Chapter Twelve

 “At the very least, I yet live to honor her memory.”

 

(he approaches)

Leshin woke in a cold sweat, dried tears staining her cheeks.

She shook her head, stood up, stretched. A few moments of fear and dread passed her by as her mind wandered, but then the numbness took her. The numbness was all she had. The numbness kept her safe. Made it so she didn’t have to feel.

Indeed, the numbness had carried her through weeks, months—decades, perhaps. At some point, she’d told Ilaki what God had done to her on that day when she first failed, but she could hardly even remember it anymore. Even in raw agony, she had refused (kill it) to give God the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. And so she gave way to the numbness. The nothing. The glorious, beautiful absence of feeling. Even if she couldn’t leave these winding catacombs, ever set foot under the stars of her own volition again, she could still escape. In fact, she didn’t even need to try. She did it without a second thought. Nothing mattered anymore. There was just God. There was only God.

As the days, months, and years came and went, Leshin had failed again and again. Indeed, she began to appreciate just how inevitable her failure truly was—in fact, she was grateful for it. Because now God knew she hated it. All it wanted was her love, and that was the one thing she could still refuse (let it weep let it burn let it die) to give it. It didn’t matter how much it hurt her. Pain was nothing to the numbness, and the numbness was nothing to the satisfaction of denying God to its face.

And so, Leshin was happy.

Of course, whenever Ilaki asked her how she felt, she couldn’t say she was happy out loud. For some reason, the words just wouldn’t leave her lips. But she knew it in her head. She knew it. She was happy. She was. She had to be.

Leshin glanced around. She stood just at the edge of one of the arena’s pools, a bronze SlingPan in her hand. Sniffing, she adjusted the leather grip on the bottom, holding the pan like a shield. She could have sworn she had just woken up a few minutes ago.

Mikele, Shina, and Ilaki stared at her, faces slowly falling. Was Leshin supposed to say something?

“A-are you well, Leshin?” Mikele asked, crossing her arms and shrinking in on herself as if she expected Leshin to scream at her. Mikele did that a lot these days.

“Well enough,” Leshin said, chuckling to feign some semblance of self-control. “I—erm—what were we talking about?”

“You… You were showing us that maneuver you did when we sparred,” Ilaki said. “Remember? The one where you blocked with your SlingPan?”

Leshin caught herself staring straight at Ilaki’s breasts. She forced her eyes away. What was wrong with her today?

“—okay if you… Leshin?” Ilaki said, shaking Leshin out of her stupor.

“Yes?”

“Leshin, maybe we should go sit down for a while,” Ilaki said, meeting Shina’s eyes and sharing a pointed look. She wrapped her hand around Leshin’s and God was her skin so soft. Why did God curse Leshin with such a perverse mind? How did anybody even like men when women existed? When was the last time she even saw a man? Did Smirk count? She saw him just about every day, so she supposed she’d seen a man just last night. God, men are so bland.

Leshin blinked. How long had she been staring off into space? What was she doing again?

“—pushing yourself really hard lately, and it seems like you’ve been… Leshin?” Ilaki said once more.

She glanced down and realized that she’d taken a seat on one of the benches at the edge of the sandy pit. Sighing, she kicked at a lone pebble and buried it in the sand with her toes.

Oh. She wasn’t wearing sandals.

“Leshin,” Ilaki said, drawing her gaze. “I’m worried about you. You need to talk to me—talk to us. You can’t push through this all on your own. I know what it’s like, Leshin, but Shina and I have been taking time between our shifts to…”

Ilaki’s voice drifted away under a sea of numbness. Leshin nodded every now and then, just enough to make sure Ilaki knew she was paying attention. In fact, she’d probably think Leshin was paying extra close attention if she made eye contact. She made sure to keep her hands down by her side, on the edge of the seat as she leaned forward.

“—all alone, but we… When that monster hurt… we all thought you…”

Leshin nodded.

“—but there’s a lot… not alone… We all have to… each other…”

Leshin nodded.

“—and I know that you… Shifting around our shifts might … But you have to… other people, Leshin…”

Leshin nodded.

Once again, Ilaki took Leshin’s hand. That seemed like her cue to say something.

“Of course,” Leshin said, smiling and locking eyes with Ilaki.

Finally, Ilaki smiled back. Leshin let out a long breath, grateful she was so good at this.

 “I’m glad you understand,” Ilaki said. “We really do appreciate the… but when… and that is really … Because we see you, Leshin, and …”

The poison of Father’s gaze seeped into Leshin’s soul. His pleading echoed in her mind as she reentered the great hall, lit up with open-flame bonfires and hanging sconces. A fresh-caught sailfin, at least ten feet long, turned above the spit.

“You dishonor yourself,” Father had said. “And you dishonor her.”

Leshin waved half-heartedly to her little brother Lilikuin as he passed by, hand-in-hand and tails intertwined with the heiress to the Paver’s Guild, one of the most gorgeous women Leshin had ever laid eyes on—frail, slender arms with smooth, dark skin. Sleek, almost straight hair caressed her exposed back, leading Leshin’s gaze all the way down to her ample—

She cringed, forcing her eyes away before they disgraced the girl any further.

“It must end,” Father had said that day, “if not for your own dignity, if not for mine, then for the Guild’s.”

Father brushed past Leshin and spread his arms wide open, his bare chest rippling with effortless power as he embraced the girl’s mother, the Paver’s Guild-head. Leshin stared at his back, a canvas painstakingly etched by hand with intricate tattoos that depicted his many decades of leadership.

Hours ago, the two heads had taken handfuls of sand from the shores of both Guilds’ nesting lagoons and sealed them in an intricate, die-cast, copper nuptial urn. Once they set it before the empty throne of God at the center of The City, their children would be wed, their clans united as one. The marriage would finally bring an end to the centuries-long blood feud that had stolen Leshin’s mother from this world not three years ago. All of this—this ostentatious display of Guild wealth, this city-wide event, witnessed by droves of Higher Sort Guildlings and Lower Sort sub-Guilders alike, was to become Father’s legacy. For neither Guild could destroy the other, and there were no other cities in which Kinfolk could live and nest for new generations. Unification was the only path that remained. And with it, peace would reign. Or so Father believed.

That his “peace” left the Lower Sort to starve so the Guildsmen could enjoy these grand displays of wealth never seemed to cross his mind.

Lilikuin kissed his new wife before the crowd of witnesses, his hands lingering on her cheeks as he pulled away. Never had Leshin seen him smile so deeply. Holding back tears, Leshin turned away and shuffled off to a side table, where a spread of chilled laulau and sweet bread rolls waited to whet casual appetites before the midnight feast.

There, just inside the archway leading out to the streets, stood Silika. Her hand idly caressed a wreath of woven vines that dangled across the doorway. Those sharp, brown eyes of hers glimmered in the firelight as her stark-white servant’s tunic swayed in a warm breeze. She met Leshin’s gaze. They shared a shallow smile.

“If you are to lead the Guild,” Father had said, “then you must make sacrifices. I know how much… I do wish it could be different, but God tests us all, child; fail, and we all suffer.”

Wrenching her head away, Leshin picked up a sweet roll, and—

Leshin tasted human flesh.

She pulled the serving spoon away from her lips and blew on it a bit, then took another sip. Too salty, she thought. Glancing over at Ilaki, she… Shina?

For some reason, Shina stood off to the side in Ilaki’s place, sautéing fragrant roots over the stovetop, a perturbed frown on her face as she stirred them back and forth with a wooden spoon.

Squinting, Leshin puzzled over this odd intrusion to her routine. Where was Ilaki? How long had Shina been standing there? And why did Leshin’s mouth taste so salty? She figured that if she asked Shina why she was here, she might end up getting roped into a long conversation, which was odd, because as far as she could recall she’d hardly ever spoken to the girl for longer than five minutes. And they usually just shared small talk at that.

Wait, wasn’t Shina supposed to be a man or something? Or… no, her skin was far too  silky for that. The way the girl’s long, slender legs curved gently to her perfect—Leshin tore her gaze away.

Instead, she looked back to the pot bubbling over the fire. She added a pinch of salt.

***

“Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing to yourself?” Silika said, tears dripping from her chin. “How is this supposed to help you? Help anyone?”

“I don’t—I didn’t…” Leshin struggled to find words, staring down at the deep gouges on her bloody palms. Rocks and gravel and bloody chunks of grass studded her calloused skin. Her ribs still ached where the guards had kicked her. Relentless agony. She doubled over.

“Does living in this tiny hut make you a better person? Does killing yourself change anything for anyone else?” Silika continued, her voice hardening as she clenched her fists. “You want to save the world, but you can’t even save yourself! You throw yourself at spears, Sling ’til you nearly dry up, and you shout in the streets at everyone who’ll listen—you already do more than anyone would ever ask of you, but then you turn around and… You t-turn around and…”

Leshin’s heart quavered. She didn’t dare look back to the woman she loved. She couldn’t.

“I know that I can’t ask you for—for your hand,” Silika said. “I know that now. But I still feel… I never stopped loving you, Leshin. And seeing you slaughter yourself, take everything colorful out of your world because you think it would be wicked to enjoy even a second of your own life? I can’t—I just can’t stand it! It’s cruel! It’s wrong!”

“What’s cruel is this godforsaken city!” Leshin snapped. “What’s cruel is watching children starve to death and then turning around feasting on golden platters like they don’t matter!”

“Why?” Silika said. “Why is it cruel to eat? If someone is starving, you invite them in and feed them. You raise others up, you don’t… You don’t starve yourself for solidarity! That makes no sense! You haven’t changed any minds, Leshin. You just want to suffer. You’ve taken my people’s pain and made it your own. I ask you, who does that serve? Who?”

Leshin knew.

She knew exactly who.

Smirk slurped up the soup, face-first. Leshin didn’t have any better way to feed the man, since he couldn’t use his hands and she couldn’t get into the cell. A few locks of his matted blonde hair spilled into the bowl, and he huffed, flipping them back in a way she figured a normal woman with normal feelings could find charming. Was he supposed to be attractive? She could never tell which men she was meant to find appealing—granted, she had no idea if the standards differed for nine- or ten-foot-tall aliens who didn’t have tails or webbing between their disturbingly spindly fingers. In fact, she had no clue who to ask about that subject anymore, because at this point she didn’t think any of her fellow servants even liked men. Not since that one time she’d walked in on Nikime and Kilini locking lips in the servants’ quarters. They were both weeping, desperate arms intertwining as they leaned into each other, sweat and tears mixing as all else faded away around them. Bliss. Pain. They hadn’t even noticed Leshin. She’d just retrieved her sandals and walked away.

Wait, how long ago was that?

Smirk cocked his head, and Leshin realized that he’d kicked the bowl back toward the bars at least a minute ago. She’d just been staring out into space, thinking about… Thinking about…

Wait, Nikime and Kilini made out?

Why had they been alone together in the first place? Nikime worked with Mikele, and Kilini worked with Shina. Those two shouldn’t have had that much time alone, if any at all. The groups barely ever intermingled—only during training sessions, and Leshin couldn’t even recall the last time she’d arranged one. They’d share a few scant words in between shifts, then they’d all collapse in their beds. When had the two of them found the time?

Taking the bowl and staggering back a few steps, Leshin realized that the attendant order must have shifted around without her even noticing. Was that why Shina kept working beside her in the kitchens? When had that started?

Why couldn’t she remember anything anymore?

She slumped back against the iron bars across from Smirk’s cage and took a few deep breaths.

“S-Smirk?” she said, pulling her knees to her chest. She glanced into Smirk’s cell, and he stared right back. “I… I think I have a—a problem.”

The too-tall man’s eyes softened, and he nodded. Since he couldn’t say anything in response, she just continued. “I… I fucked up, Smirk. A long, long time ago… I made G-God angry at me, and it—it… It did things to me.”

The prisoner nodded, and Leshin took that as a sign to go on.

“And it—it—broke me. I j-just can’t do it anymore, S-Smirk. I just slip away. I just s-s-slip off into space, and I don’t even notice when I’m somewhere else, or when I—I mean, I… It’s just chaos. It’s all just chaos. I have nothing—I have nothing left to give, but I can’t even die, Smirk, it told me that it would bring me back if I ever tried, and I—I tried, Smirk, I tried.”

Oh.

Right.

She had.

She’d completely forgotten that night in the bathroom. She’d smuggled a cutlery knife back from the kitchens. Hours had passed, but no matter how deep she carved, she couldn’t even leave a scar. Shina had found her sitting in a tub full of her own blood, and she hadn’t even said a word. The girl had just embraced her. For a long time.

Leshin couldn’t even remember how long ago that had been.

“I hate it,” she said, echoing the very words that had condemned her. “I hate it so much, Smirk. But it’s God. It’s God, and I’m just a Guildling who never learned the difference between helping others and hurting herself. And even if I’m a good Slinger, I can’t—I couldn’t even fight off the city guard, and I can’t…”

He just pursed his lips, his grey eyes filled with pity.

“But God told me it can die. God. It told me someone almost killed it once, a long time ago. It gave me hope. It took everything, and then it had the—the gall to make me think I had a chance.”

She grit her teeth and tilted her chin up, nursing an idea she’d had for a while but never bothered to explore. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Smirk turned away, staring off into the darkness. Once again, he nodded.

She nodded right back, slowly at first, then faster as her heart began to race. “Then I—I’m going to need you. I’m going to need your help…”

His chains rattled as he turned back to regard her, an eyebrow cocked.

“It has to die,” Leshin muttered. “It wants to die, I think. I don’t know why, and maybe I can’t do it, but… If there is anything you can tell me, if there is anything I can do, I need to know. Because if it can die… it must. It will—it will—it will weep, it will burn, it will—will…”

For some reason, Smirk’s smile had widened, a fire lighting in his hollow eyes like she’d never seen before.

Taking a deep breath, Leshin stood up and forced herself back into the moment, ready to take fate into her hands, ready to refuse (it will burn) its domination, to feel once again. But then she took in the damp cobblestone floors, covered in algae. Rusted iron bars crisscrossed in front of her, caging in the shit-covered man who, as far as she could tell, represented her only true hope. But what had hope done for him? Hope had severed his tendons, cut out his tongue, and left him to rot. Hope had reduced him to slurping up soup with his face and wordlessly nodding to insane slave women who ranted at him with delusions of grandeur.

Maybe once, he could have killed it—if that wasn’t just a lie God had told to set Leshin up for failure. But then again, perhaps it didn’t matter if he could have, once. He had lost, after all. And his foe was God itself. God was God. And God was all.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m—I’m so sorry, I… I have to go.”

With that, Leshin trudged away, allowing the numbness to wash over her once again.

 

This is a really depressing book lol. “Is a book about being tortured until you break too dark for ScribbleHub?” I asked myself. “Naaaaaaah, it’s fine, I’m fine, it’s fine. Totally fine.”

I promise there’s a happy(ish) ending though. I mean, bittersweet? You be the judge.