41. Thirty Eight
Thirty Eight
Eden
Sleep evades me.
Creed came down hours ago, double checking that I didn’t want to share his bed tonight.
There was a slump to his shoulders, a wariness in the way he rubbed his palms together.
I explained that I needed time alone, but I’d seek him out if the heaviness became too much.
With a sad smile and a kiss to my cheek, he retreated to his room.
I do not deserve him.
Now, I sit alone on my dead father’s bed, with my dead mother’s journal cradled in my lap.
Papa’s journal is on the nightstand; I only managed to read the first few pages.
To know how he truly felt about me was more jarring than I expected.
A full year hasn’t even passed since his departure, but I’ve already forgotten the magnitude of his hatred—the lengths he went to snuff out the Darkness within me.
The Darkness that, according to my mother’s words, isn’t Darkness at all.
It’s her pages that I can’t wrap my mind around. Something about my father's were so simple. He despised me for who I am at my core, and that was the end of it. But my mother…
She loved me. She knew me. Even before getting pregnant, she claimed to have dreamt of me more than once.
Page after page, I step into the mind of the woman that gave me life.
Her own Gift didn’t manifest until she was a teenager, and like me, she was horrified by her abilities.
What started as gut feelings soon turned into premonitions.
It was a burden, to know so much yet nothing at all. It overwhelmed her.
It was only when she began her research on the Fates that she learned to appreciate it. With the help of Veda, the two dug up as much information as they could with limited resources. They practiced, and prayed, and begged for guidance. Until one day, it clicked. And my mother knew.
It’s here where the entries are more difficult for me to stomach.
The Fates are fickle about power. The giving, the taking. I knew, from the moment I dreamt you, that you were to be the catalyst of change. That you were the answer to so many prayers.
That is why, darling girl, I chose to make a bargain. Power for power, my life for yours. Whether it was a choice or not is impossible to know, as everything is meant to be as it should.
She sacrificed herself to give me life.
The entries go on to explain how she chose my father, wishing to find someone in the Brothers of Divinity. There aren’t too many details on their relationship, and for that I’m grateful.
My mother was a cunning woman. We may look similar, but I can’t help realizing how cowardly I am in comparison.
Absently, I finger the chain on my neck.
Skipping ahead, I open to the very last entry. The one that makes my limbs grow cold, even after reading it a dozen times.
It fills me with fear, and anguish, but most of all: acceptance. For as long as I can remember, I questioned my role in this life. If I had a purpose, it was lost on me. But now, with my mother’s hurried scrawl staring back at me, it’s clear.
I’m no enemy, I’m no hero. I’m a means to an end. And that’s better than nothing.
My darling dove, do not fear ends, for they are also beginnings. When the time comes, welcome the light. You are made of it.
We will be waiting when the skies clear.
Cecil drops the two of us off at the Refuge.
He has business to attend to at the Sanctuary, but he wants us to continue our training.
Well, he wants Creed to continue, and I can’t be left alone.
I tried to put up a fight, saying I wasn’t sure I should be around the others.
The brothers shared a look and told me I couldn’t live in fear.
Easy for them to say. Still, I relented. If my mother could, then I can try.
Window rolled down, Cecil signs for Creed and I to be good, his expression comically sincere.
“No problem, Dad!” Creed waves goodbye excitedly, teeth flashing.“We’ll miss you!”
I can’t help my wide smile, so I hide it behind my fingers. Cecil rolls his eyes, raises his middle finger, and drives off. In the side mirror, I see him watching us. When I wave, his gaze flicks forward.
Today, Sylvie insists that Creed learn how to handle a gun.
To my dismay, he’s a big fan.
The first hour is spent teaching him the ins and outs of said weapon.
How to reload it, how to take it apart, how to turn the safety off and on.
More than once, she grips his shoulders and corrects his posture.
Complaints are thrown left and right, Creed insisting they begin the actual shooting part.
She grumbles about impatient men, comparing him to his brother.
That causes me to exhale an almost laugh, which earns a dirty look from the woman.
In case I've forgotten we aren’t friends.
I sit criss-cross on the ground, running the tips of my fingers through blades of grass.
Every now and again, a grasshopper will pass over one of my hands.
Eyes cast down, I don’t notice Creed has advanced in his lessons until a shot rings out.
My whole body lurches, and I clap my hands over my ears.
Creed’s head whips towards me, his eyes as big as I’ve ever seen them. I offer a shaky thumbs up.
Again and again, Creed aims at painted milk jugs in the distance.
Out of a dozen, he only skims the edge of one.
Sylvie attempts to give him guidance, but he’s too excited to be a good student.
The cacophony of echoed blasts has me biting my nails to the quick.
People mull around the camp in every direction, no one else batting an eye.
His aim doesn’t improve. Sylvie eventually cuts him off, explaining that they don’t have the ammo to waste. He sneers, but relents, sulking toward me like a scolded child.
“How did I do?”
“It was…” I glance at his hopeful smile. “Loud.”
Creed tsks, pointedly turning his back on me.
Sylvie tucks the handgun back into a large duffel bag, filled to the brim with various firearms and ammo. With any luck, it will be kept far from Creed.
“Now what?” He asks.
“Self-defense.” She dusts her hands off on her jeans.
We follow her to the mat on the opposite end of the camp. The very same mat Jasper attacked Cecil on a few weeks back. My stomach roils.
Sylvie steps onto the mat first. Her hand disappears into the waistband of her pants, and it comes back holding a black rectangle. A blade, I think. Cecil has one similar. It hits the ground with a thunk, and she signs, “Come on.”
Creed takes a step forward, but she’s quick to shake her head, ebony hair brushing golden shoulders.
“Not you.” Her gaze falls on me, and the coward I am, I shrink. “You.”
Trust is rare for me as is, but with the woman in front of me, it’s nonexistent. There’s an unspoken rivalry—like we’re opponents in a game that I don’t know the rules to.
I shift nervously on my feet. “I don’t know. Cecil says-”
“Oh, God,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes up into her head. I frown. “Fuck what Cecil says. His infatuation with you is gonna get you killed.”
Infatuation? With me? She must misunderstand.
My eyes dart to Creed, but his freckled face is screwed up in concentration as he watches her lips.
Without an ally to fall back on, I flounder. Sylvie studies me, and though it appears to physically pain her, her stiff posture falls. Her tone is a fraction softer when she speaks again.
“Men are like toddlers. When they find something they like, they hold it in their fist and refuse to let go.” She raises a hand in between us, grasping an invisible object. “And you know what happens? Eventually, they crush it.” Suddenly, her fingers clench into a tight fist. I wince.
Cecil says he won’t let anything happen to me, and I believe him, but I can’t help the fleck of doubt.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize Sylvie has stepped closer until she’s within arms reach. She leans in, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“It might feel like protection, but it will cost you. I promise.”
Skeptical, I peer at the woman. A question forms in my mind. Unsure if I want to know the answer or not, I ask anyway.
“Is that what he did to you?”
Sylvie smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“No.”
All at once, her demeanor turns cold. Her boots leave indents in the overgrown grass as she makes her way back to the mat.
Sylvie waves her hand to get Creed’s attention. His uneasy expression turns to her.
“She should be able to protect herself, right?”
Creed mulls it over. Eventually, he replies, “I think so.”
“Okay. Can you keep a secret?”
Now, he smiles. Any opportunity to be ornery, he’ll take. “Obviously.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”