Chapter 20 - Just a Sunday Morning
July
I like Saturday mornings, but Sundays are the best. Everybody is too tired from the night before, too full of food and happy memories—mostly awkward memories they hope will remain a secret and soon forgotten.
But today is not one of those Sundays.
It was already Saturday evening when I returned to my place after the meeting with the Chapter. Miss Popplewish had escorted me outside and given me a ride back.
“I need to blindfold you, July. I’m sure you’ll understand. But you can text Galen first if you wish.” Those were the last words she spoke to me as she handed me back my phone.
I remember replying as if to a stranger, “I’ll figure something out later.
Is there anything specific I need to know, anything I should do to avoid messing up Galen’s new memories?
” I was exhausted and confused. And I knew that no matter what story the Chapter had concocted to convince him that he brought me home after dinner because I was pretty wasted, our friendship would never be the same—at least for one of us.
Because I made a deal with Roden. Because I accepted to be the key that will open a well of pain and who knows what else for a man whose only sin is to be powerful like me, but not squashed under Roden’s will.
Yet.
But as far as Galen is concerned, I spent the entire Saturday in bed with a terrible headache and an upset stomach.
“You will receive instructions soon,” Popplewish had added, her voice like nails on a board.
“In that case,” I’d shrugged after fastening my belt on the passenger seat, “I think I’m ready to start living a fat, shitty lie, I guess.”
And now Sunday morning is knocking at my door like an old friend, and I wish it could be Friday again so I could change it all, make different choices, and be free to enjoy breakfast by the shore with Galen.
Usually at this time, he is calling and sending silly emojis of coffee cups. Or a croissant, if I don’t reply within two minutes, followed by pictures of baby owls with their beaks open. But not today.
What if they lied... What if they weren’t able to play with his mind... What if. What if?
I need to feel something. Leaving my room is the first step towards a semi-normal life.
My legs are tangled in my bed sheets, and it is as if I fought to fall asleep last night.
My mouth is dry. I must have gone to bed leaving the window open because the night air still lingers; at least, the soft light pouring in is a welcome guest.
Outside, everything is running as usual. I hear no voices, no bikes, just the island breathing in and out, happy not to be walked on or run on, free from chirping voices gossiping, if only for a couple of hours.
When I come out of the shower, the bed invites me to nestle back into its warmth, and my muscles seem to respond, especially my back, which still hurts from all the time spent on the cold stone floor of HQ’s basement.
But I can’t pretend it’s just a normal Sunday morning and steal a few more minutes of sleep.
Today is the day I will have to lie to my best friend. This is the first of many Sundays when, if Galen doesn’t call me, I won’t be either. Because if I do, I’ll have to pretend I’m someone else.
When I step outside my building, the crisp morning air tickles my face, and if only for a moment, I tell myself I’m fine.
But when I turn the corner heading towards the little square beneath my window, I freeze in front of Roden’s face, staring at me from the stone frame where it had been chiselled centuries ago.
His fluffy brick-red moustache, and the fatherly expression he uses during public speaking and events—all details so familiar to me, that made me feel part of something big and good, and that are now only a constant reminder of his lies.
I lift one hand and try to scratch his eyes, but all I manage is a sore finger and a line of dirt under my nails.
“Yeah, fuck the system…You know you’re too old for that, right?” Galen’s voice is like an unexpected cold rain.
I’m paralysed. If I turn around now, he will read on my face that something is wrong—chipped. But when Galen comes closer, and I smell hot coffee and sugar, I choke on the stinging knot in my throat. At least if he notices the tears in my eyes, he’ll think the cough has caused them.
“Hey…” I start.
“Sof, I’m sorry for the other night. Hope you’re—”
“I’m fine... Great, actually.” It’s okay if I sound abrupt. The last thing I want is to start a conversation about what he thinks has happened, and my addiction to coffee sounds like a plausible excuse.
I snatch one cup from his hand, and I hide my face behind the swirling comforting aroma. “And where’s my doughnut?”
For a little while, I want to believe we’re going to be okay, and when he loops his arm with mine, I’m glad the Chapter made him forget.
The colonnade lining the perimeter of my building offers the right amount of shade, but today, I want to spend my day in sunlight—real, natural light—not some magic trick created by Roden. I shake my head to swat away his face from my mind.
Galen stares at me, frowning. “Are you okay? Is the coffee too bitter?”
“No, it’s perfect. I’m just... headache leftovers, I think.” I take a sip of coffee that burns my tongue, but at least saves me from saying anything else—anything inappropriate.
We walk in silence for a while, not an awkward one, but definitely one longer than usual. I pretend to find everything around us worthy of my attention: trees, the gardeners tending to overgrown bushes, a chipped tile of the square fountain. Anything but Galen’s serene face.
“So,” he stops, and I almost bump against his back. He looks around, searching for a bench. “What about our usual spot? Then, you talk, and I listen.”
Oh, no…
When he steps in front of the sun and I finally look at him, all I can see is his dark silhouette—not his face or expression, but he may have noticed me flinching.
Inhaling. Exhaling light purple puffs. He doesn’t know…
“Listen to what?” I ask vaguely, turning my head towards our favourite bench, making sure nobody’s there and distracting him from looking straight at me.
But he’s not taking his eyes off me. “You know... Your inconsiderate, dangerous decision to go back to Horigos only days before our birthday? Your unbelievable desire to do something I consider life-threatening? Did I miss anything? Nothing you would say will change my mind, Sof. Too soon—wherever they’re sending you. Just too soon.”
I blink, wondering if the little argument we had in my room had distracted him so much that he forgot about some details of my next mission, like my destination, for a start. Or, perhaps Lily Drestall didn’t stop at our dinner and rewrote his memory entirely.
“Oh, that, yes, right.” At least no mention of our dinner. “Sorry, forgot about that.” I slap the air with my free hand and walk past him, “There’s not much to say, to be honest. I don’t even know the name of my crop yet.”
The bench is still damp from the night dew when I sit on it. I let the smell of coffee tickle my nostrils, trying to remember the sense of peace of all the mornings spent with Galen in this square.
A few moments later, he joins me. “Name or not, I still don’t like the fact that you kept it from me,” he says in a low voice, scanning my face.
I don’t like seeing him so lost in thought. So I stomp my feet, “Where’s my food? Me. Hungry.” I keep my mouth open like a hatchling, pointing at my belly. Embarrassing—but I make him smile.
“Close your eyes,” he says gently.
I obey, and soon after, the smell of something sweet captures my senses. “Aha, my favourite!” I exclaim, performing a little sat-down dance, shaking my fists and swinging my legs.
“You can open your eyes now,” Galen whispers in my ear.
I do as asked, with a growing smile when I notice Galen dangling a jelly doughnut in front of me.
“So tell me, what would you like your Nistares to be this time? Some kind of torn artist with a passion for pain as a source of creativity, or someone who talks to vegetables and crystals and thinks we all come from dragons?” He bumps my shoulder, teasing me.
I savour his words like the grains of sugar cracking between my teeth. The closer my crossing approaches, the more I fear we will never have another conversation like this.
Comforted by the intimacy of the moment, I let my thoughts wander. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could pick our crop instead of waiting for Roden to assign us one?”
Opposite us, a man, pushing a trolley full of boxes of peaches and apples, stops and leans against a lamp post to catch his breath and wipe beads of sweat off his forehead. Our eyes met. He’s not someone I recognise, but I expect the Chapter to have ears and eyes everywhere.
Stop being paranoid. He’s probably an approved courier from Horigos, delivering supplies to our restaurants.
“Would that be better, though?” Galen says before taking a sip of his coffee. “Knowing too much about the soul you’ll harvest? What if you happen to like them?”
I turn my head slowly, keeping eye contact with the stranger for as long as I can. “That is not a thing. This is why we wear masks in their presence—to avoid accidental contamination.”
Galen sighs, resting his back against the bench and casually extending an arm over my shoulders.
“Souls are liquid and airy and in constant transformation. Nistarei, Rogues, us… We’re not that different, you know.
Nobody can stop us from liking or disliking another soul, no matter what kind we belong to.
Masks protect our identities, but our minds and eyes do not answer to anyone. ”
The man has restarted his laboured walk; that trolley is challenging him, despite his height and strong build. My mind wanders without my permission, and I picture that man working on Horigos’ southern shores, his skin tanning under the sweltering summer sun.
“Libera to July. Where did you go?”