Restoration

  Restoration

  By Ann Aguirre

  My vision was veiled in gray, and I had been dying inside for hours.

  Grimly, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the silent house surrounding me. The wind nudged at the eaves, whistled in the cracks, until I could pretend I wasn't alone. I lit no lamps and I didn't kindle a fire in the hearth. Darkness suited me better.

  Forget me. Stop staring at me with those begging eyes. I can't be what you need, now. I had said that to Deuce on her naming day, there was only silence between us, and then... she brought me a gift.

  Earlier, I had been working in Edmund's shop when I heard her come in. She murmured to her father; I didn't hear what she said.

  But his voice carried. "Fade's in the back, cutting patterns."

  "Do you mind...?"

  "Go on. He's welcome to take a break. Hard worker, that one... doesn't talk much, though."

  That's because my words are gone. I lost them in the pens.

  I closed my eyes for few seconds, bracing to see her. From the darkness in Deuce's eyes when she regarded me, she thought it was easy for me to walk away from what had happened. But it was like a dance across a field strewn with razors, and I bled with every step I took. Never in my life had I been so far from deserving what I most desperately wanted. She strode into the back room, a tight space littered with tools and scraps of leather, with a fierce, determined look.

  Joy, there was always joy for an instant whenever I saw her, but awareness chased it away. She deserves someone better, stronger. My face froze. I set down the awl I had been using to punch holes in the leather and tilted my head.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  I didn't expect it would take her long to give up—and to figure out what I already knew—that she could do better. I'm not whole. I'm livestock. And even if I lived to be an old man, I could never, ever forget how it felt to watch the Freaks turn Frank into haunches of meat, tied up for roasting. Parts of him, they devoured raw, blood smearing their monstrous fangs, and then they dragged me on. Taking a breath, another, I kept from shaking so she could see, clenching my hands on the underside of the workbench until my knuckles whitened.

  "I see that you're unhappy... you feel trapped. But I can help."

  "What do you mean?"

  She explained, "Longshot left me his house. I wouldn't like living alone, and I don't mind Edmund or Momma Oaks. So you can stay and take care of the place. It'll give you more peace. . . more privacy. Nobody will bother you there."

  There were no words sufficient to express my gratitude, but I tried. "I... really appreciate this."

  "Do you know where it is?"

  I nodded. "Longshot had me over once."

  She put the key on the counter, and I picked it up. The metal was cool and heavy in my palm. That's her legacy, not yours. But you'll take it, so you have a place to hide. Coward.

  You should've heard them. You should've fought harder.

  "That's all, then," she said. Deuce hesitated, and I could tell she wanted me to ask her to stay. If I could wind my watch backward and be the person I was before, I'd do it, but I couldn't, and it seemed kinder to let this end. In some bleak corner of my heart, I remembered my father and how he had been after my mother died.

  That's what happens when the sun goes dark.

  Before, he was full of stories and laughter. We moved around a lot, running, hiding, but there was always brightness Topside. My father had a slim bag of books that he carried, no matter where we sheltered, and each night, he read to me from one of them. During the sunny season, he taught me to swim at the river with my mother looking on. There were dangers, but we were cautious, and my father had friends around the city. I liked visiting our family's friend Pearl, and I loved listening to tales wherein people didn't scavenge to survive. These stories taught me about better ways to live.

  We'll go when you're older, he'd say. You must be strong enough to keep up.

  Only we never left. Instead, my mother got sick, and she went so fast. I watched her get pale and thin; she couldn't keep her food down. After that, my father was a shadow. He tried, but his smile was a dead and frozen thing. It didn't even surprise me one frosty morning when I crawled out of my blankets to find him cold and still. That same despair rolled through me now, echoes of how I felt sobbing and pounding my father's chest.

  Deuce's eyes were dark as thunderclouds as she stared at me. I held her gaze for as long as I could bear and then I dropped my eyes to the swatch of leather on the table before me. I wanted to reach for her, but my hands were filled with lead.

  "Deuce... thank you."

  "Welcome," she muttered.

  And then she left.

  I worked a little longer, but Edmund heard stirrings in town that made him shoo me out of the shop and hurry home. Unmoored, I strolled through Salvation, head down. Close to the green, I heard Caroline Bigwater ranting, but that was so common that I didn't stop to listen. Nobody spoke to me as I let myself into Longshot's cottage, the sanctuary Deuce had given me. There was nothing in the house to eat, just dust and cobwebs, but that suited me fine.

  The shadows were lengthening when I settled in the chair before the dead fireplace, and I was still sitting there when the knock sounded, though I had shifted my gaze from the ceiling to the empty chair across from me. With a faint sigh, I got up to answer it, ready to wish my unwelcome guest to the devil. The caustic words died in my throat when I found Edmund standing there with a basket covered by one of Momma Oaks's embroidered napkins.

  "Can I come in?" It was still light enough for me to read his expression, and he appeared to have something weighty on his mind.

  "Of course, sir." I stepped back and let Edmund in.

  Things had been cool and uncomfortable at the shop since Deuce's naming day. He loved his daughter, and he blamed me, rightfully, for hurting her. But sometimes there was no cure but a clean break; in my case, I'd only bring her down with me. I considered what she'd risked to pull me out of the horde, and I couldn't take the chance she'd repeat the foolishness.

  "My wife sent dinner."

  "Please thank her for me," I said, unfolding the cloth.

  Inside the basket, I found a dish of hearty stew, a round of bread, butter, and a wedge of apple spice cake. It didn't seem right to eat while Edmund sat watching, so I wrapped the meal back up and said, "Care to sit?"

  "For a spell," he answered.

  Joining him before the ashen hearth, I waited for him to speak. He didn't fidget, only fixed me with a steady look that made my stomach churn. Shame made me drop my eyes, and I braced for him to tell me I wasn't welcome in his shop—that he had no desire to teach me about leatherworking any longer. I was ready for that.

  So what he actually said landed like a kick in the teeth. "Deuce is leaving tonight. Elder Bigwater made it sound like a rescue mission, one she has a chance of succeeding at, but I'm afraid he's sending my girl out to die."

  The basket slipped from my hands, hit the floor with a thunk, and desperation cracked my voice. "You can't let her go."

  He wore a wry, weary smile. "Did you ever try to stop that girl when she's running? I'd have more luck roping the wind."

  "I can't talk her out of it," I said quietly. "We're not on the best terms, as I guess you figured out."

  "I've come to ask you, man to man, to go with her. Whatever maggot you've got in your head, I know you care about her. I can't fight, so I'm begging you, Fade. Don't let her go out there alone."

  My eyes stung, but I'd rather die than expose myself as weak and broken before Deuce's father. Somehow I swallowed it all down and managed to say, "I can't. I'm not man enough."

  "You think a man doesn't fall down, son? A real man falls down nine times and gets up ten. You thi
nk real men don't get scared? We do, all the time, especially when the people we love can be taken away from us. The key to manhood is being there, every morning when she wakes up, every night before she goes to bed. That's what a man does. It has nothing to do with how good you are with some shiny knives. And if you let her do this thing alone, then by God—"

  "I'll go," I said, staggered by the intensity in his voice, in the way he was leaning forward in his chair, like he might very well choke me if I didn't agree.

  "Glad you saw reason," he said, pushing to his feet.

  Edmund didn't offer his hand to shake, which told me he'd noticed the way I shied away in the shop. Not a reflex I wanted or controlled—to my own eyes, I was like a whipped dog that shivered anytime people got too close. But the older man did dip his head in silent thanks as he headed out. At the door, he paused. "Eat some of that supper, you'll need the strength for the road."

  I took him at his word and devoured the contents of the basket as quick as I could, then I set it on the shelf in Longshot's kitchen. It was easy to picture him here, so happy with his wife. Some loves could never be replaced, and men spent their lives chasing that light into the shadows, until the long walk opened up, one last journey before the final homecoming.

  Deuce is that love for me.

  This time, when someone rapped on the door, I was expecting it, but I took my time about answering, tremors shaking over me. Each time, seeing her ripped my heart out like the pain was brand new, like I'd just bleed out on the floor. But the darkness leveled me out, kept from showing her how wrecked I was.

  The pale oval of her face gleamed in the moonlight. She stepped back half a pace when she saw me, and my fingers curled. It's starting already. Things can never be the same. You'll always be the one she found trussed up like an animal.

  In reaction, sharp words snapped out before I could stop them, poison I feared would eat through any warmth she had left for me. "Did you forget something?"

  I'll never let you fight alone. I promised your father, and I'll watch after you, best I can. If I can't be with you, I can die for you. In time, you'll remember me the way I was, before. And that'd probably be best.

  "Just this." Stretching up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to my cheek. The heat sparked through me, making me yearn for so many beautiful, impossible things that I actually recoiled from the weight of that want. "Good-bye, Fade."

  If she had whipped out her blades and stabbed me in the side, it couldn't have hurt more. For a few seconds, I couldn't get my breath, drowning in the icy water of that rejection. "I deserve that."

  "What?" She was already turning. Elder Bigwater had given her a mission, and it didn't matter if she left me behind.

  I shouldn't mind. That's what I wanted. I told her to forget me. But getting what I'd asked for had never felt worse. In that moment, I doubted my impulses hard, as Edmund's words echoed in my head. The key to manhood is being there. So dying for her might not be the answer. Maybe... maybe I didn't have to be perfect. Maybe it was enough to... try.

  I choked out, "That you don't trust me enough to ask for my help. Or maybe you think I'm not strong enough to be of any use."

  "I don't think that." Her shoulders were set, spine straight, and her loose plait wrapped around her shoulder. The nape of her neck was beautiful, a sliver of cream against the contrast of her hair. Any other time, I'd come up behind her, wrap my arms around her and kiss her right there while whispering an apology for my idiocy, but I didn't deserve her forgiveness. Yet.

  Someday, though, I'll fight my way back—fall down nine times, get up ten.

  "We're still partners, aren't we?" I feared her answer. Maybe I'd used up all my chances, and by being stupid and stubborn, I could never, ever win her back.

  Deuce turned then, and her gray eyes gave me hope. They were all softness, tilted to mine in a look as sweet and tender as a kiss. My heart gave a ferocious thump when she whispered, "I never left. I didn't request your help because I was trying to do what was right for you. Obviously, having you there is always best for me."

  That seemed too magnificent to be true yet I believed her. My girl never, ever lied. For some reason, she still lit up when she gazed at me. The first time I saw that expression, she was licking sweet cherries from my fingers and the memory stole my breath, along with the power of speech.

  Don't ever stop looking at me. I'm the shadow behind your light, and I might just disappear without you. I don't deserve you, but I can't give you up, either.

  My voice came out hoarse. "I don't want to stay here. I don't even want to be in my own skin. Can I come with you?"

  I can't let her say no. Besides the promise to Edmund, I'd go crazy if she walked away from me. Right then, she was my sole reason for living, even if I was doing my best to drive her away. The logic had seemed sound on her naming day—I couldn't reveal the full extent of my shortcomings when I knew how she felt about being a Huntress. How Silk would laugh at the weakling I'd become.

  No Hunter would let himself be taken. You should've died. You're not a man. You're food. Then I almost threw up; it took all my will to choke it down.

  Deuce reached for me, then drew back, as if remembering that touch wasn't what I wanted anymore. I did, but close contact had so many echoes, like a child weeping at the bottom of a well. My foster father, the Muties, years alone in the dark... there had been so much pain, so much loss, but being taken? Changed me. I couldn't silence the scream in my head that said I should've been strong enough, smart enough, to stop it. No matter how I tried, that accusation never ceased.

  "Fade, you said you can't be what I need, but you're everything I want. Even if you give up on yourself, I never will. I'll fight for you."

  "You shouldn't say that," I muttered. "I'm not worth it."

  "That's not true." She lifted her face, so I could read the sincerity there. That smile was a promise, and I clung to it like I had my father's hand, long ago, in the river, while my mother sunned herself on the rocky shore.

  As she studied me, my chest ached until I couldn't stand it. For inexplicable reasons, she blew me a kiss, and I raised my hand to catch it. Though it was an ephemeral thing, intangible, I daydreamed her warmth against my palm, and for the first time since I came back, hope fluttered its fragile wings. My heart throbbed her name, all the way to my fingertips, as I watched her walk away.

  Once she was gone from sight, I ran into the house to pack my bag. Though she hadn't said so, I knew from Edmund that this assignment came from Elder Bigwater, so it made sense to search for her there. As I passed the blacksmith shop, a cheerful tune preceded him, then Stalker came out, a pack slung over one shoulder.

  My jaw clenched.

  "Did she take pity on you, ask you to tag along?" he asked, sharp as a knife. "I wonder if she kissed you. She's like a secret berry patch, all thorns on the surface and sweetness beneath." He licked his lips pointedly.

  Killing him would've been perfect. My fingers trembled on my blades, but I kept them sheathed out of respect for Deuce. She seemed to find something in him worth saving. I disagreed. In my eyes, this animal would never be anything but a weapon, fodder to keep the Muties from eating someone else. What he'd permitted to happen to Tegan assured me he was filth, and if that wasn't enough, he'd hunted Deuce and me for sport. Finally, if not for him, Pearl would still be alive.

  Deuce might be able to forgive you. Not me. I'd rather stab you in your black heart, wolf boy.

  "She will never see you," I said quietly. "You're a sparring partner, convenient to her, useful, even. You may trick her now and then, because she's not bent like you. But she'll never, ever offer what you want of her own free will."

  He sneered, the ugly expression pulling at his scars, but I saw from the desolation in his eyes that I'd drawn blood. "And what do you think I'm after?"

  "Her heart," I said. "Which is too bad. You see... that's mine, and it always will be. Odd as it might seem, she'd rather have me broken than you whole."

 
When Stalker shoved past me, he wasn't whistling anymore. I watched him go, knowing I should feel a little guilty, but for the first time in days, a smile broke over me, and it felt like sunrise. This was a deep, clean breath, bracing me for the trouble that lay ahead. The danger hardly seemed to matter, as long as I was with her.

  Be patient, solnyshko moyo. I'm still here. And I'm coming back to you.

 

 

  Ann Aguirre, Restoration

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