Page 110 of A Silence So Divine

The issue is that I don’t think I’ll break the promise at all, but I have no intention of leaving her alone.

What a horrifying realization.

“Threeweeks?” The voice comes from my left, and I glower into the sunshine to make out who spoke. It’s a man in his mid to late-forties, his red beard peppered with gray hairs. He’s been with the Resistance longer than I have, and based on the patronizing glint in his eyes, he doesn’t like his position beneath my thumb. Can’t say I blame him.

“Yes,” I confirm with as much calm as I can muster. My hands spasm with the effort to keep still. Every disapproving gaze is trained on me, and I want to crawl out of my own skin. It’s not because I’m worried whether or not they like me—that’s the least of my concerns. It’s what might happen if they decide to back out of the fight that has me on pins and needles.

Veda stands at my side, but only as moral support. I’m the one fraternizing with the enemy, so I must also play messenger boy.

A young girl speaks up next. The pitch of her voice is enough to make me wince.

“What the hell! You said—”

“I know what I said.” I gesture to myself. “But it’s not up tome. They’re moving, so we have to be ready.” My voice is empty, void of conviction. Murmurs and worried glances sweep over the group. Everyone but Sylvie seems to rethink their decision of pledging allegiance to the cause. Eyes as sharp and calculating as ever, she only watches me.

As the roar of voices crescendos, my own anxious thoughts join the fray. My mind becomes an echo chamber of fragmented worries and accusations.

It’s the human condition that something must be to blame for all of life’s misfortunes. As the man standing before them, that blame falls on my shoulders. The burden isn’t one I carry lightly.

Fortunately,shockingly, Eden and Creed handled the news well. I had told them as delicately as I could over dinner two nights prior. Eden only nodded, while Creed looked pensive and pushed his plate away from him. There was a moment where I thought he might flip the table or run out in a panic, but he was motionless for only a minute before saying,“Good thing we’ve been training.”And that was that.

Now, they stand on the edge of the crowd while chaos ensues. Creed’s eyes meet mine briefly, and he offers a toothless grin of reassurance.

A voice rings out above the rest, and I snap my attention to the speaker.

“If you want to leave, no one’s stopping you! Just quit your bitching so the rest of us can come up with a plan.Christ.” Sylvie punctuates her sentence with a flip of her hair, effectively silencing the group. There are a few muttered curses fromthose who make their exit, removing themselves from the fight altogether. I get it, but it’s still shit. We could use all the help we can get.

Silently, I count the heads of those remaining. Twenty seven. We have twenty seven people to take down over one hundred of the Brothers. And that’s just locally. The odds aren’t great, but I have no choice but to force optimism.

A touch to my shoulder comes from my left, and Veda steps forward. “Tell us what we need to do,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. The expectation is palpable, crawling over my flesh.

I cannot fail them.

A swallow gets stuck in my throat, and my gaze roves over each individual face. Lastly, with Eden’s eyes reflecting the stars, she gives me a stiff nod. My muscles loosen enough to force words up from my diaphragm.

“In nineteen days, the Brothers will be attempting a siege on the Orphanage downtown, giving us the perfect opportunity to bring them to their knees.” Each word carries an ounce more confidence than the last. Looks of speculation ease into those of determination.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Forty Five

Eden

The pages of my sketchbook bend as I thumb through them, softened from months of use. Almost filled, only a few are blank. I fold my last project away and begin to sketch an outline. What it will be, I’m not sure yet. The pencil has a mind of its own as it curves along the paper, a blur of lead.

With my legs tucked beneath me, I lean over the page. Hair obscuring my face, I push the damp locks over my shoulder. The only light source is Creed’s beside lamp, making the page nearly indiscernible.

The creak of the door alerts me of a presence. Expecting Creed back from his shower, I’m surprised to see Cecil leaning against the door jamb.

Peeking down at my drawing, I cringe internally at the progress I’ve made. In shades of scribbled gray, it’s a haphazard depiction of a girl on her knees. Face contorted in anguish, her mouth open in an eternal scream. Slowly, as not to cause suspicion, I close the book.

“How are you feeling?” He rumbles, taking a step further into the room.

With a shrug, I sign a simple, “Okay.” Which is the truth. I’ve surpassed the point of being upset. I’m nervous for those in the Resistance, and hopeful that the loss of life will be minimal.

I’ve come to accept that some things have to happen.

Fated.