Renegade (20 page)

I
t was the smell that woke me: something burning. As soon as I covered my mouth with the edge of my tunic, the smoke changed course.

The sun was high—early afternoon, I figured. Close by, clan folk were using broken timbers to shuffle bloated rat carcasses into sacks. Other people collected the sacks, and traipsed away in a perfect straight line. I couldn't see where they were headed, but I was sure they would be burying the rats, preferably a long way from Skeleton Town. From the thousands that remained, they'd be doing the same job for the rest of the day.

I tried to stand, and thought better of it. I needed a moment to get my balance. Every part of me felt tightly wound, like a knot that might never come undone. As I lay there, I began to sweat, just from being awake.

I rolled onto all fours. When I was sure I wouldn't pass out, I stood and took a few tentative steps. The clan folk line snaked northwest past the buildings, toward the plume of smoke that rose diagonally even though there was no wind.

As they waited for their sacks to be filled, the clan folk watched me. I felt like I was like being observed by a dozen Guardians, suspicious and disapproving. But none of them threatened me. Whatever Mother had said to them at dawn had at least won us a reprieve, if not the clan folks' complete trust.

I joined the line too, mostly to show that I was willing to do my part in the recovery process. As I took my place, all conversation ceased. They knew who I was, and they must have known I'd played a part in what had transpired on the water tower. How much more uncomfortable would they be if they realized the extent of what I'd done?

The young man beside me pulled a water canister from the hook on his thick leather belt. “Here. Looks like you could do with some water.” He held out his canister. “Go ahead. There's plenty more where this came from.” I must have looked puzzled, because he continued: “Two of your kind can test the purity of water. We'll have all the drinking water we need.”

Your kind.
There was no mistaking those words—we may be coexisting, but ours was still a fractured colony. In their excitement over unlimited drinking water, the clan folk might be willing to overlook our other elements. But one day, those elements would resurface. Would they still appreciate us then?

“You're dehydrated.” The man refused to give up. “You
have
to drink.”

I surrendered, resigned to playing my role in this forgiving new world. But as our hands came together on the canister, my element passed through the metal. He inhaled sharply.

“I'm sorry,” I said. The apology was a reflex—one I'd probably get to use a lot from now on.

“It was nothing,” he lied.

I raised the canister to my lips and drank. The water was cool—maybe the finest water I'd ever tasted. I fought the urge to finish it.

“Listen,” the man said, “I'm sorry about your father. I lost my father too this week. He was older than yours, but I loved him. I wish he was here to see this.”

I held out the canister for him, but then thought better of it and placed it on the ground instead.

“I'm Brent, by the way.” Smiling.

We didn't shake hands. “Thomas.”

“Well, that canister is yours now, Thomas. Drink it wisely.” Before I could refuse, he received a sack of rats and rejoined the line.

A few moments later, I followed him. Beyond the buildings, the clan folk had worn a clear path through the wild grass. At the end of it they emptied their sacks into a large pit. Ananias stood at the bottom of the pit, shirtless, setting the carcasses alight with both hands. Dennis stood at the rim and used his element to fan the flames. When the smoke climbed vertically upward, he redirected it away from us with the slightest flick of his fingers. Eventually, all evidence of the rats would be gone from Roanoke Island. The moment couldn't come soon enough.

When he saw me, Ananias ran up the bank. He was only a step away from me, arms outstretched, when he hesitated—he didn't want to be hurt. Then, shutting out his fear, he pulled me into a tight hug.

It was uncomfortable for me, and no doubt worse for him, but he still didn't let go. Surrounded by strangers, he clung to me.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

We broke the connection. “Marin and Rose are by the water tower,” he answered. “The tank still holds a little water. Griffin and Nyla are in the shelter with Skya.”

Skya,
not
Mother
. How long would it be before that word felt real to us?

“We'll release the dead tonight,” he continued. “Or bury them. The clan folk need a day to think things through. To mourn.”

“And you?” I asked. “Do you need a day to mourn?”

He leaned back, so that we were eye to eye. Tears mingled with sweat. “When we were standing on the street yesterday, with those ropes around our necks, Jossi said stuff about how the Guardians used to treat non-elementals. I called him a liar . . . but Alice didn't. And neither did Father. I wanted Father to deny everything, but he wouldn't. He
couldn't
.” He stared at the ever-growing mound of rats. “Do you remember when we were young—how Father would carry the three of us . . . one on his back, and one on each arm?”

“Yes,” I said. “I remember.”

“I used to think he was the strongest man in the world. Back then, I didn't know there were different kinds of strength . . . that on the inside, he was weak.”

“He wasn't weak, Ananias. He carried all three of us, and he ran through the waves, and you and Griffin never even felt his element. Or mine, which means he must've been keeping me away from you. The control that must have taken—the willpower—I just hope I can find a small part of it for myself.”

Ananias was growing restless. As so often before, he needed a moment alone, but duty called. “Who am I now, Thomas? I'm definitely not one of them”—he pointed to the line of clan folk—“but I'm ashamed to be an elemental. Where does that leave me?”

The clan folk were working well together, calm and methodical. They were also glancing at Ananias as they emptied their bags, each and every one of them. And I didn't see suspicion or frustration in their eyes; I saw admiration for what he was able to accomplish. Their version of Ananias was the same as mine: tough, relentless, uncomplaining.

“You're in the middle of everything now,” I told him. “And that's exactly where you need to be. You're a bridge . . . the link we need to make this work.”

“And you?” he asked.

“Me?” I thought about it. “I just need to stay out of the way, so I don't shock anyone.”

Ananias chuckled at that. It didn't occur to him that I was serious.

“I should keep going,” he said. He trudged down the bank into the smoldering pit. “If you see Alice, tell her I could do with some help. I'm tired.”

Was it tiredness, or Plague? It had only been one day since we'd come into contact with the rats. It might take another day before the symptoms showed—for me, as well as for him. “Why Alice?” I shouted.

He wiped his arm across his forehead, but he was so covered in sweat and grime that it didn't help at all. Soot from the fire traced shadows across his chest that made him appear even more muscular than usual. “Now that Father's gone, she's the only one with fire.”

Dennis had been watching us the whole time from the other side of the pit. I joined him there. “Ananias isn't the only one who's tired,” he said. “I was in the shelter earlier. Griffin and Nyla can't keep up.” I must have looked confused, because he continued: “Lots of people need healing, but there's only one solution. It's tough when no one can take your place.”

Was he talking about Griffin now? Or himself? After all, he was the only one left who could control the wind. But he made it look so effortless. He sculpted the air as we talked, and never missed a beat. I reminded myself that he was still the same nine-year-old Dennis who had wailed as we left our Hatteras Island colony a few weeks earlier. But he
wasn't
that boy. Recent events had left their mark in every look and action. Age had never seemed so meaningless.

I could tell he had something more to say. “What is it, Dennis?”

“Are you going to take over my element again? Like you did on the tower.” He turned his fingers, gathering the smoke into a tight spiral.

“No. I won't do it again.”

He nodded, accepting the answer. But it wasn't enough, of course. As long as I could steal his greatest power, how could he ever trust me again?

“I'm sorry,” I said. And I was sorry—more than he could know.

I left the pit and cut through the buildings. Picked up my pace as I reached the street. In the distance, Rose and Marin worked beside the crumpled remains of the water tower. For years they'd been an efficient team, and finally they were together again. But something had changed: Rose was in charge now. I could see it in the way her mother followed as she pointed, and the way Rose planted her hands on her hips—if it wasn't a look of defiance, it was certainly a gesture of independence. I wanted to speak to her, but I wasn't sure what to say. And as I reached the intersection, something else caught my eye.

Another line of clan folk snaked across the street in front of the shelter. But this line wasn't moving. These people weren't working. Most weren't even standing. Quietly, patiently, they waited to discover if my brother could perform yet another miracle. Or if the Plague that was so visibly consuming them would claim them first.

T
here's a line,” a man shouted as I headed for the shelter door. Then he saw me and a flicker of recognition passed across his face. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were one of them.” He stepped back, hands raised defensively, and almost tripped over rat carcasses. “You're not going to hurt me, are you?”

The people behind him were silent now.

“No,” I said.

The shelter door opened, and my mother stepped out. Her features bore a striking resemblance to mine. There was an older woman with her too. Between them, they supported a young woman not much older than Ananias. Her neck was bruised, but I guessed that she was in much better shape now than when she'd entered the shelter. She stopped when she saw me. “Are you his brother?”

I knew she was talking about Griffin. “Yes,” I said, eyes still fixed on my mother.

She nodded. “He's the answer to my prayers. I woke believing that this would be my final day on earth. But I was wrong.” Her eyes sparkled, the only part of her untouched by disease. “I look around me and I don't even see dead rats and broken buildings anymore. I see hope. I see the start of something new.”

Her eyes flitted between me and my mother. She wanted us to say that we saw it too, this world transformed, this time of breathless optimism. Mother gave her a smile, but how could I agree when my mother and I were staring at each other like the strangers we were? I didn't know her any better than the young woman she supported. If I had been anyone other than who I was, at least we would've hugged, but even that was out of the question.

“We need to talk, Thomas,” Mother said finally. A tear pricked the corner of her eye. “There's so much to say.”

“Yes, there is.”

The young woman slid out from under Mother's arm, and the older woman shepherded her away. Meanwhile, Mother surveyed the line as if she were looking for the ripest piece of fruit on a heavily laden tree. She settled on a man who was probably the same age as Father had been.

“Thomas, can you help . . .” She trailed off as she remembered that no, I couldn't help this man—not without hurting him. “Hold the door, will you?”

I kept it open as she passed through, her arm wrapped tightly around the man. Two elderly clan folk followed him, too weak to help, but too concerned to leave his side. His parents, I guessed.

The smell from the rats was almost as bad inside the shelter as it had been outside. The tiny windows near the ceiling had withstood countless storms, but last night's explosion had destroyed them all. It was quieter, though. Calmer.

Griffin sat in the corner, back pressed against the wall. Dark shadows circled his eyes. His bony shoulders curved forward. Nyla was next to him. If anything, she looked even worse than he did.

Mother laid the man before them. He didn't move as Griffin and Nyla twined fingers and placed their hands on his chest. The process was eerily efficient, as if they'd already done this several times. The man moaned slightly, but otherwise remained still.

At first, I watched Griffin and Nyla. When their faces grew tense and tired I turned my attention to the man. At some point in the past few days he would've had to come to terms with his own mortality. Now his life could start again. Surely he would recognize it for what it was: a gift from an elemental.

A movement from the shadows pulled me around. The two elderly clan folk lingered in the space behind the stairs, waiting for their loved one to be cured. Even with me watching them, they never took their eyes off the man. Or was it Griffin who commanded their attention? It took me a while to read their expressions, simultaneously distrustful and needy; the same expressions I'd seen on the people waiting outside. The scene playing out before them wasn't a miracle; it was an unfortunate necessity. They didn't care for Griffin, only for what Griffin could provide. What would happen when everyone had been cured? Would we coexist peacefully when they no longer had any use for us? When non-elementals outnumbered us five to one?

The process didn't take long. The man was still too weak to stand, let alone walk unaided, but he knew that he'd been cured. He rolled away from Griffin and summoned a weak smile for the couple watching from across the room. They responded with relieved nods.

The man offered Griffin and Nyla a heartfelt thank-you, words rattling around his parched mouth. Then, supported by my mother, he left, his parents trailing behind as before, but with lighter footsteps now.

Nyla lay down gently on the floor, while Griffin leaned back. He wore a peaceful expression that obscured the pain and exhaustion, although both were still there.

I approached him.
You. All. Right?

He nodded.

I sat cross-legged. Sunlight filtered through the broken window, casting a bright strip of yellow across the floor. I felt it on my shoulder. Griffin was in shadow.

You
 . . . I began, but I wasn't sure how to say the things I needed to say.
You. Not. Safe.

Safe?
Griffin raised an eyebrow.
Me. Fine.

I'd chosen the wrong word. Or maybe there was no right word. It was obvious to me that he was so determined to cure others that he was harming himself. But more than that, I worried about what would come afterward, when everyone was cured.

They. You. Not. Care.

He mulled this over.
So?

They. You. Not. Respect,
I signed, the gestures larger and sharper now.

He stared at me blankly.
Me. Not. Need. Respect
. He seemed almost offended by the idea.
Me. Matter. Now.

Now. Ye
s, I agreed, picking up on his word.
But. Tomorrow?

He shook his head gently, the way the older Guardians used to do when they told us off. There was an underlying wisdom in his expression that I recognized well.

Me. Cure. Plague,
he signed, as if I hadn't noticed what he could do.
No. One. Else.
He paused.
Just. Me.

It was a circular argument, and I was tired of playing my part. I might have left then, but Griffin didn't look annoyed or angry. He wasn't interested in fighting me, or anyone else. If anything, he looked like he was at peace, like he'd finally found his time and place. His
meaning
.

“Is he ready for another?” The voice came from the stairs—Mother, returning. But there was no one with her.

“I think they need a rest,” I told her.

Nyla didn't correct me. She was grateful for a break.

“That's all right,” said Mother. “Griffin won't need her to cure you.”

Me.
I felt fine, but she was right—I'd been exposed to Plague too.

“I've been watching him,” she continued. “He's becoming more efficient. It's impossible to describe, but I can
see
it. The victims with advanced Plague still take more out of him, but you're not even showing signs yet, so it'll be easy, I think.”

“Is that what you're doing outside? Selecting the ones with advanced Plague?”

She coiled a strand of hair behind her ear. “I'm trying to work out which of the clan folk is likely to die next, so that Griffin can give them life.”

It was a strange, stilted conversation to be having with my mother, but maybe it was what we needed—to talk about something outside of us. How could we talk about anything deeper when I wasn't used to the sound of her voice?

On Mother's signal, Griffin shuffled forward and took my hand. Energy passed between us. I focused on keeping the flow toward me—it would exhaust him faster, but wouldn't be as painful.

He broke the connection much sooner than I expected. I still felt tired as we loosed hands, but also transformed. Not because I was Plague-free—the disease hadn't even begun to show—but because, for those few precious moments, I'd seen the world through Griffin's eyes. With him, I'd faced death down and been rewarded with new life.

Griffin watched me closely as thoughts played through my mind. He was patient, content to let me understand him in my own time. And I
did
understand now. Here at last was his chance to
matter
. After years of existing on the fringes of our colony, Griffin was at the center of everything. No other elemental had ever had so much to offer. And who else would have shared such a gift as freely as he did now?

His life of confusion had come into sharp focus. And come what may, I had to let him live the present in whatever way
he
wanted.

Nyla stirred, and Griffin ran a finger along the fabric of her tunic. Our mother sat beside him and held his free hand. After all the terrible events of the past few weeks, it was impossible not to look at my brother and feel there had been some point to everything. Our mother had returned. In Nyla, he had a true friend at last. Perhaps he'd have less time for me now, less
need
. But that was always destined to happen. If we were going to be less reliant on each other from now on, at least it had been his decision. It was how I would've wanted things to play out.

I was happy for him. Happy for Ananias too, who commanded respect, even if he didn't completely realize it yet. And for Dennis and Rose, who were using their elements to improve life for everyone. But what was
my
place in this colony—especially now that my father, the person who might have been able to guide me, was gone?

One look at Griffin, and I knew the answer.

I took a seat beside my brother.
Ready?
I asked.

Yes,
he replied.
Always.

Mother gazed at us. She couldn't have known that we'd been inseparable ever since Griffin was born, but she saw the connection now. She wiped a tear away. “I'll go get another person,” she said.

I listened to the sound of Griffin breathing, and wondered whose life we'd save next.