The Hawkweed Page 2

  My hands brushed against the red brick, the cracks scraping my skin and numbing the fingertips. It looked the same after so many years. I missed my childhood home, but now I lived with Talia across town. My heart ached for those times. Even in the height of danger I still felt safe under my parents’ umbrella.

  The Iniav twins had lived around the corner from us. I had never thought of Johanna as a good mother, not compared to my excellent mama. She obviously favored Spen more than Jaren. Everyone saw it. Spen excelled at everything. Jaren never tried.

  My heart started hurting again. The sadness came. I quickly pushed it out of my mind as I got closer to her street. I had to be stronger than her. I didn’t want to think about the mess I’d created. I didn’t want to think of her or feel the guilt. Going there was a bad idea—I knew it from the letter.

  Be strong Melina . . . Breathe . . .

  His face returned in my mind, his smooth, angled features before me, his touch brushing against my check. I wanted to make it all better, but how could I do anything but watch my world fall apart? Though I pretended to be important, I was in the way, caught between two brothers. I caused Spen’s death, because I didn’t love him the way they thought I should have. Johanna knew it and she would prove it.

  Before I realized it, I stood in front of the old white door, one of many in the red brick buildings that circled around each other. I remained there for what felt like forever, staring, remembering.

  “Melina? You came.” The voice from behind me awoke my senses. I turned, and Johanna’s tired eyes stared back at me.

  “I did.” The words exhaled with all the breath left in me.

  Without another word she reached out and hugged me. I held back but soon embraced her as I would a long lost friend. Without thinking, I started to cry, though I tried to hide it. We shared so much in the people we loved.

  “Come in.” She wiped the tears from her own eyes. “Please. I didn’t expect you so soon.”

  I took a deep breath before I stepped past the threshold into the small living space. What I saw nearly made my heart stop—the place looked exactly the same. Not one thing had been moved. The apartment worked well for her and her two boys, but now with neither of them living there I figured she would change it in some way. But she hadn’t, and I felt both relief and terror.

  Johanna went to the kitchen. “Please sit.”

  I didn’t feel comfortable being there, but I took a seat at the small wooden table. I traced the tiny scratches still in the chairs from when the twins were little boys and prone to destroying the furniture.

  I glanced into the kitchen; Johanna had put a kettle on. I watched her as I had for years. Six long months had passed since I had seen her and I couldn't judge her for her actions that day. The funeral service and absence of Jaren had left a hole that swallowed her. I often thought about the twins’ father. They never talked about it, too sensitive a subject. The twins even bore Johanna’s last name. She tried to erase the notion that they needed a father to begin with.

  As I watched Johanna, I noticed few improvements. Her hair looked wilder than I had seen it at the service. It had grown long and her blond curls were becoming unruly. She also looked thinner—not that she had ever been large, but her hollow cheeks proved her poor nutrition. My eating habits had also changed, so I wouldn't judge her by it.

  “It’s good to see you,” Johanna stated as she handed me a warm cup. It smelled of peppermint. She made this same warm milk on cold days when I would come over to see Spen after Secondary. The simple smell made my eyes swell again, but these were soft tears and I could manage them. Johanna sat across from me, seeing my tears, but said nothing about it. I’m not sure if she didn’t because she knew the same pain or that she wanted to keep distance from my sadness. I sipped the milk and smiled. It tasted as I remembered.

  “I didn’t think you would come,” Johanna said before she took a sip. I looked into her eyes. They were sharp with the hidden hurt of my betrayal. She must still blame me for what happened.

  I set down the cup. “You asked to see me. I came because I would do anything for your boys, so I am here. Not for you, for them.”

  She sat there for a second assessing my answer. “I found something I thought you might like to see.” Johanna got up from the table and returned with a small note.

  “What is this?” My voice quivered slightly. I didn’t want to know. Whatever information this note contained made my palms sweat. I could live the rest of my life without finding out what was written on this paper. My heart beat so fast I felt the pulse vibrating throughout my entire body. My hand began to tremble.

  Johanna unwrapped the piece of paper. My heart fell in my chest. She slid it on the table. My eyes fell on the words written in a scratchy handwriting:

  “617.874 PET Сентябрь 3 Gershan”

  The small slip of paper was from six months before, the day Spen was shot.

  Johanna watched my expression very carefully. “Do you know what this means?”

  I looked over the inky writing. My fingers ran over the name ‘Gershan’ scrolled to the side. “No. Where did you find this?”

  “In Spen’s coat pocket,” she stated with a heavy breath. She retrieved a box. “The Ice Knights took his body and his things. I received this last week, dropped on my doorstep.”

  The box contained neatly folded clothes. I took hold of the green sweater I remembered so well—my favorite. I smelled it. The musky scent of Spen still permeated the fabric. The heavy coat lay underneath. I went to pick it up but stopped when I saw the dried blood. I looked up at Johanna, the same inquisitorial look on her face.

  “He went to see you that night.”

  Again I didn’t know what she meant. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Gershan? That is you, your last name.” Johanna’s voice grew in intensity. I didn’t like it.

  “Yes, but what does it mean? I know nothing of this.”

  “He was coming to see you. And I can only think that it had to do with what you did.”

  I knew she would go there. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “You can’t blame his death on me just because I . . .”

  “Betrayed him,” she finished.

  What was she talking about? “I did nothing like that.”

  “Jaren is nothing like the man Spen would’ve become.” Johanna vocalized her hatred. All the secrets held in anger were being spewed at me, like I had something to do with it. “Jaren is a coward.”

  “How can you talk about your own son like that?”

  “Son? My son? He wasn’t my son. He never could be the son I had.” Johanna glared back at me. “You loved the wrong one.”

  She pierced me right in the heart. How could she say this to me? Show me the home I loved, give me sweet drink of memories, allow me to smell Spen one more time, and accuse me of breaking both of her sons. I couldn’t endure any more of this. I snatched the small piece of paper and the sweater from the box. I knew it had been a bad idea.

  “You’re crazy,” I stated right in her face. “You had two brilliant sons. Two, not one! Jaren only left because he knew all he would do is remind you every day that you didn’t love him. Whatever Spen knew, he went out that night to save my life. That is more love than I could ever deserve. You will never understand that since you know nothing of love.”

  I left Johanna, never to return, never to see the small brick home that would always be haunted by sadness.

  “She’s crazy,” Talia tried to cheer me up after I told her what happened that day. “That makes me crazy that she blames you.”

  I picked at the katleti with my fork, not hungry. “I can see her point.”

  “Don’t defend her. She needs to justify her terrible parenting by blaming you for Spen’s actions.” We were very different, Talia and I—she would always defend me. She judged every situation with a slanted eye, looking for the insult, something I couldn’t do. Three years had passed since Marcus died, leaving her a war widow.
Now she dared life to give her a challenge. Her sadness didn’t consume her like it had me.

  When Spen died, Talia said something that I could never forget. She said there are worse things than dying, like surviving. Neither the Polar Wars nor the territorial borders around the Tundran scared her, not the curfews or the army or soldiers or any of it.

  It scared me.

  I could never be that brave.

  “I just feel sorry for her,” I conceded in my mulling.

  “Don’t,” Talia came back. “She made her choice to be miserable. You have a choice, too. Misery is a choice.”

  My youth couldn’t comprehend what she just said. Misery could never be a choice. Talia looked up from her dinner, her eyes softened to my lack of understanding, “Melina, bad things happen to us all the time. The government has control of everything, the way we live, the food we eat . . . So, what can we control?”

  I didn’t know what to answer.

  “How we react to the bad things. That is our only freedom. The government can take away our choices, but they can’t change how we deal with the choices they give us. Understand me?”

  I nodded. My fork slid around the scattered rice. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Talia raised her eyes, scanning my expression as she scooped up another spoonful to her mouth. “Of course.”

  “Why is my name on that piece of paper?”

  Talia stopped chewing and swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  We didn’t talk the rest of dinner.

  That night I lay awake thinking. I got up, pulled Spen’s sweater on, grabbed on tight to the small piece of paper, the last thing Spen ever held in his hand, and cried myself to sleep.

  Verona

  Jaren’s Barrack

  “Jare, you coming?” Fenwick asked. His small voice brought me out of my trance. I felt drained, my body sore and aching. I found myself transfixed, staring at the laces in my boots, why I’m not sure. It had been a good week since the Chambers and I came out a new person, determined to make myself a soldier. I thought of every detail that night and burned it deep in my brain. But I came to a harsh conclusion: nothing more could be gained by going to the Chambers again. I had new focus—I should become an officer. A stupid idea, but the only plan I had.

  I looked up. Fenwick’s slanted smile couldn’t be helped. He had never been to the city. Even with my drained body and spirit I agreed to show him Verona. “Yes, I’m coming.”

  “Some of the others are already out there.”

  “I promise I will be right there.”

  Fenwick looked like a small furry bear in his coat and ushanka. I couldn’t help but like him for being so different. I finished lacing my boots and quickly ran some cool water on my face and hair. I glanced at my reflection in the small mirror near the tap. What had happened to me? My eyes looked so sunken with deep, dark circles, my overgrown hair in my eyes, my unshaven face. It wasn’t like me to look so wild. The last six months had changed me. Would the old me want this? I ran my fingers through my hair again and let it fall. Did I care?

  I found Fenwick and sat on the sleigh with the others.

  We were given a night off, a rare occasion. I thought there must be a purpose behind it, but it made no difference and I thought, for once, I might try to enjoy myself.

  There were only ten cadets on the sleigh, older soldiers whom I knew very little about. The cadets I did know, I didn’t care for and they felt the same about me. They were arrogant bastards, like the other officers.

  We were on our way to a tavern called “The Hydric,” the only place we were allowed to go. The curfew for civilians would start at sundown, but because we were part of the Tundran Army, we had permission to be out after curfew, but only there.

  The warmth rushed out the door as we entered, stinging my face as it hit. I hadn’t felt that kind of warmth in years. Furs lined the great entrance, the discarded protection of those within. I wasn’t ready to give up my coat so easily, but the heat surrounded my body so thick and fragrant I almost wanted to sweat. The walls were made of dark cedar and smelled of a firehouse oven. The aroma was wonderful.

  It looked as if the Hydric expected us, filling the place with young people, men and women. The thought of girls made me ashamed of my overgrown ways. The cadets and officers mingled while I still stood soaking in the heat, not in any hurry to move. I finally grabbed a seat at the bar. Fenwick disappeared talking to a local girl who took an interest in his small adorability.

  “Would you like something?” the barmaid asked, a rather sweet expression on her face, blond, wavy locks running down her back. I almost forgot how to speak.

  “Cold Ironport,” I replied. I needed to be alert. To lose my understanding of the world and how bitter I felt about it didn’t feel like a good idea. Ironport would give me energy and help me feel better without the drunken intoxication.

  The maid returned with a glass of red liquid that tasted amazing. I had missed this. I hadn’t had one in years. Warmth spread throughout my body and I finally shed my coat, but I was still insecure enough to keep my underjacket and hood up. I sat alone, thinking about nothing. The polite barmaid tried to converse with me, but I wasn’t interested and she soon stopped. Singing and music filled up the room with festive tavern songs. I spied Fenwick sitting with a few other girls across the room. He waved at me briefly, but had other things on his mind.

  I watched the singing for a moment before I noticed a man dressed in a black hat staring at me. He looked away before I actually made eye contact. Does he think he knows me? I had never seen him before. His hat had corners like those of the science officers. I thought of the men in the elevators, but he didn’t look like one of those balding men. This man was young with sharp black glasses. I would have remembered those.

  I went back to my second glass of Ironport and snacked on a bowl of nuts before me.

  I felt a nudge on my shoulder.

  “I didn’t figure they would let you out so soon,” the voice behind me spoke.

  I finished my sip. “Well, they were bound to let us out sometime.”

  I turned to meet this man face to face. I had never seen him before in my life.

  He looked at me in astonishment, evaluating my every feature. “Remarkable. Haven’t seen you with facial hair. Suits you well.”

  I didn’t like the analysis and thought of punching him in the face, but then he spoke again. “You should be careful with what you drink, Seven,” he hinted to the drink. “Too much stimulation is bad for the brain.”

  I kept my keen eyes on him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Before he headed out he stopped. “Take this. Petra slipped it to me.” He patted me on the back. “Well done. The best I have seen.” He handed me an envelope and left.

  What just happened? I looked at the envelope. The flap opened easily and I slid out the folded letter inside and read.

  CNL Hamish Guthrie

  Northern Region TUNDRAN 524

  Project Lead

  Due to the sensitive nature, please keep all project and subject information confidential under penalty of death or imprisonment under Law 93CF Southern Region. Classified information.

  Subject Seven of Twelve is cleared, physically and mentally stable and ready for Assignment. Mission forthcoming.

  Dr. Emil Petra M.D., Ph. D.

  Surgical Neurological Director

  Project Division TUN 579

  I folded the letter back in the envelope and placed it in my pocket. A clue. I don’t know the man or what this information meant, but now I had a purpose. I would find out.

  I ordered another Ironport.

  I kept the envelope hidden from everyone, placed it where the army wouldn’t find it and thought of it often. I searched for the man in all the faces on the grounds. I remembered him very clearly—his ice-blue eyes, surrounded by black frames. I wouldn’t forget them.

  Days passed and my thoughts moved over to other information in the letter—the address, the names
, the numbers. It had to be a mistake, but the man had given it to me. After so much time here, I finally had a clue. I had to know everything about it. I pushed my body harder than I had before. I could feel the muscles in my stomach and arms defining. I tended to be on the weaker side, but I needed to focus. The time crept closer, I could feel it, and this letter was a clue to my future.

  Petersboro

  Melina’s Room

  We were lining up away from the windows. I stood at the back of the classroom and looked into Jaren’s eyes. He mouthed, “It will be okay.” Spen stood across from the door. He took the front position in case anyone entered. He stood so brave. I wanted to love him.

  A thundering of the electrical storm started. Uchitel Henski said we should be safe. The storm would pass soon, but I got scared. The lightning strikes were coming closer. Some of the girls in the class were crying, but I had no room for tears. Jaren knew I was scared. His hand slipped into mine.

  That was the first time he ever showed he might care for me. The hand felt warm, smooth; it trembled with nervous energy. He didn’t like the storms either.

  Spen looked at his brother’s action. I saw the look in his eyes. Jaren let go and I stood alone again.

  A message came early in the morning. I sat up out of bed listening to the soft knock before I understood what it was. My heart beat fast in my chest. Talia stood in the kitchen, looking as nervous as I felt, just staring at the slot in the door as the paper slid through.

  Just as I expected.

  Talia looked at me with a brave face and picked up the letter. I knew what her face said; I knew what it meant.

  “It’s for you,” she said looking over the writing.

  I took a deep breath and read, “Melina Gershan, 776737.”

  They were going to send me away. My heart sank as a lump formed in my throat. I didn’t want to go.