Each Separate Dying Ember - XVI

North

I take the moment to breathe slow and deep, gathering myself, coiling in until I can feel the power shaking in my shoulders and the tensed muscles on my back. I pull them in until I can barely breathe, until it feels like my heart is being pushed out of the way by the sheer scale of muscle being contracted in around my shoulders. Even Daneel, slim and small as she is, has thick shoulders with strong, clear blades down her back beneath which the root muscles of her wings are mounted - because if there were two words for a Long, they would be compact power. I never studied the biologies in further education, but I remember enough of my school lessons - and it still fascinates me. Leif and Wolfe both took it to Degree level though; they had a term on each race, and I remember them describing the lessons. When studying Broad-Wing biology, members of the class were selected to stand as model on occasion; for Long- and Short-Wings, they had to bring in volunteers. There was one Long in my Computing course, but he dropped out after the first year. He was one of maybe ten Longs attending university. There were no Shorts.
But now, I can feel my power growing, tensing, contained within trembling muscles. I'm almost gasping with it now, fists clenched on the ground, eyes so tight shut and the strain so much that I can feel myself red in the face, tears almost leaking from my eyes.
Then:
"Fifteen!"
On Daneel's brother's call, I unfurl every trembling muscle that's been coiled under the skin. Feathers, loosened by the summer onset of the moult and already frayed from the short bursts of unfamiliar flight, lash in every direction - but my eyes are still closed. I think I haven't gone high enough, or perhaps too high - and then the ball smacks into my chest, easily between my outstretched arms, and instincts kick in just in time enough for me to grab at it, locking it against my body as my wings reach their full capacity and straighten for the hover.
Still breathing heavily, perspiration damp on my brow, I open my eyes and blink a couple of times to clear the sweat - but I still can't see a thing; I took off my glasses before we started.
I look to the far side of the room, where I can just make out the two dark silhouettes of Daneel and her brother, and beside them and a little in front Clay. Just like I have every other time in the past half hour, I blush slightly when I look at his shape.
I keep looking for a second longer than I had to, and then drop back down again slowly, tilting my wings to get the air right as I lower myself to the ground. I toss the ball back to Kran, and he catches it easily; knowing that he's preparing to throw again, I inhale sharply through my teeth to drown the pain and drop onto my haunches once more. Even though my muscles burn sharply, I coil up my wings and dig my fingernails into my palms in fists clenched on the ground and jam my eyes shut until tears jerk in my lashes, and then comes: "Twenty!"
Again the explosion, again the surge, again the blood and muscle and feather - but as my shoes leave the ground and my hands spring from fists to open palms and my wings unfurl in a way that even to me feels slow-motion and spectacular, my ears catch onto something else. Because the single second when all of that power and energy rolls upwards like a diverted electrical charge seems to slow so that I can feel every electron snapping across the wires in my body, the voice starts as an intonation and then a sound and then a syllable, and when it forms into a word and a sentence everything speeds up again, and as instinct and momentum more than anything carries me upwards exactly twenty feet into the air, the ball smacks into my throat hard enough to knock me back, breathless and stunned, to fall.
"They aren't going to use balls twice in one year."
I think I black out for a second because the heaviest punch imaginable impacts my trachea and then I smack on my side onto the ground.
Everything is silent for a moment, except for ringing shrill and loud enough to make me sick. Clay drops to his knees beside me and then grabs my head, turning my face toward him and crushing my hand in his own.
I'm painfully short-sighted, which means that I can only see things clearly if they're less than a foot away.
And Clay's expression is the best thing I've seen in all that distance. Is that bad? Selfish? That I want him to be terrified? No - it's not that I want him to be scared and in as much pain as the numbness that has chilled my left side... But somehow, that stops it being painful.
I want to kiss him.
I want to bloody well kiss him, right here and now.
I want to use that hand he's holding to pull him down and kiss him on the lips.
And I'm pretty sure I'm concussed because I start crying when I remember that I can't. Because Jedekiah just came into the warehouse. And even if I don't care if him and the rest of the Shorts know, even if I want them - him - to know, even if I want to face not just the taunting but the fear and actual disgust, even if I want to take jumps from Jedekiah and his friends like the one that killed Pike every day for the rest of my life - I can't do that to Clay.
Which is why I'm crying when I sit up and fight down the nausea and try not to think about the numbness that's turning quickly back to pain in my left side.
"Hey," he breathes. Now that I can hold my own head up, he moves his hand down to my back; he rubs up and down slowly, other hand still clasping mine even though they're both kind of shaking a bit. "Hey, you're fine. You're okay, dick-wad. You're fucking all right."
I try to laugh and just hiccup through the tears, then wipe my nose and sniff.
Jedekiah snorts from nearby. Clay unfolds my glasses and hands them to me; still struggling to breathe a little, I put them on and then, free hand shaking, run my fingers through my hair. Following the derisive sound, I glance up; Jedekiah is leant against the stack of pallets I and Clay... Made use of earlier. Atarah isn't with him - instead, the skinny nervous one, Ezekiel I believe, is stood close by, rubbing his wrists with his hands, eyes bright and whole body trembling ever so slightly. I let my eyes go back to Kiah for another slow second. He looks worse than usual - deep-set eyes, hands fisted under his armpits, face set and tired.
I know it's coming before he's even opened his mouth.
"What, did you fall like five metres? Even Ezek here can trip that and be up in time for a hit half a minute later."
And suddenly I'm on my feet and standing up straight and even Clay's hand on my side doesn't hold me back.
"5.8 metres, actually," I snap, knowing that it's about the worst comeback ever. But somehow it carries on. As I take a step forward, Clay's hand slips away, stunned. Jedekiah stands up ever so slightly straighter. "Which I know because I have a functioning knowledge of basic mathematics and conversion. Which you don't. Because while you were out jumping off buildings, stabbing innocents and injecting yourself with whatever grime you could scrape off the pavement, I was working my Broad little arse off to finish school, sixth form, and university, in order to get a decent place in society, a society that functions solely because people like me drag around the dead weight that is you and your people at the back of everything. Do you want to know what happens without Broad-Wings? No-one cultivates the land to make the food that keeps cities full of Shorts alive. No-one works on the technology to give you health-care, buildings, and yes, Prelims and Disciplines. No-one arranges the deals that get your drugs on the streets."
"Oh is that how it is?" Kiah spits back, jerking his shoulders away from the pallet and setting his feet apart, shoulders back, head down. "That's what a Broad sees of the world? Yep, that's me. And all my people. All the same - discredit to society, every one. Don't differentiate. No need. All the same. No, no, you're right - you're absolutely fucking right. Why? 'Cos we fill an agenda. You need us, Shire. Who'd you have to complain about if there weren't no yobs? Who'd fulfil the cheap labour on your farms? Who'd buy the shit that keeps your boyfriend's business runnin'? Don't you fuckin' dare pull shit like you so much better than me. You work every day of your life to get good and be smart. I work to fucking stay alive."
"North--"
"No, Clay, dammit!" I'm trying to hold back more tears, and that only makes it worse. Clay grabs my wrist, and I know that it's because he's afraid to take my hand. Even though I want to keep Jedekiah's gaze, want to work this argument until it turns into a fist-fight, I turn back to him with my throat trembling. I'm just aware of the Longs stood silently a few metres away. "No," I breathe again, fighting for another breath. "I'm tired of this. I'm tired of--"
"Now is not the time."
It's like he's grabbed my throat, not my wrist, and he's squeezing. I stare into Clay's dark grey eyes, and I see in them such fear, such true and genuine terror, that it's a kick in the bladder and a knife in the lungs and a rib through the heart all at once.
"But when will it be time?"
I manage to make the sound come out even though I wasn't sure it would. He must have read my lips more than he heard what I said.
It's like he tries to find an answer for a second, but he can't. He can't even do one of his Clay-noises. So I just make a little movement with my head to show that I get it - and then Jedekiah's talking again. But all the fight is gone. I don't even turn around.
"Broads are hella weird," he growls, clearly intended to be loud enough for us to hear, though he directs the comment at the other Short.
"We were using balls as a training exercise," I say quietly, mouth moving while my mind is still fixed on staring at Clay. He slowly lets go of my wrist. I turn back to Jedekiah when I can. His expression and what he says next makes me wish I hadn't, but I know that I was going to have to at some point.
"This some Broad shit?" he snorts, cracking his neck to either side. "Fuck that. Get out in the real world. It'll do you better."
"They're Long techniques, actually."
The four of us turn with genuine surprise to Daneel's brother. Like Jedekiah, he stands with his feet at shoulder-width, his arms folded across his chest, and his shoulders tensed. His dark eyes glitter in the gloom of the warehouse. When she's with the rest of the equipe, Daneel stands on her own, away from us, withdrawn but nonetheless able and almost proud. When she's with her brother, however, she hides behind him - even now, she's just a half-foot further back than she should be, standing in his shadow, shoulders forward and head slightly bowed. Jedekiah snorts and flicks his hair from his eyes. "What Longs need balls and jumpin' for?"
"We train for the Disciplines too. They are not just for Shorts."
He doesn't go into any more detail than that. Everyone's silent for a couple of seconds.
So when Daneel's with her brother, she stands in his shadow. When Ezekiel is with Jedekiah, he stands in his shadow. They both rely on their other for protection. When Jedekiah is with Atarah, they stand alongside each other - but quite often, he lets her lead him. On the contrary, he takes charge and walks slightly in front of Micah and Ben. Daneel will stand with Micah if her brothers aren't there and we're with the Shorts - but not behind him: beside him. And on that night seven weeks ago, I stood behind Pike and in his shadow until Pike wasn't there any more. And now? Do I stand behind Clay, or beside him? In front? I don't know - I can't see from where I'm standing what we look like from the other side. And who could I ask?
Of course. I know exactly who I could ask.
I let my gaze flicker to Daneel. Someone who watches and sees but will never comment on that until the information is needed.
"Show us the real world then," I say, almost before I can believe the words have come out of my mouth. Then I look Jedekiah straight in the eye. "And start with the Prelim."


Daneel

We could all go in at the same time, but I think Jedekiah wants to watch us as we come back down, so we go one at a time. Ezekiel, the other Short, doesn't enter one - Clay and Kran both went home. Kran didn't really want to, but I can sense something up with North, and Kran wouldn't like me talking to him. Not be angry or anything, but... When the Broads got me, that kinda' freaked him. I mean sure, it hit me 'cos that meant that there was someone bigger than him - but I didn't realise at the time that he had forgotten that until it happened. And I guess I know why it makes him angry, too. Kran won the estate, fought for it, organised Youngers and chased off the pilot fish the other estates sent and spent sleepless nights with his blackjack and his knife on street corners and waiting under staircases. He made an army, knowing that he could get killed or that they might go for me or Nnamdi or even Mma to pull him down, and if anyone tried to beef with us he hit back harder. Kran was just a Younger, and he made himself an Elder. Even when the other Elders were scared of the boys next-block, even when there were rumours that they had guns, he showed them we was still tough so that they wouldn't beef with us. And now they don't. We're protected. There's still some trouble, but he puts it down real quick and then they don't come back no more. He worked, and... It was like he'd made a difference.
But above the Elders are the Faces. The Faces are holding the leashes. Kran forgot he was an attack dog, I guess. But Longs - we're just the troops. Babies, Youngers, Elders... Means nothing to the Faces.
I go first. I lay still when Jedekiah sets me up for the Prelim, remembering Kran doing this. He was grinning, his feathers all ruffled with pride, eyes bright in the dim red lighting of the chamber. He squeezed my hand and told me that I'd do him proud, that I could do stuff now, that I was his li'l sistah an' I di'n need t'be 'fraid no more. That once I'd one a Prelim, I could do anything. Then he put in the needle, and I felt myself rise up - entering a Prelim isn't like falling asleep. You don't tumble down and out and wake up in another dimension; you rise, not through the ceiling but rather through consciousness, and a world forms of amber pixels like sparks around you into black rock and spawned weapons, and opposite you is your opponent. I was dizzy, because it was my first time, but I knew I had to get up quick - Nnamdi always talked about moving fast in Prelims, because that's one advantage Longs have. We're quick and even if we're small, we're dense. Strong. So I rolled onto my stomach and stood up, half trying to look for my opponent and half trying to get rid of the sickness that comes with entering a digital realism, your body made again of completely inorganic material somewhere in the ether. It wasn't until I heard the clicking that I remembered I would have to fight. I was scared, 'course I was. It hurt. If I did this wrong, I'd get killed. I turned around and shied away and hissed a little, and the Short laughed - he was stocky, only a little taller than me but wired and powerful, and his wings were out, feathers bushed menacingly and shaking like a rattlesnake's tail. He clicked again, spitting and laughing. There was already a knife in his hand. He made a little jolting movement and I flinched back, almost bating with fear. He did it again, and I almost tripped as I stumbled a step away, heart beating so hard it made me sick - but it was as I caught myself with bent knees, breathing hard, that I saw what I had fallen over. A pistol, just larger than the size of my hand, with a black stock and a matte, dark barrel. And then my breathing levelled out and my heart steadied and I reached down and I picked it up and I pointed it at the Short. I put two hands on the bit you're supposed to hold, like I'd seen Kran do, and then I put one finger on the trigger and I aimed it at his chest, and by the time he had started to laugh like he didn't believe I would pull the trigger the shot had sounded and as he laughed he bit his tongue and blood trickled between his lips and over his chin and Jedekiah Khoury died.
See, a few days earlier a couple of Shorts jumped us. It was just me and Kran; he'd dropped Jala back at her place and taken me with him 'cos he likes taking me through the city. We were in Long turf - they shouldn't have come for us. But one landed right in front of Kran and two behind us, and a fourth one stood on the rooftops cackling and clicking and then tried to land on Kran's shoulders and break his neck. But Kran kicked upwards, catching him as he lunged, and punched him so hard that he knocked him out on the ground. Then the two behind came forward and one went for him and the other tried to grab me around the neck and slit my throat, so I did like Kran had said and ducked under his arm and punched him in the throat then stuck my knife in his gut - and then the first one had one hand on my neck and one arm around my waist and he was pulling me away while the other one held Kran down. And he turned me away and started to drag me off, so I couldn't see what was happening to Kran - I could only hear a muffled grunt, kicking, a scrabble, the slash of a knife. And then there was a gunshot. The Short let go of me. Most of his head was gone. Kran was standing pointing at him with a pistol. That was the first time I'd ever seen anyone use a gun. They're rare, and possession of one is a capital offence. Kran never got out his gun before or since.
This time, it's not Kran who sends me through - it's Kiah. I rise, and the Prelim landscape forms.
It's quick and brutal; a Long boy a bit older than Nnamdi goes for the knife halfway between us. I beat him to it and get him in the throat. I don't get deep enough to kill him right away because he's stronger and he knocks my arm away, but I keep it in my hand and it's not long after that.
"Won," I mutter as I fall back into the room. Kiah nods. He twitches his brows as if to ask for details, but I don't give them him. It feels different killing a Long - but it shouldn't. It's only the Prelim. I guess I'll get used to it over time.
I'd wondered if I should feel anything when I won the first one. I don't think I did. Pointed the gun, pulled the trigger. Saved my own life.
And it was only a Prelim. Not like I really killed anyone... Dead-dead.
And it was Jedekiah. The odds were massively against it, but I guess odds don't care about who they mess up in the process.
Without asking, Kiah goes next. He starts to prep himself, but Ezekiel steps up and takes the needle out of his hand. Kiah doesn't even register thanks - but it's not like he's ungrateful. It's more like he knows that the other Short knows he's grateful, so he doesn't even need to grunt or nod to say it. I watch how carefully Ezekiel's hands move over Jedekiah's skin. Kiah, sat up on the seat, takes off his leather jacket and bundles it up beside him - Ezek's eyes move delicately across the line of his strong shoulders, down the muscles of his tattooed arms and to his wrist, which he takes so gently in his own hand it's like his fingers barely touch the skin.
He lifts it with the lightest pressure, and inserts the needle, his fingers hovering a second longer than they need to on Kiah's arm.
Jedekiah's face remains tense and hard for a second - and then as he rises, his features go slack and his head falls back, whole body relaxing so suddenly it's almost like a spasm. He's even tenser than usual - it was obvious in how snappy he was today, winding up North personally, not with the generic Broad slurs he usually spits out.
For a second, Ezekiel stands beside Jedekiah, still holding his wrist in his own thin, frail fingers, eyes on Kiah's face. His dusky sparrowhawk wings have been tatty every time I've seen him, but now that the moult's started they're patchier than ever. Jedekiah will grow back his first adult set of feathers this year, brown outsides being replaced by slate grey tinted with hazel. Ezekiel already has his, but for a twenty year-old - that was how old the Prelim guy said he was - he looks tired and lost.
His eyes, grey-blue and almost shocking in his dark-skinned face, are always wide and scared - but now when he looks back up at me and North, they're terrified. Pleading. He's almost on the verge of tears; he drops Kiah's wrist and takes a stumbling step back, almost falling. His lip trembles and his teeth flash as he bares his gums like a dog giving warning, and his feathers shake with a quiet rustling that rings in the small room. I glance at Jedekiah - he's still in the Prelim. Lord, let it be a long one.
Ezekiel, shaking, falls against the far wall, swinging his head sharply from side to side, eyes wet, lashes clogging in the damp. Now I look at North; his face is sharp with pain as well.
"Come on," North mutters, shuffling up closer to me and clearing a space against our wall. Ezekiel hesitates for half a second, then trips across the room and sinks down beside him.
"Wh-wh-- w... Wh--" Ezekiel tries to stammer, unable to get more than the first sound out. North makes a noise in his throat like he's telling him to shush, but Ezek carries on. He taps out a shuddering rhythm with his fingers on the floor, and patterns his words to the beat, making it into a sequence of syllables he can follow with his voice. It's the first time he's spoken in front of us and his voice is hoarse and low, surprisingly deep. "Wh-what... You... Ha... Ha-have... W-with... Him... What... You have... With... Your..." His eyes flicker up to North's, and then drop back down again, as if terrified of holding his gaze for more than a split second. Slowly, as if moving with the care not to make a Long jump, North presses his hand over his, and lowers his head slightly.
"It's different for Broads," he says quietly, eyes on the ground as well. "It's... Normal. I- I mean, it's... It's normal anyway, but... People see it that way. For what it is." He takes a breath. "Love."
I'm watching both of them, silent. Maybe I should feel out of this, like I shouldn't be involved, but I don't.
"He'd... K-k... K-kill... Me."
North's breathing is a little shallow. Closed eyelids flickering, he pulls Ezek a little closer, pressing his forehead against him slightly. He can't say 'alt, so he don't say nothing.
"H-hi-- his... Brother... Asher-- Asher... Wound him... Up. Called him... Fag - cocksucker. And K... And he... Hated that. Afr--aid. Terr--i--fied of be--ing that. He... Would... Kill..."
I look at Jedekiah again. He's silent, still. Out. For now.
North is talking to the Short, but he sounds like he's saying it for himself as much as anything.
"Don't you ever be ashamed. He's scared because he's been taught something that's wrong - they all have. But that doesn't mean you have to feel bad. Ever. And you don't have to be ashamed of hiding, either. If you can show the world, then you show the world and damn the consequences. But you don't have to. You don't--have--to. But just remember that when you do, you have to be proud." Suddenly, he takes a shuddering breath and brings his head back, as if he's about to move away - Ezek's terrified piercing gaze moves up to him again, and stays there, less afraid to look at North's closed eyes than his open ones. "Bay and the others... They understand. For most Broad-Wings it's all right. It's not even a big deal any more. But there will always be some--"
He stops, obviously seizing up. And suddenly it's my hand on his shoulder. I shift so that I can sit easier on my legs, one wing moving hesitantly out to mantle his. "Who?" I breathe, because I know that he wants me to say it, he wants an excuse to talk. I don't even know if Ezek's taking in all of the words, so much as just listening to - falling asleep to - the sound of his voice.
North is trembling slightly now, his eyes still shut.
"My father died hating me," he whispers. My throat is thick and hard. "My mother hasn't sent me more than a Christmas card since. Last year she didn't even sign it. I only knew it was from her because of the stamp. She must have gotten it from the church fayre. 'Remember the Lord loves you' - I... I always wanted to think so."
He swallows and sits upright a little more, wiping his face on his sleeve. Ezekiel has slumped slightly, his whole body relaxing like Jedekiah's did when he entered the Prelim. North pushes his glasses up, and then looks at the Short as well.
"He'll tell him," he says quietly. "He has to, sometime."
I raise my eyes to his, brows up, head tilted slightly. North shrugs.
"I don't know. But maybe if he finds out about me first..."
He shudders, ever so slightly.
I feel Jedekiah moving before he sits up, and slide rapidly against the wall again, pressing my back against it and pushing North away so that I sit between them.
North is still shaking. Ezek is out cold. Kiah stands up hissing and spitting, obviously angry at a loss. I take a slow blink.
If only I could say that Longs don't have these kinds of problems.