Chronicle 26
The hotel room felt too large.
Objectively, Joanna knew it wasn't. In fact, it was
considerably smaller than the suites she had shared over the last month. There
was only one bed now. One suitcase. One chair. One set of boots by the door.
It should have felt cozy.
Instead, it felt empty.
She lay on her back, staring at the slow-moving ceiling fan
while the muffled chorus of insects outside filled the humid Amazonian night.
Somewhere beyond the hotel walls a generator hummed steadily, keeping the
little outpost alive after sunset.
She had wrestled that evening.
It had felt...
Good.
Not perfect.
Triple X and the producers were still protecting her ankle.
She wasn't taking the harder bumps yet, and nobody wanted Sugar Cane attempting
anything reckless until the medical staff signed off completely. She found
herself doing more character work, more selling, more tag sequences while
Georgia and Carly handled the heavier offense.
She couldn't complain.
She was back.
The crowd had welcomed her back.
Her ankle had held up.
By every objective measure, today had been a success.
"...Then why do I feel awful?" she muttered to the
empty room.
She already knew the answer.
For weeks she'd convinced herself she'd eventually adjust
after Phoebe and Armintie returned to school with Sarah.
A few lonely nights.
Then she'd get back into the rhythm of touring.
Instead...
Every morning the room was quieter.
Every evening the silence lasted longer.
She still called everyone.
She had spoken with Sarah yesterday about school.
She had helped Phoebe with a history assignment over video.
Armintie had proudly shown off a sketch she'd finished.
Zas had called from Daral Lake after patrol training and
spent twenty minutes talking about absolutely nothing of consequence.
It helped.
It just wasn't the same.
Seeing people through a screen wasn't the same as hearing
Phoebe laughing from another room.
It wasn't the same as Armintie barging into the bedroom
without knocking.
It wasn't the same as falling asleep knowing someone else
was only a few feet away.
Joanna reached over to the nightstand and picked up her
phone.
She hesitated.
Then she tapped Carly's name.
You awake?
She set the phone back down.
"No chance," she whispered.
It was late.
Carly was probably asleep.
The phone buzzed less than ten seconds later.
Cotton Candy: Yep.
Joanna blinked.
Another message arrived before she could answer.
Cotton Candy: Couldn't sleep.
A tiny smile tugged at Joanna's lips.
Can I be honest with you?
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Cotton Candy: Always.
Joanna stared at the keyboard for nearly a minute before
finally typing.
I didn't think I'd miss having everyone around this much.
She erased it.
Typed again.
I thought I'd get used to being alone again.
Sent.
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Cotton Candy: You're lonely.
Joanna didn't even bother denying it.
Yeah.
A pause.
Then:
Cotton Candy: Me too sometimes.
That surprised her.
Carly Sweeting gets lonely?
The reply came with a laughing emoji.
Cotton Candy: I'm not a robot, Jo.
She chuckled softly.
Sorry.
Another message appeared.
Cotton Candy: You've had your family with you
almost nonstop for weeks.
Cotton Candy: That's a huge adjustment.
Joanna read it twice.
She hadn't thought of it that way.
She'd gone from sharing breakfasts, sightseeing, hotel rooms
and every spare hour with people she loved...
...to this.
One bed.
One toothbrush.
One voice.
Another vibration.
Cotton Candy: Hey...
Cotton Candy: Next town...want to room together?
Joanna stared at the screen.
It was such a simple suggestion.
No grand speech.
No attempt to solve loneliness.
Just...
Don't be alone.
She smiled for the first time all evening.
You sure?
Cotton Candy: Of course I'm sure.
Cotton Candy: Besides...you already know I steal
all the blankets.
Joanna laughed out loud.
I thought that was Georgia.
Cotton Candy: Georgia steals the pillows.
Important distinction.
Cotton Candy: Very.
Joanna shook her head, still smiling.
I'd like that.
A little heart reaction appeared beneath her message.
She set the phone back onto the nightstand.
The room hadn't changed.
The fan still turned.
The insects still sang outside.
The bed was still too big for one person.
…but somehow...
It didn't feel quite so empty anymore.
Armintie wasn't made for classrooms.
Being expected to sit in the same chair for an hour, typing
notes into a laptop while someone else explained the world felt almost
backwards to her. If she wanted to know about trees, she'd rather climb one. If
she wanted to understand rivers, she'd rather wade through them. If there was a
machine to study, she wanted to take it apart, turn the pieces over in her
hands and ask why each one existed.
Learning, to Armintie, was something you did.
Not something you watched.
Every few minutes her attention wandered.
She'd find herself staring out the classroom window at birds
hopping along the fence.
Or watching the rain gather on the glass.
Or wondering where a hallway led.
Or examining the texture of the desk instead of the
assignment on its screen.
It wasn't that she didn't care.
She cared about almost everything.
Just...not always the thing directly in front of her.
Beside her, Phoebe couldn't have been more different.
The moment class began, she focused.
She listened carefully.
She took neat notes.
When Miss Evans asked a question, Phoebe's hand seemed to
rise almost by instinct.
Sometimes she answered.
Sometimes she didn't.
…but she always knew the answer.
Even her homework looked meticulous.
She wasn't trying to impress anyone.
She simply wanted to do things properly.
If knowledge was being offered, why wouldn't she take it?
At the front of the room, Eve Evans noticed both girls.
Phoebe was remarkable.
There was a quiet enthusiasm about her that every teacher
hoped to find. Curious without showing off. Respectful without being timid.
Hard-working because she genuinely enjoyed understanding things.
Armintie...
Armintie was a different puzzle altogether.
Miss Evans had already learned that asking her to "pay
attention" accomplished almost nothing.
The girl's eyes would return for perhaps thirty seconds...
...before they drifted toward the window again.
Or the ceiling.
Or a classmate's pencil.
Or absolutely anything else.
Yet when Miss Evans walked past her desk and casually asked
about yesterday's lesson, Armintie could often answer surprising questions.
She had been listening.
Just not in the way teachers were accustomed to seeing.
Eve couldn't help smiling to herself.
One of them is an All-Star, she thought.
The other could be one too...
...if I can figure out how to teach her.
Miss Evans clicked to the next slide.
A crimson rose bloomed across the classroom display.
"Today," she began, "we're looking at the
Rose Revolution and the end of the Khmer Empire."
Students opened the lesson on their laptops.
"The Revolution marked the beginning of modern
representative government across much of Southeast Asia. The Imperial
government collapsed with remarkable speed, and within days the Revolutionary
Council had proclaimed the First Republic."
Phoebe typed steadily.
"The transition," Miss Evans continued, "is
generally regarded by historians as relatively bloodless, particularly compared
to other revolutions of the nineteenth century."
Beside her...
Armintie was somewhere else entirely.
The lesson had dissolved into background noise.
Her pencil tapped against the desk.
She watched the breeze outside push branches back and forth.
Then...
She noticed Peter.
He happened to glance over.
He smiled.
Armintie smiled back before quickly looking down, pretending
she hadn't noticed.
After a second she tore a corner from a paper napkin she'd
brought with lunch.
She scribbled a few words.
You're cute.
She folded it into a tiny square.
When Miss Evans turned toward the projector, Armintie
flicked it across the room.
The paper bounced once and landed on Peter's desk.
He looked around.
Unfolded it.
His face turned bright red.
A grin spread across it anyway.
He quickly wrote something underneath.
I think you're cute too.
He folded the paper again.
Waited.
Miss Evans turned back toward the board.
Peter tossed it.
His aim...
...wasn't nearly as good.
Thunk.
The little paper ball bounced off the side of Phoebe's head.
Phoebe blinked.
"...Ow?"
The room erupted in scattered laughter.
Miss Evans turned around immediately.
She spotted Peter.
She spotted Armintie.
She looked at the paper on Phoebe's desk.
"...No throwing things in class, please."
"Sorry, Miss Evans," Peter said immediately.
"Sorry," Armintie echoed, sinking lower into her
chair.
Phoebe picked up the note.
She glanced at both of them.
Then quietly slid it onto Peter's desk without opening it.
Miss Evans gave the class another moment to settle before
continuing.
"As I was saying, the collapse of the Empire was
remarkably peaceful compared to many other revolutions. Can anyone tell me why
historians often describe it as bloodless?"
Phoebe's hand was already in the air.
"Because most Imperial officials surrendered once they
realized they couldn't hold the capital."
"Exactly."
Phoebe nodded and returned to typing.
Her fingers slowed.
Bloodless...
Something about that word bothered her.
She couldn't quite explain why.
It just...
...didn't sound right.
Miss Evans continued.
"The Revolutionary Army entered Angkor largely
unopposed-"
"No."
The room went silent.
Everyone turned.
Armintie hadn't even realized she'd spoken aloud.
She frowned.
"That's not what happened."
Miss Evans looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
Armintie answered as naturally as if someone had asked the
time.
"Zas took us there."
A few students exchanged puzzled looks.
"To Angkor Wat."
She shrugged.
"There were mass graves."
Silence.
"A museum too."
Her voice remained calm.
"There was a whole room."
She swallowed.
"Just skulls."
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Armintie looked around, confused.
"What?"
She honestly didn't understand the reaction.
"Zas said lots of civilians were killed."
She thought for a moment.
"I remember because Phoebe cried."
Phoebe stared at her desk.
She had.
Miss Evans felt her stomach tighten.
She knew exactly what Armintie was talking about.
The Massacre of Angkor Wat.
It wasn't fabricated.
It wasn't fringe history.
It had happened.
…but outside the Blade...
It rarely occupied more than a paragraph in most textbooks.
Usually a footnote.
Sometimes omitted altogether.
A hand slowly rose near the back.
"…but..." another student said carefully, "my
textbook says-"
"I know what the textbook says," Armintie replied.
"I've been there."
Another silence.
This one felt heavier.
Armintie looked around at the faces staring back at her.
Confused.
Uneasy.
Some almost frightened.
Only then did she realize...
She had said something wrong.
Not factually.
Socially.
"Oh..."
She looked down.
"...sorry."
She quickly closed her laptop.
"I'll just..."
She stood.
"...go."
Before she reached the classroom door-
"Armintie."
Peter's voice wasn't loud.
She stopped anyway.
He looked almost embarrassed.
"You...don't have to leave."
She looked back uncertainly.
Miss Evans took a slow breath.
"No," she said quietly.
"You don't."
She looked around the classroom.
Then, after several long seconds, closed the lesson on the
projector.
"I have a curriculum I'm expected to teach."
No one interrupted.
"…and sometimes..."
She chose her next words carefully.
"...history becomes simplified."
She folded her hands together.
"Much of what you've learned today is accurate."
She paused.
"…but not all of it is complete."
The room was perfectly still.
"The end of the Khmer Empire did bring democratic
reforms."
Another pause.
"It also brought atrocities."
Miss Evans looked directly at Armintie.
"…and if someone has stood where those atrocities
happened..."
Her voice softened.
"...then that's worth listening to."
Armintie didn't know what to say.
She simply nodded once.
Then quietly returned to her seat.
For the first time all lesson...
She paid attention.
The bell echoed through the hallway.
Students poured from the classroom in clusters, talking over
one another about homework, sports and lunch.
Armintie kept her eyes on the floor.
She wished she had never raised her hand.
She hadn't meant to make everyone uncomfortable.
She'd only said what she'd seen.
"Hey."
A voice behind her.
She turned.
A broad-shouldered boy a year or two older than her stepped
into her path. His backpack hung from one shoulder, and he towered over both
her and Phoebe.
"You."
Armintie blinked.
"...Me?"
"My great-great-grandfather died at Thursday
Island."
His jaw was tight.
"He was eighteen."
Students nearby slowed their pace.
"He died fighting for the Republic."
His voice rose.
"So people like you could have democracy."
Armintie's eyebrows knitted together.
"I wasn't making fun of-"
"Yeah, you were."
"No..."
"You called the Revolution murder."
"I didn't."
"You said everything they taught us was a lie."
"I didn't say that either."
"I heard enough."
Armintie took a small step backward.
"I was talking about Angkor."
"I know what you were talking about."
He stepped closer.
"My family's proud of what they did."
"So am I."
The words slipped out before she had time to think.
"They stopped the Empire."
The boy frowned.
"...Then why bring up the massacre?"
"Because..."
She looked genuinely confused.
"...it happened."
Neither of them noticed Peter until he walked between them.
"That's enough."
The older boy looked down at him.
"You serious?"
Peter swallowed.
"Just..."
His voice wavered.
"...leave her alone."
The older student laughed.
"You gonna make me?"
Peter hesitated.
For a heartbeat...
He didn't have an answer.
Armintie saw it immediately.
Peter wasn't a fighter.
He was terrified.
…but he hadn't moved.
That mattered.
The older student smirked.
He reached around Peter and shoved Armintie in the shoulder.
It wasn't particularly hard.
Just enough to send a message.
Unfortunately...
It was exactly the kind of movement Zas had spent years
teaching the girls to recognize.
Armintie's body reacted before her mind did.
She caught his wrist.
Turned.
Stepped inside.
Twisted.
A sharp change in balance.
The larger boy suddenly found himself bent awkwardly
forward, his own arm pinned against him as pain shot through his shoulder and
elbow.
"Aah!"
He dropped to one knee.
Armintie released him immediately and stepped back.
The entire exchange had taken perhaps two seconds.
Students stared.
The bigger student clutched his arm.
He wasn't injured.
Not seriously.
…but he had absolutely no desire to keep fighting.
"What..."
Peter looked between the two of them.
"...was that?"
Armintie shrugged.
"Just something Zas taught me."
"It's nothing."
She offered the explanation as though she'd simply tied her
shoe.
Peter shook his head.
"No..."
He looked at her differently now.
"That's...not what I meant."
She frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Peter glanced down the hallway, where the older student was
being helped to his feet by a teacher.
Then he looked back at Armintie.
"You've seen things."
She tilted her head.
"So have you."
"Not like you."
He searched for the words.
"I've read about wars."
"I've watched documentaries."
"I thought I understood history."
He gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh.
"…but then you talk about walking through
Angkor..."
"...like it's just somewhere you've been."
He paused.
"…and your dad..."
"Zas."
"...Zas."
Peter nodded.
"He didn't just read about those places."
"He took you there."
Armintie nodded.
"He said history makes more sense when you stand where
it happened."
Peter looked thoughtful.
"I think..."
He smiled faintly.
"...there's a lot about the world I don't know."
For the first time since leaving the classroom...
Armintie smiled.
"Zas says that's true for everybody."
"I guess..."
Peter laughed softly.
"...he's probably right."
The principal's office was quieter than the hallway.
The only sounds were the ticking of the wall clock and the
muffled voices drifting through the closed office door where the principal
interviewed yet another witness.
Armintie sighed.
"So..."
She looked at the untouched lunch tray on her lap.
"...are we in trouble?"
Phoebe smiled weakly.
"I honestly don't know."
Peter laughed.
"I've never been sent to the principal's office
before."
"You haven't?"
He shook his head.
"No."
Armintie looked genuinely impressed.
"Really?"
"Really."
"...Huh."
Another silence.
The principal's voice could barely be heard through the
door.
"...thank you. You can return to class."
Another witness.
Another version of the story.
Peter looked over at the sisters.
"So..."
He hesitated.
"...can I ask something?"
Phoebe nodded.
"You can ask."
"I always wanted to."
He scratched the back of his neck.
"I just..."
"I didn't want to sound stupid."
Armintie shrugged.
"Ask."
Peter leaned forward.
"The Blade..."
"...is it really as dangerous as people say?"
Phoebe and Armintie exchanged a glance.
"It depends where you are," Phoebe answered.
"There are cities that feel almost like here."
"…and there are places," Armintie added,
"where you don't leave camp without someone watching your back."
Peter's eyes widened.
"You've actually...been in those places?"
"We grew up there."
"…but..."
He frowned.
"...weren't you scared?"
Armintie thought for a moment.
"Sometimes."
She smiled faintly.
"…but if you grow up around something..."
"...it just becomes normal."
Peter nodded slowly.
"I guess."
Another question had already formed.
"Did Zas really teach you to fight?"
Armintie nodded.
"Everyone learns."
"Everyone?"
"Pretty much."
"Even Phoebe?"
Phoebe smiled.
"I know enough."
"Armintie's better."
Armintie immediately shook her head.
"No."
"You are."
"No, I'm not."
"You think too much."
Phoebe rolled her eyes.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Peter laughed.
"So..."
He hesitated again.
"Have you really seen Angkor Wat?"
"Yes."
"The museum too?"
Armintie's smile faded.
"Yeah."
"What was it like?"
She stared at the floor.
"...Quiet."
Peter waited.
"The skulls..."
She searched for the words.
"They don't look real at first."
"They're just..."
"...there."
She swallowed.
"…but then you remember every one of them was a
person."
Peter sat back.
He had no answer for that.
No textbook had ever described history that way.
The office door finally opened.
The principal stepped into the waiting area carrying a
folder.
He looked tired.
"I think," he said carefully, "I've finally
figured out what happened."
The three students stood.
"I've spoken with fourteen students."
He gave a weary smile.
"I received approximately fourteen different versions
of events."
Armintie blinked.
"Really?"
"Really."
He opened the folder.
"The one consistent detail..."
"...is that the older student confronted you."
He looked at Armintie.
"Multiple witnesses confirmed he initiated the
confrontation."
"…and several confirmed he shoved you before you
defended yourself."
Armintie looked relieved.
"So I'm not in trouble?"
"No."
The principal shook his head.
"You used reasonable force to stop someone who had
become physically aggressive."
He paused.
"I would still encourage you to avoid physical
confrontations whenever possible."
"I know."
"I was trying."
"I believe you."
He closed the folder.
"As for the other student..."
"I'll be speaking with him and his parents."
The three exchanged relieved glances.
Then the principal looked at the clock.
His shoulders dropped.
"Oh."
He sighed.
"I'm afraid we've created another problem."
The bell announcing the end of lunch echoed through the
school.
All three students looked down at their completely untouched
lunches.
"I owe you an apology."
The principal sounded genuinely regretful.
"You lost your entire lunch period because I needed
time to determine what actually happened."
He walked to his desk and quickly signed three slips of
paper.
He handed one to each of them.
"Hall passes."
Peter read his.
"'Permission to eat lunch during Period Four.'"
The principal nodded.
"I've already notified your teachers."
"They'll excuse you."
Armintie brightened immediately.
"So..."
She looked at Peter.
"...we can still eat together?"
The principal couldn't help smiling.
"As long as you promise not to throw any more
notes."
Peter's ears immediately turned pink.
Phoebe covered a laugh with her hand.
Armintie grinned innocently.
"I make no promises."
The principal raised an eyebrow.
"...Armintie."
She laughed.
"I'm kidding."
"Probably."
Peter laughed harder than either of the girls.
As the three left the office together, lunch trays in hand,
he glanced sideways at Armintie.
"So..."
"You were going to tell me more about Angkor Wat?"
Armintie smiled.
"Only if you tell me why you threw that note so
badly."
Peter groaned.
"I knew that was coming."
For the first time since history class...
The afternoon felt normal again.
The cafeteria doors swung open.
The three of them stopped.
"...Where is everybody?" Peter asked.
The room was almost empty.
A few teachers sat at one table grading papers.
Two custodians were mopping one side of the cafeteria while
another pushed a garbage bin between the tables.
One of them looked up.
"...You're kidding me."
His coworker sighed dramatically.
"We finally had the place to ourselves."
Peter held up the hall pass.
"The principal said-"
"I know, I know."
The custodian waved a hand.
"Eat your lunch."
"...Just try not to make a mess."
Armintie smiled.
"We won't."
Five minutes later...
"Pffffft!"
The cap flew off Armintie's bottle.
A geyser of cola erupted straight into the air before
raining down over the table.
"..."
The custodians stared.
Armintie stared.
"...Oops."
A fresh bottle.
A fresh start.
"...Maybe open it slower this time," Phoebe
suggested.
"I am."
Armintie carefully twisted the cap.
"PFFFFFFFFT!"
The second bottle exploded just as enthusiastically as the
first.
The custodian slowly lowered his mop.
"I knew it."
His coworker pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I absolutely knew it."
Peter doubled over laughing.
Phoebe wasn't far behind.
Even Armintie couldn't help it.
"I don't know why it keeps doing that!"
By the time a third bottle appeared...
"...Maybe let Peter open it," Phoebe said.
"I can do it."
Armintie very carefully eased the cap open.
A tiny hiss escaped.
Nothing more.
She grinned triumphantly.
"Told you."
The three burst into another round of laughter.
The custodians merely shook their heads.
A few minutes later...
Peter looked down.
"...Hey."
Armintie innocently chewed another french fry.
"...What?"
"I think those were mine."
She looked at the nearly empty carton beside him.
"...Were they?"
Phoebe sighed.
"You've stolen half his lunch."
"I have not."
Peter laughed.
"It's okay."
"You can have them."
"See?"
Armintie smiled.
"He doesn't mind."
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"I absolutely did not."
She stole one more fry.
Peter just laughed again.
Once the joking settled, Peter rested his elbows on the
table.
"Can I ask another question?"
Phoebe smiled.
"You've been asking questions for twenty minutes."
"I know."
"I've got about two hundred more."
Armintie nodded approvingly.
"Good."
Peter hesitated.
"Did Zas ever get...annoyed?"
"About what?"
"About what people outside the Blade think it's
like."
Phoebe thought for a moment.
"Not really."
"He didn't spend much time worrying about
opinions."
"He had patrols."
"Council meetings."
"Training."
"Family."
"There was always something more important."
Armintie nodded.
"He'd usually just shrug."
"'People who haven't been here don't know.'"
Peter smiled.
"That sounds like him."
"There was one thing," Phoebe added.
"He did get frustrated with how information leaves the
Blade."
Peter leaned forward.
"What do you mean?"
Phoebe searched for the right words.
"People often tell incomplete stories."
"Sometimes activists do it because they're trying to
draw attention to a real problem."
"They simplify."
"They blur important details."
"Sometimes they even repeat things that aren't true
because the story supports the point they're trying to make."
"…and then," Armintie added, "some tribes do
the opposite."
Peter blinked.
"They exaggerate."
"They know journalists are visiting."
"So they make everything sound as awful as
possible."
Phoebe nodded.
"Not because nothing is wrong."
"…but because attention can bring donations."
"Or political support."
"Or leverage."
"…and then," Armintie said, "people see those
pictures online and think..."
She spread her hands.
"...that's just what the whole Blade is like."
Peter frowned.
"…but it isn't?"
"No."
Phoebe shook her head.
"Parts of the Blade are desperately poor."
"Parts aren't."
"Some communities struggle."
"Others don't."
"It depends where you go."
Peter looked thoughtful.
"So...what's it actually like?"
Armintie smiled.
"We're glad we're here."
Peter looked surprised.
"You are?"
"Of course."
Phoebe gestured around the cafeteria.
"We like reliable electricity."
"Fast internet."
"Hospitals."
"Universities."
"Being able to buy something without waiting three
weeks for a caravan."
Peter laughed.
"Fair enough."
"…but..."
Phoebe continued.
"...that doesn't mean life in the Blade is
horrible."
"We use technology."
"We have schools."
"We have doctors."
"We laugh."
"We celebrate."
"We fall in love."
"We grow old."
Armintie nodded.
"People live happy lives there."
"They're just..."
She searched for the word.
"...different."
Peter quietly absorbed that.
"I don't think people here understand that."
"No," Phoebe admitted.
"It's difficult to."
"You almost have to experience it."
Peter was quiet for several seconds.
Then another question came.
"Did people there ever wish they could live somewhere
like Cleveland?"
The sisters looked at each other.
Then both shook their heads.
"No," they answered together.
Peter blinked.
"Really?"
"Really," Phoebe said.
"People admired certain things."
"Someone might say, 'I wish we had a hospital like
that,' or 'That bridge is incredible,' or 'I'd love to study at that
university.'"
"…but..."
She smiled.
"...that's different from wanting to become
Cleveland."
Armintie nodded.
"Nobody sat around wishing we were America."
"Or Cleveland."
"Or anywhere else."
Peter frowned.
"Why not?"
Armintie answered as though the answer were obvious.
"Because we already had a home."
Phoebe continued.
"Our families had lived there for generations."
"They built lives there."
"They raised children there."
"They solved problems there."
"If something wasn't perfect..."
"...you tried to improve it."
"You didn't assume another place had the right answer
simply because it was richer."
Peter looked around the nearly empty cafeteria.
He'd never thought of it that way.
He had always assumed that if people lived somewhere less
developed...
...they must secretly want to live somewhere more developed.
Now he realized that assumption said more about his own
perspective than theirs.
"I guess..."
He smiled sheepishly.
"...I've still got a lot to learn."
Armintie reached over without looking...
...and stole his very last french fry.
"I know."
Peter stared at the empty carton.
"...You planned that whole conversation just to
distract me, didn't you?"
Armintie grinned.
"Maybe."
Phoebe laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
Even one of the custodians, walking past with his mop,
couldn't suppress a smile.
Sarah pushed the stroller through the supermarket's
automatic doors.
The twins were content, each occupied with a toy clipped to
the front of the stroller.
Just inside the entrance stood a folding table.
Behind it sat a young man arranging stacks of pamphlets.
Beside him, a college-aged woman wearing glasses held a
clipboard while greeting shoppers as they entered.
Several buttons were pinned across the front of her jacket.
JUSTICE FOR CURGARDEN
PEACE ISN'T PEACE
ABOLISH PEACE
That last one caught Sarah's attention.
She slowed.
The young woman noticed immediately.
"Good afternoon."
Sarah smiled politely.
"Hi."
"Do you have just a minute?"
Sarah glanced at the babies.
"I suppose."
The activist smiled warmly.
"We're trying to stop what we believe is a political
prosecution."
She gestured toward the Bristol board behind her.
It was covered in photographs, newspaper clippings, maps of
the Khotan Valley and enlarged headlines.
FORMAN INDICTED FOR WAR CRIMES
PEACE INVESTIGATES CURGARDEN LEADERSHIP
CALLS FOR INTERNATIONAL TRIBUNAL GROW
The activist pointed to one article.
"Peace is trying to prosecute Forman."
"The rebel leader?"
Sarah asked.
"That's right."
The activist nodded.
"They're calling him a war criminal."
"We think it's a witch hunt."
Sarah frowned slightly.
"I don't really know much about it."
"Most people don't."
The activist sounded almost relieved.
"They only hear one side."
She picked up one of the pamphlets.
"Curgarden fought for its freedom."
"They stood up against generations of oppression."
"The Revolution finally gave ordinary people a
voice."
She pointed toward another clipping.
"Now Peace wants to rewrite that history."
Sarah listened quietly.
"They're siding with the remnants of Havin's
regime."
"They're trying to undo a peaceful revolution."
Sarah looked again at the display.
"So...what about Princess Elara?"
The activist sighed.
"Exactly."
She tapped another headline.
"'Princess Claims Abuse by Rebel Soldiers.'"
She shook her head.
"The timing is awfully convenient."
Sarah hesitated.
"I don't know..."
The activist waited.
"I've just..."
Sarah shifted the stroller slightly.
"...I've never really liked assuming someone's lying if
they say they've been abused."
The activist's expression softened.
"Neither do I."
"…and in ordinary circumstances, I'd agree with you
completely."
Sarah relaxed a little.
"…but allegations still have to be examined."
The activist folded her arms.
"The Aetherian royal family spent decades controlling
the narrative."
"They lied."
"They exaggerated."
"They portrayed every opponent as a monster."
She shrugged.
"So when Elara suddenly appears with a story that
perfectly supports the government's case..."
"...I think it's reasonable to ask questions."
Sarah considered that.
The activist continued.
"If her story isn't true..."
"...she's doing enormous harm."
"She'd be making a mockery of people who really were
abused."
Sarah looked back at the photographs.
She didn't know enough to argue.
Everything the activist had said sounded...
...possible.
"I guess I don't really know."
"That's all we're asking."
The activist smiled.
"Keep an open mind."
She handed Sarah the clipboard.
"We're asking Peace to end the prosecution and conduct
an independent review instead."
Sarah read the petition.
Nothing on it immediately struck her as unreasonable.
She signed.
"Thank you."
The activist smiled.
"If you'd like to help us print more educational
material..."
She gestured toward a small donation jar.
Sarah reached into her purse.
She dropped a few bills inside.
"Every little bit helps."
The activist beamed.
"It really does."
Sarah smiled politely, thanked her, and continued into the
store.
Within moments she was thinking about milk...
...whether the twins needed more diapers...
...and what she was going to cook for dinner.
The petition she'd just signed had already drifted to the
back of her mind.
The trail climbed gently through the valley.
Neither man needed to think about where they were going.
They had walked this path dozens of times over the years.
Perhaps hundreds.
The morning air carried the scent of pine and damp earth,
while the distant river murmured somewhere below them.
Joven stopped for a moment, looking across the valley.
"...Never gets old."
Zas followed his gaze.
The mountains stretched into the distance beneath a
cloudless sky. Daral Lake shimmered in the sunlight, and the village looked
almost toy-like from where they stood.
"It doesn't change much," Zas observed.
"No."
Joven smiled.
"But I still catch myself staring."
He took a slow breath.
"I love this valley."
He said it so matter-of-factly that it sounded less like a
declaration and more like an accepted truth.
"I always will."
They continued walking.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Only boots against stone.
Birdsong.
The wind.
Finally, Zas broke the silence.
"...When did you know?"
Joven glanced sideways.
"Know what?"
"When it was time."
"...To walk away."
Joven's expression became thoughtful.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped over a fallen log before speaking.
"I don't think there was one moment."
"No?"
He shook his head.
"I wish there had been."
He chuckled quietly.
"That would've made things easier."
"So what was it?"
Joven looked out across the trees.
"It was..."
He searched for the words.
"...little things."
He smiled.
"I remember holding my first daughter after she was
born."
His eyes softened.
"Suddenly patrols didn't feel quite the same."
Another few steps.
"Then the second."
"…and the third."
He laughed.
"Then one day I was watching Ariel perform."
He looked almost embarrassed by the memory.
"Our oldest daughter was dancing beside her."
"She wasn't as good."
"Not yet."
"...but she was getting close."
His smile widened.
"I nearly missed that."
Zas listened quietly.
"…and then..."
Joven rubbed the back of his neck.
"...my body started joining the conversation."
He flexed one knee.
"A sore knee that never quite stopped aching."
"A shoulder."
"A back."
"Nothing dramatic."
"Just little reminders."
He laughed.
"'Maybe you're not twenty-five anymore, Joven.'"
As though on cue-
Zas winced.
His injured shoulder protested as he adjusted the strap on
his pack.
Joven noticed immediately.
"...Exactly."
Zas couldn't help smiling.
"Poor timing."
"Perfect timing."
They walked on.
"I know why you're asking."
Zas looked at him.
"Do you?"
"You think you're standing at a crossroads."
Zas didn't deny it.
"My decision..."
Joven shrugged.
"...was easier."
"I could retire from patrol."
"I still woke up beside Ariel every morning."
"I still watched my children grow."
"My whole world stayed here."
He looked at Zas.
"Yours doesn't."
He was about to continue with, "half your family lives
on the other side of the planet, " but he then realized he didn't need to
say it aloud.
They both knew.
The trail finally opened onto a rocky overlook.
Below them, the valley unfolded in every direction.
Daral Lake gleamed like polished glass.
Thin trails of smoke drifted from the village.
Tiny figures moved between the buildings.
The two men stood silently.
Eventually, Zas spoke.
"I keep waiting."
"For what?"
"I don't know."
"A sign."
Joven laughed.
A genuine, warm laugh.
"If you're waiting for the sky to open up and tell you
what to do..."
He looked upward theatrically.
"...you're going to be waiting a very long time."
Zas laughed too.
"I know."
"I've always known."
The laughter faded.
The silence that followed was comfortable.
Joven rested his hands on the wooden railing overlooking the
valley.
"You know..."
He smiled.
"Sometimes we spend so much time waiting for the
future..."
"...that we forget the present showed up."
Zas looked out across the valley again.
The lake.
The village.
The mountains.
The breeze.
His home.
Joven nodded toward the view.
"The future will come when it comes."
He smiled.
"In the meantime..."
"...this is a pretty good day."
For a long while...
Neither of them said another word.
They simply stood together, watching the valley they both
loved.
Olivia Stabler rubbed her eyes.
The interview transcripts had grown into two untidy stacks
on her desk.
One stack contained witness statements.
The other contained interviews with the soldiers from
Forman's company.
Every interview had finally been completed.
That was the good news.
She reached for the top file.
That was also where the good news ended.
"...'I wasn't there.'"
She flipped the page.
"'I don't remember.'"
Another page.
"'I only heard about it afterwards.'"
Another.
"'Everyone was doing it.'"
She let the folder fall shut.
"Convenient."
Nearly every soldier had followed the same pattern.
Minimize.
Deflect.
Forget.
Blame somebody else.
…and whenever the questions became uncomfortable...
"...I don't know."
Or worse...
Several had spent pages explaining why Havin deserved
everything that happened to him.
Olivia sighed.
"I didn't ask about Havin."
One transcript lay open before her.
"...Yes, we detained the princess, but you have to
understand what the monarchy did to our families..."
Another.
"...If Peace understood the oppression we'd lived
through..."
Another.
"...The Revolution was justified..."
Olivia leaned back.
"The Revolution can be justified."
She looked around her empty office.
"That doesn't answer what you did afterwards."
She wasn't investigating whether Curgarden had legitimate
grievances.
Many of them had.
She wasn't investigating whether Havin's government had
committed abuses.
It had.
She was investigating whether crimes had been committed
after the fighting.
Those were entirely different questions.
She reached for a yellow legal pad.
Across the top she'd written:
Potential Charges
Below it...
Only one name had a solid line drawn beneath it.
FORMAN
Olivia frowned.
"I can probably get you."
She tapped her pen thoughtfully.
"…but I'd really like some company."
She knew Forman hadn't acted alone.
She also knew proving individual responsibility was another
matter entirely.
Everyone had suddenly developed remarkably poor memories.
Except...
Curiously...
...when it came time to remember someone else's wrongdoing.
She smiled despite herself.
"Funny how that works."
Her computer chimed softly.
Almost without thinking, she clicked over to another browser
tab.
Princess Elara's page.
The latest video had been uploaded an hour earlier.
Elara stood in a bright kitchen, carefully preparing stuffed
peppers while explaining each step to the camera.
Behind her...
Eldred sampled one.
His face lit up.
Elara laughed.
"You haven't even swallowed yet."
"I already know it's good."
"You always say that."
"Because you're always right."
Olivia smiled.
For a few minutes...
They just looked like two ordinary young people having fun.
Exactly what Elara had wanted.
A chance to be known for something besides...
...being the last princess of Aetheria.
Olivia scrolled into the comments.
Most were encouraging.
Looks delicious!
Recipe please!
Eldred is living the dream.
Then-
WAR PROPAGANDA.
STOP LYING ABOUT CURGARDEN.
HAVIN'S DAUGHTER DESERVES PRISON.
FAKE VICTIM.
Olivia closed her eyes.
There they were.
Every single day.
No matter what Elara posted.
Cooking.
Gardening.
Music.
It didn't matter.
Someone always found their way into the comments.
Someone always called her a liar.
Someone always insisted they'd known exactly what had
happened...
...despite never having been there.
Olivia wondered how exhausting that had to become.
To wake up each morning...
...knowing strangers would accuse you of inventing the worst
experience of your life.
She quietly closed the browser.
The kitchen videos could wait.
Justice couldn't.
She turned back toward the mountain of interview
transcripts.
Somewhere inside those pages...
Somebody had slipped.
Somebody had contradicted another witness.
Somebody had remembered one detail they shouldn't have.
It would take days.
Maybe weeks.
…but she'd find it.
She picked up the first folder again.
This time she didn't see paperwork.
She saw Elara.
She saw the soldiers trying to protect themselves.
She saw victims whose names would never appear in headlines.
More than Olivia needed answers.
More than Olivia deserved justice.
She uncapped her pen.
Then she began reading the first transcript again.