Truancy Origins (44 page)

“When are you going to leave?”

“Sooner rather than later,” she replied. “You and I are too free to be happily bound to each other. We could never remain together. Go and chase your own dreams, whatever they may be.”

“I only ever have nightmares,” Umasi said bitterly. “Zen is the one with all the dreams.”

“You're always talking about your brother,” the girl said suddenly, looking at him intently. “What about you?”

“M-me?” Umasi sputtered. “What's there to say about me?”

“Can't you think of anything?”

“I . . . don't trust myself to judge myself,” Umasi said. “Why don't you tell me?”

“The good and the bad?”

“Yes, please.”

“I might break your heart.”

At that Umasi hesitated for several long seconds, but then he plunged on without even realizing it.

“My heart is yours to break, if that's what you want to do with it.”

His nameless companion looked at him with soft but searching blue eyes. Then, evidently convinced of his sincerity, she took a deep breath.

“You're naïve, almost to the point where you might be mistaken for ignorant,” she began. “You're a coward at heart, afraid of doing things that need to be done. You're arrogant—don't give me that look, it's true! You've got it in your head that you're going to be the one to save the whole City, when you barely managed to save yourself!”

Umasi winced. The words hurt, but he had asked for them, hadn't he?

“You've been pampered all your life and it's made you lazy. You're also immature in many ways, but I think they all tie back into your naïveté.” The girl began ticking points off her fingers. “You're not dumb, but you don't apply your intelligence to anything practical. All you've ever used your head for was to add numbers and satisfy teachers. Really, in some ways you're just like all those other sorry students you mentioned.” Umasi shut his eyes at that comparison, but did not cover his ears. “You're also a hopeless optimist, and it makes you gullible. Ah, and you expect the world to be all compassionate when you yourself try to act tough. Telling others to do something while refusing to do it yourself . . . is there a word for that?”

She looked questioningly at Umasi, whose throat now felt dry.

“Hypocrite,” Umasi croaked.

“Yes, you're a hypocrite.” She nodded sagely. “So that's what that word means; I could never figure that out before. Oh, and there is your unhealthy obsession with your brother, but I think you already know about that. That's about it. Was that what you were looking for?”

Umasi somehow managed a nod. He had never felt so worthless in his life.

“Good.” She smiled faintly and patted his head. “Your list of good traits is shorter, but at least you have one. You're sweet, in your own way, and generous. And deep down there you've got true strength. Even you haven't realized that yet, but I think you will, someday. I certainly do, at any rate.”

“So you love me?” Umasi asked in a half-serious tone, though he yearned for a serious answer.

The pale vagrant gravely turned her soft blue eyes onto him, and he suddenly felt very squeamish.

“You weren't like anyone else I've met,” she said, avoiding the question. “I couldn't scare you, for one thing. And you were accepting, for another. I'd nearly lost faith in people, having been away from them for so long.” She smiled and looked heavenwards. “You showed me that there's still good in this City. I'm glad that I met you.”

“But not glad enough to stay?”

She glanced back at him again and her eyes, though dry, were sad. The dark skies above were now fully masked by storm clouds.

“No, Umasi,” she said quietly, “not glad enough to stay.”

 

T
he day was murky and overcast as Edward strode down the street, casting furtive glances at the other passersby. It was Sunday, and not many people were out in this part of the district, but he was taking no chances. Today he intended to find a way around that surveillance camera, and it wouldn't do to have anyone seeing him hanging around District 19. As he drew closer to the fence that separated Districts 18 and 19, the crowds steadily began to thin, until Edward was completely alone on the block as he approached the final stretch.

As Edward was about to round the last corner to reach the fence, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle. Slowing down as a precaution, he peered around the corner and saw two bullies attacking a third student, a smaller boy who looked a little younger than Edward. Judging by the groceries that lay scattered on the ground, Edward figured that the boy had been returning from the supermarket when the bullies struck.

Typically, the streets of the inhabited districts of the City were safe. The Educators' system tended to produce well-behaved, tolerant children who grew up into similarly well-mannered adults. But there was always a small minority belligerent enough to cause trouble, but smart enough to avoid expulsion—at least for a while. District 18 had a largely innocent population just like any other inhabited district, but unfortunately for the luckless boy around the corner, it also included its own menacing minority.

As Edward watched them fight, he thought that the victim was doing rather well, all things considered. He threw punches and kicks at his larger tormentors as wildly as he could, but eventually one of them managed to lock his arms behind his back, and that was the end of that. Edward briefly considered waiting for them to finish and just get out of his way so that he could get on with his business. However, when a whole minute passed without the bullies showing any signs of relenting, Edward lost his patience. Sighing, Edward picked his backpack up again and strode around the corner.

“Are we going to have a problem, or are you all going to get the hell out of my way?” Edward called out.

The two bullies glanced up at Edward with undisguised contempt on their faces.

“Mind your own business, blondie. Get outta here before you end up like this kid.”

“That sounds like a raw deal.” Edward yawned. “Here's a better one. You get out of my sight now, or I will remove you from it.”

“Isn't this kid from one of the lower grades, Jim? He's got quite a mouth on him.”

“Guess his parents never taught him when to keep it shut.”

“My parents, being the extraordinary fools that they were, are dead,” Edward said impatiently. “Get out of my way unless you want to join them.”

“Hah! I remember now, he's one of those orphan kids!”

“Yeah, I bet he—hey, whaddya think you're doing, blond boy?”

In answer to the question Edward plunged his fist into the speaker's face. With a roar of outrage, the other miscreant, named Jim, aimed a punch of his own at Edward. A moment later, Jim stumbled forward clumsily, having hit nothing but air. Edward let out a snort of derision at his foe's bumbling. Growling now, Jim lunged and swung at Edward's face.

This time, Edward ducked and slammed his elbow into Jim's stomach. Jim howled in agony and fell to the ground, his own momentum having carried him right into Edward's blow. As Jim lay cursing and writhing on the sidewalk, his companion rose to his feet and stared at Edward in stunned disbelief.

“You stupid little blond!” the boy snarled.

He lunged, intending to tackle the smaller Edward to the ground. Edward reacted faster than expected, leaping backwards out of the way before his foe could realize what had happened. There was a suspended moment of shock as the bully realized the enormity of his blunder, and then he crashed painfully to the ground face-first.

“My name's not Blond, fool,” Edward said as he kicked the fallen bully in the ribs. “It's Edward. Remember it.”

The bully snarled incoherently for a second, and looked like he was about to spew a vicious retort. Then Edward kicked him in the ribs again, and he resumed moaning unintelligibly. Edward moved back to the boy named Jim, who sprang painfully to his feet at Edward's approach and ran as fast as he could. Edward did not give pursuit, and a moment later the other miscreant was up and running as well.

“Thanks . . .” a weak voice called out from behind Edward.

Edward spun around to see the miscreants' victim lying on the ground, his red hair ruffled and dirty. Edward noted that the boy's eyes were nearly swollen shut, and that even if they were not, this pitiful kid was hardly likely to betray him to the Enforcers.

“I didn't do it for
you,
” Edward said as he proceeded over to the wooden fence. “You were just as much a part of the nuisance as they were.”

“You . . . aren't thinking of going into District 19, are you?”

Edward ignored the boy and proceeded to climb the fence using its irregularities as footholds. This was a different stretch of fence than before, but as Edward reached the top and looked around, he spotted another camera pointed right at his position. Swearing under his breath, Edward dropped to the ground again.

“It looks like there's going to be another blizzard,” the boy said tentatively. “You should get indoors.”

With that suggestion the boy gathered up his groceries and staggered away. Ignoring him, Edward walked one block down and, as he expected, found no camera there. He figured that the Enforcers had set up surveillance every other block, and only around this area, which was close to the gate they'd have used to enter the district.

Edward was considering going over the fence right then and there, but then a snowflake drifted before his eyes. Looking up, Edward frowned as he realized the boy had been right; the snow was now starting to fall in thick sheets. If he were to proceed into District 19 now, there would be little chance of him finding anything in a total whiteout. Edward smiled in spite of himself. That was his typical luck, wasn't it?

Edward began making his way back to the orphanage, the snow stinging at his face, the wind howling in his ears. The trip hadn't been a waste; he now knew how to enter District 19 undetected. He intended to do just that as soon as the blizzard was over.

 

A
re you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. I want to know if I've learned anything.”

“And perhaps a few bruises to remember me by?”

“If you really are leaving today—”

“I am.”

“—then why not? We'll part the same way we met.”

“Fighting?”

“Fighting.”

“Very well, if it means that much to you. Don't hold back.”

“Yes, milady.”

Their gazes locked, and Umasi and his opponent slowly began circling each other, crushing the fresh snow beneath their feet. All around them the blizzard raged, endless curtains of white falling to cover their tracks even as they were made. The howl of the wind was so loud that their voices had been raised in order to speak, and the snow so thick that Umasi could barely see his adversary as she blended in perfectly with the white. Her chain clinked slightly as it slid down from within her sleeve, and Umasi's
knuckles were as white as hers as he gripped his improvised wooden sword.

Then simultaneously they came to a stop, and Umasi lunged forward, bringing his sword down in an arc at his opponent. To his surprise she did not dodge, but held a length of chain taught between her hands, bringing it up to block the blow. As the two weapons clashed, she pushed the wooden sword back over Umasi's head and behind his back, trapping it there, reminding him of something she had once told him.

“It's a difficult weapon to predict, but it's better for countering. You're just dodging right now; if you were attacking me it'd be harder.”

Before Umasi could even think about a way out of his uncomfortable plight, she had shoved forward with her knee, roughly bringing him to the ground. For a moment Umasi struggled there in the snow, and then the chain was gone, his sword suddenly free. Umasi leapt back to his feet, but as he looked around frantically he saw nothing but endless white. His foe had vanished into the blizzard like a wraith. He froze, bracing himself for the attack he knew was sure to come.

He didn't have to wait long; a moment later a tinkling chain cut through the white, swooping straight for his head. Umasi ducked and lunged towards the spot it had come from, but when he reached it he found nothing. Nonplussed, Umasi turned around just in time to see the chain strike him on the forehead. Umasi saw stars for a moment, and then, swearing loudly, fell back on his behind as the chain vanished again.

He got to his feet cautiously, and over the howling wind Umasi thought he heard laughter. This time he was able to spot the oncoming chain just in time, and knowing better than to try grabbing it he dodged instead. Frustrated, Umasi wondered how he was supposed to fight back against an enemy that he could not see or predict.

“You just have to listen.”

Remembering those words, Umasi froze in place and hastily drew one of the pairs of sunglasses from his pockets, willing his pounding heart to be still. He placed the glasses before his eyes, and as his sight was plunged into darkness, listened intently. There was nothing but the moaning of wind, the patter of snow, his own heavy breaths, the blood pumping through his veins, the tinkling of an oncoming chain . . .

Umasi jumped reflexively, and heard the chain swoosh by mere inches from his head. Umasi smiled, and snow blew into his open mouth. He could not see, but he was no longer blind.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The sound of his footsteps in the snow was now almost deafening to his
ears as he moved towards the origin of the attack, ears straining desperately for any sound of other movement.

Crunchunch, crunchunch, crunchunch.

Realizing that his footsteps seemed to have an impossible echo, Umasi stopped, his own feet falling silent, though the sound of others clearly persisted. His foe seemed to realize that she had been discovered, for the steps abruptly grew rapider.