Reparations

REPARATIONS

a short story

T. A. HERNANDEZ

REPARATIONS

Copyright
© 2016 by T. A.
Hernandez

All rights reserved. This publication
or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, distributed or
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quotations for the purpose of reviews and certain other
noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events,
institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover design by T. A.
Hernandez

Title Page

Copyright

Reparations

Author’s Note

About the
Author

           
On the night the rebels free us, Kito and I emerge
into starlight hand in hand. Even though clouds veil parts of the
sky, I blink against the light, blinded after all the days we’ve
spent in darkness. The new leaves on the tree branches above us
tell me it is spring, and my sixteenth birthday has come and gone
with the winter snows. The cold air feels thin; the cleanness of it
prickles my skin and dries my lungs. I breathe deep and try to
smile. The unpracticed gesture splits a new crack in my
lips.

           
I look at Kito. Dirty black hair hangs limp
over a gaunt face. His body is pale skin stretched too thin over
every sharp angle and deep crevice of the skeleton beneath. His
eyes look as dead as I imagine mine do, and yet he is just as
handsome to me as he has always been, because he is
alive.
 
We
 
are
alive. I want to kiss him, but I don’t. My mouth still tastes too
much of blood and salt and fear.

           
I notice that there are only twenty or so other
captives wandering out of our prison. My throat knots; there were
close to two hundred of us when the rebellion started. I didn’t
realize so many had died. Or perhaps I’ve become so accustomed to
death that I stopped noticing at some point.

Kito is all that’s left of his
family. He’s buried three brothers, two sisters, and both of his
parents. How he can deal with the pain of it is beyond my
understanding. I catch myself wondering if he only made it this
long because of the promise we made to each other—that we’d survive
this together, no matter what. Promise or not, I doubt I would have
lasted much longer. Until now, this moment of unexpected freedom, I
hadn’t wanted to live anymore. Not even for Kito. But I will never
tell him that.

Our liberators guide us through
the trees to an encampment at the edge of the forest. A banner with
the fox insignia of the rebellion flutters in the breeze. They call
themselves the Tainted Army, and their soldiers patrol the
perimeter or stand guard on the road ahead. We walk under a large
canopy, which seems to be the gathering place for any enchanters
the rebels have liberated. The people there are dirty and tired,
but they sing and dance and laugh as if the war has never touched
them.

They smile at us as we take our
place among them, some with sympathy, some with reverence, some
with pity. I can tell which ones have been out longest; there’s a
spark in their eyes that comes from more than just the firelight. I
wonder how long it will take for me to find that spark again.
Perhaps it is already returning.

Perhaps it never will.

Kito and I follow the others to a
table where a man hands out bowls of rice and mutton. We sit on the
ground near the fire with some other enchanters. One man notices
how my teeth chatter and hands me his jacket. I scoot closer to
Kito and throw the garment around both of us. “Thank you,” I say.
My voice is dry and unfamiliar.

“
You’re welcome.” He sits on the
ground beside us. “My name is Taka.”

Kito dips his head in a bow. “I’m
Kito.”

I haven’t eaten in three days, and
the moment’s pause it takes to give the man my name seems an
eternity. “Amaya,” I say, then shovel a bite of rice into my
mouth.

While we eat, Kito asks Taka about
the war. Most of what he tells us I know or have guessed already.
The Tainted Army—made of enchanter rebels and their
sympathizers—won the war. They have killed the former emperor to
set a ruler of their own choosing on the Imperial Throne and lifted
the harsh restrictions formerly placed on all who could use magic.
The Pure Ones—non-magical people who make up the majority of the
population—have mixed opinions about this outcome. Some are
cautiously optimistic. Others are quietly outraged. The more
foolish individuals were outspoken in their discontent at first and
were dealt with accordingly. No one voices such dissatisfaction
anymore.

“
You said the emperor was
killed, but what of his inner circle?” Kito asks. He glances at me
for an instant, and I see where this line of questioning is going.
I glare back at him. After everything I’ve suffered because of my
father’s actions, how can Kito think I care to know whether he is
alive and imprisoned or dead and burned? Still, I can’t stop myself
from listening
to Taka’s
response.

“
Most of them were taken into
custody. They’re being held hostage in the Imperial
City.”

“
Why not just kill them and be done
with it?” I ask. I don’t even try to hold back the bitterness in my
voice; such sentiments must be echoed in every heart under this
canopy.

“
The Tainted Army won the war, but
they’ll have to work to hold their power. They might need the
hostages to negotiate with some of the other nobles, or with
foreign powers who refuse to recognize their leadership. They say
if the hostages cooperate, their punishments will be less severe
once this is all over. Lots of people aren’t too happy about that,
either.”

I can see the wisdom in keeping
hostages, but I don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed
that my father may still be alive. I’ve tried not to think about
him at all since my imprisonment.

“
Was Magistrate Rokuro taken
hostage?” Kito asks.

An inquisitive frown tugs at the
edges of Taka’s mouth, and his eyes become suspicious. “I believe
so. Why do you ask?”

Kito shrugs. “Curiosity. I was a servant in
the Rokuro household.”

Taka seems to accept this
explanation “Yes, I believe so. Most of the magistrates survived
the initial attack on the city.”

Kito nods, and they both go back
to their food. I stare at my bowl. I’ve only finished half of it,
but suddenly feel too nauseous to eat another bite. I have eaten
more in this single meal than I was ever given in an entire day
during my imprisonment.

I stare at the uneaten food and
wonder how long it will take before this all stops feeling too good
to be true.

* * *

Later that night, Kito and I lie
clinging to each other under a blanket. The soldiers distributed
one to each of the newly released prisoners, but Kito gave his to a
young mother and her screaming child. The thin fabric doesn’t
completely shelter us from the wind, but it’s been a long time
since I’ve felt this warm. The small comfort of it is enough to
bring tears to my eyes, but I blink them away.

Kito squeezes my hand. “Amaya.” He
says my name with a smile—the way he used to, a lifetime and
another world ago. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

His eyes are still dim and hollow,
but his voice sounds brighter. Freedom is already doing him some
good. And me as well.

“
It feels like a dream,” I say. “I
keep thinking I’ll wake up and we’ll be back in that hole, with all
those bodies.” A shiver runs down my spine.

He draws my hand towards him and brushes his
lips against my ragged knuckles. “This is real. We
survived.”

“
We survived.”

We lie like this for a while,
silent and reflective. I’m exhausted, but I don’t dare shut my
eyes. The nightmares are still too close. Then Kito says, “Your
father might be alive.”

There are a dozen questions
carried in that simple statement, and none I can answer with any
surety. Is he really alive, or was he one of those killed when the
Tainted Army took the Imperial City? Am I glad to hear this? Am I
sorry he didn’t meet the cruel death I have so often told myself he
deserved? How am I
supposed
to feel?

Looking at Kito’s face—the scars
from countless beatings and the hollow cheeks from
malnourishment—the old anger rises to my chest. Memories follow the
flood of emotion, and I recall the past spring when all of this
began.

Kito was a servant to my father’s
household—a household that, due to the recent death of my mother
and infant brother in childbirth, now only consisted of my father
and myself. Kito was an enchanter, one of those unfortunate
individuals born with magic. A Tainted One. Less-than. Subhuman.
Perhaps it was because of this that I confided in him. Perhaps it
was because my mother’s death left me so shaken that I forgot
common sense. Perhaps it was simply because I’d secretly fancied
him since the summer I was thirteen. Whatever the reason, one
spring day when he was tending to the hunting dogs, I told him my
secret.

He didn’t believe me at first. The
extreme differences in our social statuses meant he couldn’t laugh
at me, though I could tell he wanted to. When I conjured the blue
light in my palm to prove what I was, he gaped, then snatched it
away from me just by raising his hand. “What are you doing?” he
hissed. “Do you have any idea what would happen to you if people
found out about this?”

I did know. My parents had never
ceased to warn me about the dangers of exposing my secret. My magic
could have brought an end to my father’s status as a magistrate and
ruined my family. It would have been easier for them, at the first
manifestations of my ability, to pass me off to an orphanage and
tell some tale about how I’d died of disease. But my parents loved
me, so they kept my secret and trained me to hide the
magic.