44. RIEKA
44
RIEKA
T he rail arrived exactly when Rhydian said it would. Then three minutes later, we were scooped up by a water catchment ramp under the train’s generator carriage, the engine it seemed was hydroelectric.
It turned out that the organ I’d detected Rhydian had collected from the Viper was her venom sack. The key component to reversing the effects of Toxicant venom, and he cut it right out of her throat.
For me.
I’d been required to stay in MedCom overnight so Sal could synthesise the treatment, a salve that felt just as horrible as the mucous venom had. She assured me that it would work, that I wouldn’t have any side effects, then surprisingly Rhydian had asked if my eyes would be the same after—if the colour would be altered.
“They will be as they were,” was Sal’s response.
His relief made the air taste like rain.
I contemplated pretending to sleep, in the hopes he would leave, but I needn’t have bothered. The council called for a meeting soon after and he left, leaving his scent behind to taunt me.
I learned from S’vara and Tira that the council had had several meetings in my absence, and when Eleen had come by to check on me later that night, claiming boredom as the reason, she told me I was the topic of conversation. Not an encouraging thought.
I remained in the carriage all night, forced to wait whilst the salve reversed the majority of effects on my eyes. When I’d awoken in the night I knew Rhydian was there, even before I detected his scent. My sleep was dreamless. I welcomed the sound of his soft steady breaths as he slept in the chair by my bed. But when I awoke in the morning, my dream having returned to me, I knew he was gone.
It was late afternoon before Sal was able to mend my eyes, and evening when I’d showered off the remnants of the climb and finally re-joined my bunkmates in The Commons.
According to S’vara, the train hosted a talent show every few months, and Tira had decided to participate. The Theatre was full, a jovial chorus of cheers and laughter as passengers packed the space like an overfilled cake tin. All their focus was on the six figures on stage.
Difficult as it was—even the aisles were packed with passengers watching the show—I managed to see the biggest draw for this particular performance.
Rhydian sat on a stool beside two others and was receiving a makeover by three very serious young children, one being Ghena.
Not wanting to distract from the show, I found an empty seat to my right and took it, discovering Lera in the seat beside me. She remained quite nonchalant to the sight, whilst the rest of the row, the Runners, all desperately tried to contain their laughter.
A bright red sheer material wrapped around Rhydian’s body, draped in a way that resembled something short of a robe, the markings on his chest shimmering under the lights of The Theatre . Ghena who had draped the material, moved away to allow the second little girl to approach Rhydian. She then lifted her hands and weaved the pieces together.
A little Spindle.
Of the other two figures I only knew Jae. The suit he’d been draped in was a dazzling yellow that had a massive collar that stuck up at a right angle like a sail. The woman who sat on the other stool I only recognised in passing. She was a Drake who worked regularly in The Greenhouse. The scales on her skin kept mimicking the green material wrapped around her torso.
The third little one was a young boy who kept weaving between the three adults, physically tying ribbons and bows in their hair in a rather bombastic fashion. From the musicians’ pit, a passenger played a piece filled with anticipation, as if we had reached the climax of a play.
Finally, the little boy dramatically raised his hands into the air and beheld a crown to the crowd. A great chorus of awws and oohs filled the space. His attempt to place it on Rhydian’s head failed due to their size difference, so the giant man climbed off his stool and knelt before the little boy.
As if it were a divine gift, the little boy carefully placed the delicately twisted ringlet of kitchen cutlery on Rhydian’s head.
With the makeovers complete, the three adults stood and came forward to present themselves to the crowd. The Runners all jumped to their feet.
“Hurrah!” they shouted
“Great work!”
“Masterpieces.”
The trio stepped back and gave the stage to the three little artists whose cheers were even louder.
I leaned closer to Lera. “What did I just watch?”
“He does this every year. Volunteers himself to the littles for the talent show.” Over her shoulder, her twin brother Lex leaned forward. “Last show he was a magician’s assistant, let himself get cut in half.”
There was a small gasp down the row and the three of us turned our heads to find Sal had abruptly stood from her seat. As she scrambled to exit the row, I noticed the way in which she once again fiddled with the seam of her shirt. It was only due to the crowded state of the carriage, and the difficulty in manoeuvring the cramped space that I had enough time to see why. Sal had a button missing on her shirt.
A pit opened in my stomach as a memory surfaced. A darkness began to tetter at the edge of my mind. It roiled with anger.
Blood red and smelling like sweet limes.
I excused myself, though Lera paid me no mind and I made my way back to the sleeper carriage, the sinking feeling in my gut threatening to overwhelm me.
Belief that someone should be carrying a reminder of Bennic, if only to remember he existed was the only reason I had kept his keepsake. That thought repulsed me now as I climbed into the bunk and searched my cupboard. The round metal disk felt ice cold now.
For what felt like an hour, I stared at it, at his trophy. The thought was repugnant. The image of the smile he had worn when I had asked him about it made my stomach churn.
Wade had been the target of all my initial anger at being on the train, using Bennic as an excuse, and he’d taken it without complaint. I had hated him for being so nonchalant about Bennic’s death and yet his reasons were warranted.
He’d said it. A Charmer. The one he’d killed had been a Charmer. Where Void’s nullified blessings and Vipers were living poison, a Charmer was considered benevolent, capable of influencing emotions and behaviour for the better. They were a benefit to society. Carers, peacemakers. They were justices like Tomas, keeping the traumatized newcomers to the train like myself calm after surviving the Lobby. But Bennic was not that, not if what I believed was true. Sal’s reaction to her examination made it so clear.
The passage to MedCom was quiet, most busy in the commons, so Sal was alone when I found her sorting through one of the boxes we had brought back from the compound. I’d barely been there thirty seconds when she slowly inclined her body towards the entrance. “Rieka, is something wrong, are your eyes ok?”
I knew the type of commitment it took to push those kinds of thoughts aside, to focus on external issues rather than what was going on in your head. Sal had mastered the art of suppression.
“I have something that belongs to you, though it took me this long to realise it.” I closed the short distance between us, unfortunately noticing how much paler she was than she had been earlier today, as though the thoughts had drained the life out of her.
“May I have your hand?” I asked, aware of the kind of boundaries I should not cross without permission.
Sal lifted her hand towards me. I took it gently, noticing the slightest but familiar flinch when we made contact. In the palm of her hand, I placed the button and her fist closed around it.
When she ran her fingers over the surface of the black disk, I noticed how much thinner they were than when she’d first tended to me.
Nothing I could say would be of help, not really. Not enough to erase the trespass she felt. But the part of me that relished in the destruction of those kinds of predators believed I needed to say something. I cleared my throat. “I can only speak from experience, but burning anything that reminded me of the incident helped.”
Sal chose not to answer.
“You did nothing wrong Salryah, always remember that. Nothing you could ever do would deserve that violation.”
I moved to depart but only reached the carriage threshold when her voice returned to her. “Does it ever go away?”
I chose my words carefully. “Find a way to reclaim your autonomy.”
Her expression was so lost, so pained I wanted to sweep her into my arms and hold her. But Sal was not that type of person. That was what I had needed, which resulted in me finding unhealthy ways to cope with my own screwed-up trauma. Sal was smarter than me.
“Letting him linger in your life, even if it is just to prove to yourself that it did happen, that his blessing was used to violate you only serves him.” My body shivered at the thought of immobility, of the kind of compulsion Bennic had had as a Charmer. “He’s dead,” I continued. “Let him rot with Veliah where he belongs.”
By the time I reached the next carriage passage, my nose detected the smell of burning cotton. I knew Sal wouldn’t be ok, not for a long time, maybe never. But at least I could hold out hope that in some small way I’d helped her retake the control he’d stolen from her.
When I arrived back in The Theatre , Rhydian was gone, and in his place was the last person I expected.
During my last Ascension Cycle, I'd been lucky enough to see the Aronbok Symphony Orchestra play at the Opera House, and aside from the fact I had never seen an orchestra perform before, I was fascinated by the conductor. How just the slightest movement of their hands caused drastic changes in the music. So to see Eleen on stage, dressed in a long white robe and waving her hands around in the exact same manner felt surreal, especially since it wasn't the musicians she was conducting. It was paint.
Streams of coloured liquid that rose from bowls on the floor and launched themselves at a giant white sheet that had been strung up across the stage. It was breathtaking. Like the night sky over Keltjar during summer when it rippled with colour.
I'd only ever heard of her blessing once, from my father when he spoke of his time fighting against the Pirate Queen's Armada. The individual could not only control the tide, but they escaped capture when tanks of oil the Deogn ships carried exploded, and the oil jumped from ship to ship, allowing the Pirate Queen's Kindlings to set them all on fire. From what he could tell me, they were so rare, if there was a name for the blessing, no one alive knew it.
It was oddly comforting knowing I wasn't the rarest person on the train, though Eleen would never hear that from me.
“Ree!” came S'vara's hushed voice. I looked away from the performance and joined her on the row our bunkmates had commandeered. “I didn't miss it did I?”
S'vara shook her head. “No, she's next.”
No sooner had she spoken did the music stop and Eleen end her performance. She then quickly removed all traces of paint from the stage and walked off it. Like it never happened.
A soft melody began to play as a Bright aimed their Luminos to the stairs of the stage, and there stood Tira.
Even with her hooves still present, Tira had not been deterred. Graceful and demure, she flittered across the stage in spins and twirls, leaping in bounds across the hardwood surface, her feet so light nothing but a soft tap could be heard. Her antlers had grown several inches these last two weeks and they were now long enough that she had twisted her hair around them and into a halo with the help of Farox. A style one of his three sisters had taught him worked well with Drake horns.
Since arriving on the train, she had never looked this… free.
“Someone has an admirer.” From the end of our row, Farox indicated to a young man sitting in front of us. Even without seeing his face, I knew the boy had a crush on her. On a person that young, desire had a floral scent, not yet tainted by sexual cravings.
There was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and found Ghena smiling at me, and sitting beside her, with a rather determine look on her face, was Lily.
”Please don’t ask me to do a makeover, my hair couldn’t take it,” I begged in a hushed whisper, clinging to the end of the braid.
Lily smiled in amusement. “How would you feel about a baking class?”