Chapter 33 - The Pang of Life
July
“That pang you feel in your chest is not your heart failing. It is the life of a Harvester or Horigean running out of time,” Popplewish said while we sat at my mother’s living room table, the good one, made of crystal and white oak that she only used when we had guests.
“But I don’t want it. It hurts.” I was just a little girl who didn’t know anything about death. Only that it comes and takes away people and animals forever. But I was the one suffering every time and having nightmares after it’d happened, sometimes for weeks.
“It’s okay, dear. I will teach you how to turn that pain into strength and about the beauty of your gift.”
That was the moment my parents left the room without a word. I saw them again when they handed me my luggage and waved goodbye from their front door.
“You have a special heart, like mine, and many other people like you.” Popplewish had a book with her that day, and she opened it before me. “Have a look at this. Tell me, can you read, Sofia?”
I never liked that name; it didn’t feel like mine.
“Yes.” I lied. I was scared the nice lady would leave without me if she thought I wasn’t good enough.
My little fingers run across the lines, back and forth, tapping on the words. “We…ar…are…pr…pro-te…protrep…”
“Protectors. We are protectors of souls. Do you know what a protector is?”
I kept my eyes on the page, hoping to find the meaning there. But it wasn’t the word ‘protector’ that bothered me.
“What’s a soul?” I asked instead.
That was the first time I experienced a hug, a real one, not a cold pat on the head. Popplewish held me tight and only let go when I was ready to walk on my own, with her by my side.
I crack open my right eye, happy with the almost total absence of light because even the weakest ray of sunshine would split my head wide open. There’s a pounding discomfort behind my eyes, and my mouth is so dry I could drink water until I drown.
The idea of water brings an image to my mind: a stranger offering me something to drink after Mack’s barriers had knocked me unconscious.
I sit up so quickly that I immediately regret it. My stomach churns and spins, and I cover my mouth with my hand, fearing the worst. But as I give myself some time to inhale and exhale normally again, a sweet aroma tickles my nose.
I have to gingerly turn my head left and right to scan the space, until in the dim light filtering through the only window in the room, I discover the source of the inviting smell on a bedside table, where someone has left a teapot and some cake.
Following the recent events, food has dropped to the bottom of my priorities, but it’s also the one thing that could help my brain work better and understand what’s happening.
So I fling my legs over the edge of the cot and pluck a small bite of cake, washing it down with some lemon tea to make it easier on my throat.
“Oh, this is so good,” I mumble, chewing the perfect mixture of sugar and orange.
But when I lift the plate for more cake, muffled voices from the room beside mine catch my attention.
Barefoot, I cross the floor and press one ear against the wall I share with the adjacent room.
The voices are so hushed I can barely catch a few words. But one thing is sure—Galen is in there.
I toy with the idea of leaving my room and standing behind his door, but when I push away from the wall, my head starts spinning, and black dots appear behind my eyes.
“…you what?!” Galen yells from the other room, and I silence a gasp, covering my mouth before it can betray me.
When nobody comes knocking at my door, I flatten my ear again against the wall. Someone is pacing up and down, and words get lost in the background noise, but I’m sure Mack is the second person in that room.
They’re arguing - well, Galen is, while Mack sounds otherwise amused - until a door slams, followed by a thump as if something has dropped on the floor or someone has sat down heavily on something.
For a few seconds, I listen to my heart thumping in my ears, as it relaxes into its natural rhythm after the excitement of behaving like a naughty child. But soon it starts to gallop when Galen begins to speak again.
But it is not Mack, talking back at him…
I never thought a minute could last a lifetime, and mark your existence as if you had fought a thousand wars—and lost them all.
I force myself to push away from that damn wall as if waiting for someone to tell me that all I’ve heard was a joke.
“This can’t be real…” I repeat a few times as I walk back to the bed-cot and sit on its edge, facing the window. My fingers ruffle the blanket, opening and closing, tensing and releasing. But my usual trick, the one I taught myself as a child, to relax my nerves and thoughts, doesn’t seem to work.
I stand and open the curtains, letting the light in. It hurts, but for a split second, it silences the echo of what I shouldn’t have heard.
I rest my forehead against the window, breathing a purple puff that stains the glass momentarily before disappearing.
Despite the sunshine, the glass is cold to the touch, numbing my skin enough to trick my brain into thinking that that is the issue I must focus on—not the conversation I’ve accidentally just listened to.
I close my eyes to savour the pleasant sensation when I hear a laugh coming from the little garden below the window.
I peer outside, looking for that sudden source of normalcy and happiness. “Who would want a child to live here?”
So far, I’ve seen the half-destroyed carcass of what Tabs called HQ and this room. But now, trees and green grass surprise me, populating a pretty little orchard with low bushes of pink and white flowers here and there.
Not so different from the orchard we had back in Libera. Except for the lack of a training square—and a burning castle.
The last few days’ events come back in a violent wave that crushes me.
I fiddle with the latch to open the window and let fresh air in, but I stop when footsteps shuffle and stop outside my door.
Something rustles outside. I hold my breath to avoid making any noise, but nobody knocks or comes in.
I take a deep breath as if I have forgotten how to use my lungs. My heart starts racing, warming up my chest.
“Who’s there?” I ask timidly, unsure my voice is strong enough to pierce through the door.
When I receive no answer, I move away from the window and slowly walk over. One step at a time. Stopping halfway. Another noise, like a scratch, as though whoever is outside is running a hand up and down the thick wood.
I’m only a few steps away when a sigh confirms my doubts.
“Galen, is that you?” Even if he’s the last person I wish to see after what I've just heard.
But, if that’s not Galen…
I cut across the space between us as quickly as possible, fearing my heart would stop if I didn’t.
He was the person who was talking to Galen just a few moments ago. I’m sure of it.
I nearly slam against the door, my right hand stroking the hard surface at my eye level. “Is it you?” I whisper, ignoring the tingling feeling in my fingertips, like that of Nistarei’s kernels wrapping around my hand before dripping inside my vials.
A gasp.
Someone else walks out of the room adjacent to mine.
Heated whispers follow.
I bust the door open—but I’ve waited too long. Only an empty corridor welcomes me.
All I want to do is cry and fill the void left inside me by the invisible presence with tears.
The wooden door is warm beneath my hand, and the pang in my heart is the same one I tried to explain to Popplewish when she showed up at my childhood house.
The whisper of a life that’s about to end.
Loud steps make me jump, snatching me out of my reverie, and I rush back to the cot. I sit down, pretending the window is the most interesting part of the room, when all I want to do is to run after the soul who’s just left a hole in my chest.