Chapter 7

ANDREW’S ENCOUNTER

The day after Cu Zanthus got the call from Holland, he left the house so early in the morning that Andrew never saw him. He returned just after midday. Looking for work, he explained. Might have found a job as a fire watcher at a clothing factory, keeping an eye out for incendiary bombs on the overnight shift. He told Andrew he was going by Zane, keeping his true origins toned down. The only danger, he added with a laugh, was getting snared by Belzen’s draft.

“I’ve been limping,” he said, his lip quirking up. “Got the idea from you.”

“Wouldn’t be so funny if your foot hurt like mine,” Andrew grumbled.

He swept the shards of glass in his room into a cookie sheet, not particularly carefully. The day before had passed in a blur – coffee at the intermittently operating Willow Cafe, gambling with Cu Zanthus and a couple other draft-dodgers down at the trainyard, then more alcohol – and he’d never gotten around to cleaning up the mess.

Andrew’s head was still fuzzy. He wasn’t in as good a place as he’d been the day before – or the previous night, for that matter. If Cu Zanthus weren’t here, he’d leave the mess and crawl back into bed. Or maybe he’d lay on the couch and look up at the family photos that had never been taken down, staring at that picture of himself grinning as a toddler in his mother’s arms. Maybe he’d go back to his parents’ notes and while away the next three days, without food, without sleep. The mere thought pulled at him, even now. Three more days to put behind him, instead of ahead. Days where he could analyze the swoop of Mother’s cursive letters, or watch Father’s words squeeze closer and closer together as his ideas ran faster than his fingers. His favorite parts were when his parents were working together and their handwriting shared a page, creating a back and forth of ideas that was almost like hearing them speak. We lost another two subjects today, Father would say, and Mother would add, But learned three important directions for next time, dear, don’t lose hope yet.

Cu Zanthus, in his bedroom doorway, pulled something out from behind his back. “Got more Coinavini!” he said with a grin.

Andrew groaned. Does he never want me to think straight again? He got slowly to his feet, holding the cookie sheet as straight as possible. He blinked lingering sleep from his eyes, and looked blearily at the Dhavnak.

“What’s with the outfit?” he mumbled. “Does wearing all black make you a better job candidate or something?”

“Based on my luck,” said Cu Zanthus, “it seems to.”

He looked good in the short, collared jacket and high boots. Too good. He’d probably been meeting Holland. I’ll find you when you get here. Andrew winced at a fresh stab in his head. None of my business. He limped past Cu Zanthus to empty the shards in the kitchen wastebin. He sat on the couch afterward, laying his head back and waiting for the throbbing to subside.

“Do you still go sledding on the sand dunes?” Cu Zanthus asked as he sat beside him.

Andrew shrugged a shoulder. If Cu Zanthus, as an eager child, hadn’t dragged him from his house, or if Mila hadn’t left him alone to go out with friends like she always did, he would never have done it then. “I’m a little old now,” was all he said.

“What about the trackline tunnels we used to play in?”

“Closed off now. Years ago.”

“Come on, Andy,” said Cu Zanthus. “What do you do with your time? Now, I mean? School?”

“I stopped going. Long time ago.”

“Why?”

“It was boring. Mind-numbingly boring. And besides, it just gave the other kids excuses to call me…”

“Call you what?”

His face burned with embarrassment. “Sensitive. Emotional. Stupid things kids say.”

“They were mean to you?” said Cu Zanthus.

Please. Don’t talk about this.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Andrew tried to keep his breathing steady, but it was no use. All the fear and helplessness from the last few years was flooding back.

“Have you told anyone?” said Cu Zanthus, an edge entering his voice now. “Have you told Mila?”

“It wouldn’t matter!” Andrew burst out. “No one’s ever helped! Not Mila, not Father, not anyone! Mother tried, but she was always saying, just stand up for yourself, Andrew, look at your sister, but… but Mila’s always had friends, she’s never been alone in her life, it’s only stupid broken people like me–”

“Andrew! You’re not broken!” Cu Zanthus wrapped a hand around his wrist. Andrew stared down at it, his breath coming fast. He thinks it, too. Overly emotional Andrew. Why can’t I ever just stay quiet? He closed his eyes, clamping his teeth tight over the words that still tried to pour out. A small keening broke through. It was the most pathetic sound he’d ever heard.

“I’ll make us some tea,” said Cu Zanthus. “Just breathe. You’re fine.”

Andrew managed a jerky nod. He let his eyes drift open just enough to watch Cu Zanthus build a small fire in the hearth and bring in a half-jug of the weekly water ration to fill a pot over the flames. When the nettlebark tea was ready, Cu Zanthus filled two mugs and set them on the small table in front of the couch. By the time he sat down again, Andrew was staring at his folded hands, deep in regret.

“The brotherhood wouldn’t have let anyone treat you like that,” Cu Zanthus said quietly.

Andrew blinked, looking up. “The… the Synivistic brotherhood, you mean?”

Cu Zanthus nodded. “We understand that everyone has a place in the community, and it’s our job to make sure each person is placed to best utilize their strengths. You wouldn’t have been left alone here, that’s for sure. You would have gone in for an analysis – several cycles ago, with updates done every cycle – and given a list of careers best suited to your personality. You would have joined a syndicate by now. And the workers on a syndicate look out for each other. As long as folks know you’re part of the brotherhood, they’ll defend you till their last breath.”

Andrew swallowed. “Sounds nice.”

“You never thought about getting a job here?”

“I’ve been… busy. My books.”

“Your books are not enough, Andy. There’s no sense of camaraderie here. Loners like you get left behind. It’s not healthy.” He put his mug down and turned toward Andrew. “Here. I’ll try to make you understand.”

“How?” said Andrew cautiously.

“Have you ever said the Synivistic Oaths? Like we do during the Bright Cycle?”

“I’ve read them–”

“It’s not the same. Give me your hands. I’ll show you.”

Andrew set his tea down. His hands trembled as he held them out. Cu Zanthus took them in his own. He had cool skin. Long fingers. A strong grip. When he bowed his head, Andrew followed suit. Cu Zanthus recited the words in Dhavvish.

“May Bitu Lan, the Combatant, always guide my spear. May Luma Nala, the Gatherer, give bounty far and near. May Shon Aha, the Marshal, keep our enemies subdued. May Vo Hina, the Informer, remain in solitude. Bring justice to the righteous, and fortune to the bold; bring justice to our enemies, and judgment to their souls.” He released his grip and passed a hand over his eyes, then his mouth, then folded them both over his heart.

“Every morning,” he said, “you hold hands with whoever’s around you and say the oaths. It reminds you that you’re never alone. Even now, I know my countrymen are out there, saying them along with me every Bright Cycle. Does that make sense?”

Andrew nodded, his throat tight.

“Do you want me to tell you more?”

“Yes,” Andrew whispered. “Please.”

So Cu Zanthus talked. About Bitu Lan’s double-bladed saber, that could slice through any material; and Luma Nala’s fields of wheat, that grew even in the darkest depths of winter; and Shon Aha shattering Vo Hina’s eye like glass when she was caught hoarding “the black and white gems of the valleys and mountains.”

“We think that might have been referring to dekatite and arphanium,” Cu Zanthus explained, “long before either was discovered.”

The day went from full of sharp edges to a soft, muted glow, and Andrew felt close to sane again by the time the Early Sun had gone down.

But he didn’t touch Cu Zanthus’s Coinavini. He took an early bedtime instead, venturing out a fair time later to check on the Dhavnak. Cu Zanthus was asleep on the couch, the fire still burning in the hearth beside him. Once again, Andrew heard his words to Holland on the WiCorr. I’ll find you when you get here.

Andrew crept back to his parents’ room and eased open the door, holding it up so it didn’t drag from the broken hinge. His parents’ notes were in boxes on the closet floor. He gave them a cursory glance, only long enough to make sure they hadn’t been disturbed since Mila’s intrusion. He took his father’s old coneflower-spun jacket, with the woven fibers and belted waist. The matching brimmed cap was on the same hanger. Andrew snuck back to his room and chose a nondescript button-down and trousers, then stashed the whole outfit beneath his pillow.

He slept fitfully, and was wide awake when he heard Cu Zanthus pray at half-light. Still he waited, slipping on the clothes as quietly as possible beneath his blanket. It was just before the Main Sun rose that he heard the soft thump of the front door. He sat up, slipped on a pair of scuffed kaullix leather boots, and stuck the cap over his ragged hair. The whole time, a distant litany played through his mind. None of my business. None of my business.

But he had to see who Cu Zanthus was meeting. He had to. It would kill him if he didn’t.

Half a block away from his house, Andrew realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been outside alone. He’d been with Cu Zanthus the last several times, and hadn’t paid much attention to anything else. The air, already heating up for the day, had felt refreshing for just a second, but it didn’t last. The slowly brightening sky seemed even bigger than usual. If Andrew glanced up for more than a moment, he felt its weight pulling at him, like it was a vast ocean he might fall into. He quickly jerked his eyes away and huddled into his father’s coat, feeling nauseous and dizzy at the sight. He imagined the Dhavnak warplanes that might send the air raid sirens wailing at any moment, and felt horribly vulnerable under that huge, open sky. Twice he faltered in his steps, half-turning to see the rapidly dwindling shape of his house – a safe haven he was leaving behind. But Cu Zanthus’s form walked swiftly ahead, his faint double-shadow blending into the long ones thrown by the gradually emerging Main Sun. Andrew sped up his pace. Pain lanced through his right foot, even protected as it was by the bandage and boot together.

Cu Zanthus left Andrew’s well-off district and headed south toward the heart of Ellemko, with a western slant that almost assured he aimed for the industrial parts. Maybe he was looking for a job after all. Andrew’s breath came easier. But he still ducked behind parked or broken mobies lining the curbs whenever his friend turned his head, or took shelter in the tattered wrecks of bombed buildings.

Everything seemed dirtier than Andrew remembered: chunks of stones lying in the pathways, blackened concrete walls, shredded paper coasting down the streets, rodents at the corners of his vision, people in layers of coats despite the warmth of both suns, hauling bags, hauling weary children, hanging tight to another’s hand or elbow. Andrew couldn’t help eyeing them as he passed. Exhausted, homeless, but together. He had a house, but they had love. Which was better? He watched one couple with a young boy and girl so long that the father turned and narrowed his eyes. Andrew ducked his head and hugged the wall of a boarded-up storefront, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Boy!” the man called.

Andrew turned his head. The man walked back a couple steps and held out a handful of dried apples. Andrew’s eyes widened. He shook his head.

“You may’ve got yourself a fancy coat,” the man said gruffly, “but it’s clear you’re starvin’ to death. Take it. It’s the least I can do.”

“No,” Andrew said, “I’m not–”

But the man stepped forward and stuck them in his jacket pocket, then hurried back to his family, who were now crossing the street. Andrew started to follow, but a military truck drove up at that moment, parking with one wide tire on the curb. Andrew thought about running around the truck to grab the man, but Cu Zanthus was disappearing off to his left. Andrew gritted his teeth in frustration and headed left instead. Great. Now I’m getting handouts from homeless folks. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to eat a meal once in a while. It sounded like more trouble than it was worth.

By the time the Main Sun had cleared the distant eastern dunes, Cu Zanthus had cut through the old metal scrapyards downtown and ventured into the huge back lot of a shipping center, far from the residential or commercial spaces. Andrew’s foot was hurting worse than ever, and he could barely keep Cu Zanthus in sight as he lagged farther behind. He took shelter behind a stack of ironwood crates to catch his breath. He finally admitted it to himself: his hunch had been wrong. Cu Zanthus would never have come to meet a girl in a place like this. He was doing exactly what he’d told Andrew – pursuing a job. And Holland was probably just the buddy helping him find one.

Andrew swallowed back a wave of dizziness. The side of his right foot ached with a stabbing pulse that made him want to scream. Even the gash on his forefinger had started to throb. He had no idea how far he’d walked, and couldn’t begin to fathom the thought of going back. He took one of the man’s apple slices from his pocket and nibbled off a chunk of the rubbery flesh. It was sweeter than he expected and Andrew chewed it for several moments before swallowing it down. It left a pleasant spice in his mouth. He ate the other half of the slice, feeling a twinge of guilt when he pictured the man’s young kids. The snack didn’t exactly give him the energy to go home, but it did give him the mental clarity to stagger back to his feet.

When he left his hiding place, Cu Zanthus was nowhere in sight. Because it seemed easier than starting that long, dreary walk home, Andrew headed toward where he’d seen him last. He didn’t want to bother him, especially if he was meeting with the proprietor or something, but he didn’t think a glimpse at the new workplace would hurt anything.

He was just passing the loading dock of the huge factory, still quiet despite the big truck sitting at the back, when he heard voices somewhere ahead. He walked down the side of the truck, running one hand along the solar cells on its side, toward the narrow alley that ran between the shipping building and the next warehouse over. That was where the voices came from.

“…The missing link then,” a man was saying in Dhavvish. “But Lyanirus will want to know what he meant about the dekatite. About not bringing it through. How did he know? What did he do?”

“Nothing, I’m sure.” The second man’s voice was cold. “Maybe he was told.”

Andrew stopped, turning his head. That last voice had been Cu Zanthus’s.

“Really? Despite getting sent back here?” This voice, though, was deeper. Definitely not the same voice from the WiCorr.

“He knows what he’s doing,” said Cu Zanthus. “I trust him.”

There was a rustling sound, the crinkling of paper, and then the scratch of a nib against it. “Here,” said the other man. “Get this to him. As soon as you can.”

After a moment, Cu Zanthus said, “Are you–”

“I’m taking initiative, yes. There are too many variables here.”

“I understand.” Cu Zanthus’s voice sounded more subdued than before. “One more thing. He wanted me to ask about a promotion.”

The other man paused. “You want me to pass that on? Seriously?”

“It’s important to him.”

“It’s important to me that I take a shit every day, but you don’t see me writing a memo on it. And you can pass that back.” Footsteps sounded then, fading in the other direction.

Andrew, flat against the truck’s side, started to slide back, but Cu Zanthus came out of the alley at that moment, sticking something into his jacket pocket. His eyes landed on Andrew. He stopped dead.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“I… I followed you,” said Andrew. “I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“A girl. I thought you were meeting a girl.”

Cu Zanthus’s brow furrowed.

“I was worried,” said Andrew faintly, “that you wouldn’t treat her… I mean, you being from Dhavnakir…”

“How long have you been there?”

A transparent question, if Andrew had ever heard one. How much did you hear? Andrew barely knew where to start. He had no idea what to think.

“Was it about your friend Holland?” he finally said. “A promotion? If he recruits more employees? That sort of thing?” But why the secrecy?

Cu Zanthus came closer, putting one hand against the truck by Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew’s heart was beating hard now, but he didn’t know if it was from fear or from something else entirely.

“I told you I was being considered for a job,” said Cu Zanthus, his eyes boring into Andrew’s. “But the truth is, my buddy Holland and I are already working for some chop shop scum that steals mobies and guts ’em to sell for parts. Holland recently came back with a captured Dhavnak transport – a real gem. It’ll make us rich. But I was ashamed to tell you. I wanted you to think I’d find a real job. The pale skin, though… folks aren’t so forgiving as they used to be. And at least this’ll keep us – you and I – with food and beds till the end of the war. You’re having such a tough time of it without that on your shoulders. You know?”

It took several moments for Andrew to find his voice. “A captured transport? That’s serious business.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course not. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I’m not exactly…”

“Your sister’s in the military. I thought you might feel obligated to say something.”

Andrew shook his head vigorously. “I’m not.”

“Good.”

“But what was he asking you about deka–” Andrew began.

He stuttered to a stop as Cu Zanthus leaned his head in closer. Andrew swallowed, sure he was about to breathe out some threat should Andrew fail to keep his secret. But instead, Cu Zanthus lowered his lips onto Andrew’s. Andrew blinked, startled, as Cu Zanthus pressed his head back against the truck and deepened the kiss, his lips firm and confident. Andrew finally found his breath and responded, feeling his body melt with the sudden warmth that flooded it. For several long moments, he left the perpetual self-loathing behind, and floated far, far above it, untouchable, unbreakable. When Cu Zanthus pulled away, he drew in a breath so ragged, it was almost a gulp. Cu Zanthus took a small step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his head bowed. “I’ve wanted to do that since… well, ever since I got back.”

“I wish I’d known,” Andrew managed.

“You don’t mind?”

“No! No. I don’t mind.” He licked his lips, relishing the new feel of them. “So that’s all it ever was? You and Holland? The job? There’s no girl?”

“There’s no girl.”

“Have you always been… I mean, this isn’t the sort of thing you’d do in Dhavnakir. Right?”

Cu Zanthus laughed. “Living gods, no. I’d be beaten to death for the thought. But here, with you,” he shrugged, “I’ll take every moment I can get. As long as I’ve got you, it’s enough.”

Andrew couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. But it came back as if he’d never stopped. It felt like the world grew bigger. Like he could find his place in it again.

Like it was possible to be loved.