Chapter 7 #2
That essay was brilliant. I'm not just tooting her horn because I'm her sister. And it was thorough. Verging on dangerous, because it might've been too thorough.
And way beyond what they had asked her to do.
She groans her distaste at my opinion, and I can't help but roll my eyes, smiling. This big brained, smart mouthed, little woman is going to be the death of me.
I walk through the streets of the only town I've ever known with a new set of eyes that afternoon. I have several stops to make and a lot to do before I leave, but I can't help myself.
Meandering through the familiar streets, I catalogue the dust-soaked town to memory, feeling strange.
Nothing here is particularly beautiful, especially as the thick sandy clouds roll in every so often and slap residents trying to walk by.
I suspect at one point it had been a beautiful place, though.
Now most windows are broken and boarded up, or covered in such thick dust it's impossible to see through them. I try to imagine the town before; electricity sizzling through the now dead street lamps, soft magic keeping homes warm, and markets overflowing with food and families.
All that's left here now is an odd reflection of that old life.
Markets comprised of relics and quietly stolen treasure from the past. All these cracked sidewalks, however ugly, are home for me and so, as I walk, I let myself wander through memories of my little town.
Meeting Marta for the first time, running around with Deacon, distant and hard reached memories of when my family was healthy and whole.
I wish I'd been able to see this place in its prime. When low level wielders would put on shows on the street corners, inventors would sell their creations, and creatures roamed all over the place.
Sprites and pixies and animals. Gods, it's been a while since I've seen a bird.
Willow swears she saw a powrie once, a murderous little creature with an affinity for treasure and blood, hiding in her school broom closet.
I assume she was letting her imagination get the best of her, but if not, I'm jealous.
I once saw a rat carrying a sock though, so, same.
I decide to get the easy stuff over with first today, heading to enlist. Then I'll head to the diner and quit, say goodbye to everyone.
The thought of Gile's face when I give my notice fills me with a sick satisfaction.
It would be lovely to tell him to go straight to the underworld, but I probably shouldn't, in case I ever make it back here and need a job.
Lastly, I will hunt down Deacon, and pray to the Gods he understands.
I really can't manage another persons meltdown today.
I have hope, though, that he will come through as he always does for me, in time.
I round the corner to see the small government building.
I'm told there's an outpost like this in every town, usually managed by two or three official government employees.
I have only been once, hoping to track down my father, but apparently finding wayward residents isn't their problem.
I pause outside the rusted brick, wondering if there's some last-minute option I'd forgotten so I can turn around and forget about this whole thing.
My gut churns, because that also feels unappealing somehow.
I'd been up all night, running every possibility through my head, hoping to find a solution that involved me staying––but there wasn't one.
If I'm being honest with myself, this plan came to me so quickly because I had already played out this entire scenario.
It's a nasty habit I'd gotten into, inherited from my worrying mother and her mother before that, I think.
I often cycle through all the worst-case scenarios in my head.
Planning escape routes and ways out of situations, should the worst happen, had become second nature at a young age. It only worsened once we'd lost mom.
I suspect it's a way my brain prepares me for tragedy, softening the blows of life with dark preparation. Sometimes my mind will go so long through the worst possible outcomes of life that I'll lie awake at night, exhausted in a sheen of sweat.
Not feeling ready, I decide to get it over with and push through the doors. A beady-eyed man stares at me from behind the counter, and another sitting to his left greets me with a nod.
"Hi, I'm sorry to interrupt. But... I'd like to enlist."
Both men gawk at me. I simply smile and shrug.
A half-hour later and I have signed most of the necessary papers. The man behind the desk, whose name I've already forgotten, is clearly in charge. He explains everything to me like I speak another language.
"After signing this last form, you hereby belong to New Providence until your term is complete.
You agree to serve this country and all that it stands for until your term is over.
If you survive the first four years, you may opt out, or re-conscript.
If you abandon your pledge, we consider it treason.
You have twenty-four hours from the time you sign until you leave.
" He studies me, watching intently as his words sink in.
"Twenty-four hours, that's it?" I question, chewing on the inside of my lip.
The conscription contract is longer than I thought.
I thought it was two years. Did they change that?
It's also less time before I leave than I'd hoped. One day to pack up my life and leave. I swallow bile that’s slowly creeping up my throat at the notion.
"Yes, Miss Treow. Too many change their minds and try their hands on the road." He takes off his glasses and rubs his worn and weary eyes with the heels of his hands.
I ball my hands into fists, cracking my knuckles as I recognize only now that I really don't know what I'm signing up for. I know the mortality rate of soldiers is high, but I have no clue why. I don't even recall how I know that for certain.
"Can I ask you a question?"
The man behind the counter grunts with a nod.
"Is New Providence officially at war? Where does most of the fighting occur? Why don't more people sign up when the benefits are so good?" I stop myself, because while I do have several more questions, I don't want to overwhelm them.
The man’s eyes widen and he wipes a hand down his face, glancing over at his friend who's still sitting in the same chair, stoic, like some sort of ancient statue.
The friend clears his throat. "This is exactly why you have no business enlisting.
No, we're not technically at war, but we've never truly stopped fighting with the other territories, namely Zaphira.
Soland can't get their shit together enough to be a threat, and they’re happy in their filth.
Soldiers are constantly defending our borders, holding the line.
Then there's the barrier. Our forces are always divided.
We're surrounded on all sides by enemies. "
Shit. My jaw aches from how hard I'm clenching it as I listen.
"Reconsider this. I'm sure there are other options to make money around here for a young girl like yourself," says the man at the desk.
I curl my lip slightly at the insinuation.
"I'm sure there is, but this is a better option for me."
"An option to stay home in a warm bed or two is better than dying young, girl."
I turn my head slowly. I'm quickly losing patience. Rarely do I let my calm facade slip in public, but they are grinding through my last nerves.
"If you two love the option of the skin trade so thoroughly, why don't you give it a go? Neither of you are overly pretty, but I'm sure if you can work together, people will give you a good price. Two-for-one, if you will."
I give them both a snotty look. A challenge. Daring them to continue on, the first tired, beady-eyed man behind the counter bursts into laughter.
"Keep that fire stoked, Miss, and you might be ok."
I nod at him with a half grin and ask the only questions I need answered before I sign.
"My siblings will get my full benefits, medical? And death pay should I pass?"
The man eyes me and I see a sudden sadness pass through his features.
"They'll be taken care of," he promises.
I lift the pen and sign, then gather the few papers, which includes a packing list and itinerary before giving both men a distracted "thanks" on my way out.
A few minutes later and I'm strolling through the diner doors on a mission, nerves taking over as I spot all the familiar faces getting ready for a busy evening.
I glance around, hoping Giles doesn't make a huge scene when I tell him I'm leaving tomorrow.
I don't see him, so I go to the back in search of Chef, the only person perhaps, other than Hollis, I care to tell I'm leaving.
I see the old woman in the back, tossing around empty crates and grumbling.
I lean against the wall, and a nostalgic feeling pulls my stomach. I'll miss this old fire sprite.
"Tough day?" I say, startling Marta.
The handkerchief she has secured to her head bounces straight up, as does the rest of her. She curses vigorously at me.
"What's yer problem? Ya tryin' te kill me?" She scowls, but then chuckles. She can't stay mad for long. She scans my face and cocks her head slightly. She may be feisty, but not much gets past her.
"What's up?" she says, a little concern lacing her tone.
"Everything is ok, but I'm so sorry to do this to you. I'm leaving." I hesitate, and then decide that Chef isn't the one for gentle goodbyes or careful words. "I enlisted, and I leave tomorrow."
She sighs, blowing out the handkerchief that keeps flopping down along with the grey hair out of her face, letting out a low whistle.
"Why?" is all she asks.
"Willow's medication has tripled in cost... I have no other choice. I'm sorry."
I twist my skirt in my hands anxiously, my hands blending into the rough beige linen.
I hadn't thought I'd get emotional. I don't love this job, but Marta has been a constant for me.
Her gruff, honest ways greeting me every day since I was a teenager doing dishes here.
You never realize what people mean to you until it's too late.
I almost gasp as emotion overtakes Marta's beautifully wrinkled face, and she waddles over and pulls me in for a giant hug.
"I'm sorry," she whispers in my ear.
"It isn't your fault," I respond, with glassy eyes.
"Ye, but it's not somethin' ye should have to do. I understand though. If there's anythin' I can do ye let me know, ya?" she says, pulling me back and holding me out with her arms.
"Well, actually, I was hoping you'd check in on Willow and Linden for me. I'm sure they will be fine, but they've never been on their own without me, and they could probably use a stern talking to every once in a while."
I chuckle as I say this, imagining how flustered Linden would get if he ever got into trouble with Marta.
"O'course! I'd be happy to!" She nods sincerely. I walk towards the kitchen door and pause, my knuckle tapping on the old worn wooden frame.
"Thank you. I really appreciate it. And everything you've done since I started here. Really, I mean it." The bridge of my nose tingles as I hold back tears.
"Any time, kid, I mean it. Ye write any time, if ye need anythin'."
She smiles at me, throws the towel she had been holding over her shoulder, and turns back to work. I think that's about as good as an "I love you" from her.
I walk towards the main doors, and I see Giles slithering through the crowd towards me.
"Treow, where do you think you're going?"
I can't help but recoil at his slippery voice. He is a walking, talking wet blanket. I straighten, slipping on a confident mask.
"Oh good, you're here. I actually have to talk to you."
I lead him to the nook on the other side of the door, so at least if he yells it will be away from the customers slowly trickling in. He grins.
"And what do we have to chat about today, Maple?"
I take a deep breath.
"I have some bad news. My personal situation has changed drastically, and I have to give my immediate notice. I enlisted. I leave tomorrow."
I wait for the explosion, the threats, but he just blinks at me blankly. Slowly, a twisted smile forms on his cruel mouth.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear you'd rather sling a weapon than join me in my chambers, but maybe our paths will cross again. Good luck."
I stand there, dumbfounded, watching him walk away.
Like I was no more than a speck of dirt on his shoe.
Like he hadn't been obsessively pursuing me for years.
That was unexpected. It was like the fun of the game just ended for him as soon as he knew I was leaving.
I turn, and all the air is heaved out of my lungs at the figure looming in the entrance.
Deacon is standing there, within earshot. I wonder briefly how long he's been standing there, but the look of absolute devastation on his face proves he was there long enough.
"Dea, please let me explain." I reach for him, but in a breath, he's already gone. The loud slam of the door the only evidence he had ever been there.