Heroes
They say no weapon would ever be strong enough to destroy the human spirit, but it never stopped them from trying.A. Wells – Fall 2279
in silence while General Winter’s guards picked at scraps of food around a fading campfire. She had pulled them from their post with no sleep or warning of what they were walking into. Still, there were no complaints.
Just silence.
Briar sat across from Maia, a smoke balanced between his lips as he shuffled a deck of cards. Why him? Why these five guards? He dealt the cards, gifting Maia another good hand, and she couldn’t help but think maybe all of it was just the luck of the draw.
Unable to focus, she stared at the cards while her thoughts remained trapped in the shantytown. She should have stayed to watch Hope overnight. The fear of not knowing made it impossible to think of anything else. They tossed bets into the center of a shield flipped into a makeshift table. What did she throw in? Obviously, nothing that would prompt questions.
Mr. Foster cleared his throat, and Maia snapped back to the moment, revealing her hand.
“Fuck,” Briar groaned, dropping his cards. “That’s the best fucking hand in the game.”
General Winter tossed her hand into the pile. “You could have picked us all clean.”
“Lack of strategy has worked so far,” Maia said, detached.
Aster gathered the cards into a neat pile, handing them to Mr. Foster. Even the dying light of the fire couldn’t hide the subtle tug of his lips. Maia’s gaze lingered on them, grateful for the distraction. Would they feel as soft as they looked? Taste like his warm scent of cloves? Numb her to all of this?
Her stomach dropped as dread washed over her. No. They would destroy everything. The same lips that could condemn her to hang in the courtyard. She forced her attention back to her meager winnings, wondering if the fact she should stay away from him was part of the reason she couldn’t. Another dangerous rebellion that she struggled to resist.
“How ya feelin’, Maia?” General Winter asked. She leaned back into a deep stretch, her muscles bulging against the sleeve of her shirt.
The question captured Briar’s attention, his gaze burning as bright as the tip of his smoke.
“Fine.” It was true, but she drew out the word with insecurity.
“The flush of your cheeks says otherwise, my dear,” Mr. Foster said, dealing out the cards. Maia removed her fingerless glove, pressing the back of her hand to her cheek. “I’ll check you after this hand. You may have a fever.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her tonight,” Briar said, his focus back on the game.
Maia sorted her cards, suddenly aware of how hot she felt despite the steady fall of snow around them. She had been too concerned about Hope to notice the change.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, wishing she didn’t need all the sudden attention.
General Winter laid a rough pat on her back, nearly knocking her off the stump. “Chin up, back straight. A little fever ain’t gonna be what does you in.”
“No need to test your theory, Winter,” Aster said, glancing at her over his hand.
Their look held a whole other conversation, measured in a way only those proficient in politics could maintain.
Winter broke it first with a nod. “No harm in getting checked though.”
“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” Maia’s desperation to change the subject came out as forced as it felt.
Mr. Foster twisted the end of his mustache. “I suppose it depends on what happens tonight.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Briar flicked his cards to the table. “Hope’s gonna be fine, just like Maia. I’m gonna grab more wood for the fire before we all fuckin’ freeze to death.”
Briar snuffed out his smoke, storming into the woods.
“He’ll be fine,” Winter said, adding her cards to the mix. “Harper ain’t known for controlling his emotions, but he cools off just as quick as he heats up.”
“He has a right to be angry.” Mr. Foster paused, as if second-guessing himself. His eyes found Maia’s, giving him whatever confidence he needed. “We all do, given the position we’ve been put in.”
Winter raised a sharp eyebrow, her nose piercing glinting in the moonlight. “You had a choice, Mr. Foster, remember? You chose to cut those two lines into Maia’s skin.”
“And Briar?” Maia asked, keeping her head low. “Did he have a choice? Or is he just another sacrifice to the cause?”
The silence around the table made Maia regret her words, and she hoped they didn’t read into it. If they knew what she was willing to do to protect Briar, they could easily use it to their advantage.
“I chose him and this group because they were the right ones for this job.” Winter’s words were strong, but not harsh. She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees and forcing Maia to look into her cat-like eyes. “Most people think my position makes it so I only know how to follow orders. It couldn’t be further from the truth. What makes me so good at what I do is that I’m not afraid to question orders. I respect what you did for these people. Which is why I chose the team I did. I know better than to underestimate you, Maia, and I would appreciate if you’d grant me the same courtesy.”
The way she changed her words and tone to match Maia’s made it clear she considered her equal—far from a puppet.
Maia nodded in understanding.
With that, Winter pushed herself to her feet, adjusting her uniform. “We’ll stand beside you tomorrow regardless of what happens tonight.”
She gave Mr. Foster one last look before joining her guards.
“I’m going to grab my bag,” he said in a whisper. “Have a good evening, Mr. Calderone.”
“You as well, Mr. Foster.”
Fatigue washed over Maia, making her suddenly feel heavy. Still, the last thing she needed was to be left alone with Aster, so she stood. “I’ll go with you, sir.”
A gunshot rang through the trees, sending Aster to his feet and Maia to his side, her grip tight on his arm. He looked down, surprised. The fear in her eyes hardened his face protectively as he gently pulled her behind him.
Winter, however, wasn’t as kind, yanking Maia back by her coat and dragging her behind the guards.
They had already kicked out the fire and drawn their weapons, aiming at the now-silent tree line. Maia’s heart thundered in her ears. Briar was still out there. Why wasn’t he back yet? She refused to allow any of her racing thoughts to take root. He was okay. He had to be okay.
More gunshots punctured the foreboding stillness, followed by shouts that made Maia’s entire body tense. Footsteps rushed in their direction, and she reached under her coat, unlatching her dagger with a trembling hand. Winter raised a tight fist, readying her guards for her order. They held a collective breath.
Heavy steps slid into the clearing, and Maia nearly collapsed with relief as Briar stumbled towards them.
“A group of Portico guards just invaded the town,” he said, bending over to catch his breath.
Winter cursed, dropping her hand. “It’s those fucking rebels impersonating us again. They chose the wrong fucking town.” Her voice was closer to a growl than anything human as she shoved a rifle into Briar’s arms. “Let’s go!”
Winter pushed forward into the trees and Maia followed, earning a nod of respect. Could Briar ever carry himself with the same authority Winter held so naturally? Maybe they were making the wrong decision overthrowing her.
A single shot from Winter’s gun and one shrouded figure was down. Moving in a swarm, they continued past the trees onto the dirt road. A second figure ran from behind a stack of crates, falling from another bullet. They continued to the center of the town, where a small crowd stood with weapons drawn.
“Thought you said you were here to help,” the confrontational man from earlier snapped.
Winter lowered her gun as a sign of peace. “They’re not ours. Just rebels dressed as us.”
“Fucking rebels.” The man spat on the dirt. “Looks like they were trying to poison our well.”
Maia’s stomach dropped. It was the same tactics Portico used. What did the rebellion gain from poisoning a shantytown?
“How do you know?” she asked.
He pointed his gun at a body lying next to the well. “That asshole was holdin’ this.”
Maia took the vial from the man’s hand, removing the stopper. The musty, urine-like smell turned her stomach. It was one she would never forget from her apprenticeship.
“Poison hemlock.”
She closed the vial, tucking it into her pocket as she made her way to the body. The guards searched the perimeter while the townsfolk started back to their shacks. Maia checked the man’s pockets and pulled up the sleeves of his jacket, hoping not to find what she was looking for. Her heart plummeted. She lifted a string with a small metal disk from around his neck.
Orion’s symbol. Aquila wasn’t lying.
Dropping the necklace, she stood to find Winter and Briar hovering behind her.
“You look disappointed,” Winter said in the same measured tone as before.
Maia wiped her hands on her coat, starting back up the road. “He deserved what he got. They all did.”
The rogue rebels lying face down in the road weren’t worthy to wear the symbol. Briar followed silently, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. The attack wasn’t about restoring hope. It was nothing more than petty retaliation. She gripped the vial in her pocket. They fucking deserved it.
They returned bleary-eyed early the next morning. Hope skipped over, reaching for Briar’s hand.
“Mama said you kept us safe last night.”
Briar picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder as she giggled infectiously. “Couldn’t let you show me up.”
The bond that seemed to blossom between Briar and Hope filled Maia’s heart while simultaneously shattering it. In a different life, she could imagine him with a family of his own, surrounded by all the love he deserved.
They stopped. A crowd now stood before them, as if eagerly awaiting their arrival. The man who had been arguing with them the day before rolled up his shirt sleeve.
“You said just two cuts, right?”
Mr. Foster glanced at Maia, unable to contain his excitement. “Yes. Precisely.” The crowd erupted, thrusting their dirty arms towards him. “Please, there’s no need to worry. We have more than enough for all of you.”
Before the day was over, they had inoculated five families, an older man, and a group of mineworkers. The guards kicked a ball around with the children while Aster sat with a group of townsfolk, appreciative to share their stories with someone eager to listen.
More stepped forward with each passing day, and the praise for Portico’s philanthropy grew. Maia found herself getting caught up in the excitement. Toasting lagers around the campfire with men and women who should have been the enemy. Speculating if word would spread to other shantytowns about the cure. Imagining crowds standing outside of Portico’s gates, waiting for their chance at hope.
It wasn’t until she lay down to sleep, Briar snoring beside her, that she forced herself to think of the rebellion. It was the reason she was here, but the longer she spent in Portico’s presence, the more she had to remind herself of that.
The next evening, Maia made her final pass for the night, knocking on an elderly man’s door.
“Mr. Kline,” she said, through the rusted aluminum. “Just checking to make sure you don’t need anything before we leave.”
The silence wasn’t like him, and she knocked again. Still, no response. She pushed the door open, finding him curled up on a dirty pile of clothes in the corner.
Fear gripped her chest. “Mr. Kline?”
“Leave,” the old man managed between wet breaths. “I ain’t well.”
She continued forward, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his frail shoulder. “It’s okay. I can—”
The blood-soaked cloth tucked in his trembling hand stole the words from her lips.
It didn’t work.
“Please, go.”
Another fit of wet coughs shook his body. Maia ripped off her jacket, placing it over him. What did they do wrong? She thought back to the two lines she cut into his arm. She had sanitized the scalpel. Cleansed his arm. Done everything right. Infected. Tainted. Dangerous. She shook away the words.
“I’m not leaving you.”
A knock on the door made her jump. She spun to find Mr. Foster peering inside. He didn’t have the cuts, and she couldn’t risk him getting sick. Her eyes pleaded for him to leave as she shook her head.
His face dropped with understanding. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Shifting back to Mr. Kline, she propped a pile of rags under his head to help with his rattling breath—just as she had for her mother. His symptoms were too far along, and she wondered if he had already been sick, the inoculation only making it worse. It didn’t matter. His lines were by her hand, which meant she would be with him until the end. She wiped his feverish forehead and rubbed his ice-cold hands.
The door opened again, and she glanced over her shoulder to find Aster holding a bowl in his hand, his posture tall and sure.
“Hope’s mother asked me to bring Mr. Kline some soup.”
Maia’s heart broke at the kindness of the woman who barely had enough for her own family. She stood, taking the dish from him. “Please tell her thank you.”
Aster’s eyes searched hers. “I can stay.”
“He’s too sick.” She forced an appreciative smile. “Thank you though.”
“I have the inoculation too. I asked Mr. Foster to do it the night of the rebel attack.”
“You didn’t…” Maia struggled to find words, looking up at him in disbelief. Why did he risk the cuts before knowing they were safe? And why offer to stay for a dying stranger? “You don’t need to.”
The worry etched between his brows softened. “I want to.”
She didn’t care if it was a lie, or some attempt at manipulation. Aster’s presence somehow made her feel more in control as she forced down her fear. Returning to Mr. Kline, she carefully lifted his head. He took sips of soup between coughs, and Maia wiped his mouth each time he spat it back up. Tears ran down his cheeks as he apologized, but Maia reassured him she didn’t mind. Despite the watch in her pocket, it wasn’t her time ticking away.
His breathing grew shallow as the night progressed. She held his cold and clammy hand, humming a nursery rhyme her mother used to sing. Aster removed his jacket, resting it on Maia’s shoulders as Mr. Kline’s breaths grew short and quick. She lowered her head, recognizing the pattern. The same breaths her mother took just before she passed. His grip loosened around hers, and with that, he was gone.
She sat in silence—lost in it—searching for an emotion or thought to ground her. His hand now lay open, cold and infinitely empty, and she stared at it until it no longer held meaning. Her breath caught, refusing to move from where it lodged in her throat. This was her fault. Guilt rested heavy on her chest. She was going to die, if not from her barren lungs, from her pounding heart. She had been so certain the cure was the answer without thinking about what the consequences truly looked like. They looked ashen and worn. Frail and stiff.
She closed her eyes and bit down on her trembling lower lip as her breath forced itself out in a gasp. Time was the only thing holding her together, but the seconds of numbness were slowly running out. A warmth found her hand. It was almost painful, thawing the ice crystalizing in her veins, and flooding her with a comfort she didn’t deserve.
“I’m sorry, Maia,” Aster whispered.
Her fingers closed around his, too tight, too desperate to hold on to something that wasn’t even real. His kindness was to someone who didn’t exist. A story created to make him trust her. Who was really the master of lies here?
It didn’t matter though. In that moment, she needed him. His resolve. His warmth. And she was selfish enough to take it.
“What am I going to tell them tomorrow?”
The shake in her voice betrayed her as she desperately grabbed for the slowly shattering pieces of herself.
“Nothing.” Aster tightened his hand around hers. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“I didn’t mean to—” She choked on an emotion forcing its way to the surface.
The pain was so real, so visceral, that she wondered if somewhere deep inside she wasn’t hemorrhaging from self-inflicted wounds.
Aster lifted her chin, his face as pained as she felt. “This isn’t your fault, Maia.” His warmth was so close, she ached for it to surround her so she didn’t have to hold herself together anymore. “People here forget what hope looks like… how it feels. You gave that to him. Most people aren’t that lucky.”
Aster’s words loosened the tears pooling in her eyes, and she dropped her face as his thumb gently brushed them away.
“I’m sorry.” Her words felt heavy and empty at the same time. She slipped her hand from his and stood, allowing herself one last parting glance at Mr. Kline.
Tonight, she would mourn him, but tomorrow she would stand beside Aster as he spun the carefully crafted lies they needed to remain the heroes of this story.