I smile brightly. Not so brightly that it seems unhinged. Just bright enough that it’s beautiful. It’s elated. It’s confident. It’s glory-addled.
My dark brown hair is meticulously dyed by henna to be a bright auburn. And my eyebrows and even my lashes. My tight curls are straightened out into looser curls. My dark green eyes don’t look out of place. Especially against the lightness of my hair. My skin is lighter than it was when I was at home. The sunlight isn’t as strong here. Even then my skin has been naturally lightened by turmeric. Natural-looking makeup makes my face shape even more Alturian than it was before. I pass for Alturian. I pass perfectly. And most of it is an accident. The Life Force, in its eternal strange ways, already made my Ieunian soul’s body into the image of what a beautiful Alturian girl should be.
It cursed me. It cursed me by ripping me from my home. By ripping my life and loved ones and freedom and autonomy from me. But it blessed me. Because I didn’t die in the river my kidnapper ended up throwing me in. I sank into the water and then emerged from it, heaving and gasping and reborn, and I was able to slip through Alturian society like a ghost unnoticed. And I could slip through the cracks of anywhere, into anywhere. And I could be a sleeper cell. Ready to blow up as soon as needed.
My lips are painted bright red. My nails are painted bright red. My cheeks are dusted warm pink. I’m wearing a low-cut cyan minidress that hugs my slim figure and is patterned all over with bright pink and red roses that have thorned green stalks all twisting around each other. Around my neck is a red choker with three-dimensional taffeta and georgette roses blooming all along it. I wear a bracelet that matches. It’s casual. Flowing. Summery. But no doubt it’s all incredibly expensive. It costs more money than my family back in Ieunia would make in three months. And this is what’s considered cheap in Alturia. This is what’s considered casual clothing.
I am sitting around the stylish black-painted chairs of an outdoor café. There is a chic metal table in front of me and a colourful translucent umbrella above me. All around there are other tables with people chattering all around them. Fairy lights glow in the daytime. And the sun is shining brightly. All around us there are fake trees with “leaves” made of bright cloth. Some trees are green and blue, with gold and silver trunks. Some are pink and orange, with gold and copper trunks.
The sun is shining brightly and the sky is supersaturated blue. I use the blue of the sky as my anchor point to the world, the one real thing in a world that’s overwhelmingly, cloyingly fake. An imitation. A copy. An illusion.
In front of me is a plate full of food ten times more decadent and extravagant than what I ever remembered food tasting like when I was at home. Boiled eggs cut in half and heaped up with guacamole, drizzled in this strange spicy sauce. Beside me is a tall glass of iced lemonade, gleaming yellow in the sun. And this was the cheapest thing there was.
Around the chic metal table there are people dressed in similarly casual-expensive clothing. The men have gelled hair and the women have hair that is brightly dyed, at the tips or in highlights. I didn’t dye my hair because I said that coppery-red was already the perfect colour. The people at the table are all various ages, but older than me. They sit straight and tall, severe expressions on their faces. They have twisting jewellery. They have thick, sturdy shoes that would cost three months’ wages back home. I show off my red-painted toes in sky-blue sandals. And they’re still very expensive. But not as much.
Sharlee Atheren has platinum-blond curls dyed in stripes of blue at the ends, going from lighter to darker. She is wearing a dress made out of light silk, dyed blue to match her hair, embroidered with shimmering lighter blue threads. She has a silver and topaz headband. She has flowing sleeves made out of tullé and silver boots trimmed with white and blue fur. She has silver bracelets on her wrists and delicate, spiralling rings on her fingers. Her light-pink painted bottom lip has two topaz-studded silver rings woven through the left corner. There are soft wrinkles around her eyes as well as an unendurable sort of confidence. She is a head policy analyst in the Imperial government.
Alezander Novaro has brown hair but only the roots are brown right now, the rest of it is dyed a dark shade of softly shimmering purple that is almost black. He is older, but a lot of that is hidden under makeup. He is wearing faux leather pants that are studded with red and orange gemstones and a gold-gilded belt. He is wearing a brightly-dyed tank top with a snarling tiger on it and a thin golden coat on top of that. He was always so gaudy. It’s lucky that the café is air conditioned. Lucky for him at least I’m freezing my balls off. Alezander is the head propaganda producer. Technically as an actress I work under him.
Alissika Avenon is in a thick, sleeveless knee-length silk dress made of swirling pastel colours. Colours the likes of which I couldn’t even imagine back home. Along her sleeves she has rows of flowing, colourful feathers - most likely fake - bending up towards the sky. Her collar as well is fringed with feathers that bend backwards. Her hair is dyed light pink and is braided to crown her head, and studded with gem-tipped hairpins. She is in her thirties and her face is caked in makeup. Her jewelry, while being metallic and shiny, is also soft pastel colours. She has many bracelets that roll like waves and a chain that holds three different semi-precious gems. She is a nuclear physicist and on the frontlines of developing what is purportedly the greatest weapon known to humanity.
Paeter Birgonnes is a wearing a leather jacket studded with platinum. It is brand new. Every single clothing item anyone here owns is alway months-new, and discarded at the first sign of wear. He is wearing a blood-red silk shirt below that, and black pants embroidered in various shades of red. He has a platinum watch, a platinum belt buckle, and platinum earrings studded with red. His curly blonde hair is dyed silver at the edges. And he has on bright red lipstick like me. He is the head of military recruitment.
Igor Charnasse is dressed in a silk suit of dark and swirling, lightly shimmering colours. The colours seem to change and shift under the light like he does. His shirt is blindingly white, threaded with silver. He has platinum cuff links studded with diamond, and a thick watch that matches. His pants are tipped with silver. He has soft wrinkles around his eyes and a blood-red lapel and a blood-red tie. His top hat is the same colour as his suit and has a blood-red ribbon on it. He had a fake platinum rose on his lapel. He loves those metal roses. I remember when he was first wooing me. He gave me an armful of gold ones, in a cheap plastic vase. They even had fake thorns.
Igor Charnasse is looking me up and down hungrily, but he still carries in his eyes the reverence that Alturians only reserve for each other. The pressing, piping kindness that’s all-too-bright and leaves no room for declination. He wouldn’t hurt me against my will. Well he would if he knew who I truly was. He doesn’t. And he won’t ever.
I’m their little girl. I’m their sweet, young soldier. The perfect Alturian citizen. I’m the head of the youth brigade. I help organize rallies, speeches, activities, camps, concerts, classes, parties, festivals. I have an artistic eye for colour and line and glitter and shine. I have the ability to make anyone feel at ease. And that’s only in my free time. 9-5 I’m the prettiest most talented up-and-coming young actress in the film industry. I’m in the midst of filming the most bombtastic propaganda piece imaginable. And Lord Igor Charnasse, the leader of Alturia in all its glory, is not-so-subtly in love with me and I am very obviously amazed at everything he does.
He’s not a bad-looking man. He’s on the shorter side, as far as men go, much to his chargin. He has strawberry-blond hair that has bits of gray in it. Eyes as blue as Arctic Blitz Gatorade. I’m never letting him put his disgusting meaty dick in me. I’ll kill him first. But I have to pretend. Pretend just long enough for me to get the chance to kill him.
He thinks that I’m entranced by him and am elated that he is entranced by me. He thinks I’m a young girl and a model citizen. I’ve written speeches for him, that were tongue-in-cheek in the most subtle of ways. I’ve gone to his house and partaken in sugary-sweet alcohol-free drinks he’s pushed my underaged way. I’ve batted my hennaed eyelashes and smiled conspirationally.
And right now I’m laughing loudly and jubilantly as he tells a racist story.
“So the Amaranian barbarians, right? They believe - they truly believe - that if they die for their honour of whatever, they will become ghosts and come back to like annoy the living. How irrational is that?” The table around us erupts into laughter. Everyone is so mirthful and jubilant and free. At the expense of the blood and the suffering of the Amaranian workers. It’s stomach-churning. Azenon, one of my friends in the resistance, is Amaranian. His escape was related to one of the bomb-and-runs Lord Charnasse is describing right here. Azenon is a good man. Caring. Selfless. Generous. Lovesick. His older sister died for him and it’s a story that’s far too common.
“We have tried long and hard to show them the ways of rationality. Of science. But these people are so stupid. Like goddamn. They are so fucking stupid. They believe that their plains are sacred, right? After all our attempts to teach them, they still don’t stop. Anyways, they keep trying to escape from their labour camps. We tried to explain to them that we are providing them with work, with dignity, with a chance to make something of themselves. But no. They’re lazy and would rather roam around in their fields all day doing fuck all. So as we have it every once in a while some idiot youth decides to make a goddamn pipe bomb and I don’t even know how they keep making pipe bombs but they do. And then they’re all like ‘we don’t want to work anymore’ and blow up the walls. And they make a run for it. Stupid animals. They just run. It’s so easy to gun them down. They know that it’s easy and they do it anyways. Like they have no regard for their lives!” Lord Charnasse is much more well-spoken up in front of the crowds. But around his close circle he can let his guard down and speak freely. I’m glad that he can.
A round of laughter rolls through. I make sure to laugh just a little bit louder, just a little bit brighter. I make sure to double over just a little bit more vivaciously. No one can be allowed to doubt my loyalty, or my enthusiasm. His words cut me deep and leave me bleeding. Another girl might have started crying or even raging right there and then. But I keep reminding myself that if I can slip by undetected I can help my people. If I can slip by undetected I can help my people.
“They get picked off like headless chickens! Like fish in a barrel!”
I breathe deeply. Mirthfully. Lean oh-so-subtly closer to him. He wraps his arm around my shoulders. He would pull me closer if our chair rails weren’t in the way.
“I’ve seen videos of the massacres of Alttube. You should see. They’re insane.”
“Anyways, there was an escape attempt. At this coal mine a few months back. We managed to kill everyone. Or so we thought. There was apparently a worker who escaped properly. But do you know what the idiot did instead of even going away from they place he’d tried to escape? He came right back and pretended to be a ghost! Honestly! These people are so childish!”
“What on Alturia’s abundant rolling fields?” Sharlee laughs incredulously.
“Why would he do that? Forget self-preservation this man - if he can even be called that - doesn’t even have common sense!” Alezander exclaims haughtily.
“What would barbarians know about common sense anyways?” Alissika’s voice is haughty and slightly sardonic.
“Well we can’t,” I start brightly, “we’re trying to /civilize/ them! But we can’t do that if they don’t listen to us! They’re like rebellious little teenaged brats. But worse. Way worse. Do they ... do they just not want to work? How lazy!” I exaggeratedly roll my eyes. Azenon works hard. But he works freely. He works for what he believes in. For the liberation of all people. Not for the destruction of the land and the moving of wealth to the hands of the few. I hate this conversation but I have to endure it.
“Yes well, that idiot man will be captured soon.” Lord Charnasse smirks.397Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI2HZ8yTfyF
———
“And they tried to capture her. They didn’t know that is was all in vain.” Azenon’s smile is small, but it’s bright and wondering and mischievous.
We are sitting on the floor of the apartment Lopico and I share. It’s an apartment that’s considered quite small in Alturia but it’s so big. Much bigger than anything we have at home. Fifteen of us are sitting together on the floor, on newspapers strewn all about. We have to make disguise day and meeting day the same day, since in Alturian society there’s so little time that you’re not spending with some club or social group or at work or volunteering or at an event. This is why, despite how weird this absolutely is, we’re all in our underwear and caking ourselves with turmeric. Turmeric is incredibly expensive. And it’s food. And this is a giant and horrific waste. And I hate it. And it’s weird. But we have to fit into Alturian society and Alturians are light.
Along with skin most of us have to deal with our dark hair. Honey, cinnamon, and lemon juice are good for this. For most people. For people who can put on blue contacts or keep their brown eyes, who only need brown or dark blonde hair. So almost everyone else is carefully and delicately rubbing the honey-lemon-cinnamon into someone else’s hair if they’re done with the turmeric. But not Aniki and I. Nope we’ve been blessed with green eyes and we have to pass as gingers and hence the henna. Which we can’t begin applying until our skin is done.
Despite how strange and stressful and how dangerous this is, it’s the best day. I’m surrounded by my new family. By their sparkling eyes and their kind voices and their softness and their warmth.
The sun is still high in the sky and pours in through the high windows, windows too high for prying eyes to see anything from. The floor is covered in newspaper and the walls are a bleached white. There is no furniture, because why the fuck would we waste money and precious resources on that, and there’s a bunch of plastic bowls on the floor either holding concoctions or water, along with many black towels. All fifteen of us are together.
There are fifteen of us in total. In the whole of Alturia. That’s barely any, really. But you have to realize it’s not easy at all to end up in the heart of the homeland of the empire. Alturia makes damn sure to never let any outsiders into the core of its extravagance but makes damn sure that there’s outsiders working in its mines and factories and fields and fisheries and plantations and refineries and power stations overseas. It’s more than difficult for an outsider to get in here. It’s impossible. And it’s only through sheer and unfiltered luck that we’re here. Luck or misfortune.
Azenon, Aleni, Kaedicci, Petouri, Almer, Henzani, Shakolek, Lopico, Trisinnoki, Darkino, and Afoula were all slaves in work camps. They all escaped somehow or another. Escape usually means death. And yet it’s still worth it. But most people couldn’t gather the courage from the midst of all their obligations and bonds. And of those who did escape, the vast majority of their escape trails lead to the freedom of the afterlife. The vast majority of the ones who made it out alive went to the freedom of the wilderness. But my new family and I found ourselves in the confines of Alturia. The homeland of Alturia proper is ringed by high walls.
Arekani, Onima, Minnow and I were all people who escaped being war prizes, somehow or another, over the years. We were chosen because of our striking beauty and our striking resemblance to “girls/boys back home” and we were kidnapped for our familiarity as well as our looks. So when we were eventually dragged back to Alturia our allure faded when they were already immersed by the familiar. What happened with me is that I was bought for my youth and as I started going into puberty he grew bored of me. As is the case with literally most people who get kidnapped as war prizes, we were eventually killed. We simply failed to die.
Why? Because the powers of the Universe have a special destiny for us. Ikonia’s Forces. Ieunia’s Life Force. Amarania’s Gods, Mamon’s Goddesses, Rainlen’s Elements, Araia’s God, Ceylanden’s Spirits. They all move and manifest themselves within the world, within the people. And nature too, has their own power, lives and breathes and sparks within us. And it all protects us and propels us forwards, and we have their blessings.
I know this because I spent so much time listening. Learning. Hearing the stories and the dreams and the hopes from all over the world and the realities that don’t seem believable, the secrets that all exist together in the strangest, most beautiful ways.
Like the stories of the returning spirits. They were the souls of the people who died fighting for their freedom and returned as beings of otherworldly powers to aid the people in fighting for their own freedom.
They were stories of tragedy, of pain, of unimaginable suffering wrapped up in rage and vengeance and revolution. They were stories of the inexplicable, incomprehensible, ineffable. And they were real.
Azenon talks about his comrade Illaki planning a prison break, along with her other comrades. He was a child, five years old, when it started. Five years old and working with live wires and chemicals. The rebels were teens at the time. And they looked forwards into their lives and all they saw was unending work and hunger and degradation and hurt. They looked within themselves and saw hope. In the idealism, rebellion, and yearning of their teenaged years they planned an escape. Using bits and pieces of broken equipment at the power station they managed to make a bomb. Making a bomb wasn’t really difficult, all things considered, if you were sneaky enough. Just incredibly time-consuming. And it required collective cleverness and secrecy. Anyways, after five long years it was ready and so were it’s makers.
Now, most bombs targeted some part of the walls keeping people inside. And this can work but it often fails. But this time they were smarter.
A youth named Jasan was able to get into the head offices, and find a map to the whole facility. They discovered that all the power was controlled at the main switch, deep in the heart of the facility. It would be difficult getting in but not impossible. They shared this knowledge with the others.
After months of planning the rebels realized that the only way for it to work would be for one person to be in the room to explode the bomb, holding it up against the main circuitboards, which would be a suicide mission. There was a lot of arguing about who should go. Everyone wanted to spare their comrades. But finally Illaki convinced them that she worked the closest to the main switch, and it would be the easiest for her to gain access.
A girl named Amimi pickpocketed an access card from a guard who was at the end of his shift.
Illaki used that card to get access to the power room. She held the bomb up against the main switch, took a deep breath, thanked the Gods for giving her courage, and detonated herself.
She didn’t die. Amnini ran in and found her clutching to life. She wrapped her ragged shirt around Illaki’s destroyed arm. And she helped her out. Illaki told Amnini that the best way to honour her would be to escape.
So with a heavy, bleeding heart Amnini left Illaki there and ran out of the now unlocks doors.
A third of the slave camp died under the bullets of the guards. This was far harsher than the usual retribution for an attempted escape. But a few people did escape. A few people had managed to escape.
And it was a victory. Because freedom was worth death.
But some people did not escape. And that included Azenon and his foster family.
They attended the public execution of Illaki because they had to. At twelve years of age Azenon watched a young woman get electrocuted.
And for the next four years things went on as they had been going on for a while. The work was brutal and backbreaking. The hours were long and arduous. It was repetitive. It was dangerous. Everyone was hungry.
One day Azenon was lying on the floor beside his adoptive mother. Suddenly he saw the golden-brown face of Illaki above him, softly glowing. She held a silent, cold, half-tangible finger up to his lips. And she whispered to him that she would see them all free. She would take care of all the guards and the enforcers. All he had to do was escape.
The next few days the bunks of the slaves were alight with whispers of rebellion.
On the fourth day of the fourth month Illaki’s ghost entered all the offices and stations of the guards and enforcers. An ethereal wind was blowing her hair and clothes storm-wild. Her face was full of anger and malice and determination.
Around her intangible winds blew everywhere knocking things down, slamming them against the wall, breaking equipment and throwing doors off their hinges. She demanded to know why they had killed her. She had demanded to know why they killed her comrades. She demanded that they confess to their wrongdoings and let her people go.
The Alturians were so struck by fear that they all died.
Everyone in the compound made a run for it. The day was the most joyous day Azenon had ever experienced. Almost everyone escaped into the wilderness, into the tall dry grass and herbs that made up Amarania.
But Azenon had another idea. He was filled with so much love for his people and that love manifested as so much hate for Alturia. Hate for the ones who killed his people for just trying to escape exploitation and abuse. He vowed that somehow he would bring Alturia down and he hid in a supply cart headed straight to the capital.
And nine years ago, at the age of seventeen, with pale skin and light brown eyes, he ended up here.
“Wow.” Onima states in quiet contemplative astonishment at the end of the story, “she really cared about her people. Cared about them so much that even death couldn’t hold her.”
“And her rage and her anguish played a part,” Araia states with philosophical eyes. “She was a force of destruction.”
“Destruction made of love. Borne of love.” Kaedicci’s voice rings clear. “That’s the most important part.”
“It was very targeted destruction,” Lopico says.
“And our destruction will be targeted too!” We haven’t even won yet but Aleni’s voice carries victory with it.
“I love how targeted our plan is. No random civilians will be killed.” Trissinoki’s voice is serious and understated yet still bright.
“I wouldn’t care about killing Alturian civilians.” Petouri’s voice carries a dark and beautiful hatred in it. They feel what I feel.
“I wouldn’t either,” I declare.
“But we’re not going to hurt anyone who’s barely struggling to get by.” Darkino is right. People in the lap of luxury are our enemies, not humble people trying to live.
———
I’m walking towards they subway station in my too-new black-blue-pink shoes. I smile at the throngs of colourful people all around me who are headed the same direction. I keep my face the mask of sweetness that they want to see. The escalators leading to the subway are clean and faintly glow blue at the edges. Each step is wide, wide enough for a wheelchair, and the machine moves slowly. I pass a few sentences of conversation around as I wait to get to the bottom.
The train arrives right on time as it always does. I get on the subway car, and there are enough seats for everyone as there always is. The inside of the subway car is beautifully decorated in pastel colours. There is poetry on the walls. There are plush seats by have their own tables which you can bring out from where they are folded beside the seat. I get my table out and sit down. On my table I put the decorations I have been working on, for the latest festival that I am planning with my committee.
It will be a festival full of glowing lanterns to celebrate how Alturia is a beacon of light and civilization to the whole world. Most of the more expensive coloured lanterns will be from the colonies, made by slaves in the colonies. But the paper lanterns that will line the ceilings and walls of the hall will be made mostly by us. Out of paper made by slaves.
I finish putting the glitter on the last lantern, I neatly fold it, I put it in my bag and I get ready to get off the train. The train car glides to a smooth stop and a handful of people get off including me. We walk down the large marble halls and go up the wide escalators
After this I walk the rest of the way to the large community hall where we’re meeting. I walk through the brightly painted gates and into the brightly-lit assortment of tables, chairs, statues and posters that adorn the room.
“Hi guys!” I exclaim brightly. The nearly thirty other youths in my group all return a greeting.
“Hiya Lily!” Maddox exclaims. “We’re just going over the music we’re going to be playing at the festival event! Come give us your opinion!”
“I quite like City of Stars myself,” I answer brightly, “throw that in somewhere in the middle!”
“Come join us!” Patricia calls out from beside her place near a tree. To save money we got the idea to make the light trees ourselves. Well I got the idea. We unhooked all the leaves off of some plastic trees we were using at an event before and we covered the trees in differently coloured fairy lights. We’re tying different coloured pieces of cloth to the trees and so for that the lights of the tree is on right now and Patricia and Jeannen are standing by a table filled with differently coloured cloths. I go to them and begin tying cloths to the bare plastic branches beside where the pinpricks of lights are.
We talk a lot about music. We can’t just play our favourite songs. We have to pick songs that are good for the theme of the night.
We talk and work and plan together for hours and hours. And surrounded by people who are young, who are teenagers like me, who honestly believe they love me and honestly love each other, I almost feel at peace.
It’s really difficult to hate these people sometimes. But it’s also really difficult not to hate them.
Not when Lopico startles out of the bedroll every night, body covered in sweat, numb with terror at yet another nightmare about his time as a slave. Not when the people who are enslaved in Ikonia are making the party decorations we are talking so much about.
———
I feel an unimaginable burning in my chest, in my stomach, and everywhere. It’s more physical pain than I’be ever felt before and that’s saying a lot. I thrash about in the water, trying to stay afloat. The fact that my arms and legs are tied together makes this near impossible. My body still is trying to live. But my mind is surprisingly calm about death.
Dying means no more hands all over my body. No more things inside me. No more demands. No more pain. No more missing my family and friends like crazy. No more missing my home. No more being forced to smile and laugh and pretend I’m fucking having a good time. No more life. No more hurt. Just oneness with the Life Force.
I welcome the blackness that overtakes everything as I sink down into the water.
I awake with a start. I’m lying on something soft but only a little bit. My insides are absolutely burning. Why am I not dead?
“Sh sh. Don’t worry.” The voice is soft. But distinctly male. I scream and it hurts so much to scream and I don’t know why I do it because I know no help is coming.
“I’m not Alturian,” the voice says. This calms me somewhat though I’m still panicked. I take a moment to look around. I’m lying on some blankets in a shady spot in a forest. This is definitely very strange. I don’t know what to think of it. I wish I was dead.
I don’t talk because I’m in too much pain. I don’t want to be here. But at least I’m not back there. I go still as the memories of him, my kidnapper, return to my mind.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” The voice is soft. It comes from a man who looks Alturian. But there is a softness around his eyes, an incredible kindness that I’ve never seen from Alturian people. So I believe him when he said he’s not Alturian.
“My name is Lopico,” he says softly, “I’m from Ikonia. I was a slave but then I escaped. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I’m not going to hurt you and I’m going to keep you safe from anyone who does want to hurt you. I found you in the river. I got you out.”
“You should have let me die.” It hurts so much to speak but I do so anyways.
“I know. I know it feels like that now. I wanted to die when I first escaped slavery. But you will heal. You will get better. You will learn how to live again.”
“I won’t.”
“Sh no talking now. I can tell that it hurts you to talk. How about you drink some of this tea. It will help with the pain.”
I consider saying no just to affront him, but I decide not to since I want pain relief. The tea stings a bit going down but eventually it soothes me just a little bit. I wish it was more.
Lopico tells me a story, about two brothers that were separated from their family and journeyed through the wilderness to find them again. It distracts me a little and I listen to it until sleep overtakes me.
———
I’m young, I’m hopeful, and I’m absolutely traumatized. I’ve been living with Lopico for a few weeks. He’s kind. He’s Ikonian. He says that the pain will always be with me. But that I can begin living again one day. I don’t know if I believe him.
I haven’t been outside all week. Going out in Alturia is nothing short of abjectly terrifying. I haven’t been able to do anything but lay under all the blankets Lopico has and cry. I feel so dirty. So used. To terrified. So tired. So done. I never asked to be born and I definitely never asked to be born into this.
Today is Sunday. Lopico told me that I could meet some other people if I wanted to today. I agreed. Part of me feels like I don’t have the energy. But still. I want to meet these mysterious people from distant lands who are living their lives in secret in Alturia.
There is a knock at the door. And I look up to see three people enter the small apartment. Two are women with dark brown hair and blue eyes. One is a young man with hair dyed a bright purple and eyes that are light brown. They look Alturian. I bury deeper into the blankets.
I hear them talk to Lopico a bit but I don’t hear what they say.
“Arulilei?” A soft, feminine voice speaks. I look up. One of the women are kneeling over me, eyes soft with sorrow. “Am I saying it right?”
“No,” I reply numbly, “you have to say it like this. Ah-roo-lee-ley.”
“Oh okay. Like this? Ah-roo-lee-ley?”
“Yes.”
“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Onima. And this is Minnow and Arekani.” She gestures at the two people who have come to sit beside us.
“It’s an honour to meet you,” Arekani says, “where are you from? I’m from Araia.”
“Ieunia,” I reply.
“I’ve heard that Ieunia is beautiful,” Minnow says. His voice is kind. Searching. Sorrowful.
“Do you miss home?” Onima asks. And her tone is so protective.
“My home is dust and ash.” I don’t think there’s anything eft to go back to.
“But you survived.” Minnow’s words are quiet and pressing. “Through trauma and tragedy you survived. And you carry your people with you. You need to make sure you survive.”
“I can’t. After all they’ve done to me I can’t.”
“They’ve done it to us too.” Arekani sounds like she’s holding back tears, “all three of us have been through what you’ve been through. And it was hard for us to survive as well. It was hard for us to hold on. But we did. And you can too.”
“How did you survive?” I ask.
“I kindled my pain into hatred.” Arekani’s words drip with love. “I realized that I needed to get revenge. I needed to work towards justice. And I needed to be alive for that.” The idea of revenge against my abusers didn’t seem realistic to me before.
“What can we do? We don’t have power.”
“We always have power,” she replies. “Our power comes from the heart, not the fist. It’s ultimately more powerful. We can win Arulilei. Somehow. Eventually. I promise we can win.”
“How?”
“We have yet to find out.” I think about that for a while.
“I learned to live because I remembered my people.” Minnow tilts his head wistfully. “They knew that I was strong. Thy knew that I was resilient. They knew that I was worth more than the Alturians made me believe I was. And I realized that to honour my people I needed to heal and survive.”
I think about my people. My family. My friends. My neighbours. My learning mates. I grieve them. I grieve them so much. The war has killed so many and I have no idea who survived. I have no idea how to live without them. But I know they would want me to survive.
“I learned to survive because I didn’t want others to suffer like me,” Onima states. “I wanted to do all I could to reduce the impact Alturia had on the world. And that meant finding a way to take the empire down from the inside.”
“So how are we going to take them down from the inside?” I wonder if we can.
“We don’t know yet. But there’s a way. There’s got to be a way.”
The doorbell rings again and this time Lopico lets in three more people. A man with light skin and fine brown hair, a person with eyes the colour of Ieunia’s ground after a rainstorm, and a woman with dark curling hair and eyes the colour of ice. They come sit down with us.
“Hi,” the woman speaks kindly.
“Hi,” I smile tiredly at her.
“My name is Kaedicci. And this is Shanolek,” she gestures to the blue-eyed person, who looks like a man but has eyes like a woman’s, “and this is Trissinoki,” she gestures to the brown-eyed man.
I wave at them.
“I’m Arulilei.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” Trissinoki’s eyes smile, “are you from Ieunia?”
“Yeah.” There’s longing in my voice.
“Me too. It’s beautiful there, isn’t it?”
“It was. Before the war. Before they started stripping our trees to make dye and boring into our grounds for minerals.”
“It will be beautiful again. When they’re gone. I know they will be gone. The Life Force always flows. It always finds a way to flow and it flows on.”
“Why did this happen then?”
“Because there are other forces besides the Life Force at work. But I can feel it singing inside you still. It connects us to the land and it connects the land to us. You might be in Alturia but your soul will always be tied to Ieunia.”
I think about that for a bit.
“You’re strong,” Kaedicci tells me, “and you will find a way to change the world. I know you will. Would you like to hear a story passed down through Ceylanden?”
“Okay?”
She tells me the tale of a girl who lived in the Forest. She got taken from her home to be the wife of an invading army officer. She poisoned the man who captured her. And she returned to her lands to be a great warrior. She lead her people into battle against the invaders. And eventually they overcame their forces and freed the capital. After that they made a sacrifice on the soil and the rivers of the Forest to the Spirits. The Spirits promised that anyone who invaded the lands of Ceylanden again would get their reckoning.
“Is the story real?” I ask her when she’s finished.
“It is. It’s one hundred percent history. And you’ll make history too.”
We all keep talking. Of love, of loss, of hope, of rage, of revolution. More secret outlanders arrive in the small apartment and we talk into the night. Sometimes I get tired and I just listen. Afterwards I feel a little better. Like maybe, just maybe, there is something beyond just misery.
———
I walk off the film set after a long day of work. I’m still in my movie makeup and my hair is still in the messy braids that the stylists spent so very long getting just right. We’re almost done filming. And the plan is almost set into motion.
I find acting really easy. I act all the time, playing my role in this society as the model Alturian youth. And I had to act before to, with him. Had up pretend to like what he gave me. That taught me to push down my rage. But even before, when I was young and war-torn and with my people, I loved acting in the imagination games my friends and I played. And all of this is a sort of game, really. A deadly, dizzy-terrifying sort of game with the stakes raised mountain-high.
I get on the subway and make sweet conversation with the people seated around me. There is an old woman who would have been delightful if she hadn’t been Alturian. There is a man who would have reminded me of my long-dead uncle if he hadn’t been Alturian. There is a man barely older than I am whose flirting I pretend not to notice. All Alturian men are pigs. And there are two young children who are so incredibly sweet. I hope I can give them a better world to inherit. I hope I can save them from the festering hatred.
I get off and walk to the garden where Lord Charnasse and his minions are supposed to meet me. It’s a very aesthetically pleasing garden, with flowers of every colour in dozens of neat, straight rows along the grounds. Cutting between the rows of flowers are paths of colourful patterned tile. There are willow trees and maple trees casting shade for the people taking strolls on the grounds.
I don’t find it beautiful. I think plants and animals shouldn’t be put in neat tracing rows for people to gawk at. They should be able to grow free and wild. There are times when I feel as trapped as these carefully-cultivated plants must feel.
I walk to the shaded, air-conditioned gazebo that overlooks much of the garden, including the fountain at the centre. This is where we are supposed to meet. I have a moment to myself which I use to school my face back to its bright illusion, so that only those who truly knew how to look would see the sorrow and the grief within it.
I take a deep breath and let it out.
Lord Charnasse is coming through the garden. He probably came early to have some moments alone with me. He makes me want to vomit.
“Hi Igor!” I exclaim.
“Lily. I waited all day to see you!” He smiles brightly at me.
“I waited all day as well. Though I’m sorry. I can’t lie. I had a lot of fun at the movie set.”
“Well you were doing important work for your country. Of course it gave you joy.”
“You do a great job of running this country. Everything is so beautiful.” I gesture around us. “Especially this garden! It’s so colourful.”
“Well I can’t say I personally planned this garden but I did see it and immediately think of you.”
I force blood to rush to my cheeks. “I’m beyond charmed,” I say breezily.
Sharlee, Alezander, Alissika, and Paeter are coming through the rows of flowers towards us.
“Well here goes our alone time.” Lord Charnasse’s voice has just a touch of resentment to it.
“I’ll follow you back to your place tonight.” I try to placate him.
“Hello my great leader! Hello miss movie star!” Alezander’s voice is playful.
“Hello boss,” I quip back.
“Hey hey hey, after working hours we’re just friends.”
“Isn’t it always time to work for the betterment of Alturia?” My voice is falsely mirthful.
“Clever girl.”
“So how are you guys doing on this beautiful day?” Sharlee asks brightly.
We talk about everyone’s days at work and the work they’re doing and how it’s going and how it’s all so important. I pretend to be interested.
Finally they ask me about how my movie is going. This inevitably leads to a conversation on what the movie is about.
“Did you learn about the destruction of Desnothia in school?” Paeter asks me.
“Of course I did,” I reply.
“It was almost magical.” Alissika looks like she’s reminiscing, though this was over a century ago. “It was what really set Alturia apart.”
“We killed them all,” Lord Charnasse exclaims reverently. “An entire group of people, with their ugly big noses and tall stature and beady eyes wiped off of the face of the earth. Imagine the power.”
“They were a scourge,” Paeter asserts. “They were s*v*g*s. They didn’t know how to build society properly, they couldn’t make families properly, they practiced incest. They didn’t praise the gods. They raided other lands and stole whatever they could. The world is better now that we’ve gotten rid of them.”
“You speak as if you were there,” I whisper in fake reverence.
“I learned this many times throughout my education. I might as well have been.”
“So Lily,” Alezander starts, “you must feel as if you were there as well. After all, you play the heroine that lead our great armies towards victory.”
“Oh I am not Melidi. In acting you have to know how to separate a role from yourself. I’m good at remembering who I really am.” After all, I have to be.
———
I am sitting on the plush sofa at Lord Charnasse’s house. He is preparing drinks for us. Despite being the leader of the country he is so very humble. Though I suspect he’s sneaking alcohol into my drink. He knows I only have a month to go until I’m eighteen. Why can’t he wait?
His living room is quite large. It could easily fit forty people. And it’s just one of the rooms in his house. Back in Ieunia we lived in huts that were one single room. In that small room we crowded as many of us as would fit.
He has a large television taking up a third of his wall space. I never even knew such things existed when I was a young child living in Ieunia.
His sofa is softer than anything that we had back in Ieunia. And he has many sofas. We did not even have mattresses. And our blankets were old and worn down.
A crystal chandelier hangs from his ceiling. It has electric lights. Back in Ieunia we had to rely on fire for our lights. And there was never enough firewood. Never the safety to go get it either. So mostly we sat in the cold and the dark.
His walls have many paintings and medals and hanging decorations. The walls of our huts back in Ieunnia were made of clay and dried in the sun and rough and bare.
He has a shelf full of books. When I lived in Ieunia I didn’t know how to read.
He has a phone strewn about carelessly on the sofa. Back in Ieunia we would keep every single meagre possession we had safe.
I heard that things were better before the war started. But I wasn’t alive then.
“I have the drinks,” he exclaims brightly, entering the room. I smile at him.
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———
All around me is fire and smoke and screaming. I don’t know what to do. My feet take me in a random direction away from the smoke and the carnage. I don’t know where my family is. Where my neighbours are. Where anyone is. I don’t know if I’ll live. I don’t know if anyone will live. The smoke rises thick and dark into the air and it chafes my lungs and leaves me coughing violently. Still I run. I have to run.
Suddenly a huge truck screeches to a halt in front of me. It’s painted in the brown camouflage of the Alturian army vehicles. The door swings open and a strange, pale-faced soldier tells me to get in the truck. In my terror I have no choice but to obey. Surprisingly he doesn’t kill me. He just drives me away from the smoke and the flames.
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———
“I saved you,” he says.
“You would’ve died in the fire without me,” he says.
“You would’ve died without me,” he says.
He drives an armoured vehicle for Alturia and he desecrates my lands and he desecrates my body.
He has friends who are all soldiers like him and he shares me with them sometimes. They find me cute. They ruffle my hair. But of course they desecrate me as well.
I hate them so much. I hate all of them.
I stay locked to a pole in his fold-up army tent whenever he’s off fighting. It’s not freedom but at least I’m free from his gaze and his touch. But it never ever lasts.
He always comes back and bears into me like the bombs bear into the soft soil.
At first all I do is cry. All I can do is cry. But I learn quickly that crying has harsh consequences. So I become too afraid to cry.
He wants me to be grateful and pleasant. I have no idea what there is to be grateful about. But for the sake of my own safety I pretend.
I pretend to like him and his friends and all the “civilization” that they bring.
There are other girls and sometimes boys locked up with me. Some are from Ieunia. Some are not. Some were captured during the war. Some were brought over from distant colonies that had already been captured.
Sometimes I get to talk to them. They’re broken, infinitely broken. But they’re kind. They are all that keep me from breaking into infinite tiny pieces. Not that I don’t break anyways. It’s just that I don’t crumble.
I’m grateful for them. But still my heart breaks at the thought that they are being put through the same thing I am being put through. I wish I could somehow save them. That I could somehow save all of us. But I can’t.
I have no power.
I watch my lands crumble and burn and get chopped into pieces. They burn the villages. They burn the grasses. They397Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDLhB4WpOGA
shell houses. Cut deep craters through the lands. They hack down the trees and they riddle the landscape with bullets.
I cry for my lands, invisible tears that I am forced to gulp back.
And the sorrow and rage in my heart is unspeakable.
At night when no-one is looking I cry under the light of the moon. And my tears feel deep enough to fill the deepest basin. The moon is for the women. The moon is for the water. The moon is healing. And she accepts my water. She lets me cry.
But I have to dry the tears before he wakes up and sees them.
I wonder where my friends and neighbours and family are. If they’re even alive. I know not all of them are alive. I don’t even know who is dead and who isn’t. I don’t even know who to mourn. I cannot even mourn. And my grief builds up inside me until I feel like my heart will burst.
I have to remember them. All the people I left behind. I have to remember them. And everything they were. And everything they taught me.
I have to remember Ieunia. And all it’s glory. If these lands are destroyed and killed at least they will live on in my memories.
Why do the soldiers not understand that the land is sacred? That the people are sacred? Why do they bring with them so much hurt and destruction and devastation?
If they had come bearing peace I would’ve welcomed them.
If he didn’t hurt me so much perhaps I could be friends with him. There are little things about him, even, that are good. That betray the fact that he is maybe capable of being good.
But the freely trusting openness of my heart is gone. All that is left is broken, bleeding pieces.
Yet another thing that the war has taken from me. Yet another thing that Alturia has pillaged and destroyed.
I long to be free from this war. To be playing in the grass fields with my friends. To be tucked up close to my family. I miss them all so very dearly. I miss them all with the force of a million floods and the force of my grief threatens to crack me apart from the inside out. But all I have is war.
I vaguely remember that I am still a child. I wish I could still be a child. Wish it so very deeply. But my childhood got ripped from me like everything else in my life did.
The soldiers laugh and coo about how childish I act. But still, they force me to be an adult. I wonder what they see in me.
Sometimes I wonder if all I am is what he says I am. A pretty little bedwarmer to heat him up after a gruelling day of war. That thought leaves me suffocated and aching.
But then my friends here tell me that I’m not. Tell me that I’m worth so much more than he says I am. They tell me that I’m a wonderful little girl and I’m sacred. Sometimes I believe them. Sometimes I don’t.
But I let them know that they’re sacred as well.
Me and the other war prizes are more than friends. We are a family. A family forged by pain and heartbreak and love and desperation and necessity. We have each other. We love each other. And we take care of each other as much as we can. And I’m infinitely grateful. I hope I am never taken from them.
But of course eventually I am. Because nothing can go well for me in my life.
One day the war is over. My homeland is in ruins. The place where I grew up, the place that I love, is a colony of Alturia.
The rest of my people are slaves as well. And again I cannot even mourn.
And he goes back to his own homeland, bringing me with him and ripping me apart from my family yet again.
———397Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlTYAzvVBAJ
397Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5PPf1PkDGb
Afoula paints cars. Many of those cars go to the colonies, bringing slave drivers and technicians and engineers working abroad back from their time spent at home. Those cars are washed and shined by slaves. Those slaves often have learned to read, in their own languages, in the secret of the night.
This is the way we can communicate with the colonies. Because if we can write messages on the cars, in the native languages of the various slaves, in paint that just looks like designs to the Alturians, the slaves can then spread these messages amongst themselves and we can coordinate with the whole world.
Afoula goes to the car parks they’re hired to go to. They then meet whoever told her to come. The pair go to a restaurant and have light deserts and snacks as they talk about the contract. They also talk about other things. Afoula asks the Alturian what they do, where they do it, why they picked that job, and more. Under the guise of polite conversation Afoula learns just where the car will go and when. If they finds out that it’s a car that will go to the colonies, they ask which colony, what is the weather there like, what are the coworkers like, and more.
They go to the car with their paints and brushes in their arms. Under the shade of the car park they get out their phone and flip through their folder of photos to see what the specific lettering is for the colony the car will drive to.
There are seven colonies. And a few of us from each colony. One of us who can read and write in the language of each colony. We spell out the words for her. Seven languages. Seven sentences. Seven pictures. The same message each time:
“September 27th 127, rebel, get everyone involved.”
And among designs and patterns and flowers and landscapes, they work in the words, into the paint of each car.
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———
It’s September 26th. 127 ADG. One hundred twenty seven years after the Desnothian Genocide.
I sit in the balcony of the movie theatre in a private booth beside Lord Charnasse. It’s the premier of the project Alezander and I and countless others have been working on for ages. The lights are still on. The velvet seats are dry against my legs.
“Your dress is astonishing.” Lord Charnasse gives me a lecherous smile. I’m wearing a satin layered dress with layers of many pastel colours. My bodice is a blushing pink with a red frill across the top that reaches across my arms to serve as sleeves.
“Thank you. I was thinking of you when I picked it out. You always said I looked good in satin.”
“You look ethereal in satin. I’ll have to take you shopping one day. Buy you the nicest dress money can buy.”
“Thank you.” I force myself to blush.
The lights go down. And we turn to the screen.
It opens to a beautiful scene of a farm in the Alturia of old. A land that was not yet marred by the blood of the world. I go about my duties as a farm girl. But I long for adventure.
The call arrives when the farm is raided by big-nosed Desnothians. They are made to look especially crude and ugly. I don’t think real Desnothians were ugly. Sure they may have had big noses but there’s nothing wrong with that. And I don’t think they raided farms either.
But the movie rolls forwards and I am devastated at the loss of my beloved animals. I move to rally all the people in my farming community to create an armed guard of the farmlands. We kill a dozen Desnothians but then they all attack at once and we are overpowered.
I rally my farming community again to take up our cause at the capital. On the way we meet many other farming communities from all parts of Alturia that have had their lands raided, their crops destroyed, and their livestock killed. We hold community gatherings and rallies. And urban Alturians are swayed by our cause, and saddened by our plight. We are, after all, all Alturians.
The chancellor of Alturia tells us that there are too many Desnothians to take on. That we’ll have to start a war if we want them to stop raiding our lands. And in the meantime Alturia goes hungry as more and more of our crops are destroyed and more of our farmers are left destitute.
There is a spontaneous protest that turns into a riot and then ends with all the roiters singing the Alturian national anthem. I climb on top of a statue, wearing an Alturian flag as a cape. I give a rousing speech about how if there must be war than there will be war. But Desnothia will pay for what they’ve done to us. And if we have to elect a new government then we will.
Months later an election is called after ongoing pressure, lead by me, for the government to step down. The new government declares war against Desnothia and there is celebration all around the country. I look towards the horizon in determination.
The first thing I do then is enlist in the military, with my close friends. There is joking and lightheartedness and hope. And thus ends the first act of the movie. It’s beautifully shot. But it’s a gruelling three hours of biting my tongue and watching nonetheless. Especially since I know that this movie is about a genocide.
Lord Charnasse and I go to take a walk outside in the statue garden by the movie theatre.
“I have to say, Lily,” he drones on, “I am really quite impressed. That movie moved me towards emotions I didn’t even know I could feel.”
“There’s nothing as glorious as the history of our great nation,” I reply. Even though I know that it’s likely a false history.
“There’s nothing greater than paying homage to our nation. And that is exactly what you’ve done by being in this film. You are so fiery and radiant.”
“Melidi was much more. I am but a candle in reflection to her sunshine.”
“And yet you reflect her perfectly.”
“I reflect but small moments of the song of her life.”
We keep talking until it’s time to go back to our seats and continue the movie.
The screen then shows images of glorified, warm-lit war. We sing songs and tell stories in our military camp by night and by day we shoot down Desnothian after Desnothian, painting the ground red in their blood.
There is an ambush. And we barely make it out alive. I lose comrades. And that only serves to further ignite my fury. I am such a skilled soldier that in a mere two years I rise to the rank of commander.
On the homefront I give speeches about the war and about Alturia’s glorious future in front of us. I rally the youths to join the army.
But it all comes to a head when a group of Desnothians kidnap and ransom the chancellor. The war screeches to a halt. Desperate rescue attempts are made but none of them succeed. The country is in disarray.
The chancellor bravely sacrifices himself and tells us that even at the cost of his life, the war must go on. The elections that are held after that have a somber feel to them. But a record number of people enlist.
And with this record number we are able to end the war.
And that’s the end of part two.
Lord Charnasse and I go to get a meal. He buys me a burger worth forty Altcoins. It tastes very overwhelming. I thought I would be used to Alturian food by now but I’m still not.
“It fills you with excitement, doesn’t it, seeing glorious battle?” His expression is eager.
“Not overly. My brother died in the war against Ieunia.”
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Those s******. They’ll pay.”
“They will. I’m sure that everyone who’s harmed me will get their reckoning.”
After a while of sitting and talking it’s time to finish the movie.
The third part is the worst part. We stride into Desnothia proper with our cavalry and foot soldiers and we start a bloodbath. It’s shot romantically. But that doesn’t change the fact that we kill parents and children and babies and the elderly and pregnant people.
After a half hour of pure murder there is an hour of celebrations throughout all of Alturia. And I go home to my community a hero. I go to the capital to receive medals of honour. And I give a speech about the glories and virtues of our country and her military.
And there are talks all around Alturia of what to do with the newly-occupied colony. There is growing consensus that every Desnothian - man, woman, and child - should be killed.
I talk to my friends of how good an idea that is.
Then I go back to the military occupation in Desnothia.
———397Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf74fQJ7kkD
I met Lord Charnasse for the first time in my life today. Alezander - he insists I call him Alezander - insisted that the two of us meet. I can tell that Alturia’s chancellor is smitten with me. It sends a bad feeling through me but I know I must suck it up and bear it. I might never get a chance like this again.
Him and me are walking through a forest. Except it’s not really a forest. The trees all have shimmery metallic trunks. And their leaves are all made of strange translucent fabric dyed an array of colours.
He points out different trees to me and tells me their names as if we are in a real forest and these towers of colour have any life in them.
I remember the trees back home in Ieunia. They are part of the reason we got attacked in the first place. The Alturians wanted to harvest the bark to make dye. We told them that if they destroyed too many trees the lands of Ieunia would be thrown off balance and die. They didn’t care.
And thus, they brought war to our country. War and pain and death and rivers of blood.
All for dye.
———
I lie on my side. Arekani strokes my hair. I am so unbelievably tired. I don’t know how to bear it all anymore. But inside me there is a fire. A fire that longs to burn all of Alturia down. And I must do it. I must burn all of Alturia down.
“Are you feeling better?” Arekani asks me softly.
“No,” I reply truthfully.
“Can you go on at least?” She asks pragmatically. She knows we have to win this war. I know that too. And there isn’t time to break down. Not when all of our Gods and Elements and Forces and Spirits have given us this great mission.
“I can,” I answer. And it’s the truth. “But just hold me a little bit longer.”
“I will.”
———
“Thank you,” I smile at Lord Charnasse as he holds the door open for me, “and thank you so much for choosing my aunt’s restaurant!”
“Thank your aunt for serving the entirety of Alturia’s government tonight,” he replies smoothly.
“It’s an absolute honour my lord,” Kaedicci gives a wondering smile. She’s so good at this. She has them fooled. I look around the bright, decorated restaurant with stained glass windows and carved walls. There are crystal chandeliers all over the ceiling and thick heavy curtains lined with gold. This is the last day I will have to endure Alturia’s decadence and excess before I’ll finally be free.
Other government figures are already sitting at their large polished mahogany tables, lit by silver candlesticks on lace placemats. Henzani is wearing a tux and a bow tie as he guides Lord Charnasse, Sharlee, Alezander, Alissika and Paeter to our table.
The wood can almost reflect my image. The lipstick the women are wearing is bright. My soft rose pink almost fades into the background. As soon as Henzani leaves the chatter stars immediately.
“I have to say it, the feeling after a movie is my favourite feeling in the world.” Alezander’s eyes are smug. This is his victory as much as it’s mine. He takes a sip of his water.
“Especially such an enthralling movie,” Sharlee adds. “It had me on the edge of my seat. It’s so beautiful that as a nation we could honour Melidi in such a beautiful way.”
“I hope she’s proud of all the progress we have made,” Allissika pipes in. She drinks from her tall, clear glass.
“Oh I’m sure she is.” Lord Charnasse smiles.
“I see her in all the young soldiers of our nation.” Paeter’s smile is blinding. Thankfully he dampens it with a sip of water.
Following his lead, I take a drink. And Lord Charnasse follow me. And Sharlee follows him.
“So what do you want to order?” I ask everyone.
“Let’s take a look at this menu.” Lord Charnasse picks up the unassuming red booklet.
They all order and I make sure that my smile doesn’t spread farther than what’s decent for a polite, normal dinner at a restaurant.
The laughter and chatter continues. Forks and knives and spoons and chop sticks clink and chime against the fine china. They all seem healthy. All seem happy. Just as they should be.
“Are you enjoying your food?” Alissika asks us all.
“I am,” I answer, “but what I’m enjoying more is your company.”
Sharlee takes another bite of her salad.
“Tell your aunt that she runs a fine restaurant.” Paetor takes a sip of his wine.
“Good food is one of life’s greatest joys.” Alezander pushes s fork full of spaghetti into his mouth.
Around us the government and military officials talk and laugh oblivious to the sparkle of mischief in my eyes or the way the waiters are holding back smiles.
The light from the chandeliers fades into the background.
“Good food is one of the things that make life worth living.” I nod in agreement to Alezander.
“What makes good food even better is good company.” Lord Charnasse smiles at me. There is a bit of sauce on his lips.
“And what makes good company even better is good food!” Sharlee raises a glass and we all meet it with a clink in the middle.
Clinks echo through the room. Voices echo through the room. Soon enough a cough or two echoes through the room.
“Good things always make other good things better.” Alissika chuckles.
“I for one have had such an incredible weekend so far.” Lord Charnasse wraps his lips around a piece of fish.
“And the weekend will only get better.” I stop myself from smirking.
“Thank you, friends for organizing this.” Paetor is so uncharacteristically humble. He puts another piece of spiced bread into his mouth.
“Damn this wine kicks in fast,” Alezander remarks.
“Yes, I feel absolutely giddy.” Sharlee takes another sip of wine.
“Good alcohol kicks in fast and always lasts,” Alissika exclaims as she leaves lipstick marks on the rim of her glass.
The chatter in the restaurant is getting louder and louder as people stuff themselves more full. I am just waiting.
“What?!” Some booming voice exclaims. We all whip our heads around to see what is there. A man is slumped over the table, with his face in his food. Yoghurt seeps into his hair and his fine suit is stained with wine.
“I’ll call the emergency department,” I say urgently, pulling out my phone. I open my fake phone app and act out a conversation with the nonexistent emergency dispatcher.
“The ambulance should be here in ten minutes.” I try to sound concerned. But I’m not.
Someone checks his breathing. People lay him out on the floor. But in that moment five other people fall. Either onto their tables or on the ground. There are gasps all around.
“I’ll call 911 again,” I say in feigned horror. By the time my call is up six more people have succumbed to the strange illness.
“The operator told us to go outside. There could be a gas leak here.” I make my voice shake slightly.
In the few minutes it takes to get outside more people are passed out. We drag their bodies through the door. We wait outside the restaurant, spilling over into the street. There is worry all around. I’m worried too. What if even after everything our plan still somehow doesn’t work?
“Shouldn’t the ambulance he here by now?” My heart stops at the sound of the woman’s voice. Thankfully she feints right after speaking her words and people are more concerned with trying to wake her than they are with thinking about what she said.
“A gas leak must not have been the problem,” one man ruminates.
“The gas we breathed in could still be affecting us,” I reply, “we should move farther from the building.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lord Charnasse presses.
It takes about five minutes to drag all the bodies across the street, by now about two thirds of Alturia’s government is in paralysis. And I’m just biding my time.
“Where’s the ambulance?!” One woman shouts.
“I’ll call them again,” I respond. I get out my phone again and put on a great show of talking to the nonexistent dispatcher.
“In my shock, I gave them the wrong address before,” I feign embarrassment, “but it should only be a few more minutes now.”
“It’s okay, Lily. You’re young.” Lord Charnasse ruffles my hair. In the next few minutes thirty more people fall down. In the chaos around us nobody notices that the ambulances are supposed to have arrived by now. No-one should be dead yet.
People continue checking the vital signs of those who are passed out, lying them down, putting their clothes under them, and putting water in their faces. They continue reassuring each other and worrying to each other. Many people try to find some shade and fan themselves.
“Did someone poison us?” This man is right on the money.
“Who could it be?!” I exclaim.
“Don’t be foolish. There is no-one here who would want to poison us.”
“Then what happened?”
“Maybe a gas leak?” Someone says.
“That doesn’t sound that plausible anymore. We’re a full block away from the restaurant.”
“Maybe we’re still feeling the lingering effects,” another voice replies.
“It must have been some really powerful gas. Why would it even be here?”
“Maybe some strange cleaning chemicals got mixed together.”
Everyone continues speculating while I mostly listen and try to steer the conversation towards safe directions.
“At least no-one is dead yet,” a woman states.
“Yes. Whatever is affecting us can’t be that dangerous if it hasn’t caused anyone to die.” Most of these people have spent most of their lives in the heart of Alturia. Of course they feel invincible.
“I think we can wait out it’s effects. If no one is dying.” I keep my voice ladled with fear. “Let’s pray together.”
“I’ll lead the prayer.” Lord Charnasse finally steps up. The remaining hundred of us join hands to form a shape that really isn’t a circle and lord Charnasse begins the melodic chants that make up Alturian prayer. I bow my head in real reverence. As much as I hate Alturia I will never disrespect religion.
People keep dropping like flies and we keep interrupting our prayer to make them as comfortable as possible. Eventually there are only five of us left.
“Are you sure we can wait this out?” Sharlee asks. I take this moment to absolve myself of all suspicion. I drop like a stone, over to the side, scraping my knee in the process. I stay silent as fingers poke and prod me and hands turn me around so I’m on my back. I keep my ears open, and watch the conversation slowly fade into nothing. Then I crack my eyelids a tiny bit open and try to make out anything in the blue of the world. When it seems like everyone is passed out, I get up.
I walk over to the restaurant and get my entire family. We take knives from the kitchen. We kneel over the supine forms of all of Alturia’s top government and military officials and drag them into the restaurant. There, away from prying eyes, we slit their necks one by one.
My heart sings with joy and restitution as I think of all the billions of people I am avenging. Surprisingly enough I also feel a twinge of sadness. But the hope I feels dwarfs it infinitely. This was the sacred mission I was sent here to do. And finally, finally, Alturia is on its knees for once.
Now that Alturia’s leadership is in chaos the slaves and colonies all the world over are ready to revolt. And they have a better chance at winning than they’ve ever had before. If they can all strike at once.
And they will.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
