Chapter 59 Kali
KALI
Early morning dew glittered on the withered grass covering the clearing like a blanket frozen in time.
Inhaling, I imagined the cracked bark of a birch tree shoving sap straight into the pores of my palm, overfilling me with its strength to take that final step from the tree line and into the circular field that had used to be my bubble of freedom, of connection with my gods in the stars, of peace and war.
I exhaled in a deliberate manner and…walked out of the forest.
This wasn’t a clearing. This was my clearing. And I was taking it back from the clutches of that messenger and Ilasall.
More than a month had passed since I last stood here, and the twinkles of stars had blessed my plans.
But today, the scarce strokes of blue and orange colored the sky between the gray clouds as the sun peeked out on the far horizon, its globe the color of a dried yellow oleander hidden in my closet back at my apartment in Ilasall. As poisonous as the city itself.
My path toward the center of the field carried me through the days since I’d found out about Alora, since Ilasall had tried to turn me into a message.
The first ones had been like a nightmarish dream in which the hollowness inside me and the messenger’s promises mixed with the warmth and safety of Gedeon’s and Zion’s embraces. Their promises.
They didn’t ask me for anything, didn’t push me, not like everyone at Ilasall with their wicked bargains forcing me on my knees or to bend over the tables. No, they simply let me be me, to exist as I was, and…cared for me.
Though they didn’t give me space, looming behind my back or standing at my side, it never felt oppressive.
My body had lost its value, having transformed into merely another commodity to be traded, and yet they’d found a way to give it back to me.
Now, somehow, I wanted to choose to give them not only it, but my mind too.
Even more. I just wasn’t sure I had anything more to give.
I threw my head back and savored the cool breeze briefly piercing the gloomy stillness in the air.
It was time to tell myself the truth.
I was a slave raised by the monsters residing behind the fifty-foot-high gates of Ilasall, born to succumb to their rotten view of the world.
But now I knew there was hell beneath my feet and I was determined to send them there.
My morals had been corrupted beyond repair, my heart hardened to stone, and my doubts erased.
So I was going to bury my pain, saddle the demons haunting me, and lead them as my army of viciousness to destroy that heinous man at the top of the Spire, the Head of Ilasall, the person who’d forged me into what I had become—his death.
I spread my legs and dug the noses of my boots into the earth in preparation for the choreography Zion and Eli had taught me.
One. Transferring my weight to my half-bent left leg, with my knife flipped open and pressed between my palms, I balanced on one limb, moving my right foot in a circular motion behind me.
Two. I jumped into a half-squat, ducking a punch and sinking my weapon into the gut of an imaginary enemy.
Three. Kicking the back of their knees, I elbowed their nape, the crunch of withered twigs under my boots, a similar sound to a vertebra breaking.
Four. Lowering into a deep lunge, I leaned back to avoid their retaliatory strike and twisted aside, cutting the back of their ankle. The stomped-out grass resembled the shape of a slumped body, rousing my motivation to push further.
Five. Leaping backward, I swiveled around and slashed an unexpected opponent’s throat, instantly withdrawing to avoid presenting them with an opportunity to take hold of me in case I’d failed.
Humidity plastered my hair to my face, and I swiped it away, getting back into the first position. I repeated the sequence in an endless loop, becoming one with the steel of my blade, one with the whoosh of wind caressing my skin, one with the burn of my muscles.
As I danced in the center of my clearing, the movements grounded me to reality, steadying me, creating a sense of balance I could live off.
Feather-light fingertips drummed on my extended arm.
Startled, I met Zion’s soft smile as he fell in line beside me, matching my stances and jabs, my mood and my silence. Except his ignorance of Eislyn’s request to rest so the new stitches could heal bothered me.
Ilasall’s attack of mere hours ago had cut him deep. He’d dissociated, the urge to draw blood overriding any and all rationality.
But I didn’t ask him how he was doing. There was no point.
We were both sick of this life, falling apart, torn at the seams. Changed by the cruelty and brutality of our world.
Over and over again, we spun in tandem. We threw punches, weaved our kicks into intricate patterns, and wielded our knives with ease as the sun rose higher behind the darkening clouds.
Our backs grew slick with sweat, our jackets discarded, the freezing wind a welcome distraction from the night’s events.
“You can come out, you know.” Zion’s voice pierced the swoosh of our motions. The forest ruffled, carrying his invitation far.
His footsteps silent, nature bending to his will and masking his being, Gedeon stalked over to us, halting at our ring of dirt where we kept moving through the stances.
A demarcation line between the life Gedeon protected and death Zion and I hungered to deliver.
“You’re not going to say anything?” I twirled around, my movements precise and smooth as I cut through the air.
“How did you get past the guards?” Gedeon asked.
There was no way the group he’d set up to patrol the edges of our compound, the fields, and the surrounding forests was going to keep me in. They could track every shift of weather to deliver it to him on a silver platter to examine, but I was not something you could contain.
Lifting my right arm in an uppercut punch, I pulled back my sweater’s sleeve, exposing the dark swirls of vines trapping a cold weapon inked onto me. “I have the tattoo. They let me go wherever I want. Half of them are too afraid to say no to me.”
“You are a murderous thing,” Zion said, and if the cold wasn’t biting my cheeks, the reverence in his tone would.
“And you’re my pretty boy.”
He rested a hand on his chest.
He truly was my pretty boy. The prettiest.
Gedeon rubbed at his face. “Come back. Sleep deprivation will do you no good.”
Together with Zion, we repeated the motions of battle. Sleep deprivation or not, it didn’t change the facts. War was coming. Uncountable deaths, too.
Gedeon crossed the border of the last intact, unviolated grass and stopped inches short of our blades’ reach.
“Careful,” Zion warned as his knife slashed through the chill clinging to us and he ducked down, evading an invisible offense from the enemy.
“We need to go to war.” My boot slipped, but I caught myself, leaping back into the position without wiping the sweat trickling into my eyes. Discomfort wasn’t something I could afford to succumb to. “Our time is running out.”
Gedeon looked out over the trees, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the ends.
But the strip of golden sunshine falling from the parting clouds didn’t relax his locked jaw, didn’t erase the bruise rising to the surface under his swollen eye.
“We cannot. It would bring us certain doom. Us. Not them. Us. It would be carnage.”
“You cannot coerce me into giving up.” The words flew out of my mouth as if rehearsed, and I practically flinched from the force of them.
Zion paused for the split second it took to bring his scarred forearm to Gedeon’s attention.
“You know history tends to repeat itself.” He joined me in the next position.
“I talked to the families. They’re not happy with doing nothing, as you can guess.
Remember the brothers of one of the leaders from that mob that threatened us months ago?
The two you told me to play with in our underground?
They’re back at it. Ezra informed me of spreading rumors that they’re rallying others to separate from you, to make a move against the city, stating you won’t do anything because you’re afraid.
It’s going to be fucking a mess. Our own people are splitting into factions.
You want to cause a civil war in Ilasall, but we’ll soon have one at our heels. ”
“Have you ever thought why no one has challenged me up until now?” Gedeon rolled his shoulders and grimaced, spending extra time rotating the right one.
“Because I know when to control and when to release the leash. When and how to punish offenders. How to inspire with a simple speech. For years, I have led us into growth, and I will not throw it all away for the thirst of justice. It’s not something we can indulge in.
I will not take useless risks. And I will not let vengeance consume you.
I will not dig out your graves and carve out your names in the tombstones. ”
In rhythm to the rustling of bare branches as they bent to the will of air currents, Zion swayed beside me, oblivious to the picture of doom Gedeon had painted.
We repeated the sequence of steps over and over again while Gedeon waited for our reaction.
But it never came. Because neither I nor Zion could go on without taking risks anymore.
So Gedeon went on. “There is a reason why we got to where we are. We sacrificed much, and for one goal—to have our war. The one instigated on our terms, our ground, with our people united. Not a rushed one because the man leading Ilasall was cunning enough to turn us into fools he can easily squish under his boot.”
His words made sense, but their knock on the stone cage encasing my heart was like a faint vibration of a dream never to come true.
“Why aren’t we seeing this the same way?” I asked, concentrating on the next lunge, then a jump, a strike, a duck, and a jab, half my focus directed to maintaining my balance on the slick ground.