Alternate Realities

Running To Forget

The first step is slow moving. The rhythm starts one........ two........ three........ four........ The reluctance of my legs to move goes all the way into my hips and my lower back. It's cold and early, but there's better places to be than stuck in my head trying to sleep. So I push past the sharp shock in my inner right knee and through the less than gentle stretch of my calf. One..two..three..four... and my breathing comes faster, too fast.

The next battle is with my lungs, getting them to process slow, deep breaths. In, one...two...three...Out... one...two...three. It's not my fastest pace, but I don't want to be winded and dying I want to be struggling for an hour or more. I want to run until my legs barely lift because each pull of my quad will take concentration. The battle I fight will be between me and my resolve.

One..two..three..four.

One..two..three..four.

Shadows of the trees mark my path winding in and around the trunks and stepping on the top of a pointed rock. The pressure on the ball of my foot digs into the stone bruises I've earned over weeks of doing exactly this.

One..two..three..four.

A week ago, this spot is where I started falling apart and I wish that each day of this didn't make me stronger, better. I wish I didn't have to go so far to be free of what my nightmares gift me. It's all at once the face of my father, which I crave and hope to see, and the moments when I... run you fool.

One.two.three.four.

Pushing harder presses my lungs and I have to focus on that for a moment to get my cadence under control. But the stress is doing what I want: I'm not thinking about what I did, I'm thinking about what I'm doing.

I peel my eyes up off my path and try to find the soft blue of the morning sky between the thick branches. There must be a storm coming because all I see is grey.

Then all I see is green tufts of grass and rainbow sparkles mixing with brown debris. My ankle is tugged up above my head behind me. Blood trickles over my teeth and onto my tongue. A quick gasp shoots air back into my lungs. The coughing hurts as much as the stick in my gullet.

I roll over, looking at that grey dome over the island and wince at my scraped hands and swelling lip. A sapling strung to my leg by a thin twine trap bends low. One swift jerk and it snaps off in the middle, giving me the slack I need to pull my leg towards my hands. The snare is a simple loop with a not so simple knot. Kilorn and Farrah must be experimenting. Tracing it back to the tree, I untie it so I can return it.

I don't feel like running anymore.

I had hoped to slink back into bed unnoticed to wake up hours later and try again, but from the edge of the camp, I see Kilorn already up and readying the fire to cook breakfast. He has water in a pot because something warm is better than sitting in the cold. He's been nursing his heart since we got Mare back. I would be doing worse if it had swung the other way. The least I can do is give him the space he seems to want. Unfortunately, I have his snare and I can't just throw it outside his door like I wanted.

He's stunned to see me approach from the forest edge, he looks around for anyone to buffer us. When no one comes out to spare him the interaction, he squares to me. I hold out the rope.

"I think you wanted something smaller than–"

"A matchstick?" Kilorn finishes.

"Yeah. Sorry. I didn't see it."

"No harm. Well, not to me. You got a bit of blood on your chin." Kilorn's motions to show me where and I rub it with my sleeve.

"Again, sorry."

I move to turn, but he's quick to ask, "How is she?"

"You should ask her that."

"I... I can't."

"You can. She'll be up in an hour." I tease him a bit, sometimes humor softens people up, I'm not sure if that's how Kilorn works, but I'm taking a chance.

"I just figured you'd know, is all." The bitterness is exactly what I expect.

"I know how she is with me. I'm not gonna pretend that that's the same as knowing how she's doing."

"Hmph." Kilorn's huff is satisfied and amused.

I glance sideways at the entrance to the quarters and hold out the rope. What ever judgement he has for me and Mare, I'm two skinned hands less of a good demeanor.

"What ever you think. Stop. She needs me. I help her. She helps me," I say with as much exhaustion as I feel.

Kilorn stops his chuckle and snatches the rope out of my hand. He looks ready to burn it in the fire. I didn't mean to touch a nerve. I'm instantly guilty for being a bad winner.

I tongue the cut in my lip and contemplate carefully what I should say. How to undo the hurt I just inflicted. "You should stop being dense. She needs you more than you know. You would help her more if you talked to her. So stop being an ass and step up."

"She doesn't want me."

Why I bother is rooted in what Mare needs not my desire for Kilorn's good graces, so I try again. "I don't have her figured out. It's impossible. But you're salt on a wound the way you aren't talking. So, talk."

"What do you care? You'd be back with your silvers in a heartbeat if you could. She's just a toy to you."

There's flames on my fingertips and a crick in my neck asking me to throw some heat. It's hard to control, but he is her friend – for who knows what reason. He steps back, no match for a fire prince.

"Look. You can jab at me how ever you want. But while she is the only reason I'm here, she's not the only reason I stay. Okay? I have nothing but her and this mission. Nothing. You have no idea what it's like to lose everyone."

Kilorn settles back on his heels, not cowing in fear or anything so self-serving, but actually listening. I want him to understand what it feels like to be alone. I want someone to understand, anyone. I need different words and phrases that elude me with frustrating ease. I want so badly to take my pain and push it into him–into anyone– and just get someone to understand. But short of both articulation and ability, I didn't expect that someone to be him or that moment to be now.

"Me, too. Mare, Shade... Closest thing to family I've had since my mom left."

For once in his life, Kilorn isn't challenging me. He's not competing. And he relaxes. He even turns his shoulders away, it's like a dog showing his belly. He trust me next to him, out of his wary gaze. He bends down to the fire and pokes at the coals. "Sit, I've got rose hip tea brewing. I'd say get warm, but do you get cold?"

I ease myself down on a log. "Yeah. I can only regulate to an extent."

"But you don't get hot?"

"I'm always hot." I grin at him and he scoffs, "But I still have a limit."

It's weird. We danced around hurtful words and now we sit by the fire and he grills me about my ability, my childhood, my experience at the Choke. He's not even poking for fodder to push my buttons. And I find I'm getting more than nothing from him in return. I understand his family: torn by war and abandonment. I hear him talk about boats and water like a sanctuary and I have to admit it's not my favorite. I tell him about the cycle and the various prototypes that went wrong.

Farrah joins us. Then Ada. And more. People are talking in turns and actually with me. And it feels like being back in the barracks when I was eighteen and that first group of silver soldiers my brother's age came in. Maven and I sat like this around a card table and played games with other officers and homesick boys. It stings to think about, but it's also good.

Maybe Mare and Kilorn will need more time to get around to each other, but at least it's not because of me.