Broken (30 page)

Monica seemed to feel the same. She started to follow the monks around, and began to learn all that they could teach her. Her hair had faded from the dyed black it had been, and was now a serene, deep brown. Her green eyes were still sad and heavy, but now there was a calmness Penny hadn't expected. These days, every once in a while, she even cracked that old, crooked smile of hers.

Dumont, the old man who had first opened the door for them, an assistant to the prelate, commented to Penny that at the rate she was going, Monica might soon "take the Blue."  That seemed to happen to a certain slice of the refugees, he told her. Something about the peace and stability of temple life appealed to them. He gave Penny a meaningful look as he said it, but she deflected him with a smile.

Then, one day, a package arrived at the temple.

"Excuse me," said a young novice, coming up to some of the immigrants while they were doing their chores. "But are any of you named ‘Silver Wing,’ by any chance?” Penny hesitantly raised a hand. “Something's come for you from Earth."

* * *

Monica had been out all week, walking the local routes with one of the itinerant monks to see what the life of a Blue was like. Penny took the sheaf of paper that had come in a disarmingly normal ConFedPost box and read it hungrily—then wished she hadn't.

She took herself to a nearby café, where she bought a hot chocolate with the money she’d earned by washing the clothes of other immigrants —she thought about a drink, but she hadn’t had one in ages and she didn’t want to start again..

She read over the first page again.

 
"Silverwyng
," it began
. "I found these in a Black Bands headquarters in New York. I think you’ll find them interesting. The situation here is very bad. I won’t be able to hold out for much longer. Please keep this safe. Please remind the world that we existed, once. Goodbye. Sky."

So quick and simple. How very Sky Ranger. She sighed and flipped through the documents again.

 Records, detailing every occupant the Tower had ever held. Plans to the building. Government progress reports. Scientific data, theories about why and how Extrahumans existed. And, worst, a military document from twenty years before, cataloging all the ways that Union Tower could be destroyed in the event of an “emergency.” Penny shook her head sadly, but she wasn’t surprised.

 The government was different now, but in one respect UNP and Reform were the same: They both wanted to destroy what lived in Union Tower. The Extrahumans were, as the papers noted time and again, a threat. The old government had held them prisoner, kept them from having children, and sent their best and strongest out to capture those Extrahumans who had dared to live free. The new government had been much more direct, but they shared the same objective: the end of the Extrahuman race.

 She kept remembering Sky Ranger’s face as the reality of Union Tower’s destruction sank in.
My people
, he had said. At that moment, she had realized it was true. Her people, unique in the universe. People like Michael, Sky Ranger, Crimson Cadet, Lucky Jane... Her people... who were now gone. So many, gone.

There was a rustle of robes. She looked up to find a short, severe-looking woman with a  downturned mouth approaching.

"Prelate!" she exclaimed, surprised. The seldom-seen prelate of the temple, a woman named Celeste, smiled thinly down at her.

"May I sit?" she asked. She nodded, and the woman slid into a chair. "Oooh, my poor back."

For an instant, Penny considered hiding the papers, then thought better of it. "Prelate," she said softly, handing them to her. "Please... take these. Can you keep them safe?"

She nodded. "I can. Are they important?"

"Yes," she said, looking down. "They’re a record. Of my people."

"Extrahumans?" the prelate asked softly. Penny glanced up sharply. "Come,” the woman said. “I saw you cut your finger in the garden, and have it heal a moment later. You must be one of the only ones left. I’m very sorry."

Penny shrugged. What was there to say?

"I will take them, if you want. We have an archive at Clearfield. Would you like a copy for yourself?"

"I would," she said. "Thank you."

She ordered a tea. "Your friend Monica is becoming well versed in the lessons St. Val taught us," the prelate said. "She seems much more content, now. However, she still doesn’t like talking about her past."

"It was—hard," Penny replied.

"I know," she said. "I can tell from your faces. But the child…? That is what concerns me most."

"I don’t know," Penny said. "I… I don’t think I can keep him. He’s supposed to go to someone else."

"Oh?" The normally sober and reserved prelate suddenly seemed like a child with a great secret, bouncy and bursting.

"He’s… important," Penny said. "Really. Or, at least, someone I once knew thought so. But he thought a lot of things that didn’t turn out to be true."

"Such as?"

She sighed bitterly. "He said I would fly again."

Prelate Celeste’s eyes lit up. "I knew it," she said to herself. "Damn St. Val for being so vague! Here, take this!" She withdrew an envelope from the folds of her robes. "We’ve been waiting a long time for you! Yes, we knew you’d come, the woman who could heal herself in an instant, but had forgotten how to fly, with the child. It’s the first step down a long path. We had hoped—but here." She pressed the paper into Penny’s waiting hand.

"What—?"

"Valentino Altrera, who founded our order, was like your friend," the prelate said. "He could see the future, too. He knew the possibilities. He knew you’d come! He knew what to do, and before he died, he told me to give you these instructions."

 Penny's skin prickled.

 "Now go get that boy," Celeste ordered archly, "And take him to where he is supposed to be!"

Penny jumped up and sprinted out of the café.

* * *

She carried him high into the hills surrounding Arve. Ian  laughed and giggled as Penny struggled under his weight, his curls tickling her nose as he squirmed—he had finally grown a real head of hair. He had grown so heavy, too! He could walk now, but only a few tottering steps at a time.

The air up here was colder, and the view magnificent. She walked along a twisting, winding road up the side of one mountain and down another. Great, green fields, filled with crops both alien and familiar, grew here. A beautiful place.

She stopped, checking the address on the piece of paper the prelate had given her. Here, yes. She walked down the lane to a house, and knocked on the door. The name on the plate read “DELARIAN.”

A grizzled man of maybe forty opened the door. "Yeah?" he asked. He looked like the sort of man who had seen a lot in his time. He hadn’t shaved in days.

Penny held out Ian to him. "He is for you," she said simply. "He belongs here."

For a moment, she was afraid he would tell her to go away. But he didn’t. His face thawed, then broke open in joy as he realized she said nothing but the truth. Ian locked eyes with the man, and smiled serenely.

* * *

Penny left him there, and walked alone down the dusty road. Now what would she do?

"I’ve done it, Michael!" she called to the open air. "I’ve done it!" She laughed, but the sound was hollow. "I’ve done it. I have." But what would she do now? What was left?

As she walked, drained and dejected, towards the city, a strange feeling came over her. Her body lightened and loosened, until she felt that she weighed nothing at all, that her legs and arms were made of sunlight.

 She inhaled, tasting the fresh, sweet air, then stretched out her arms and jumped, leaping high into the air. In a flash of perfect awareness, everything flooded back to her. She shrieked and whooped with joy as she flew into the bright and sunny skies of Valen.

[EPILOGUE]

To be opened by Penny Silverwing

July 21
st
, 2107

Hello, Penny,

Michael Forward and others have told you about me. Thank you for everything that you've done, and for all that you've sacrificed.

I have included an address on the other side of this paper. Take the boy there. A good man waits to raise him as his son. Should he grow up, the human race will be better for it

You will hear from me again, but for now, fly, and live. The skies of this world are clear and blue, and a bright soul like you belongs in them.

VAL

Valentino Altrera

West Arve, Valen, Terran Confederation

August 5
th
, 2101

About the Author:

Susan Jane Bigelow is a native New Englander and librarian with a passion for books, computers, and writing. She lives in northern Connecticut with her wife and cats. Broken is her first novel.

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