The Hawkweed Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Hawkweed

  Petersboro - Melina's Room

  Verona - Jaren's Barrack

  Petersboro - Melina’s Kitchen

  Verona - Jaren's Barrack

  Petersboro - Melina's Room

  Verona - Cadet's Bathroom

  Train Crossing - Trolley

  Verona - Petra's Lab

  Verona - Abandoned Sector

  The Origin of Hawkweed

  Of Snow and Moonlight.edit new

  Other Books By Candace J. Thomas

  About the Author

  Copyright © Candace J. Thomas 2019 SLC, UT

  Published by Shadesilk Press

  All rights reserved.

  Original Printing Moments In Millennia Fantasy Anthology, Xchyler Publishing 2014

  Originally Edited by Penny Freeman

  Cover Design by Monika MacFarlane

  Ampersands Book Covers

  All rights reserved. This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic filming, microfilming, tape recording, or any other means, without the prior written permission of Candace J. Thomas, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  BISAC: neo-futuristic fantasy, winterscape, cloning, dystopian socialism, romance

  For Matt

  Jaren stood looking at his face in the casket, all the features exactly the same, the sharp nose and angled jaw—the very same features inherited from his father. Like looking in a mirror, all except for a small brown spot near the right temple, but in every other respect, identical.

  The spot was the only way his mother could tell them apart. Spen Spot, she would say. Now, the spot lay quiet like the rest of his body. Eighteen years they had been inseparable, prepared for a future including them both. Now Spen’s body would be placed in refrigeration waiting for burial, in a perfect, unchanging state. Jaren would continue to age without his brother, experiencing things they together had talked about.

  Tears crept painfully in the corner of his eyes. These were not the same kind of tears which came at the shock of finding out his brother had been shot, nor were these the tears of comfort for his poor mother. These tears were new, squeezed from the soul, hot and swelling from exhaustion. These were the last tears, the only tears he had left.

  The Tundran Government refused to answer questions about Spen’s death. The restriction of curfews only increased due to the shooting. There had to be more, some cover-up Jaren couldn’t figure out. He had watched Spen’s obsession grow over the disappearance of their father. Jaren had learned not to delve in government secrets if you wanted to live. Spen wouldn’t stop looking for answers.

  The sight of the government insignia, the large hawk encircling the frozen world, sent hot blood coursing through Jaren’s veins. Accident or not, Jaren knew there had to be more to it.

  When the small service ends and the kisses of farewell grace his wet cheeks, he would walk back to his home, pack his things, and keep walking. Facing life without half of himself wasn’t right. His mother would continue to look at him with sorrow, searching forever for the spot that wouldn’t appear.

  “Jaren,” his mother whispered from across the room. She moved over to his side and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t let them close it.”

  Her pitiful plea brought a lump to his throat. He could hardly muster the words.

  In a last farewell, his sobbing mother reached down and kissed her son on his forehead leaving a gentle rose colored lip print there for eternity. Jaren looked once more at the spot before a large man in a black, government uniform took the corner and closed the capsule tight, Spen never to be seen again. A silence brushed through the air, as if everything in the world stopped for his brother’s sake, united in a remembrance of the dead.

  No ceremony would happen today. His brother would be locked in preservation until the frozen ground thawed from the polar winter. Jaren hated how unfinished it felt. He couldn’t do this again. He had to get out, get away from everything.

  Jaren knew where he’d go. His hatred drove him there. He wanted answers, revenge. His mother wouldn’t miss him, for he was never her favorite. Spen’s legacy loomed over him like a shadow, the golden son, the athlete, the medical genius, the hero. Spen would shine forever, legends of him would linger in conversations for years after this . . . Yes, shot in the head by who knows whom . . . Poor boy had so much promise . . . Did you hear he had a twin?

  Jaren felt ashamed by his thoughts, however true.

  Insignia-clad uniforms surrounded the casket ready for transport.

  Jaren looked at his mother, her face so swollen from crying, almost unrecognizable. He looked at the others attending: a few neighbors from the region, a few school friends, and over in a solitary corner sat Melina, quiet, red-faced like the others, but still composed. In his own grief, he tried to forget about Melina, but he would never be that lucky.

  How horrible she must be feeling? How ashamed she hadn’t had the chance to reconcile with his famous brother? She lifted her head and caught his eye. He looked away, trying not to care, but he felt the stare on the back of his neck, the pangs of jealousy he had concealed ripping his insides. After today, he could forget everything about his old life, leave the shadow he had lived in, and the girl who was never his. Ready to leave it for good.

  Petersboro

  Melina’s Room

  Cold, colder than usual. The frost on the window cracked near the edges on the thick panes of glass. No use in looking out at the white blizzard anymore. No one should walk in the frigid winter at this time of night, not even the soldiers. Pointless. Yet, I continued to stare.

  It had been six months. Six months of cold. Not just the continual winter that blankets the world—I made it cold, like suffocating ice. I made the world colder by my existence.

  I scratched a name into the glass, a name I loved. Why torture myself again? But I couldn’t help it. I took my fingernail and slowly smoothed it away until only a small square of smooth blue glass shown underneath. The hurt came back. It always returned when it was frosty like this. The memories returned, but I pushed them back. My brain shouldn’t wander there. I knew better than to dwell on my previous life.

  Six months ago, Spen lived. I heard he came to see me. Why would he do something so reckless? It’s too dangerous and I’m not worth the risk. I felt haunted by my decision. I’d said sorry so many times. I felt worthless. I’m not that important. I broke his heart, and his life ended trying to see me. I lived with this knowledge pressing me down daily. Spen’s death will forever weight my world. I’ll never have an answer for it.

  I rested my forehead on the cold glass and watched the flakes fall.

  Six months ago, Jaren disappeared without a word. I understand not staying where the pain is. I understand why someone would want to leave. I wished I could be brave enough to alter my path. The thought made the cold grow. The emptiness grew daily. I felt guilty for loving him. Jaren and I share a common hurt, but not the way he perceived it. And I hate myself for it.

  A small tear rolled down my cheek and hit the window. I watched the small streak freeze as it traveled downward. When it stopped moving I came back to my senses. Why am I doing this to myself? I don’t have to feel this pain . . . I don’t! Stop it!

  Just behind me a door opened. “Melina, get away from the window.”

  I turned and watched my sister-in-law, Talia, all dressed in fur robes, returning clothes to my room. She tried her best, but she still couldn’t replace my mother.

  “I started a fire in my room.” She stopped and looked at me. “You okay?”

  It took
me a second to respond. “Yes.” I know she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t ask questions about my sadness. She knew without asking.

  “Well, it is supposed to reach the negatives. Come and sleep in my room tonight where it’s warmer. And get some robes on, it’s freezing.”

  I nodded. It didn’t occur to me how cold my room had grown. The sun stayed longer throughout the day, but not by much, not enough to warm up the ground. Not warm enough for burial.

  “Talia?” I asked. “Do you think Jaren might return?”

  Talia knew where my question led. She knew I hadn’t recovered. And she also understood my pain; my brother, her husband of only a year, died in the explosions that brought the cold, the same that killed my parents. Now we only had each other, and that fact grew sadder every day.

  Talia grabbed my robe that draped along a chair and wrapped it around me. She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at me, thinking. “I wish I knew what to say,” came out of her mouth. They were the wisest words she could offer me at the moment. I only wished it helped.

  Verona

  Jaren’s Barrack

  The squeak of the bunk above woke me from my dream, always the same dream. I usually woke when the gun went off; it wouldn’t be much longer until it had. What did it matter if I woke a few minutes earlier? I closed my eyes again thinking I might try to sleep, try to see more detail. In dreams, my brain could work out the things I had missed.

  Spen had received his assignment several days early, something surprising. He tore it before I got a chance to see. He came back from Secondary. The look on his face told me to be concerned, but I wasn’t. Then, he had to talk to Melina. I argued. It was after curfew. Whatever he found out could wait. But he left after punching me in the face. I still feel the hot burn on my skin from where the blood rushed to my cheek, taste the blood in my mouth, feel the anger and the hurt . . .

  My eyes flashed open again, done thinking about my brother. I’m here now, not there. Time to stop dwelling on things I can’t change. No emotion. No more.

  I turned my head and stared at the bunk above me. I analyzed the zigzag pattern of the metal springs as he moved in his sleep.

  “Jare,” I heard the small hiss next to me. “You awake? I can hear your eyelids blink.”

  “Go to sleep, Fenwick,” I whispered back. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wasn’t in the mood for Fenwick’s jokes.

  “It’s too cold. I can’t get warm.”

  “I thought you’d be used to the suffering by now.”

  “Well, I’m not the best cadet. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  I felt bad as he said this and held back the word I knew I’d regret saying out loud. He had been through enough and I didn’t want him joining my selfish crusade. “Stay. It will get better.”

  I said this but didn’t believe it. My situation may not improve, but it certainly wouldn’t for Fenwick. He was Norse. I had joined the Tundran voluntarily——the same army that moved over the Four Corners, swallowing up countries like candy; the same army that set up the curfews and the surveillance; the very same army who killed my twin brother. I had my motives, my own purposes. For Fenwick, he didn’t have a choice—it was punishment for involvement. He shouldn’t be killed because I choose not to obey. This is not his war.

  “Jare, I’ll stay,” Fenwick consented in a whisper. “But I will never stop trying to get out.”

  “That’s fair,” I returned.

  I woke to frost on my covers. I couldn’t remember falling asleep, dreamless and uninterrupted. When I looked over Fen’s bunk lay empty. At a better glance, all the bunks were empty.

  I moved like lightning, the frustration cutting me down to the bone.

  Not again.

  I dressed in the frost-covered clothes I had laid out the night before, shivering as the crisp fabric touched my bare skin. It could be dangerous to dress in such cold, but it woke me up with shame, penitence for my careless dreaming. I brushed the crystals off my fur-lined ushanka after I pulled on my overcoat and took a deep breath before I left the bunks. I knew what awaited me.

  “Cadet!” I heard as I entered the mess hall. I could see the eyes turn and the room silence. I stood still at the entrance as Admiral Yenki came closer, his thick mustache hiding his hatred for me.

  I felt ready, confident. Yenki had a terrifying presence, large and broad, with eyes like fire that pierced uncomfortably. I never looked him directly in the eye. If I did he might uncover secrets—secrets I wasn’t prepared to remember.

  “Well, well, well,” Yenki stopped in front of me as I stood at attention. “I’m getting tired of your insubordination, Iniav.” His thick mustache barely moved under his breath, his hand twisting the very ends away. I kept my eyes glazed so I wouldn’t be distracted.

  I stood very still without saying a word.

  Admiral Yenki moved around me, hovering like a hornet ready to sting. “What is your game?”

  “None, sir.”

  I felt the hot slap across my face, his ring slicing by my ear. “I don’t believe you.” I didn’t move, I didn’t breathe, but he couldn’t read my thoughts. “Why are you here? Your assignment is clearly not military. The other cadets want to be here, but it’s obvious you do not.”

  This time I met his eyes, feeling the anger again inside. I couldn’t help but let him know my determination. But I still said nothing.

  His cold eyes pierced my mind, but I stayed focused. “Chambers. Tonight.”

  Then he left me alone. I felt the humiliation as every cadet followed the confrontation. I saw Fenwick sitting by himself at the end of a table. I grabbed my food, though I didn’t feel hungry, and joined him—the two misfits sitting together.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “No time,” he stated with eggs dripping out the side of his mouth, the mutation clearly evident on his face, though he tried to be normal. The blast happened not far from his family home. The children had hardly any chance to escape the reaction. The radiation probably stunted his growth also.

  No one sat by us. The honorable knights didn’t want anything to do with a dwarfling soldier with a slanted expression and black eyes. I came here for a different reason than anyone else. Fenwick’s company suited me just fine.

  We ate in silence until Fenwick gobbled his last bite. “So, the Chambers again,” he stated.

  “Yeah,” I heaved the words out. The Chambers. Somewhere in this cold ice fortress were small rooms with no lights, no beds, and no warmth. I knew the cruelest type of torture—silence and cold. This would be my fourth time this month.

  As the day’s exercises went on, I kept thinking about my journey down to the Chambers. I stayed focused as I tried to improve my body. I kept silent, preparing my mind. It was a game and I felt like I could win, as long as I kept my wits keen. I needed to extract details on the way down that I could analyze and keep me from freezing. It was essential.

  An officer grabbed my arm, but I went willingly. As I walked, I studied.

  When we reached the Chambers, they striped me naked. A thin frost slid over the cement walls like fresh skin. The cloudless night prickled each hair, surrounding me with tortuous cold. The door slammed closed. The ringing echoed around, wiping all sound away from my ears. Only a small box of light came inside from one of the perimeter lanterns. The world turned silent and I stood in the darkness alone.

  The game begins. Just a game and I could win. I needed to think, to get my mind off of the cold.

  Remember . . .

  The details . . .

  A long white hallway. The lights. Lines of lights. Steel elevators opened with a keypad. I watched it enough I figured this one out; however, it would change. I’ll need to watch for the pattern.

  Orange circuits, floors numbering twelve to one, always going down. The elevator must start on twelve. It stops on four. I have only seen twelve and four. I wanted to know more.

  The bitter cold kept me company in my thoughts as the night
went on. I worked my muscles, did push-ups until my arms burned.

  Think . . . What else?

  The men all in white. They were in the elevator. They were traveling to one, red stitching in the sleeve. These were men of science—the badges, the barcodes, the secrecy.

  I could feel the sleep deprivation; I knew my brain could not keep up with the cold.

  Come on, think.

  I don’t know when I succumbed to the bitter night.

  Petersboro

  Melina’s Kitchen

  The letter stared at me all morning. I hadn’t decided what to do. I went back to the window and looked out. Fog covered every morning–I could only see gray. Patches of sun broke through, making it brighter than it should be. The sun would eventually warm up the air. It might be a nice day to go outside, a rare thing, so I considered making the best of it. The thought of going out and seeing Johanna scared me to death.

  Talia had already left for the factory where she would be gone all day. I didn’t work. I hadn’t received my letter. Several friends at school had received theirs. Spen got his before the bullet killed him. If I had my orders at least my mind would be occupied by something else. It scared me to leave Talia, but I couldn’t stay safe forever.

  I made some hot tea and sat looking at the letter again.

  Johanna had something to show me and I didn’t want to find out what it was. It would just make me sad and remind me of Spen and Jaren. I didn’t want to think of either of them. I didn’t want to be sad anymore. Being with their mother might break me.

  What would she want to show me? She hated me for what I did to her sons. But, if it helped solve Jaren’s disappearance, it would be worth it.

  I drained the last of my tea and knew what I had to do, as much as I was afraid to do it.

  There were several people on the roads in Petersboro—more than I expected. I guess everyone took advantage of the sun’s brief appearance. The days were getting longer, but it wouldn’t help much. Everyone adjusted to the change . . . everyone who survived.