Chapter Five: Things Found
My eyes challenged the darkness, but with a weary eye. In the tower, there was one oil lamp, but it was so dim that our position was not as noticeable as it would have been if it was fully lit. Every so often I saw an Undead crawl across the road with unnatural gait far in the distance. They huddled themselves together as they ran, scurried to wherever it was they went when they went.
“I wonder if it hurts,” Chess asked suddenly, waking me from my pained silence.
I glanced at him. He’d seen what I’d seen.
“What?” I asked.
My insides clenched and then unclenched. I knew very well what.
“Becoming…you know.” He shrugged. “I wonder if it hurts.”
“It does,” I said quickly, glancing at him.
“You would know, I guess.”
“I don’t want to know,” my mouth said tiredly.
But he was trying to distract me from my thoughts, and for that I was profoundly grateful, even if he failed.
“Do you really think people will come, Myth?” he asked me.
I blinked hard and was forced to compose myself. At the end of the day, it was an almost impossible task.
“Hm?” was all I could manage.
“Outlanders?” he asked. “Do you think they’re really coming?”
“They might.”
I shrugged, leaning back against the wall of the platform. We sat just above the stone table, above the hatch I had climbed through not hours before.
“They might not even come at all,” I whispered.
“I think you should believe in your gut,” he said, nudging me gently. “It’s good for you.”
I shrugged wordlessly now.
“You should have seen Foot though. He was in a panic.”
This attempt to drag a wriggling, fighting smile from me was more successful, and I laughed lightly.
“I wish I had,” I said with a genuine smile, nudging him back. “That son of a bitch didn’t do what I said.”
“Maybe he was frightened,” Chess suggested.
I shrugged.
“I deal with it,” I whispered, feeling my wounds throb. “This is what happens when he is too cowardly to bring the news himself.”
Chess’ face darkened, but I couldn’t look at him.
“I’m sorry it is that way,” he said with a tone I rarely heard. “I wanted to stop him, but Foot…”
“He held you back, I saw,” I finished quietly. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t say that,” he said with a strangled voice. “I do.”
I smiled again.
“I know,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
I peered at him closely, and he looked away, flushing in a way that was also rare.
“What?” he asked nervously.
“Nothing, I’m just thinking…I’m…grateful for you. That you’re here. That you’re my friend. That’s all.”
He laughed.
“I’m not that special.”
“You are to me,” I said quietly, looking into the darkness.
There was a moment of hesitation slightly too long.
“Always seeing good in people, even if there is none. That’s what I love about –” He stopped himself and let out a breath, smiling strangely. “That’s what I appreciate about you.”
I laughed warmly.
“They’re lucky to have you here, Chess.”
There was a long pause.
“Why do you always do that?” he asked.
I looked away from the dark to his face in surprise.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You say ‘they’ instead of ‘we.’”
I thought for a moment.
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I just feel the people of Hand don’t like my family very much. And I am more of my family than I am of Hand.”
His face didn’t move. I became uncomfortable.
“That sounds strange to you,” I said sheepishly.
“No, it’s not strange…” He smiled sadly. “But your uncle is also part of your family, is he not? And he is an invaluable asset to Hand, whether this be a positive or negative aspect in your…personal life.”
I winced internally and put a hand lightly to the dark bruise that had already started to form on my cheek. There was a second one on my neck, days old. I let out a breath, but it shook.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – I didn’t want to upset you, I…” He seemed flustered. “I shouldn’t have, I…are you alright?”
“I’m – I – yeah, I’m fine.” I smiled weakly, knowing what would come. “Or…I will be.”
“I hate when he does that to you,” Chess said ardently.
He reached for me, but I winced away, and his fingers curled up like they’d been shocked with pain. The look on his face seemed only to mirror that same pain in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, dejectedly.
“No,” I said firmly. “Don’t be.”
But he was anyway.
So I gently put my gun down and took a deep breath. Then, I took his hands in mine and moved them slowly to my face. My hands shook, but his eyes were still wide, like being so near me filled him with awe. When his fingers finally made their way to my bruise, he exhaled and closed his eyes. He opened his mouth a little before biting his lower lip, and I felt hot all over in a way that Foot had never been capable of making me feel. Then, his hands brushed across my tears, and he retracted once more, as if burned.
I couldn’t look at him for shame at being perceived as disgusting for my weakness. I wished I felt less so that I didn’t have to cry more. It was exhausting to feel so much.
The spell was broken when I cleared my throat and looked away, wiping my tears silently.
I could almost hear him desperately trying to change the subject.
“So, Foot went to meet you today,” Chess finally said with a strange tone. “What did he want?”
“I don’t remember,” I realized, staring into space. “Nothing good, I bet.”
“So…you and he…you didn’t…”
I said nothing, but felt red again. This time, the warmth felt unpleasant and bitter. I felt shame rather than bliss.
“No, of course not,” I snapped.
“I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
“Don’t be crazy,” I said, nudging him again. “We’ve talked enough. My business is your business.”
“So did you and he talk about things? Did you fight?”
I shrugged.
“I guess we’re…better,” I said, clearing my throat. “I was a little jealous today, I guess. We talked about things – him and Iris.”
“And?”
He eyed me carefully. I just smiled bitterly.
“He said he loved her.”
I squeezed my fists, feeling that need to run again. But I didn’t want to cry. So, in a way Skate would have been proud of, I made it a joke.
“I guess Fade will have to start worrying about you now instead of him seeing as he’s taken and all.”
Chess rolled his eyes with a reluctant smile.
“You know how close I am with her,” he said, laughing. “It doesn’t matter that, you know, she’ll love anyone that’s near her or –”
“She’s actually pretty nice. She is only sixteen.”
“And she has the experience with men of an old woman! I’d be surprised if I didn’t catch something from her.”
“Hey, be nice!”
“You like her?” Chess asked. “You don’t like anybody!”
“I do so!” I argued with a half-appreciative, half-defensive laugh. “I’m just saying she’s available now – without Foot to chase – and you’re available.”
“Do I get a say in this?”
I shook my head jokingly.
“Of course! You get to choose who you love!”
“Why do you choose Foot?”
He asked i
t as if it made him sad to say it, as if it had slipped out. The look on his face broke my heart, full to bursting with restraint, full to bursting with another, caged emotion I barely wanted to admit to myself that I recognized.
So I distracted myself and thought on his question. I knew the answer. Foot was frustrating, confusing, and sometimes undeniably disloyal right when he needed not to be. He crumbled beneath the pressure of my uncle. But I didn’t care. I wanted to keep our relationship alive.
“I miss the past,” I said quietly, finally. “I was happier there.”
“And now?”
“Now is…hard.”
We both looked sad, considering how happy we had just been. I was tense.
“I’m still a little a girl to him…” I shrugged. “And that’s all I’ll ever be.”
“You’re not a little girl…” Chess said with something close to anger.
I shrugged.
“I shouldn’t have told him to leave me alone,” I whispered quietly. “I feel angry with myself that I did. I don’t like the way he makes me feel.”
“I don’t either,” Chess admitted, exhaling deeply. “He’s crazy for making you feel anything less than you are.”
“I can shoot better than Iris,” I explained tearfully. “I’m smarter and wittier, I think. Friendlier, I’d say. I mean…maybe I’m not…” I found my free hand straying to my cheek lightly. “Maybe I’m not as pretty as she is, but that can be looked around, right?”
I saw Chess’ jaw clench.
“Don’t compare yourself to her,” he said firmly. “You’re so far beyond Iris in every way.”
“I’m not as pretty as she is,” I said forlornly, feeling pathetic. “I’m all covered in cuts and bruises and I have to keep my hair short and –”
“Myth!” Chess said, finally taking my cheek and hand in his own. “You’re beautiful to loads of people. Why else would Foot go visit you if you weren’t absolutely gorgeous?”
I opened my mouth to reply when my brain registered this.
“You think I’m gorgeous?”
I heard him swallow, and he let go of me.
“I just think he’s crazy, that’s all,” he finally amended.
Oh, I felt myself thinking, feeling deflated worse than before.
I sat in pitiful and far off silence for a good long while, just wallowing in the events of the day.
“Myth?” Chess asked suddenly.
“Yes?” I whispered, hardly listening.
“He will never deserve you,” he whispered. “Not ever. Never trick yourself into believing that he is your better because he has another woman.”
Tears began to barrage my eyes as I blinked hard to keep them down. It was an uphill battle, one I would not win, but I tried hard anyway. Evergreen would have liked me to try. She wouldn’t have cried about men with their petty problems. I wondered if she had ever had problems with men. I supposed she probably had. She must have been pretty once. She had to have been. No one was born as war-hardened and bitter as she was, no one as old or as cruel. People were made that way. I wondered, after a long moment, if I was being made that way.
“Myth?” Chess asked again.
I jumped and blinked, feeling my composure collapse at my feet. The thought of Evergreen shook me, filled the very bones in my body with sorrow and remorse. Admittedly, she was a horrible lady. She had told me that I had always needed to be better, that I was never good enough. The way she said it wasn’t inspiring but mocking, but it was the only voice that I had ever heard that could motivate me as hard or as strong. It was a terrible, mean voice. But it was alive.
“Not anymore,” I whispered, putting a cold hand to my mouth.
“What?”
“Evergreen…she’s dead…”
It was clear he didn’t know what to say. A tear fell from my other eye as I waited for him to speak, but his eyes followed it like he was trapped by its motion. Finally, he said,
“She lives with God now. She’s safe…and happy…and warm…” He finally looked away. “I’m…I’m sorry.” He looked back to me and moved his hand up to my face. “Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
“I don’t know what to do, I – I don’t know what to do!” I couldn’t breathe. I looked around only to see distant shapes and silhouettes. “I can’t do what she did, I’m only – I’m only eighteen, I…I’m not good enough to – I don’t know what to do!”
“Hey…”
He leaned over to me and pulled me closer to him. I clutched his shirt, feeling the need to, and I waited for him to tell me what I was supposed to do.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he said softly.
I nodded emphatically, to tell him I listened, even if I didn’t believe. I clutched his collar tightly, finally letting him hold me. He slid me into his lap and I was sure he felt and saw and heard all my weaknesses at once. My whole body ached and shook.
“I’m tired…” I whispered softly.
I felt my body tense and then relax as I said it, almost like it caused me pain.
He put a hand to my head to lean it on his shoulder. I began to weep there, holding onto him like I had never held anything for a long, long time, before or since. He listened to me, and he didn’t say word one about how I should be better or different or stronger. He didn’t tell me what I should have done. He just nodded, over and over and over again.
When I was finished, he sighed and whispered,
“You’re too good, Myth…” His hands moved down my hair. “You’re too good for bad things to happen to you.”
Fatigue bettered my tongue.
“I don’t feel so bad now,” I whispered.
A rumble of laughter came from his chest.
“Is that so?”
I giggled tiredly right back.
“Yes, I’m very happy where I am.”
He squeezed me.
“I’m happy where you are too.”
His hands stroked my hair and he shushed me as my breath caught occasionally from the aftermath of my tears. Something about his voice lulled me to sleep. I fought the dreams hard, but in the end, I could not fight what was inevitable. I fell asleep quickly, warm in his arms.
Oddly, I remembered waking up to chills of cold, shivering, and I sat up. Chess now sat across from me. At first, I was embarrassed, feeling I had done something wrong or awkward to make him move away in my sleep, but I realized after a moment that this was not the case.
He held my gun in his hands. Immediately, my senses began to shuffle into their places, returning to the world of the waking slowly. It made me uneasy.
I reached over and shook him to wake him, still feeling shaky and weak, but he was a heavy sleeper. I shook him again, but he curled inwards towards the gun as if to dismiss me. I stood up and looked around. The darkness was intense and greedy. I could sense the tendrils of its fingers clawing to reach me to poison me with the fear Chess had had.
With the thought, I started to hear noise. It was nothing like a noise I’d ever heard before. They were voices, I thought – but twisted. The voices were calling out, saying something I couldn’t decipher. I wanted desperately to know what it was, and I listened hard. It took me another moment to remember that it could have been the war Evergreen had spoken of, and I tilted my head to the side to hear it better. It certainly didn’t sound like war. But I wouldn’t really know. I had no idea what war sounded like.
I climbed down the frame, along the ridges of the hollow, and I perched myself atop a broken building at the other side of the road. When I finally heard them, I was surprised. The Outlanders sounded human, not strange creatures as we had foreseen. I had always imagined Outlanders the way I imagined the Bad People – like twisted monsters that came from the opposite of God’s wrath.
But these were not creatures, they were people. And they were frightened.