Harmonious Hearts 2017 Page 24

  Before she knows it, Sulvan’s in her face, and he pushes her down and presses his bare foot to her throat. She doesn’t try to get up, even though her lungs begin to burn with the minimal air.

  “Come with me.”

  “What?” she rasps.

  “Come with me. Fix this city with me. You can make a difference again.”

  “I’m not killing anybody else.”

  He snorts and steps away. Kyel rubs her throat.

  “You can’t be serious. You’re offering me a job?”

  “I’m offering you a second chance. You aren’t making a difference here. You’re led by corrupt people in a corrupt city. In finis, we change things.”

  “A tribe is a tribe.”

  “And a sect of coppers is better?” He waves a hand at the wreckage of bodies behind him. “You really think these people can make a difference? They put their faith in corrupt power.”

  “Whatever finis told you is a pissing lie, Sulvan.”

  “We’re changing the city.” Sulvan points to the ground. “We’re fixing this. We’re getting rid of royalty and we’re giving the people a voice. Isn’t that better? Isn’t that what you want?”

  “If finis was really doing good, they would be getting rid of the tribes. They’d be going to the different compounds of this sinking city and they’d be taking care of the suffering citizens. They wouldn’t be sneaking around in the shadows and killing people when it’s convenient for them.”

  “You don’t know finis like I do. Everything they do is purposeful. Everything they do has meaning and moves toward a better cause. We don’t fight or kill for power. We do it for the better.”

  “They’re a tribe, just like any other tribe. Maybe they’re better, or they’re scarier, or they’re stronger than any person should be, but they’re still a tribe, and they still kidnap and abuse children. They still steal people’s lives and turn them into killers.”

  “I wasn’t abused.” But his voice is a little quieter, his stance less sure.

  “You were whipped. No child should be whipped. And no child should be trained to kill.”

  “We do it—”

  “For the greater good. So you said.” Kyel pushes herself to her feet. She’s taller than Sulvan, she notices suddenly, and every time she speaks his face gets softer, his eyes younger. “But if the tribes want to make things better, they should make it so children don’t have to live in fear. Nobody should have to grow up like you and I did.”

  Sulvan’s hands clench and unclench.

  “I used to be like you,” Kyel whispers. “I used to think that we were making a difference. I used to think that being in a tribe was better than serving corruption. But it isn’t. It isn’t, Sulvan. My Hand helped me realize that. People are still dying under tribes. People are still suffering. Children are still going to bed afraid for their lives—for their childhood. Dagath was built in the middle of the sea so it could be free of the corruption on the mainland, but it didn’t work, and tribes are taking advantage of that. You think stella or finis or any of the other tribes would have as much power as they do if Dagath wasn’t so corrupt? They’re part of the problem, Sulvan. You’re too smart to fall for their lies.” She reaches forward. Sulvan flinches away but doesn’t resist any more when she puts a hand on his shoulder. She can feel the hardness of his scales under the shirt. “Don’t go back,” she says. “Fight for something better than a higher rank.”

  “Then don’t stay.” The answer comes suddenly, and he seems almost surprised when he speaks. He looks up at her, eyes shinier than usual. She blinks back at him.

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Leave. If you really want to make a difference, make it with me. I can teach you everything I’ve learned. I can teach you the ritual that makes me as strong as I am.” He touches her fingers, still wrapped around his shoulder. “They were preparing me to become a Hand. I know things. I have connections. We can bring them down without killing. We can change what having power means in this city.”

  “You believe me, then? About finis?”

  His face is so much clearer, now. He’s not twenty, Kyel notices with a sudden sense of abject horror. He’s much younger. He’s still a teenager. He’s fifteen, sixteen. He’s a child.

  “A tribe is a tribe,” he says, and Kyel’s heart shatters. “Let’s get out of here, amicus.”

  JENZEN’S IN one hand, Korey in the other. Sulvan’s moving both of them at once, but he can’t fight effectively because there are seven hitters surrounding him. A katana slides into the hook end of Korey, and he’s able to wrench it out of the hitter’s hands, but a cutlass replaces the katana and almost catches Sulvan’s neck.

  Shite, Hectrr would be really helpful right now if he wasn’t unconscious, probably poisoned, on the floor. Sulvan hasn’t seen any blood in the couple of quick glances he’s managed to sneak, but that doesn’t really mean anything. Hectrr, his Hand’s father, might be dead. All because Sulvan didn’t come up here fast enough.

  Something sharp stings his side, and he comes out of his thoughts as he brings Jenzen backward, the sharp end digging into something soft.

  That’s one hitter down, but his mind doesn’t feel right. He leaps out of the fray. Slash to his right. He digs the crescent end of Korey into their throat, and they drop to the ground. One more down. Jab to the left. Jenzen’s hook steals another weapon, and it’s replaced. They have to run out of weapons sometime soon, right? One more falls when Korey’s blunt end hits them harder than they can handle. Fighting is mechanical. One step. Attack. Twirl. Attack. Not quite a dance, but an art nonetheless, and one Sulvan has perfected.

  But he’s getting slower. Why is he getting slower? His hits don’t seem to matter. One step, attack, but the hitter at the end of his sword doesn’t fall. There are only four left. This shouldn’t be a problem. Korey slips out of his fingers, clattering to the floor. Jenzen is pulled from his hands without any resistance. Sulvan can’t resist. He doesn’t remember how to. His legs crumble beneath him, and he stares in wonder at his assailants.

  “The great Sulvan himself,” one of the hitters coos, stroking Sulvan’s face. “Fallen to what you consider the lowest of the low.”

  “I’m trying to fix this city,” Sulvan tries to say, but the words come out gurgled. “You’re trying to destroy it.”

  “Let’s talk about destroying things,” says the hitter. She’s holding Jenzen in one hand, twirling it around experimentally. She doesn’t know how to wield it properly. She looks like a fool. “We injected you with a Parcel. It has a transmitter, and it regularly feeds a sedative into your blood. It won’t be as bad as it is now all the time, but you will be significantly weaker. Did you notice?”

  Of course he’d noticed. He isn’t the one who’s a fool.

  “We want you to do something,” the hitter whispers. “Do you know who we are?”

  The masks on their faces—elegant, dainty. The goal was to make them beautiful and terrifying at once. “Stellas,” he says. “Obviously.”

  “Yes, Sulvan. And there’s somebody in this sector who did something very bad. Will you kill them for us?”

  Last year, the stellas had attempted an assassination on the royalty of Oth and had miserably failed. Was this their way around failing again? It was a little sad. “Can’t you kill people yourself? Oh, wait. My mistake. I forgot for a moment that you were stellas. You can’t kill anybody, can you?”

  “We can kill your pathetic finis friend,” the hitter snaps, and Sulvan doesn’t have the heart to point out that they had to poison Hectrr rather than kill him in battle. She tosses Jenzen over to one of her fellow hitters. “Do your worst.”

  The hitter does his worst.

  “The signature doesn’t make any sense,” Sulvan says once he’s done. “No hitter would leave a signature.”

  “But finis will know it’s you. And if you try to run—even if you get the transmitter out—finis will come after you.”

  Sulvan is findi
ng it very difficult not to laugh in their faces.

  “So now,” she says, “you have a choice. You can go kill who we want you to kill, or you can try to run. The former might get you a job at stella. The latter will most definitely get you killed.”

  Gods, this is hilarious.

  “The coppers are on the way.” She stands, now, and Jenzen is tossed to Sulvan’s feet. Whatever was left on the blade spatters all over him. “You don’t have a lot of time,” she says, and then she picks up one of her dead friends and her fellow hitters pick up the other bodies and they disappear out the window.

  Sulvan would really, really like to kill them. But the poison’s still working through his blood, and it’s a few minutes before he can finally push himself to his feet, bringing Jenzen up with him.

  Removing the chip wouldn’t be difficult. If he ran, a quick explanation to finis and he would be fine. Stellas really were as bad as everybody said they were. The most Sulvan would go through is a little annoyance, maybe a nonlethal punishment from finis for failing in a fight against a few measly stellas. Figuring out what was going on and who stella wanted him to kill would find him in jail, which would be obnoxious. He hates coppers. And it would also just prolong the inevitable, which was a punishment from finis.

  But also he’s a little curious about who stella wants dead. With how bad a tribe they are, it wouldn’t be surprising if they didn’t care about anybody who defected. But they’re really concerned about this, if they messed with a finis hitter and Hand.

  What the hell. Curiosity killed the cat, but it’s satisfaction that brings it back.

  Sulvan flicks brain matter off his cheek and smiles.

  ARBOUR AMES is trans, gay, sad, and stuck in a town in the middle of nowhere that somehow has absolutely no good attributes. They love to procrastinate on the writing that might actually make them money and instead spend time writing fan fiction that should probably never see the light of day but gets published online anyway. Arbour has weaknesses for fluff (both in fiction and on animals), horror movies, and existential memes. If ever one were to sneak a peek into Arbour’s life, they would probably see Arbour binge-watching superhero television shows instead of doing something useful with their life. Feel free to send over an email if ever you’re curious about their terrible fan fiction, if you want rants about superheroes, or if you’re just in the mood to get a response that is somehow sarcastic and awkward at the same time.

  Contact them at buglebane@gmail.com.

  The Fall

  By Kat Blake

  Is happiness a choice? Jake wants to think so. After years of depression, self-harm, and even a suicide attempt, Jake is introduced to a new group of friends by his neighbor, Aaron. Over time Aaron might become more, and be the one to show Jake he’s not as alone as he always thought.

  I.

  I HEAVED myself up onto the edge of the roof. My hands were shaking as I brought myself to the very edge, the toes of my red Converse peeking over the side. Drawing in a deep breath, I sent a silent apology to my family.

  I can do this. I have to.

  It was all just too hard. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had barely gotten out of bed for the past two months. I knew I’d lost my job. And the only reason I still had my apartment was because my grandmother had left it to me when she died. I mean, yeah, the power had been shut off, and it took a week for me to fix it, because what was even the point?

  My life sucked.

  Everything was dull. Not even the blood welling from my arms when I cut seemed bright anymore.

  Nothing was worth it. Not when every day felt like my own personal hell.

  I was resigned to my fate, though. All I wanted was for the pain to end. It’s not like anyone would care to see me go.

  Closing my eyes, I prepared to fall, welcoming the peace I would gain from my actions.

  “Hey! You want a sandwich?”

  Startled, I fell backward on my ass. Back onto the safety of the roof.

  I looked up and found myself staring at a very tall guy holding a bottle of wine and two sandwiches wrapped in cling film.

  He crouched down and smiled. “I mean, if you’re going to go, you may as well go on a full stomach, right?”

  What the fuck?

  He pulled me to my feet and gently shoved me into a chair, setting the bottle on a little table he dragged over.

  “I’m Aaron,” he said, handing me one of the sandwiches. “Aaron Wesley.”

  “Uh, Jake Montgomery,” I said softly, tugging my sleeves down so he couldn’t see my scars.

  “So,” he said slowly, unscrewing the top off the bottle. “Wanting to kill yourself, huh? Or just want the thrill of almost falling?”

  I looked away, uncomfortable. What was he doing?

  “My friend, he killed himself in high school,” Aaron continued. “Sucked, big-time. Don’t know why he did it. Fuck, I was so confused. He was always so happy. Guess it’s true what they say, depressed people often seem happy. Anyway, I felt like the biggest asshole after. How did I not realize my best friend wanted to die? How did I not see that he was hurting every day? Suicide, it hurts the people around you more than you’ll ever know.”

  I laughed, a choked, harsh sound. “Yeah? Tell that to the people who haven’t even realized I haven’t left my bed in two months.”

  “You’re out of bed now,” said Aaron. “Having food and wine with a friend.”

  “You’re not my friend.”

  “Maybe not yet. But maybe all you need is a friend.”

  I grabbed the wine and took a long swig. “A friend? You don’t know me.”

  He reclaimed the wine and took a much smaller sip. “So? No one knows anyone until they start talking.”

  I glared. Who did he think he was? All I wanted was to be left alone. I wanted to die. Why couldn’t he just let me?

  “So,” he continued. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Blue,” I muttered.

  “Huh, I like yellow. It’s a happy color, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose,” I said sullenly.

  “Favorite flower?”

  “Flower?”

  He looked taken aback. “Come on, you don’t think it’s important to have a favorite flower? Everyone likes flowers!”

  “It’s not very manly to have a favorite flower.”

  “Who the fuck cares? Flower, now.”

  “A daffodil, I guess.”

  “Neat.” Aaron whipped out his phone and began typing something. A few moments later, his head popped up and he smiled. “So, you know flowers have meanings, right? It’s a whole thing. But daffodils, they mean rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life. Maybe this is a new beginning for you. Not the moving on into death thing, but moving forward in life. Making a change, choosing to be happy.”

  “That’s dumb,” I said.

  “Why? Happiness is a choice.”

  I glared again.

  He just held up his wrist, exposing a semicolon tattoo. “You know what this is, right?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a symbol that means you can choose to move forward with life. It’s where an author could end a sentence but doesn’t. You could end your life, or you could carry on and see where life takes you. It could be amazing.” With that he stood, grabbed a pen and a small piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans, and scribbled something onto it. He moved around and squatted next to me, tucking it into the back pocket of my own jeans, his hand lingering for a few seconds more than appropriate. “I will see you around, Jake.”

  He left quietly, leaving me alone on the roof.

  I sat for a moment, not really thinking, just absorbing everything he’d said.

  Standing, I went back to my earlier position on the edge of the roof. Looking down at the ground, with Aaron’s words spinning in my mind, I wondered if this was the right decision. Did I want to die? Well, no, not really. But I didn’t want to hurt anymore.

  But I could choose not to. I co
uld walk off this roof and back to my apartment. I could clean it, find a job. I could go to sleep and wake up to another tomorrow.

  But what if it got too hard again? A thought occurred, and I pulled the piece of paper out of my pocket. I unfolded it to see that in a scrawl, Aaron had written his number and “call me,” with a little heart.

  Shit. Maybe I did have a reason to live. It was a sucky one, I knew that. But what if there was something there? Aaron was hot, there was no denying it, with his tousled blond hair and striking blue eyes.

  I closed my own eyes, imagining his in my mind. The blue was beautiful. Bright, and in the sunlight, they had seemed to sparkle. Smiling, I turned from the roof and walked away.

  II.

  FUCK ME. After carrying three bags full of rubbish downstairs, scrubbing my kitchen, and throwing away plates that looked too vile to keep, I was exhausted.

  A sudden burst of motivation had come out of nowhere. And now I was collapsed on my couch, all the curtains had been thrown back, and the windows were open, allowing a patch of sunlight and a soft breeze to touch my face.

  Titling my head back, I basked in the warmth. God. It had been so long since I’d done anything. Truthfully, it had been horrifying to see what my home looked like. It had looked like a rubbish dump. And it had stunk to high heaven.

  How had I lived like this?

  I dug into my pocket and pulled out Aaron’s number. I debated calling him, but I only sent him a text. Three words.

  Thank you—Jake.

  He didn’t reply. But that didn’t surprise me. It had been late afternoon when we were on the rooftop, and hours had passed since. Proof of that was my stomach beginning to rumble.

  I looked at the kitchen and heaved a massive sigh.

  God. No. I could not cook.

  My motivation was seemingly gone. Even the thought of getting up and having to cook a whole meal and then do the dishes afterward sat heavily on my mind. I had to, though. I couldn’t keep living off takeout and leftovers from the previous night’s takeout.