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.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this scene 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!