My dreams were filled with death.
Unseen faces swam in front of me, each one paralyzing and full of fear in their own right. I felt the nameless boy with pale eyes and trim hair, then the aftermath of a rifle explosively excavating the back of his skull. The gore ran down walls that surrounded me in a tight box, only to give way to pale skin and rubies as Juno peered up at me over her freshest victim.
Then Emma.
Her being surrounded me like a dense fog before assimilating into the familiar shape. She placed a hand on my chest and an immediate pain of regret shot up through my stomach. I wished she had never left me. Her palm began to glow and vibrate until a shining light pierced through my heart to give way to a perfect wound through my body. I gazed back up into her eyes and wondered why she had made me feel so empty, but she only smiled. Her lips brushed against my ear and the whisper was hushed just as I was pulled back into life.
I slowly woke with an ache and peered at the familiar, white, dull pattern of fabric back lit by the sun that wouldn’t go away. My head felt like it was still stuck in a daze and a familiar pain throbbed through the base of my skull as I turned and lifted it off my cot.
I managed to sit up and look at the small tent around me and finally realized it was almost exactly like the one that I had been in at Camp Maxwell. I threw my face down into my hands and wished it away as soon as I recognized it. Everything that had happened to me over the past few hours could have been a long and vivid dream, but I couldn’t convince myself that it was. I didn't think my own mind was creative or hurtful enough to be able to come up with the things that I had seen.
Chris was dead.
I slowly pulled my face away and was surprised to feel it stick. Every bit of my hands was stained red. I bent my fingers to see dry specks underneath bent nails, evidence of a past life, though I could only guess whose. None of it was a dream. I wouldn't be waking up again. The reality was beginning to make me sick.
I stood up and almost fell over as my head continued to throb and threatened to pull a blanket over my eyes. I had to wait a few seconds before the wave passed and I was finally able to stand on my own and look around my new little home. The only thing worth noticing was a long wrapped piece of cloth resting on an otherwise empty cot just next to mine. I gingerly pulled back a corner of the heavy bundle until a pair of polished swords rested in front of me, one just shorter than the other, though both held strong cross guards and leather pommels. They made the last one I had used look like a toy.
I preferred a gun to any stick—no matter how sharp—but none of my own weapons were in sight. I couldn't even remember what had happened to them. The lost familiarity of my palm curling around a grip left me vulnerable. I almost didn't know what to do with my hands. I ran a finger down the length of a blade to feel the cool surface push back. I wouldn't know how to use it, but the metal in front of me would be better than nothing. I carefully wrapped the bundle back up and stuck it under an arm before knocking the front flap to the tent away and walking outside.
I had to hold a hand up to block the glaring sun. By the time my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I had stopped dead in my tracks. The tent I had woken up in was secluded on top of a hill overlooking a field filled with what looked like a giant spider web. Hundreds of white tents like the one I had just walked out of were laid out in front of me along with an interweaving chain of movement as hundreds of people flowed in and around temporary homes and dirt covered vehicles. I had trouble taking in the sight. I must have been frozen for a good minute when I realized I wasn't alone anymore.
“You never really get used to it.”
I spun around to meet the voice, a younger middle aged woman with a small pack slung around one shoulder and a holstered sidearm that rested on her hip. Loose, platinum blonde wisps of her hair fell down to her chin on one side of her face while the rest was tied back. She looked strong and carried herself exactly like Chris had, as if she were ready to fight the world at a moment's notice, but I knew she was different. I opened my mouth, yet she was already one step ahead of me.
“You're safe, Tess, a few miles West of Arrino.” She tilted her head at the heaping crowds down below us. “Welcome to Tent City.” She passed me by and walked into the tent without bothering to say anything else.
I stared back at the shifting mass down below. I had no idea what was going on, a feeling all too familiar and one that I had been struggling with for longer than I liked to admit. As soon as I had woken, no other thought pervaded my mind; I was running again. I had gotten so used to distancing myself from my problems that I didn't even have to think about it anymore, yet now I thought about it. Looking down at the evidence strewn up in front of me, it was obvious that I couldn't have been the only survivor to make it out of Arrino, but there was also more. A lot more.
I tentatively shuffled back into the tent to see the woman lean over a cot and pull small, tightly wrapped bundles from her pack. It made me notice the familiar metal guards mounted on her forearms. I had seen the same intricate engravings on the man who had saved me from Juno. I thought back to what he had been able to do to her body, how he had kept her still, how he had thrown us both from the ground without lifting a single finger, and I knew what he belonged to. They were supposed to be our ultimate peacekeepers and protectors, yet I had just stolen from one. I glanced at the wrapped swords under my arm and then back at the woman in front of me before finally letting go of the thought. “You're a Knight...”
She took me in for a moment but finally nodded without giving my crime any thought. She held out an open hand and introduced herself as if she were meeting an old friend for the first time. “Olivia.”
I didn't move. Every kid in my life had grown up listening to the stories of the Knights, the exceptionally talented Paranormals who were taken away at a young age to train and hone their skills, but only the very best made it through the transition. They were treated as distant war heroes and master negotiators, while we had only looked up to them as if they were secret superheroes, special agents, and psychic detectives all wrapped up underneath a worn leathery coat accompanied by swords and firearms, the epitome of cool by any ten-year-old's golden, imagination-infused standards.
They were well respected, some even adored, though everything they did was shrouded in mystery. Even when the first Paranormal protests had grown violent, nobody had dared label them as Seditionists. It was clearly understood that Knights fought for the people, they died for the people, and even though not much was publicly known about the innards of their organization, it was obvious that they would be able to kill for the people extremely effectively if necessary. So was I a threat? Or would she protect me?
She seemed to understand the trepidation and didn't give it a second thought. “I figured you'd wanna change.” She held up a bundle of clothes for me to take and I didn't understand why.
I looked back down at myself and remembered I was still covered in dry blood. What was left of my own clothing had been caked in it, stained, ripped, cut, and burnt. It was remarkable I was still alive given the obvious signs laid out in front of me. I must have seemed nothing less than a wild animal.
I put the thought to the side and pushed forward. “How'd you know my name?” The tents I had seen outside all looked familiar. Some must have come from Camp Maxwell but most from somewhere else. Wherever Olivia had been, she was much more important than I would ever be. It begged to question how she even knew me.
She seemed to pause for a moment before pulling out a small leather bound book from her back pocket and held it up for me to see.
My journal.
I slowly fell into a cot and stared at it, stunned.
She held the book out for me to take but lowered it when I didn't move. “I needed to know. I'm sorry.”
I thought I had lost it. It had been with me since almost the beginning and I had managed to scribble down entries whenever I had gotten a chance. Putting my past down into words had helped me cope, but I had never once thought that someone else would read it. To realize another person had peered into the deeper, more emotionally riddled facets of my mind was nerve wracking, not at all in the least when it was someone who could lead an entire army. I tried to ignore the feeling. I still didn't know where I was. The last thing I could remember was flying through the air. “How'd I get here?”
“One of our men found you on their patrol.”
I struggled to understand the implications. I sure as hell hadn't walked myself out of Arrino. Someone must have carried me. My thoughts fell onto the man that had saved me from Juno. The Knight's guards and cut stubble reminiscent of blue eyes had been so familiar. I didn't understand why or how, but he had been in the witch's memories. A pang of jealousy sprouted up through my belly as I remembered how she had cared for him, how she had whispered his name softly and ran her hand across his skin—and how he had paid her back by stabbing her through the chest with a sword.
Olivia gently tapped her palm with the side of the book while I remained still. “We've been on the road for a while...” The words almost sounded forced, as if she knew I could barely pay her any attention. She gave the idea up and changed gears, the rhythmic tapping coming to standstill as she got closer. “Tess... I think I can help you.”
I glanced up to see her almost hurt. She might have read my journal, but I had only gotten the chance to write everything up to Chris' death. There was no way she could understand the truth of the matter.
“You can't...” I spoke softly and cut myself off, the words automatic more than anything. We both knew it was wrong the instant it had come out. I had just met her, yet she probably knew me better than anyone else.
“I know what you are.” She took a seat on the cot in front of me and my heart began to flutter. Whatever the discussion would lead to next was up to her. She took me in for a few more seconds before looking back down at the secrets in her hands. “You're a Paranormal, but you practically omit everything that points to it every chance you get. You've been hiding it from everyone. You've been trying to keep a secret from yourself even when you know you can't. It's been tearing you up inside.” She waited until the correct words seemed to formulate into a thorough understanding of everything that she could comprehend—the cherry on top of my flawed suffering. “You're scared.”
It hurt to feel the truth, yet she wouldn't stop.
“You hide any real details about your family. You tell your past like it's a story, but you jump between memories without any real direction. You think the world is ending when it's not.” She paused for a moment, then finally drove all the pain home in one swift movement. “Tess, your whole view of the world—what's happening—it's wrong.”
I couldn't believe she had said it. To hear a complete stranger slander my efforts as a writer was bad enough, but to hear a Knight say everything I knew was
wrong?
I shook my head. The words I had written could only explain so much. She was never there. “You don't know—”
“I know it's not your fault.”
The words never came. I could only look. She was still sitting on her cot, her demeanor as calm as can be while all my defenses were down. She could see me for who I really was and she took the opportunity to attack me wherever it mattered most. She was taking me apart, piece by piece, from the inside out.
“I know...” She started gingerly, “When you moved out of the city with your family, you secluded yourself from the outside world. You became isolated. You had no way of knowing what was really going on. Then you wound up in Arrino and it only reinforced exactly what you were going through, but none of it's your fault. You've been blaming yourself for things that have nothing to do with you.”
I felt like a little kid getting berated by the most well respected teacher in their school. People like that never had to yell. They didn't have to put you down. They simply reminded you what you were capable of and let the rest speak for itself. Their disappointment spoke volumes more than anger ever could. I watched Olivia hold my journal out for me again and she looked relieved to see me take it back. I gently rubbed the side of my finger against the spine and wondered where it had all gone wrong.
She looked down at the book again and thought about it. “You should keep it. Don't get rid of anything, just add on to what you already have. There's a good reason everything in there is the way it is. You shouldn't have to censor yourself, but if you do, then leave it and understand why. Everybody changes on their own and your writing should reflect that. Don't go trying to change the past when you still have so much left to look forward to.”
The thought of adding any more of my recent memories onto those pages was the last thing on my mind.
“What happened to your family?”
My gaze fell over her shoulder and I opened my mouth, but it still hung on by a loose thread. I couldn't talk about it. I had to change the subject. I looked around and realized I was still holding on to her bundle of weaponry. It would be much more lethal in her hands. I held it out for her. “I think these are yours.”
She didn't make a move for it but rather decided to study me instead. “You were gonna make a run for it.”
Maybe.