Chapter 1 #3
I wanted the sprightly woman who could turn any grey day into sunshine and rainbows.
The woman who had enough energy to draw stories on my back before I fell asleep.
The woman who loved idle chitchat with the neighbours because I did not.
She was my compass in this ever-increasing darkness, and I want her back.
All I can hope for now is that her passing be swift and painless.
Mam keeps telling me this isn’t the end.
That we get more life. However, when death is staring at you through the eyes of a loved one, it’s hard to think beyond never experiencing a day with them again.
A rustling of the tent flaps catches my attention, the water pump giving a half-spray, letting me know Nix is back. I listen intently to every movement my brother makes as he cleans himself up and makes some dinner.
Mam’s scent of sweat and soil fills me, becoming an odd comfort as I cling to her and wait for the sheets to crinkle beside me.
Right on cue, Nix lies down carefully, trying not to disturb Mam. “How is she?” His tone is low, surrendered.
I twist my head to face the ceiling. “I don’t think she woke up while we were out.”
“I came to check on her, but she was asleep, and I hate to wake her.” His voice is muffled.
“Maybe we should—” I begin. A hand lands on my shoulder, stopping me.
“Don’t say it. That’s not even a possibility.
I don’t even want to hear the words leave your mouth.
” He is fierce in his delivery. Lucky for Nix, he was gifted a sister with grit.
I untangle myself from Mam and turn to face my brother, who has his eyes closed and is flat on his back, taking up at least half of our bed.
I lean towards his ear and spit the word I would get starved for mentioning. “Fairy.”
His eyes pop open, and he groans. “Fuck. Why do you have to be such a pain in my ass?”
“That’s what little sisters are for, you big doofus.
” I push his arm. He doesn’t push back. Instead, his eyes meet mine, long and hard.
Through the dim light streaming around the curtains covering the barely-there windows of our tent, I can make out the crook in his nose from a fist fight with a market seller who tried to overcharge me for some jerky when I was seven.
I also spot the slight pinpricked freckles, matching my own, that fan his nose and cheeks.
Some of our features, like our jawlines, do not quite match.
His is broad, while mine is thin and pointed.
Mam says my face is shaped like a heart because she loves me so much.
I used to tease Nix because that must have meant Mam loved me more than him.
When I became a teenager, I realised the differences in our face shape and eye colour meant something more sinister.
My eyes are startlingly blue. Nix’s are a deep brown with gold. In our case, they speak of the differences in our parentage, mine more ill-begotten than his—mainly the merchant who took advantage of our mother around eighteen years ago. The man my mother has never seen since.
He wooed her with the possibility of a better future, an escape. However, with age and time, she soon understood no one was coming for her. And the only way Mam, Nix, and I are ever going to be set free is in the roots of the soil, long after our bodies are buried.
Mam likes to call my eyes her calm before the storm.
She says I am building up to something great.
My outbursts as a tiny child often alluded to the temper I managed to get under control with age.
However, it didn’t stop the constant, unbridled burning of solence in my veins.
The thrill of it pumps through my heart, often pushing my actions, even before I think.
I love them both endlessly for overlooking my one true flaw, the lie the man who sired me bred into our family: hope.
A hope that kept me believing there is always something better around every corner. The problem is we don’t have many corners in our fields.
That hope has now turned sour.
“It’s not going to happen, Storm. If I hear you talk of it again, I will restrict your factory trips.”
Lie. He will restrict nothing. “Sure, and the ground isn’t brown, and the sky isn’t grey with mist.”
A small chuckle escapes his lips. I fall down next to him, laughing. “Why can’t we try, Nix?”
“Because here, I can keep you safe. I know the rules. Out there.” He gestures towards the walls of our tent. “Out there with the merchants, I can’t be sure of their motives. You’ve heard the stories. Merchants lie.” Lips splutter on the last part.
Beyond the man who tricked Mam, I’ve heard the stories. The ones where they take the prettiest of the children and use them as bargaining chips. The thought of being sold makes my whole body shake.
“Come here.” Nix opens his arms. I scooch to lie on his chest, listening to the boom, boom, boom of his heartbeat.
I used to take this same position on our mother’s chest, and it almost—almost—reminds me of happier times with her. Moments where she held me so tightly, her squeeze alone was my whole world.
A time when Mam and Nix were enough.
A time when anger didn’t live in the pits of my soul.
A time when I didn’t understand the reality of my existence.
“I’ll find a way,” Nix reassures me, patting my arm.
That’s what he says every night when I try to broach the subject of doing more. Or at least learning more. He tries to protect me. I’m no longer a child. I don’t know what Nix thinks he’s going to find. We both know Mam is on a one-way collision course with the earth.
We are lucky to make it to our fiftieth birthdays in the lightning fields. Gossiped whispers on market days say this is a common occurrence within the farming colonies.
All I see is red when I close my eyes, willing death on the hollows—a silent admission I’d never admit out loud. Because if I ever get the chance. I will make them pay.
“I love you,” my protector whispers against my hair, and I wait for the rest—the poem that calms the raging furnace within and lulls me into sleep. “Beyond the simple measures of time and space. Beyond bodily forms and tricks of the eye. I love you...”