Fate Breakers

Chapter 12

Rowan

I could feel the difference in my chest the day Tallan fucked off back to the O'Malley Sector. It's unlikely that I'll never see him again, but knowing it'll at least be a good year or two until I have to be in the same vicinity as him again brings me peace of mind.

Bruce and I were the ones designated to grab the produce for dinner while Constance and Aviva grab the meat and extra items we need for our cabin. Well, I mean Bruce is the one actually picking out the produce, I'm just holding the bags and acting like I can tell the difference between one green thing and another green thing.

"Did'ja hear anything else about Unit 13's prosecution for cheating?" Talking to Bruce is just a little difficult because it's hard for me to read his face. And he's just a little quieter.

Bruce nods. "It was dropped. Tallan's claim had no merit, none of the other proctors backed him and no one else saw the alleged gang signs they were flashing."

I snort, dropping my head for a moment so no one can see. "Is that actually what he said? He called them fucking gang signs? Dude, how old is Tallan?!"

Bruce smirks. "He's a hundred forty-seven."

Now I can't hold in my laughter any longer. "Someone really needs to drag him in for his psych eval. Seems like it's a century overdue."

Bruce nods in agreement. His facial expression slowly falls, returning to his colder, more indifferent stare. "I worry what this means..."

"'Scuse me? We... his claim was proven to have no merit, what's there to worry about?"

"Tallan may seem insane to us, but he has people who genuinely back him. Why else would he still be around?" Bruce continues to pick up vegetables, intent in every movement. He does everything intentionally, it seems. "Tallan believes there is an evil that needs to be purged, and he finds evil within us. He has the drive and he has the power to ensure he will keep coming back to this issue until it is solved how he sees fit."

My body feels too cold all of a sudden. "Why evil in all of us? Wasn't it only Unit 13 he reported?" Bruce slides his eyes over to me. I haven't felt the urge to run in a while. "What," I scoff, "why... why us? What the fuck did we do? That... that's fucking ludicrous, we didn't even do anything wrong."

Bruce turns his attention back to the vegetables. "Apparently, he believed you were using magic when the test was on brute strength and wit."

Fuck... fuck...

"That charge was also dropped. Fox brought up the records from months back when you were diagnosed as being magically surfeit. In addition to his other faulty claim, I doubt the committee will hear him on the matter again until the next term."

No. No, no, no, fuck no!

"Rowan?"

He knows. That's what he was here for.

"Rowan!"

Years Ago

The smoke rests heavy on my tongue. The ash on my skin isn't just from the trees and buildings. I have dead people in my hair, on my skin, on my tongue, in my lungs.

I can't see much past the smoke. I can see the burned and bleeding legs of my people as they flee. I can see the large feet of the horses that gallop through the streets, their riders chopping people down like the stalks of cane from the farmlands. I can see the tree Amala and I used to play on, burning.

Amala's sandals skid in the dirt. A horse rears up and screams. An Ithacan horse, with its Ithacan rider.

I hear the whoosh of his sword, but we're already moving. I want to scream, but my mouth is too dry. There's ash in my throat. The ash is everywhere. The dead are everywhere.

The brewery is long gone, the vault that used to house the good beer long emptied. All that's left are empty kegs on the inside. Somehow, the vault was spared from the fire. Amala drags me straight towards it.

I dig my heels into the dirt. "No! N-no, Amala! I don't wanna go!"

Amala whips around, crouching down to face me. I look into her eyes. She's never been so serious. "It isn't about what you want, Rowan. This is about what's going to keep you safe. I need you to be safe. Gram and Gramps are already gone, Uncle Sylvan isn't anywhere to be found. You have to stay hidden."

"But what if they kill you!? Amala, please!"

The horse hooves echo on the cobble.

Amala grabs me, throwing me into the vault and under the kegs. She rushes to me. Her body is warm. Her cheek is wet. She kisses my forehead, and looks me in the eyes. "I love you, Rowan. You will make it."

This feels too much like a goodbye. Amala gets up and tries to run. The Ithacan soldier cuts her off. I freeze. I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't speak. I... I can't...

"Where is the boy," he snarls.

Amala draws her dagger. She raises it up. She looks like an Amazon.

"Fine! Don't say anything!" The soldier bares his teeth, drawing his blade. "We'll have all your heads on the wall soon enough."

It was a goodbye.

Present

"Rowan... Rowan Consano."

I'm in the med ward. Shit.

"Pupils are responsive. Breathing is stable. Heart rate is steady." The light flickers off. I can't make out who's talking. They sound so young but... they talk so... old. "State your full name, rank, unit number and captain."

"Rowan Consano... I'm a Balor Private, my unit is... Unit 14, and my captain is Aviva Quintero."

"Speech is slow and slurred, but memory is fully functioning. Slurred speech is from grogginess. Proceed with labs, administer eight ounces of the selected herbal remedy while I draw up the recovery plan."

I blink.

Specialist Liam Leda. I'm surprised I didn't recognize his voice, I've been in here enough from supply runs. Liam is... as stoic as ever. He has his clipboard in hand, his periwinkle cloak tossed over his shoulders and out of the way. He wears his silver medic's circlet on his head, but he won't wear his hood. Not that odd, or maybe I've gotten used to it.

"Agh Gods... th' fuck happened, Doc?"

"Don't curse in my ward, and don't call me Doc. I'm acting under Nefeli's license, you can call me Doc once I've earned the title." Liam faces me, his eyes dead and void, as they always are. "You fainted without warning at the trade center. Your records show that you've no prior medical conditions to warrant such a reaction, and while we are testing your blood once again, I highly doubt we will find anything. From what my findings show, you collapsed from stress. Mind telling me what caused such stress?"

"I do mind."

I don't mean to snap. Liam doesn't even seem to react, he just writes on his clipboard. Another soldier hands him a cup, which he then hands to me. "Dandelion tea with lavender infusions. Only once you've drained the entire cup will you be allowed to leave."

I fucking hate the taste of lavender, but I don't have the balls to challenge fucking Liam Leda. So I drink the nasty hot grass juice, watching him. "You're... not gonna press?"

"Not my place." He acts as if the arm took over his brain. Like all of him is a machine and not just the arm. "I can only operate based off what is in your records and what you tell me. As of now, I can offer very little advice."

"And... what advice is that?"

Liam's pen stills, he watches me from over the rim of his glasses. He adjusts them, and then he goes back to writing. "Cut back on the caffeine and sodium, eat more eggs and fish, and talk to someone."

"Talk to someone?"

"Someone you trust."

"I don't trust anyone."

"Want me to put you in the psych ward?"

"I... no..."

Liam stares at me. I feel... oddly connected to him. "Talk to someone."

"Okay, Doc."

"Don't call me Doc."