To Die For

Chapter 9 - Wyle Dolon

It's been a stressful last few weeks but I'm pushing away my more morbid thoughts. I'm still assigned to the 725th despite Strong's best attempts, and they're all still alive. I have a date with Riley in a few days, maybe we can figure out what those things I've been stealing are? I found another one while wandering innocently into restricted areas of the base minding my own business so that should be a lot of fun. Ever since we made out in front of her entire family and my entire platoon, we require a chaperone for our dates but Shaye is above all else an enabler and says things like 'don't add or subtract from the population' and goes off on her merry way.
I'm a little bit concerned when my parents get me a pass to come home. But they could have a good reason for doing it. They just usually trust me to show up when I'm good and tired with plenty of stolen items. Like I do. Somewhat often. So procuring a pass is a surprise but I push my concerns aside and put on a pleasant face, after all if something is afoot it won't do any good to let them know I'm on to them.
I present my pass and the sergeants at the gate are so shocked it's valid they actually call people.
"It's a real one—is he all right? Is everything okay at home?" The staff sergeant asks.
"You haven't been—stopping the false the ones?" My chief asks, a hand over her face. She might be laughing.
"No, ma'am you said he'd just get out anyway but should we do HMW check? This is legit?"
"No. You let him go. He will eventually come back," my chief says.
"Ma'am," I salute.
"Get out, Wyle."
I find the incident amusing and I suspect Riley will. She's been benefitting from the fake ones lately I come by her window to watch her sew and tell her about my week and she tells me about her week and lately she's been fixing my uniforms by sewing little flowers over the tears. Shaye was going to get us both a doctor after hearing one conversation then she decided to just leave us alone with each other.
And so. I walk on home. We have the electric bike now but can't exactly take that to the base.
My parents are waiting, early it looks like. I can smell dinner cooking but nothing is set out.
"I frightened the base people with a legitimate pass, you really didn't need to bother," I say, as my mother embraces me quickly.
"I'm sure you did now that I think about it," my father says, dryly, giving me a side hug as well, "We need to talk to you."
"Right," I say, his tone is grave so I resist a typical response of 'I didn't do it'.
"Come on in," my mother says, arm still around my shoulders.
"What?" I ask, guessing fully well what we're about to talk about. We sit down in the parlor. A dusty room with no rug and only my father's hand made furniture.  I sit down, leaning on my knees. Yes both their expressions are grim I do know what we're going to talk about.
"Holden Morris is getting out of prison," my father says flatly.
"Why?" I ask, immediately, unable to keep the poison from my voice.
"Not technically a release a work crew, out to the mines," my mother says.
"I'll kill him," I say, flatly.
"The purpose of this conversation is that you do not," my father says, immediately, "We wanted you to be aware and to find out from us should—anything be said."
"By all reasoning he's still in custody and he's hardly coming anywhere near here, but," my mother says, coolly.
I fold my arms, saying nothing.
"It's not to do with you. We found out we wanted you to know," my father says, calmly, but like it's taken a long time to be this calm. 
"That's it. You're on base or—sneaking off base regularly, just so you're aware, I didn't want you finding out some other way," my mother says, "Unless you have anything else the topic is over, all right, Wyle?"
"As you wish," I nod to her. It's her choice I'm hardly going to say anything more, even though the familiar anger burns in my chest. My father clearly judges my look, and in I assume a calculated move between the two of them, draws me out to show me a table he's working on, while she finishes dinner.
I follow him, face I'm sure stony.
"I know I can't understand how you feel, but, talk to me?" He sighs, as soon as we're out in the shed.
"It is to do with me," I growl, my voice dropping an octave, "It's because of him I'm here."
"No, Wyle it is not. That man is nothing to you," he says.
"Kind of does," I snarl, folding my arms. I've known since I can remember that my father isn't my biological father. At some point the truth slowly started to filter through. My parents were engaged. But my father deployed. Morris had sought my mother's hand, but she and my grandfather had rightly refused. My mother loves my father and was happy with him even if he had little money, and my grandparents cared little beyond her happiness. Morris succeed in tricking her into meeting him, I'm not clear how I believe on the pretense he was my father, but anyway he got her alone, with the idea that if he raped her, she'd have to marry him. He lost four fingers, an eye, a nose, lips, and other significant body parts, and a hell of a lot of blood in the encounter, but she was raped. The only reason Morris survived was my mother was so badly hurt my grandparents were tending to her and didn't kill him before MPs got there. The story got bloodier as I got older and the necessary details were recounted.  But Morris has remained in prison, and out of our reach till now.
"You are not here because of him. You are here because when your mother told me she was carrying you and asked if I still wanted to marry her I told her yes. And I wanted our child. You are our child because we both choose to have you," he says.
I lower my head, wiping tears from my eyes.
"That is all, Wyle. Now I'm not saying it doesn't hurt you. And your mother. But he doesn't get to keep damaging all of us, anymore," he says. I wonder what went through his head when he did come back to that. My mother already pregnant with me, still black and blue and one eye swollen shut it was barely open by the wedding. Besides the fact that he knew what having her meant, he knew that I'd be wild. And kept us anyway. He's not once said I'm not his son.
"Your grandparents likely know but he won't be beyond the fences, just at the mines. We are telling you so you can be aware. I don't know if your platoon talks," he says.
"Did yours?" I want to deflect from the current conversation, "About us?"
"A little. People are cruel, you know that. Of course people said things," he shakes his head, "They didn't matter. I had the women I loved, and soon a son to come home to. Have yours said anything?"
"Mostly they're distracted by who I am as a person, like only one person has gotten around to asking if we're biological and I said 'yes' and then we went on," I say, "What you know I lie?"
"You do. All right," he smiles a little, "None of us will ever be okay with this. But, we talk to each other. Right?"
"Right," I nod, "So in the interest of talking and sharing things with each other as a family let me run you through a hypothetical—,"
"Oh my gods what did you do?" He asks, immediately.
"—hypothetically hypothetical hypothetical with no basis on reality if I knew this information last week and challenged Morris to a duel would you be mad?" I ask, wincing.
"OH MY GODS WYLE—,"
"Keep your voice down now you're complicit in it, you know, can't tell my mother," I say, "Dolon honor."
"You can't duel people ! You're seventeen you can't duel for three more years—I had three years Wyle—,"
"Shhhhh, so you'd be mad that's good good hypothetical let's go in," yeah I didn't think that would work. He grabs my shirt and stops me from casually walking out of the shop.
"What—why—what—how did you even—,"
"So last week I was walking around my chief's office reading incoming messages between midnight and three am and look it's an alert because my mother threatened to kill him and like nearly did so apparenlty we're a danger to him. Which is true but I found it funny. And. Anyway. I thought 'eh I could tell someone, or not' and I sent official challenges which he accepted naturally, and then I went and told my grandfather and he was like 'yeah good on you let me know how that goes' this was by message, cause he knew I was going to do that because we've had an agreement for like seven years that if Morris is outside the gates my grandmother gets to do it and inside I get to, see how you wanted less information? Not more? We should have gone inside, all good, nice hypothetical," I try to keep walking.
"Wyle," he's holding the balled up back of my shirt.
"Stop saying my name like that we both knew I'd do this," I say, smiling innocently, "I'm gonna kill him. I did open this conversation with that, statement."
"I'm giving you to your mother."
"You wouldn't dare," I wince, "Please? You're complicit now. I told you."
"I am not complicit! What is—why would you do that? Don't answer I know why—do you not know why we don't want you to do that?"
"No, bit fuzzy, my overriding desire to do this took over, will you stop shaking me like that? I'm not going to die," I sigh.
"I'm telling your mother."
"Oh come on please? We were going to have a nice evening. Anyway it's only hypothetical—,"
He tells my mother.
That goes exactly as I expected. Well, it takes us about two hours to get through my mother's greatest hit "how many times have I told you not to duel people, Wyle" and her number one single "you won't die of a disease if you do as you're told just once".
Then we get through our duet, "I told you not to kill him" and "I want to kill him" for another hour.
My father, whose fault the situation is, winds up breaking us up.
"He doesn't need to hurt you," my mother says.
"He won't," I say, flatly.
"You're as bad as my father," my mother sighs.
"I take that as a compliment," I say.
"Look, he's, already done it, we definitely aren't going to stop him from doing it can we move to the phase where you two figure out how he's going to cheat?" My father asks, very realistically, holding us apart just for his own support.
"He already knows how he's going to cheat have you even looked at him?" My mother asks, gesturing to me, "I can keep trying to be his mother he's fine."
"I'm fine I know how I'm going to cheat, I'm good," I say.
"See? He's fine,—Wyle how many times have I told you not to kill this man?" My mother asks.
"Can't I just have this one thing?" I groan.
"Wyle he's dangerous," my father says.
"So am I," I say.
"So's he I don't think he'll lose I just didn't want him doing that over me," my mother says.
"My fucking prerogative you're my mother," I say, flipping her off.
"Don't talk to your mother like that. I think," my father says, "Apparently your parents knew he was going to do this."
"Oh I'm sure they did if anything they'll be mad he's doing it and not them I gave up on them a long time ago this is about our precious baby boy dueling someone like he was told not to," my mother says.
"You also told me not to spear hunting boar and now you love that I do that," I say.
"We hate that you do that," they say, in unison.
"Wait for real? I thought we agreed that was better than my other hobbies? I did think that was okay?" I ask.
"You knew I thought that was dangerous stop changing the subject," my mother says.
"Fine, duel's next Thursday I told grandfather with a message so I fully believe he and grandmother will be there in disguise," I say, "We're good. Are we good? I'm hungry."
"Dueling is illegal are we not going there?" My father asks.
My mother and I look at each other and shrug, "No."
I don't tell my platoon mates because dueling is illegal. I do tell Riley when I sneak over for a visit. That necessitates telling her the entire story, which I had sort of planned on doing anyway, since she is going out with me, she kind of deserved the full truth at some point it's obvious my dad isn't related to me there's questions there.
"That's terrible," she says, when I'm through.
"Not even unique," I shrug, "More unique in that my dad claims me."
"So now you're going to kill him?" Riley asks.
I nod, "My mother won't. Women can't duel, she about finished him at the attack but he pulled through. My grandfather would have, but he and my grandmother couldn't get to the guy after they'd arrested him, and my mother begged them not to get caught doing that. So."
"But dueling's illegal, she can't want you doing this," Riley says.
"She doesn't," I shrug, "But she also knows she's not gonna stop me."
"I think you should," Riley says, fiddling with my glove which she took to fix, "Evil man."
I nod, leaning in the window, "It's—there isn't anything else to say. I've always known, I mean mostly. Probably too early but I didn't look like my father what were they going to tell me? I know I'm lucky my father's always wanted me to be his."
"You've never had any siblings?" She confirms.
"My mother couldn't after me. I was cut out something—she was hurt bad. Yeah salt on the wound I guess," I say, tapping the window pane, "Do you want to come?"
"Can I?" She asks, "You want me there?"
I nod, "If you want."
"I've never been to a duel."
"It's easy. Two idiots pick a weapon of choice then fight to death before MPs show up," I say.
"Oh my gods Wyle."
"People have been saying that a lot lately."
"What's your weapon?" She asks.
I smirk.
Joss finds out about the duel because he finds me leaving at my usual unusual time but I'm not in uniform and bearing normal arrows so he's suspicious. It's a credit to our friendship that when I say I'm 'off to a duel' he not only automatically assumes I'm a participant, but comes along without asking any follow up questions what so ever. In fact his only follow up question is "your betrothed and your parents come to your duels?" And my only answer is "yes we're a special family" and he doesn't ask anything more.
The duel is at the entrance to the mines, because one of the participants is a prisoner. A sheer, dark pit from which we extract artifacts, and mostly scrap metal. Duels aren't legal but the prison guards don't actually care about that because it means at best they'll get a new prisoner at worst they get like half an hour off to watch a duel and lose a prisoner. The rest of the prisoners are happy for the duel because they get to watch this instead of work.
My parents are there with Riley, I don't think they came together they found each other. Joss goes to it sounds like apologize in advance he didn't stop me from doing this.
"Do you know why he's doing this?" My mother asks him.
"No ma'am I do have to sleep sometime," Joss says.
"So do I," my father commiserates.
I recognize Morris almost immediately because it's hard not to recognize someone missing a nose and an eye and their front teeth and lips and eyebrow. Eyebrow belonging to the other eye, and four fingers two from each hand. There's more missing but he's fully clothed. He's chosen a shield and a club, which I think should count as two weapons but the prison officials officiating this who clearly have money riding on the seven foot tall ape, are not interested in that opinion I don't think. All right that's probably an insult to whatever apes are i don't even know.
My weapon of choice, is of course, my bow, and quiver. That is not more than one weapon that is a matched set. I don't even get to argue it though.
I can feel Morris looking at me from across the yard. His eyes on me, he's likely guessed the truth. We don't look alike at all but nobody looks like a man missing a nose, eye, front teeth, lips eyebrow from other eye, and four fingers two from each hand. He laughs a bit when he sees me holding the bow. No shield, no way to block his bat at all and no knives. That they can see.
I take a slow breath, steadying myself, notching an arrow. He raises the shield an prepares to step forward. Exhale. Slow, easy, hands perfectly steady.
I raise the bow and fire, rapidly. He moves the shield over his head which is the impulse. I don't need to hit his head. I land one arrow in his right ankle, skewering straight through it. Then the left the exact same. That's enough to make him fall to his knees, the shield dipping. I lodge my third arrow directly thorugh his remaining eye, it comes out the back of the skull.
I lower my bow as the man falls to the ground, draining blood into the grey dust. There's a general cry of surprise from the audience which I take offense to.
"You know I'm a good shot," I say to my mother, who was one of the surprised people, "All of you should know I'm that good a shot."
"You're under arrest for dueling," an MP takes hold of my shoulders.
"It's the—corpse you can arrest—if you check your regulations. It's illegal to duel a minor. Not illegal for a minor to duel," I say, calmly, "Look it up."
"He's right," Joss says, hand over his face, sick of me like someone made him get out of his hammock at five this morning and come with, "Minors are allowed to issue challenges it's up to adults not to accept. Since the—dead man—accepted he's technically done nothing wrong."
"You didn't have to say 'technically'," I say.
"You stepped on my face at four am to get your hidden arrows."
The MPs don't let me go immediately but they do eventually. After a couple of hours and a radio to my chief who says to send me back I'm late for drills, they let me and Joss go with strict order to return to base. I don't get a chance to talk to my family, but my mother catches my eyes and just barely nods. I half smile back. She's with my father she'll be all right.