sake, don’t snort any shine powder, either. We don’t need to send you home to your father with all this experience and a nice shine addiction to boot.” There was a loaded pause, his body rigid, a man about to bring down the law. “No consorting with the people out here, Arlen. None. You can look all you want, but the second I hear that you got into bed with one of them, I’m sending you back. Understand? There are laws about this sort of thing. No mixing.”
Yes, he knew all about the prohibition against mixed relationships, and what happened to the kids that were products of them. As a teen, he’d stumbled upon his father’s secret records, all the mixed babies who had been secretly disposed of by his henchmen. Doubtless, that was part of Sterling’s business on this trip. Shadowy, murderous work. He was so genteel. It was hard to picture the older man with hands covered in blood. That was probably why he was so good at his job.
It made him sick to think of. So many things about his father’s empire turned his stomach. Perhaps that is why he didn’t try harder to take his position as heir.
“Sterling,” Arlen said. “I am aware of what these people are, how they look, and what to do and not do. Stop treating me as though I’m a babe in arms.”
“I apologize,” Sterling replied. He actually had the grace to look abashed. “I’ve just watched you grow for so long. I forget you’re a man now.” He wiped at his brow with a kerchief.
Arlen watched as the old conductor starting to make his way through the cabin with a wastebasket, and not a moment too soon. The cabin was starting to smell rancid with the sour stench of vomit. Mixed into that, was a growing sickly-sweet odor, a scent he only vaguely knew but could instantly place. Burning shine, but it was stronger on this side of the Boundary. Much stronger, almost cloying. It turned his stomach.
“Truth to tell, Arlen,” Elroy said, tipping the conductor, “I’m glad you’re with us on this trip. It can get quite dull out there. It will be nice to have some like-minded company.”
Arlen wasn’t sure what that meant, but he smiled anyway.
The train started to roll down a hill. Outside, the mountains were flattening, turning into rolling, pine-studded hills and sprawling plain
. In the distance, was a smear of light on the horizon, yellow and flickering, like a star in a sea of black. “That’s Freetown,” Elroy said. “It’s the largest city in the Territory, completely under company control. You’ll love it.”
Arlen’s mind moved to work. Familiar, and certain. “How will the governor’s reports be?” he asked. He didn’t care about the man personally. The accountant in him wanted to know what sort of mess he would be facing over the next few days.
“They will require minimal work,” Sterling replied. “From what I gather, Matthew wanted you to assess some of the reports, but your primary job is scouting.”
The textile mill. Yes, that was why he was really here.
“That’s good,” he said.
“It’s time for you to see what it’s like out here, Arlen. How can you run the company if you haven’t seen what the company does? If you haven’t seen the territory your father owns, and all the people who live in it?” Sterling’s voice was so moderated, so even. It sounded like he’d practiced every word a hundred times.
This scouting mission was incredibly important, not just for him, but for the company and the territory. It was the first factory of any kind in Shine Territory since the Shine Bandit burnt down the shine refinery all those years ago. A lot was riding on Arlen and this trip. Now, all the tension he’d forgotten during the journey was setting in again. He felt aged, somehow.
“Freetown! Ten minutes!” the conductor shouted. The train slowed, brakes grinding on the rails, squealing filling up the cabin.
“Thank the Fates,” Sterling said. “I could do with a good bath, a good whiskey, and a good bed.”
Freetown itself crept up on him like a thief. A hint here and there that something momentous was about to happen and then, almost before he realized it, he was there, in the middle of it, staring wide-eyed at empty cobblestone streets lit with brilliant shine-lamps. Ribbons fluttered here and there, colorful and lively, likely for Longest Day festivities. The buildings were newly fashioned and brightly painted, with glass windows and thick front doors with brass knobs. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this could be any fairly well-to-do town. Not nearly as romantic or sweeping as he’d built the place up to be in his mind.
The train screamed to a halt. There was a lurch, and a jolt, and the ride was over. The conductor opened the door.
“I’ll get the bags,” Elroy said, standing. He gained his full height, then stretched his back and groaned. He reached into the overhead compartment and pulled down their three suitcases. The rest of their belongings were being sent and would arrive in a few days.
“Time to go,” Sterling said, grabbing his bag and stepping outside.
The night was warm and the air was shockingly dry, almost crisp. Everything felt harder, looked sharper. Arlen blinked at the light and noticed, to his right, a portly man standing beside a carriage, leaning on a pearl-handled cane. His dark hair was gray, but there was a tint of violet to it.
“Ah, Governor Harris, I apologize for the ungodly hour,” Sterling said. The two men shook hands as Elroy and Arlen followed close behind.
“Nonsense,” Harris replied. His voice was booming. “I stay up late. You know that, old friend! And who have you brought with you?”
“This is Elroy McGlover and Arlen Esco.”
“Esco,” the governor said, eyeing him. “As in, Matthew Esco’s son?”
“The one and only,” Sterling answered with a smile and a wink.
Arlen watched it happen. He’d seen it a hundred times before. All his life, in fact. The man sized him up, determined how much he was worth and found that knowing him was distinctly more profitable than not knowing him. Perhaps, if the money tree shook, the leaves would fall on those closest to him. And so, Arlen knew Governor James Harris would strive to be his friend.
“You’re starting to turn, Harris!” Sterling said, gesturing at a violet clump near the governor’s temple. “You’ve been out here that long?”
“I suppose so. My wife says she likes it. She’s turning blue. It’s quite exotic, is it not? I’ve almost forgotten what you non-shine people look like!” He opened the door to the carriage. “Come along, men. Welcome to Shine Territory. The night awaits.”
I see her standing on the small deck outside our room. The moon hovers in the sky, holding court in her onyx kingdom. Cassandra is shining, limned by the heavens themselves. Otherworldly.
She is staring at the stars. I want to drink their light from her lips. I want to touch her, so I can know what heaven feels like.
Cassandra is so still she may as well be carved from marble. She is torment given flesh and form, terrible and beautiful. If I watch her closely, I can almost see the slow shatter working its way through her. I want to plant night-blooming flowers in the cracks that spiderweb her soul. She is a garden I long to lose myself in.
I have been awake too long, and I am weak. I need my rest. It is getting harder and harder to just hang on. To see each day through. I am no longer living, but surviving, barely.
We are so close to my end.
Perhaps that is why I cling to these moments so desperately.
She knows I am awake. I see it in the set of her shoulders, and the curve of her spine. She turns to face me, her movements graceful. She is wearing nothing but the night. My heart stills in my breast. I wonder how it is possible for someone so beautiful to be so sad.
“You cannot love me,” I say. “I am nothing but mud and dust.”
Our eyes meet. My cheeks fill with the colors of the sunset. Summer on fire.
There is a curl at the edges of her lips. “Is not the earth made of mud and dust, and more beautiful for it?” Her words drip like honey between her bee-stung lips. Her smile is a thief stealing away my breath.
The world fades away.
And then there is only us, and the soft magic of this night.
We are lost in an ocean of silence, yet we are drowning in each other.
“Ianthe,” she whispers.
My heart shudders, my soul gasps, and I know I’ve heard the most beautiful sonnet ever written.
“I want to hate him,” Annie said, her voice a whisper in the stillness of the afternoon and it cut right through me, “but I can’t.”
Her husband, Jasper, was out in the fields, tending his crops, while her son and daughter were at school. It was just the three of us, and she bade me stay inside while she spoke with her neighbor and best friend, Imogen. The day was cool, but even so, the cabin was small and close and seemed to capture all the heat and hold within its walls, even with the door open. A fire was burning low in the fireplace, and on the stove, a loaf of bread rose in a pan, covered by a moist towel.
It was a perfect slice of life, a picture of something I’d never known existed until that moment. A house, food, and plenty. Sometimes these small moments still catch me unawares. It is shocking, is it not, the ease with which we forget how precious stability is. I wish, to this day, I could have shared some of it with my father.
Her words, however, punched right into me, made the cabin suddenly feel cold.
For a moment, there was no sound. Then, I heard them sit in the two chairs that Annie had placed in the shade near her herb garden. Heard water being poured into cups, while I waited with bated breath in the cabin, to hear whatever came next.
“A daughter,” Annie said slowly, her voice laced with ire. “Can you imagine it? He’s gone for—how many years?—and he comes back with a waif and dumps her at my feet. Tells me to fix her. To make a girl out of her the world can be proud of. No never mind, just do it. I’m his big sister. He knows I could never turn him away, and certainly never turn my back on a child in need.” She let out a breath of air. I was afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. I didn’t want to remind her I was there. Didn’t want to be noticed, and yet all I wanted to do was hide. I winced as her words tore through me.
“Annie,” her friend said, voice low and soothing. “Be calm.”
Annie did
n’t seem to hear her. Didn’t seem to register that she was speaking. I’d been in her home a few days, and while she had been nothing but kind to me, anyone with eyes could see the tornado of emotions swirling just beneath her skin. “I didn’t even know if he was alive, Imogen. No word from him in years and years. I had Jasper put up an altar for him in the meadow, just in case. I light the Fate fire once a year, to show his soul the way.” A pause. “I thought he was dead. I mourned him. Then he saunters up here like he just he woke up and realized he had a daughter, dumped her here, and left to go nurse his wounds on the back of some mountain, doubtless.”
“It will be okay,” Imogen said.
“I don’t know what to do with her. She’s a wild thing.”
None of the nice Annie here. Her words were so cruel, each one leaving an indelible mark on my heart. All of this was borne of her frustration. I understand it now. At the time, however, I felt bruised. She couldn’t have hurt me more if she’d have hit me.
“She’s half-animal, Imogen. She came here in buckskins and a tunic, hair in braids, five minutes away from howling with the wolves. I caught her, just yesterday, digging up one of my flower bushes, licking the roots, wondering if she could eat them. Chris was never a man with fine manners, and he’s been gone for… It’s been so long. Whatever civilized ways he had, disappeared. Then his wife died. He loved her, and it broke him. He dragged his poor child through the wilderness and didn’t teach her a thing.”
“Children are pliable, Annie. It’s not the end of the world.”
I do not want to admit the humiliation I felt upon hearing this conversation. It pierced me in a dark place, turning me inside out, but I knew she did not speak a lie. My father, for all that I loved him, had done wrong by me, and now it was her job to fix his mistakes. I felt a great, terrible shame at being one of them. I wanted to hide from the world. If there had been more than one door in and out of the cabin, and if Annie and Imogen hadn’t been sitting right outside of it, I am afraid I would have run away and never shown neither hide nor hair of myself in that place again. As it was, I was trapped. Nowhere to run, and nothing to see but all the marks stacked against me.