Page 13 of Storm

My lower lids are wells of unshed tears. Always trying to be strong. Always holding everything in. Trying to find joy. What an absolute farce.

“But when I was six, Mam pricked my finger and—” I sputter, hoping for a way out of this.

“And instead of reading your solence, the fairy read Mam’s,” he answers regretfully.

Treason. The blue fairy who was chained and made to test our solence could be killed for less. He is probably already dead.

Denial—the only enforceable, rational tool I have left. I’m not Halo. I’m not half anything. I’m human. We all are. Including the hollows, even if they want to think themselves superior. They hold no magic. Only the creatures of the Fairy Lands do, and they exploit it, like they exploit us farmers. “My eyes aren’t grey. They’re blue.” Ragged nails dig into his roughened grimy jumpsuit. I plead, willing him to look harder, as if that will somehow help our predicament. However, in the right light, through the thicket of blue lies a string of webbed silver. It’s never been enough to give others pause. It’s been enough for Nix to linger on my eyes more than once, an undercurrent of knowledge I didn’t understand before. Now I do.

“They don’t take coloured eyes.”

“They do now.” Grip loosening, I sink to the cold cement floor. “Shit.” He goes with me, shoving me towards his chest. “They have seronds in Halo. It’s not unheard of.”

“And what, I’m going to continue to be a serond, but surrounded by them?” I spit. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want their foul solence in me. 1 percent is enough—50 percent is soul-destroying.

50 percent is enough to claw my skin off. Boil me alive and call me well done. I’ll take it to be rid of them.

“I asked around, and the new rule is specifically targeting women. They need more women of breeding age. The full-solence hollows are experiencing decreasing fertility.” There it is, the catch. What my life has always been boiled down to; a womb to breed.

At the idea of Halo using my body as a vessel for breeding, I rage, pushing at my brother. “I don’t fucking think so.”

Nix’s eyes light up as a rhythmic tap sounds on the metal door. “There she is.” His smile is back with a vengeance, similar to how he looked when I would beat the shit out of him in our “play” fights. “I won’t let them have you. You belong to Mam and me. They can’t have this.”

He rests his forehead against mine. Together, we pool our strength, the fight returning to my system. They can’t have me. I belong to him and Mam. For nineteen years, Mam and Nix raised me. They’re my family.

I am not a hollow.

I AM STORM.

The tapping comes again, and he pulls me up and towards the truck. “They’re coming. You need to hide.” He gives my forehead a quick kiss and guides me into the large truck bed.

“I—But Nix, what about you?” I move into the shadows of the back of the vehicle, my voice echoing in the empty space. It’s dark and clammy, my mind only focused on him.

“Fight. That’s all you need to remember, Storm. Me and Mam, we need you to fight.”

“But, where—” I whisper, and suddenly, he’s gone from view.

We should be fighting together. Not apart. I can’t leave Mam.

Silence fills the air around me. He can’t be gone. Not like that.

The creaking of a door opening, shouts resounding, and feet scuffing freeze me in place. My scarred hand moves to cover my heavy breaths, the stupid cuffs on my wrists sentencing me. Nix said to fight, but he put me in this truck. I inch to look beyond the edge of the dark wall, where the light is spilling. The loud bashing and the harsh words “swine,” “inbred,” “to death,” surround me. Shrinking back towards the floor, I seek the pressure that sits between my breasts. I grasp it. It was risky, wearing it today. I had to, Mam a heavy weight on my mind. Our treat. Our joy. Dashed. FUCK.

What should I do?

The locket rests leaden in my palm as I release the flood of tears I have been trying to hold back in the musky smelling truck, everything finally pouring forth. Slam. My body pushes further into the back of the truck, the door we entered the docking bay through abruptly shutting, taking any sounds with it. I try to focus on what is written inside the heavy locket as I hold it close to my chest. “Hope.”

However, all I feel is anguish.

And… A simmering wrath underneath the surface, my skin prickling.

When I was younger, my favourite story was the one my mam would tell about the phoenix rising from the ashes—Nix’s namesake. I couldn’t get over the cycle of death and rebirth. If I had to pinpoint what part of my cycle I am in now, I would say death. If I know anything about death, we fight for rebirth.

We love beyond life.

Seconds go by before masculine voices enter the space. Clenching the locket in my hand, I wait. I don’t know what for. It feels like the right thing to do. Why push me towards this truck if Nix didn’t want me to stay in it? I can’t think beyond what is happening at this moment. Lingering on thoughts of Nix and Mam won’t get me out of this. To help them, I need to be free. Is that Nix’s intention?

Statuesque, I remain… A shuffling comes from outside the truck. I brace for someone to find me.