Invisible String
ADIAH
In and out.
I blink hard to keep the tears in my eyes from falling, but I taste their salt anyway.
In and out.
I can’t find Tao, so today I don’t go up to our secret place to hide. Instead, I sit at my parents’ house, in my tiny bedroom, dreading when they’ll be home from work. I know by then they’ll have gotten the report from the temple, so they’ll know about what happened today. I can already imagine their disappointment, the shame. This time I deserve both.
This time, I really messed up.
Even now, the memory of Azaan’s face makes me nauseous, a stain on my conscience like spilled palm wine on linen. I remember every detail, the full lips and straight nose, the squarish shape of his jaw. I remember the way his features pinched when the pain hit him, the sound he made.
I remember all the things I don’t want to.
My memories pull me back to an earlier part of the day, to the before. Azaan and I are standing in the midst of the temple’s sparring lawns, inside a large circle made from fist-sized stones. To our right, Brother Dwanh presides.
“We will follow the standard rules of sparring conduct.” He eyes us both, explaining the rules in his reed-thin voice. “The match is over when one of the participants steps outside of the outlined parameters. Remember, this is strictly a hand-to-hand combat. Do not summon the splendor.”
“Ready.” Azaan, standing several inches taller than me, offers a cocky smile. “Don’t worry, Adi. This will be quick.”
I keep my expression neutral, impassive. “That’s just what I was thinking.”
“Very well.” Brother Dwanh nods and steps back. “Begin.”
We take our stances at opposite sides of the circle, feet apart and arms spread wide. I know Azaan well enough to know how this is going to go. He’s a Combatant, built tall and lean like a scarecrow, probably best in our class after me. He tends to strike to debilitate, light rapid hits that take an opponent down before they even know what’s hit them. He’s fast.
I’m faster.
He winks at me, kicking his foot in the ground to create a cloud of dirt that’s meant to distract. I don’t fall for it, and brace myself as he lunges for me and tries to kick me out from under my feet.
I jump just in time.
I’ve barely landed before Azaan switches tactics, using the advantage of his height to drive me back in an onslaught of quick punches I have to duck from. In other cultures, people don’t believe that men and women should fight each other this way, but Azaan and I are equals. I know he won’t hold back because I’m a girl.
One of his punches finally connects, a blow to the shoulder that tears a cry from me. The sound of his triumphant laugh is infuriating, and carelessly, I go for an undercut that he immediately blocks. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know that we are nearing the edge of the circle’s border; a few more steps and I will lose this.
That can’t happen. I can’t lose today.
I feint right, and just as I was expecting, he takes the bait, following my body. Instead of throwing a punch or kick, I shove him square in the chest to give myself space, then leap into the air. As though time has slowed, I bring my knees up to my chest and open my hands, drawing the splendor to me like an instinct. It rises from the earth, answering my call as it courses through my veins in a sudden rush. When I come back to earth, my palms slap against the ground, a tremendous boom shaking everything around me. I watch with a thrill as the splendor leaves my hands and moves in unnatural ripples toward Azaan.
I know as soon as it reaches him that I’ve made a mistake.
The earth shudders a second time as the force of my power sends Azaan flying high, as though he’s been pulled backward by an invisible string. There’s a terrible pause while his body arcs, suspended, and then he comes crashing down. I hear the clean snap of his bones as they break on impact, watch blood seep into the dirt around him. One of his legs is bent at an odd angle. He doesn’t move as the other darajas run toward him. I know I should too, but I can’t.
“It was an accident.” My words are barely audible, but I need to say them, I need someone to understand. “I didn’t mean to. I—”
“Adiah.” Brother Dwanh’s eyes cut to me, wary. He doesn’t sound angry; he sounds afraid. “It’s . . . probably best you go.”
I want to say more, but I don’t. I just turn and run. I’m fast, but I’m not fast enough to outrun the whispers I imagine chasing at my heels.
Dangerous, those whispers say. Volatile. Unstable.
Later, I learn that Azaan was taken to the temple’s infirmary with several injuries, but thankfully none that are life-threatening. His broken bones will mend, and the open wounds on his body will heal.
My reputation will not.
Dangerous. I hear my classmates now, the things they’re probably saying about me back at the temple. Volatile. Unstable.
I start to wonder if they’re right, to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.
In and out.
I have to learn how to control myself.
In and out.
I have to learn how to control this power.
In and out.
Before it controls me.