There are two types of people who look forward to rainy days. There are those who anticipate the rain for wholesome reasons—you know, because it’s good for farmers or they like the sound of the drops shattering against a tin roof. Then there are those like me. (Who am I kidding, it’s probably just me.)
I love rainy days because they remove all expectations for me to go do stuff. Hey, no can do. My hands are tied. It’s raining. Rainy days are the perfect excuse for me to put the kettle on, hunker down at my computer, slip into my headphones, and disappear into my lonely, cantankerous, joy.
I call these on-going-moments simply “work.” (I hear the voice of my kids coming from downstairs, “What’s daddy doing?” My wife responds, “He’s working.”) This work binds up everything from reading and sending email, to writing stories, to filling out spreadsheets for royalty reimbursement, to scratching out legal contracts, to creating Amazon ads, to crafting sales copy, to researching market trends.
But the common thread through it all is that it’s my work. This is my work. It’s what I know how to do. It’s where I’m comfortable and in control…most of the time. Outside world be dammed. Ignore the phone. Control the message. Control the optics. Message people via Slack and email. Keep face-to-face conversations confined to Zoom. Explore the world from my terminal. Reach out and comb my fingers across the surface of the internet like it were braille.
All of this is why I’ve come to realize, in a perverse way, I like the stay-at-home-orders most of us have been living under. It’s like one never-ending rainy day. Problem is, I’m a curmudgeon, and most people aren’t. Most people sit at the windowsill drumming their fingers and chanting, “Rain, rain go away and come again another day.”
No doubt, too much rain is a terrible thing. The rest of family has already gone nutty with it. But for me, it means unbroken stretches of guilt-free work—the kind of work I know how to do. Strangely enough, I think the world is going to need people like me these next several months (and most likely years) as we struggle to cope with living remote lives, cut off from each other, stranded from each other by the rainy days of social distancing.
Hey, I’m here for you. Just know that I won’t answer the phone or the door.
At the Desk This Week
I’m a bad person. Despite all my time riveted to my desk while it has been raining here in Nampa, Idaho, I’ve not accomplished anything with my creative writing. I know! I’m supposed to do this type of creative writing first thing in the morning, but I’ve let myself be sucked into the hustle. Now, more than ever, it seems important to develop a wide portfolio with multiple income streams. So I’ve been working on building up my affiliate revenue while also doing my best to gracefully shut down my largest business venture of the last few years. Meh. Some things work out. Some are colossal turds.
Still, none of this serves as a satisfactory excuse to neglect you, my valued readers! Never fear. I’ll make it up to you long before I run out of story content. (Do you like how I rationalize a whole week spent attending to the urgent quadrant and ignoring the long-term important?)
Outburst: Ep.3, Scene 8 — Ep.4, Scene 3
[Click here to start at the beginning.]
Olin barely seems rattled. Twice I ask him if he’s okay and he nods. Turning to Yetic, I speak over the steady rain. “I don’t understand. How is any of this possible?”
“It’s her.”
“But who is she?” I ask.
“That, I don’t know,” Yetic shrugs. The gesture is similar to Neca’s wink, giving him the ability to suggest he does know even while insisting he doesn’t.
“You have to know something. You didn’t just decide to visit the Shadows one day, not without knowing there was a way out.”
“She’s been here a long time, long enough to establish an infrastructure and an order. They’ve got rain collection, farming, waste disposal, everything they need to exist.” Yetic scratches his chin. “Well, there are a few of the finer luxuries difficult to come by. In exchange for allowing me to train,” he shrugs, “I bring them said luxuries.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” I’m almost yelling. The nearby twitchers don’t seem to notice or care. “Why would you—” then it hits me. Yetic’s comment earlier about hunting the twitchers—that’s his training. He hones his skills on the inflicted.
I open my mouth to voice my disgust, but I don’t know what to say. While hunting humans, even twitchers, is the definition of barbarism, certainly it’s more humane than allowing them to suffer and die over the course of terrible weeks and months. But what about the twitchers on either side of us?
Yetic watches me with a raised brow. “You’re trying to figure out the difference between the twitchers here and at the gate, aren’t you?”
“How did you—”
“It was my first question.” He nods to himself.
“Well, are you going to answer it?”
“You haven’t figured it out?” he asks.
I stomp, leaving a divot in the forest floor with my heel. “What? The mysterious woman you’re pretending to know nothing about?”
“Not nothing. I told you, she’s old.”
“You still haven’t told me how you found out about her in the first place.”
He nods and looks straight ahead, ignoring the question more directly this time.
“Okay, fine. Let’s start with her age. Even I can tell she’s an immortal.”
Yetic shrugs. “Probably.”
“No,” Olin interrupts. “She’s something different. Not like us, and not like Centavo.”
“Wait, you remember Centavo?” Turning from Yetic to my little brother, I briefly wonder if I’m the only one who knows the old man is probably dead. “I thought you were—”
“I wasn’t asleep, just confused.”
“So you could hear me?” I try to remember if I said anything embarrassing.
Olin nods. “Hear you, see you. Everything. Except, through the water the pieces were fractured and busy. I remember Centavo. His light was similar to the woman’s, but not the same.”
I catch Yetic casting a cautious eye toward the front of the procession. “You’re afraid she’ll overhear us.” I jab him with an elbow. He shrugs. This time it’s halfhearted, lacking his standard conviction. I press him. “You were fine with the conversation until Olin brought up Centavo.”
Yetic flinches. “Keep your voice down.”
I’m tempted to start chanting Centavo’s name at the top of my lungs. Recalling the flash in the woman’s eye, and out of respect for the old man’s memory, I decide to pressure Yetic more quietly. “Spill it.”
He crowds close and speaks in a tone barely audible over the rain. “The old man was how I first found out about the queen. I used to train with him.” He waves his hand as if dismissing an unfortunate chapter of his past simply by stirring the humid air.
“So what happened?” I ask.
Yetic spits. “Neca happened.”
“Wait, I thought you and Neca were friends?”
“I never said that.”
“Then why are you—”
“We made a deal. I’m fulfilling my end of it.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Business is business.”
“You got that right,” Yetic says.
“No, I totally understand.” Despite the sting of being part of a business arrangement, I actually do understand. On a normal day in the market, I would have made a half-dozen deals by now.
Yetic eyes me and nods. “Anyway, everything was fine before Neca came along. After the old man had his new pet, he didn’t have much time for me.” He shrugs. “So I split.”
“And the queen?” I ask.
“The old man is her main supplier. She controls the only two-way access in and out of the Shadows.”
Olin interjects. “And, of course, it opens into the underground.”
“Now you’re catching on, and just in time. We’re here.”
The whole procession stops in front of a cave. The woman faces us and nods. The twitcher columns disperse into the forest, leaving two individuals to guard the entrance.
“Come on, that’s the only invitation we’re going to get. Do as I do.” Stopping a meter from the queen, Yetic bows. Olin and I do the same. Yetic addresses the queen cordially yet gruff. “As much as I’m grateful for our arrangement, I hope our next meeting is our last under these conditions.”
“And I hope Masa doesn’t do to you what it’s done to so many others.” The woman glances at me. “You know the way. Go.”
Yetic jogs into the mouth of the cave with Olin on his heels.
I hesitate a moment longer. I want to ask the woman how she got here—who she is. Somehow I feel her answers could be critical in discovering my own. But the telekinetic energy licking every surface of her skin, similar to the shimmering of the shield dome, tells me she’d just as soon disintegrate me than answer unwanted questions.
I sprint to catch up with Yetic and Olin as they reach the dark recess of the cave. Without knowing anything else about the mysterious woman, I know she defeated a system very much stacked against her. That, I have to respect.
The cave isn’t a complex maze like the ones leading to my mother’s garden. The large room at the mouth is situated for communal gatherings. Stumps and stones litter the inner space. Straw bedding is stuffed around the rim. Beyond that, we enter an elongated chamber. After branching once to the left, we reach the door in seconds.
“Hello, underground.” Grasping the door, Yetic yanks it open.
“Just like that?” I can’t believe there isn’t a lock, or a trick, or something.
“If there’s no reason for security at the main gates, why bother here?” He strides through the opening.
On the other side, the tunnel doesn’t look anything like the well-lit underground Neca introduced us to earlier that morning. Musty and dark, the hastily built shaft isn’t as pleasant as the queen’s natural cave.
Yetic sets a casual pace. “As you might have guessed, this tunnel’s illegal. Ceiling’s a bit low in places. Hope you’re not claustrophobic.”
Olin snorts.
I say, “Don’t worry about us.” Yetic’s inane concern makes Neca’s oversharing seem pleasant. “As long as we’re talking, I wouldn’t mind knowing where we’re going.”
“An address.”
“Oh, wow, really? Thanks for the insight.”
“That’s all Neca gave me, smart mouth. An address, District Nine. I don’t know anything more about what’s at the address than you do.”
I bite my tongue. Even if he knows more, digging for it wouldn’t do Olin and me any good. But there is one thing I’ve been wanting to ask. “What exactly is this deal with Neca that’s worth risking your life over?”
“First off, at no point have I, or do I plan on, risking my life for this.” Yetic’s swagger returns full force.
“Oh, right. Running from Huatiani, disintegrating twitchers, and groveling before the queen is all part of your training regimen.”
“I didn’t grovel, xoxochueyi.” Lowering his voice, he proceeds to mumble a streak of swears that brings a smile to my face.
“So the deal?” I prod.
“None of your business.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have naively thought the value placed on my safety was my business.” It’s possible I’ve pushed the matter too far. All I hear is Olin’s failed effort to suppress a chortle and the accelerated slap of Yetic’s feet on the rough stone floor of the tunnel.
Left alone with my thoughts, I drift from hoping Neca will be waiting for us at the address to wondering if my dreams have already been smashed into tiny bits. How could I have been so stupid at the mouth of the underground? My current plan for entering the academy takes into account wiping a few smudges from our past record and providing a legitimate address. But if Huatiani knows who we are?
If the reports are true, one of the hurdles of registration is a one-on-one interview with the general himself. A chadzitzin girl at the market once told me her interview had ended when Huatiani simply shook his head and pointed at the door. That was it.
How can Olin and I register for the academy now? Even in the slight chance Centavo’s still alive, he can’t remake my face. I shiver at the thought. At least I don’t think he can.
A few minutes later, we emerge from the illegal tunnel into an abandoned maintenance shaft. Part of the original infrastructure of New Teo, the shafts were outmoded by the modern Masa mind pits several decades ago. Most of the shafts were incorporated into the new system. Inevitably, fractured sections were sealed off and forgotten to all except chadzitzin with the motivation and creativity to ferret them out.
Someone, possibly Centavo, has rewired the lights to draw a negligible current—enough to emit a dim glow without warranting a Masa repair team to look into the seepage. We pick our way forward. The dim lighting assists in navigating the large clumps of cementitious material fallen from the ceiling. Some sections seem on the verge of complete collapse.
“This is the spot.” Yetic stops in the middle of the tunnel and gazes at the ceiling.
“We’re supposed to wait here?”
“Up there.” He points at a hinged, metal disk above us. “Since you’re so clever, I’ll leave you in charge of devising a means of climbing through it without bringing the whole tunnel down on our heads.”
“How chivalrous of you.”
“What can I say? I’m a real gentleman fighter.”
Olin steps forward. He uses his hand to shield the nearby light fixture from his eyes. “It opens upward, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
I look around the floor for a pole or a pipe. “So what? We find something to push it open?”
“Something like that,” Olin says.
I hear the sound of metal scraping metal and jerk around in time to see a faint blue glow disappear from the dark outline of Olin’s hand. The metal door falls open above us, knocking a light dust from the ceiling.
“We should all be able to jump that high, right?” Olin looks at me while dusting the flecks from his hair.
I stare from him to Yetic. The stocky fighter is gawking, frozen by what I’m assuming to be envy. “How did you—”
Olin slaps Yetic on the back. “Why don’t you check it out for us? To make sure it’s all clear.”
Yetic steps directly under the opened portal and waves his hands back and forth, as if looking for some sort of trick. He leaps upward and catches the rim with both hands. Pulling himself up with ease, he disappears through the opening.
Olin gently brushes the dust from my head and shoulders, a smirk on his face. After a moment’s silence, he leans in and whispers. “I said I didn’t want to learn to kill, not that I didn’t want to learn.”
I punch him in the shoulder and then hug him. “Now come on, before Yetic decides to close us down here.” I offer to go first. Both of us know I can’t pull myself up like Yetic did. The last thing I want is my little brother reminding me.
Luckily, I’m tall enough to not have far to jump. Once I grasp the lip, Olin helps me without being asked. As soon as I’m clear of the opening, he follows.
I gaze around our new surroundings. Scattered beams of gray light pour into the high-ceilinged structure through crumbling sections of wall. Puddles of water creep across the floor, accumulating via a multitude of drips and drops. At first glance, the safe house appears to be an abandoned warehouse.
A quick movement to my left indicates, whatever the building used to be, it is not currently abandoned.
I shield Olin reflexively.
“It’s a trap. Run!” The warning comes from a corner opposite the movement; the voice is Neca’s.
A large, green-glowing figure steps into sight. “I don’t suggest it.” The voice is like gargling rocks in syrup.
Squeezing Olin’s hand, I bolt. We turn and run from the terrifying figure who is most certainly Huatiani. Neca’s words from Immortal City echo in the back of my mind, when it comes to immortals, quick is never quick enough. I suck in another breath. I stretch and pound my foot to the ground. I’m still alive, so there must be hope.
Then all hope is consumed. A blinding light lashes the wall of the factory in front of us, as if lightning has struck our backs. Seared into my sight, the last thing I see before going blind is Yetic hurdling through a hole in the wall.
Olin and I launch forward. My braid whips past my ear and snaps taut. My back feels as though fire is consuming it—as if any moment the flesh will tear away and the bones melt. And everything will be gone.
I crash to the floor. The sensation of flying is replaced with pain as my arms and face grate against the adobe blocks. In this case, pain means life.
“Olin!” I’ve lost his hand during the crash landing. “Get up, run!” Completely blind, I hear his breathing nearby. I scramble on all fours until I reach him. “There’s a hole in the wall.”
“I won’t go without you.” He clasps my hand. We cover another meter before a second telekinetic burst washes past and shakes the ground. Olin serves as guide for both of us. “The hole’s just ahead.”
“On the outside look for a crowd,” I huff.
Before he can acknowledge, a third telekinetic strike rumbles through the floor. This time it strikes us directly. The ground buckles and lifts. I’m blind and useless—dead weight. Olin will never make it while dragging me. As the floor shatters out from under us, I yank my hand free. “Keep going!”
Limp and tumbling sideways, I collide with a pile of rubble before being pinned awkwardly by more rubble falling from what’s left of the wall. Maybe the whole building will collapse, taking Huatiani with me. For a few seconds, I hear nothing except the echo of adobe blocks tumbling to the floor. The bulk of the building apparently remains intact.
I allow myself an apprehensive sigh of relief. Maybe Olin listened to me for once. Maybe he made it through the opening and kept running. Please, gods, let him make it. He’s no longer a little boy. He doesn’t need me. Maybe he never did. Maybe it was me that needed him all along. Now we’re both free.
My prayers are interrupted by a voice like the earth itself. “I didn’t know for sure, until now.” A hand, rough and grooved, covers my blind eyes. As it applies pressure to my temples, a tingle sparks between the thumb and fingers.
I can’t move, possibly due to telekinesis or physical damage to my body or both. When the hand withdraws, it reveals a creviced face older than the forest, older than time. Expressionless, almost bored, Huatiani stares into my eyes. Perhaps he’s waiting for me to confirm he has restored my sight.
I try to talk. Coughing, I hack up a clot of dust and phlegm. Finally, I manage a single word. “Why?”
“Exact punishment for the crime. Nothing more, nothing less.” His speech is paced and rhythmic as if each word forms in his mouth like a pearl inside an oyster. “You are the enabler, are you not?”
I narrow my eyes, imagine them as beams of light piercing through his skull. Nothing happens. “I only killed those people because you were too old and slow to do your job.”
He shakes his head slowly from side to side. A flash of impatience bursts around the rim of his eyes like the sun’s corona. “The black one is the protector. Noble. Stupid.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “The little one is the killer.”
My anger flares. “He’s not a—” the air in my throat swells, sticking my tongue to the bottom of my mouth and forcing my jaw open.
“Only his crime merits immediate execution,” Huatiani continues.
Tearing helplessly at the inside of my mind, I struggle to connect with any part of my body—a foot, a finger, an eyelash. Nothing responds. Even my breathing and the beating of my heart is not my own. I want to tell this craggy immortal—scream it into his withered old face—that if he touches my brother while leaving me alive, I will kill him.
“The black one has paid in full. Now you, Bluehair.” Huatiani clutches my braid, soiling it with his thick hand.
Shocked by the violation, I’m slow to realize his intent. “No. You can’t.” A hot grief wells beneath my eyes, but no tears form. “You wouldn’t.”
He yanks my head roughly to the side. “The law is exact. Its enforcement pure. For your crimes against New Teotihuacan, I hereby revoke your citizen status.”
A searing heat pinches the back of my head, and the world begins to swim.
His arm pulls away with something dark coiled around his hand. My body is my own again, but I’m lost as to what orders to give it. I’m lost, completely and utterly.
“If you wish to stay execution of the little one,” he holds something in front of my eyes, small enough to fit between his thumb and fingers, “you will explain—”
Before Huatiani can form the final word in his mouth, his face freezes. The dark red of his skin is wiped pale, then ashen. His own braid, the color of smoke, unfurls from around his neck. It drapes across my cheek. Then, as if made from moths, his skin flutters apart and wafts away on the breeze. The rest of him sifts through the cracks of the rubble heap.
Where a moment ago there had been someone, a terrible someone, now there is nothing. Then the sound of sobs pierces through the nothing. At first I think it’s me, the tears finally flowing from the corners of my eyes. But the sound is separate.
I rise onto an elbow. Debris is scattered from one end of the warehouse to the other. A subtle movement catches my eye. Propped against a nearby wall, Neca lifts an arm. He’s bleeding, exhausted, defeated. He’s not crying.
A spark ignites somewhere in the depths of my mind—an impulse to get up, to help Neca. As I struggle to connect that impulse to the rest of my body, Neca shudders. He extends a single finger before dropping his arm limply to the floor.
Of course, he’s pointing. Another spark ignites. My upper body jerks upright. My hand clutches for an enemy who is no longer there. Huatiani. My chest heaves. My fist shakes. The final spark ignites. In sudden shock, I realize the general is dead—disintegrated. But by who?
The sobs return. I rise to my knees. Clumsily, I turn to face the opening in the wall. Olin is standing in the rain, his shoulders hunched forward, his whole body trembling.
“Olintl?”
He shakes his head, refusing to look at me. “He made me.” He raises his palms, rain dripping from them. “I had no choice.”
Numb and distant, I direct my muscles. They mimic organized movement until I reach my little brother’s side. Steam rises from my skin as the rain cools it. Not a single other individual is in sight. We share the same space, allowing silence to express our loss more powerfully than words. Despite my best planning, everything is lost.
No. Not everything. “Olin,” I whisper his name.
Moments later, he looks up. “Your hair.” A blue flame flickers across his face.
I toss my head from side to side. It’s awkwardly light. I know the braid is gone. I remember seeing it in Huatiani’s hand before he disappeared. I reach out my hand, not toward the back of my head, but toward Olin’s face.
He flinches and closes his eyes. I touch the end of my finger to his cheek. It’s cold. Or maybe my skin is hot. “No,” I say. “You had a choice, and you made the right one. You make the choice, the choice doesn’t make you.” I shake him lightly. “You are more than your abilities.”
He nods.
We climb through the hole in the wall, back inside the warehouse, and stop near a pile of human ash. Olin stoops to pick up my braid. It’s a completely alien object now that it’s no longer attached to my head. There is also a tiny leather pouch—an object Olin doesn’t recognize. I do. Only a few hours ago, I had emptied its contents into his mouth. Now it’s covered with Huatiani’s dust. Let the general keep it.
Olin holds my braid out to me.
Even as I formulate the words in my head, I doubt I’ll ever believe them. But I have to say them. Saying them won’t bring back the dream of Masa and the academy. Saying them won’t restore the possibility of a long, full life.
Saying them will give me the strength to keep breathing. As long as we’re alive, as long as we’re together, and as long as we’re family, there’s hope. I snatch the braid from his hand. “I am more than my hair.”
END of Episode Three
I take the note from Olin. Squinting at the tight, slanted script, I read the words for the umpteenth time. The setting sun bursts beneath a thick blanket of cloud, forcing me to shade my eyes. “Even if this is from Centavo, it could have been written months ago.” The scrap of paper is old and crinkled, clearly reused for its current purpose. “There aren’t even any names.”
“Under the circumstances, I would think that prudent.” Olin crosses his legs and sits.
“Prudent or convenient, I’m not sure which.” After sleeping on Centavo’s couch for the bulk of the day, I don’t feel like sitting. Instead, I continue to pace. The two of us have been waiting on the roof terrace of the three-story, adobe building indicated in the note for nearly an hour.
“I don’t understand how Neca can be so adamant the old man survived, immortal or not. I was there. The storm was five times bigger—” I catch myself mid-sentence and pretend to be distracted with something on the southern skyline of Worker City.
Olin responds with agitation in his voice. “Than what? My outbursts? Since they killed so many people, how could Centavo have survived this one?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I’m on the verge of tears, having been perched there every waking moment of the new worst day of my life. “I’m sorry, I should have thought—”
“Forget it. I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s axnohtic to pretend they didn’t happen. I’ve killed people.” Olin shrugs. “On accident and on purpose. Huatiani’s dead because I intentionally killed him.”
“Olintl—”
“I know, I know. I’m more than my abilities. But I’m certainly not less. You shouldn’t have to tiptoe around it. This is our life now.”
I chew the inside of my mouth, opening the old wound and wondering about my brother’s last comment. I’m too fragile to argue effectively. Since the incident with Huatiani that morning, we’ve debated what to do next a dozen times. Instinctively, I reach for my braid. Of course it’s not there. The hair on the back of my head is oily and uneven. I run my fingers across the bald spot.
The choice ahead of me is easy: die in the wild or die in the Shadows. Neca had argued for the former during his brief time awake. We’ll see what he thinks after he recovers from his clash with Huatiani. To me, it doesn’t matter. And a choice that doesn’t matter is no choice at all.
If the general never identified us to anyone else, as Neca suspects, Olin could still register for the academy. He could live a long and powerful life as an ometeotl. If not for Olin’s potential, I certainly wouldn’t be wasting my time following the anonymous directions written by a dead man on an old note. Even so, I have my limits. “Come on, let’s wait inside.”
“But this is where the note said to wait,” Olin objects. “How do you know he won’t look for us from another vantage point?”
“That’s exactly the point.” I tug him to his feet. “Anyone could be watching from another vantage point. It’s too exposed up here.”
“No need to worry.” An unidentified voice startles me. “Eyes don’t wander this close to the Shadows.”
I turn to face a wiry, old man with a salt and pepper braid coiled around his neck. “And you are?” The setting sun at his back casts his face in shadow. I can’t believe it could be Centavo.
Olin rises to his feet. “It’s him. He’s got Centavo’s light.”
“Your sixth sense has developed,” the man nods. “Good, it will serve you in the academy.”
Olin attempts to correct him, “I’m not—”
“Tell me what you see.” The man I’m assuming must be Centavo cups his hand and holds it out.
I stare back and forth between Olin and the old man’s hand. Of course I don’t see anything, but Olin must. The longer I stare, the more irritated I become. After disappearing for a day and leaving us to deal with Huatiani on our own, this is how Centavo shows up? No apology, no explanation?
Olin shakes his head, trembling all over. “Why would you show me that?”
Centavo reaches into an inner pocket of his tilmàtli and tosses something small to Olin. “Honor his death by wearing his remains.”
Olin holds the tiny leather pouch in the palm of his hand.
I quickly deduce its contents. “Where did you, you can’t, who do you think—”
Centavo glares at me. “And you should be more careful. I’m sure Izel did not instruct you to leave the pouch next to the ashes of one of the most revered immortals New Teo has ever known.”
My anger flares. “If you didn’t depend on a bunch of kids to do your dirty work—”
“You do not know the definition of dirty, Calli Bluehair.” He emphasizes my acquired name, as if twisting thorns into my flesh. “But you soon will.”
The reference to my missing blue-black braid leaves me teetering on the verge of tears. I say the only words that surface, “I hate you.”
“That is to be expected.” Sighing, the old man stares over our heads.
His casual response intensifies my hatred. I clutch Olin’s hand while jabbing a finger at Centavo. “You come here, after all that’s happened, to rub my brother’s nose in the most traumatic event of his life and then threaten me?”
“I come here to educate you into a truth you are not ready to grasp. Circumstance has forced my hand.” He straightens his braid. “Your base instincts are true. You do well to follow them, but instincts must be coupled with education.”
I shake my head and tug Olin toward the stairs. “I’m not interested in your version of truth.”
Centavo continues unabated. “In this case, your instincts tell you this rooftop is too exposed. You feel the presence of the Palace Tower, even if you refuse to look at it.”
I realize Centavo has been staring at the tower the whole time.
He continues, “Your education lacks the fact the Palace Tower contains only one window facing this direction. It opens from the throne room of the Supreme Ometeotl. No one ever gazes through it because of this.” The old man places a hand on the rough stone wall of the Shadows. Rising on our right, it constitutes one of the four walls of the abandoned building upon which we’ve met. “Nahua does not wish to be reminded of his base origins.”
I shudder at Centavo’s use of the Supreme Ometeotl’s common name. “And how is it you pretend to know so much about the tower?”
“I used to work there.”
“Of all the ridiculous—as if threatening me wasn’t enough, you have to insult my intelligence.”
Olin squeezes my hand and shakes his head. “He’s telling the truth.” Stepping in front of me, my brother demands my full attention.
I look into Olin’s eyes. “How do you know?”
“Tell me you want to leave.” Olin grips my shoulders.
“What?”
“Tell me you want to leave New Teo tonight, just grab our things and go—that you’ve never wanted anything more than to get away from here.”
“I can’t.” Olin’s passion flusters me. “I don’t…You know that’s ridiculous.”
Olin nods. “He’s telling the truth same as you.” I narrow my eyes at him, confused and full of doubt. “The truth always looks the same.” Olin pleads, “I can see it.”
Centavo approaches us. My brother’s abilities aside, my instinct says to run. My gut says this immortal’s interest in us is self-serving and manipulative at best. But where would we go?
“As for your earlier comment, you are right.” The old man slumps, emphasizing his age. “Many versions of truth dwell openly within New Teo—none of them true. Over the years, I have learned them all. To my shame, I believed most of them in turn.”
I back away, torn between my curiosity and my instinct.
Centavo matches my retreat, stride for stride. “In my brightest moment I came to believe one version of truth as ultimate. While no individual can claim possession of it, worthy ones spread it. The truth I now share with you was the one given to me by your parents.” He continues to advance.
I flinch.
He passes us, heading for the stairs. “Come, I have something to show you. I pray by doing so I continue to honor your parents’ dying request.”
Once again, Centavo hits the magic parent button. As much as I hate being played, I glance at Olin and relent. My need to know is too great.
The sun’s final breath pours through occasional windows, setting the inside of the abandoned building alight with red and orange. As we progress down three flights, then finally a fourth, we pass into the basement and out of the light entirely. In the dark, I’m forced to rely on Olin’s sixth sense to guide our progress.
I say, “Enough with the games. Where are we going?”
Centavo ignores me. At the base of the stairs, he slaps his bare foot on the stone floor. The faintest flicker of green flame ripples outward. Suddenly the stones beneath him fall away. Olin and I freeze, still a few steps shy of the basement floor.
Centavo floats in the air long enough to answer my earlier question. “We’re going down.” Then he drops out of sight.
I descend to the last step and peer over the edge. “There’s no bottom.”
Olin joins me. “He wants us to follow.”
“Xoxochueyi, did you hear what I said? This thing could be a hundred meters deep.” As soon as I finish, the sound of stones striking the bottom echoes upward. I step away, shaking my head. “No way I’m going down there.”
“I can do this, trust me.” Olin reaches for my hands.
“Do what? Fly?”
“More like slow falling.”
“And you’ve been practicing this when?”
“Stop thinking so much.” He stomps his foot. “I want to see what’s down there. Don’t you?”
The floor trembles beneath me. “Olin, you’re acting as if you’ve nothing left to live for. I won’t let you throw everything away just because of me.”
He takes my hands. “I could say the same for you.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it.” I pull him away from the gaping hole. “There’s nothing you can say that will—”
“He knew our parents,” Olin interrupts.
“Xoxochueyi.” I swear and close my eyes. Sensing my hesitation, Olin swoops the two of us through the opening. My stomach rises into my throat. I try to scream. Nothing escapes except a shrill squeak. For an impossibly long second I’m limp with terror. Then a blue light fills the darkness. Olin’s skin warms to the touch, and I strengthen my grip. Our descent slows. “It’s working.”
Olin trembles in response.
With a stomach-lurching reverse in momentum, we stop centimeters from the bottom. I pull away from my brother and drop onto contact with the cave floor. “You did it.”
Olin shakes his head, breathing heavy. “No, not me. I couldn’t—”
“It was a noble first try.” Centavo steps out of shadow and illuminates the space around us with a green light. “The best I’ve seen.”
“Wait, this was some sort of test?” My wobbly legs strengthen with anger.
Centavo nods. “In the academy no one will bother catching you. Fly or die they call it.”
“You’re saying this is an academy test?” I step forward. “So as a consolation we’ve been enrolled into Centavo’s school of the underground?”
“I wanna know how he did it.” Olin pulls me back. “I saw the air just before…like it came alive.”
“Indeed, you’re ahead of the curve.” Centavo grins. “This way.”
Olin takes my hand. I shrug. The only other option is to stand at the bottom of a pit doing nothing. As annoyed as I am with the old man, I’m still hopeful he can do something to ensure Olin’s future.
We progress slowly through a living cavern deep beneath the surface of New Teo. In places, the ceiling rises beyond the reach of Centavo’s green glow. The only manmade additions are a series of support columns every fifty meters.
After passing the first few stone columns, I’m impressed with their construction—precision mitered joints without mortar of any sort. We continue past a dozen before stopping next to one. It looks like all the rest until the old man points out a design carved into the rock.
Ancient and worn, I don’t recognize it.
Olin gazes toward the ceiling. “You mean, these are the supports for the wall surrounding the Shadows?”
I stare back and forth between my brother and the old man.
Even Centavo seems slightly surprised. “How did you—”
Olin says, “The insignia. It’s the same as the one marking the queen’s realm.”
The green light emanating from Centavo intensifies. “How have you come to know this?”
Olin and I exchange glances. I’m sure my brother recognizes my mischievous smile. I’ve been curious to find out more about Centavo’s connection to the queen. There’s no way I’m letting the opportunity pass. “Yetic gave us a tour this morning. It turns out there’s a backdoor to the Shadows. But I suppose you already knew that.”
Centavo uncharacteristically swears. “That impertinent little weasel.”
I attack the fissure in the old man’s typically cool demeanor. “Hey, I’ve been called lots of things—”
“Not you. Yetic.”
“Oh, him. Yeah, he mentioned a tiff between the two of you.”
Centavo straightens. “Yes, well we both know how to play games, don’t we, Calli Bluehair.” A heaviness settles in my soul with the mention of my stolen identity—the blue-black braid Huatiani took as his dying act. “But we have much to do before my departure, and this,” Centavo points at the insignia, “is only the beginning. Look closely.”
I catch the mention of Centavo’s leaving but find myself indifferent to the matter. While I hope to learn more about my parents, I don’t trust the old man. I trace the carving with my fingers, relying on my sense of touch as much as sight.
Its lines are organic, curvilinear, like leaves and branches. Slowly I construct the finer details into a mental image. “I have seen this, or a version of it, in my mother’s notes.” I focus on Centavo’s glowing face. “What does it mean?”
“Your parents were explorers. That was the reason they waited so long to have children, and why they only had the two of you. Restricted by the daily ID burn, they scoured every nook and cranny within a day’s round trip of New Teo. They found this place before I knew them. After I gained their trust, they showed it to me. I had hoped to gain yours before showing it to you.”
I snort at the thought, then wish I hadn’t.
“Yes, well it may be a long night.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Indeed?” Centavo raises a brow.
“Fine, we both know I don’t trust you.” I breathe deeply, taking Olin’s hand. “But my brother and I are alive in part due to you. And you knew my parents. I would very much like to hear more about them.”
Centavo nods. “As I was saying, your parents showed me this place years before you were born. Its discovery changed my path.”
“Why? I still don’t understand what it means.”
“Dissension. Dichotomy. Human existence has depended on these things since the beginning. New Teo is no exception. This is proof.” He points at the carving.
I look at Olin. He grimaces and shakes his head. Neither of us have a clue.
Centavo intensifies his gaze. “The word ometeotl, do you know what it means?”
“Lord of duality?” I say.
“Yes, but duality of what?”
“Heaven and earth?” Olin offers.
Centavo waits for more.
I say, “Bone and spirit, flesh and mind.” All my life I’ve dreamt of what it must be like to bridge the gap between the two. “Ometeotl live in the space between.”
“Indeed they do.” Centavo jabs at the carving. “This duality is universal, existing since the beginning of time. Certainly since the beginning of New Teotihuacan. But its control has become one-sided.”
“You lost me at…” I struggle to understand anything the old man has just said and come up empty, “…at the beginning.”
Centavo chuckles, lightening his mood for the first time since appearing on the roof. “As it should be.” He pauses, his palm on the stone column and his head bowed. Finally, he returns in the direction we came. “All you need to remember at this point is that your parents rediscovered the counter balance.”
Olin and I rush to keep up.
“As I said, there is much to be done before my departure. If you are willing, we will start with replacing your official records in preparation for registration to Masa Academy.”
I pester Centavo until we reach the spot where we had descended moments earlier. He refuses to speak another word. How can he mention a plan for registering my brother and then refuse to tell me about it? The more agitated I get at Centavo, the more distant Olin becomes. By the time we stop, Olin’s standing several meters off and staring at his feet.
“Try to hold still on the way up.” Centavo breathes deeply. The stone fragments from the basement floor lift into the air, filling the space around us. My feet leave the ground. Despite my effort to anticipate the weightlessness, my heart skips.
More rapidly than my senses can assimilate, we rise toward the dim opening. A second later, Centavo releases Olin and me in the basement while stacking the stone pieces in a neat pile. Olin proceeds directly toward the stairs without a word.
“Olintl, where—”
“I know how it feels,” Centavo interrupts, “to be molded against your will.”
Olin stops, his foot on the first step. He turns. Tears streak his face. He juts out his fist and opens it to reveal the leather pouch. “Do you know what it’s like to be disintegrated? No?” Clenching his fingers around the pouch, he shakes it. “I’m sure you know what it’s like to do the disintegrating. We both know what that’s like, don’t we?” He trembles with grief and rage. “But you don’t know me.”
“I know more than you can possibly imagine.” Centavo expands. A shimmering green light swells beneath his skin before bursting outward in a singular bright flash.
Blinking rapidly, I struggle to distinguish the shape of my brother through the blobs of light burned onto my retinas.
“Yes, I know what it is like to take life, both out of necessity and pleasure.” Centavo’s voice fills the cramped room, rebounding off the walls and filling my head. “I also know what it is like to create life, and then watch that life outstrip oneself in depravity. I know what it is like to manipulate humans as tools or worse. I know what it is like to look inside and realize the boy is dead and gone.”
His voice softens while remaining omnidirectional. “Worst of all, I still remember the boy. Hundreds of years removed, I remember how I felt the day I enrolled in Masa. I was like your sister, determined and hopeful. Before I realized it, the determination had choked out the hope. Five years later, all that remained was a monster.”
“Then why?” Olin collapses on the stairs. “Why go at all? The world doesn’t need any more monsters.”
“That is exactly what makes you special, Olin. You already know the difference. Look at me.” Centavo shrinks. His shoulders sag, and his glow extinguishes, leaving the room nearly pitch black.
I hear Olin rise from the steps and shuffle his way toward me.
Centavo continues, “I’ve experienced infinitely more than you, and yet I’ve only recently discovered what you already know—the knowledge of good and evil.” The old man sighs. “Besides, if you do not accept my help to register for the academy, there will be no one to keep your sister from becoming the next me.”
“Wait.” I stumble blindly toward Centavo, then remember the gaping hole in the floor and stop short. I’m not sure which part of his statement to argue first. “I’m nothing like you, and in case you haven’t noticed—”
“Yes, your braid. As I’ve said, we’ve got a busy night ahead of us. Speaking of,” the old man sparks his fingers into a green torch, “I’m afraid I must insist on a bit of one-on-one time. Just you and me, Calli Bluehair.”
Olin reaches my side. I check his eyes for a clue to his thoughts. In the dim lighting it’s hard to tell.
Centavo continues, “That doesn’t mean I don’t have a task for you, Olin. If you choose to accept it.”
I grip my brother by the arms and say, “We both know what I want. You’re the only thing I’ve got to lose. When that day comes, I want to know I’ve done everything within my power to give you the best.”
He nods.
“I’ve got no idea what this crazy, old man is talking about. Except what he said about hope and determination, that makes total sense. You’re my hope. Without you, I’ve got only determination.”
Olin’s eyes glisten. Finally he says, “Go with him. He hasn’t told us the whole truth, but I don’t think he’s lied to us either.” He hugs me. With sudden determination, he turns toward Centavo. “I am willing to accept whatever task you have for me.”
“Good, now—”
Olin interrupts the old man, “But don’t let me discover you have treated my sister poorly. I am young. My understanding of good and evil is immature.” He flicks his arms out beside him and sparks both hands with blue light.
Centavo extinguishes his green torch. Cracking the bones in his neck, he nods. “I assure you, young one, through both intention and action I shall regard her in the highest possible manner. Like it or not, our fates are now intertwined. As for your task, I would like you to restore the floor to its original condition. All the pieces are there.” Centavo holds out an arm to usher me toward the stairs. “And oh, it should go without saying, hands are not allowed.”
Olin objects, “But how—”
“As you have already discovered, raw power is the easier half. Even a common cage fighter can project a powerful pulse. Control. Precision, is the more important.”
I stop short of the stairs. “How long will we be gone?”
Centavo says, “Hopefully no more than a few hours.” He then addresses Olin, “You will be totally safe here. When you complete the task, I suggest you wait for your sister’s return.”
Thanks so much for taking the time to read these scenes of Outburst, Season 1 of The Green Ones. I’ll be publishing FREE daily scenes from The Green Ones until…I die…or something terrible happens. Seriously, I’ve got over 100 scenes written so far, and I’ll be writing more until the story reaches its natural ending. You are totally welcome to read the entire story for FREE! If at any point you decide you would rather finish the story in ebook or print format, just click the buttons below and you can do that as well. If you enjoy reading the serial releases, BUT you would also like to support me as a writer (my kids need wine!) please subscribe to my premium content for bonus scenes, exclusives, and insider access to my process. And of course, I’d be grateful if you would share this post with any of your reader friends who you think would enjoy The Green Ones. Happy reading!