Page 55 of Storm

“As you wish, Commander,” the man acquiesces. “If you follow me this way, we will begin on the market floor.”

The hollow keepers flank us, six in total, decked out in black suits, twinkling silver snake emblems on their front jacket pockets. Melek weaves his fingers through mine, jerking me to follow. Sunny hurriedly shuffles along to keep up with us at the sudden surge of activity.

The tour, for lack of a better word, is boring. Melek does not lessen his grip around my fingers, and I, in turn, grasp Sunny’s as we wander through stark, industrial, concrete rooms. The large expansive floor is between market days, carts empty of foodstuffs and various household items. Seeing the space deserted pulls at the melancholy of my soul. Our last day was a Market Day.

The conversation between the two men centres mostly around staffing arrangements, upkeep of any equipment, and general day-to-day productivity relating to the safety of the keepers and hollows who visit the factory. No mention is made of the condition of the people in the fields beyond. The seronds. We walk from workers’ quarters to the storage areas. My mind tries to reconcile my past with the now. The inside of the factory is fairly well-maintained compared to what we find outside.

Outside is a sea of barren fields, wire fences sectioning each area into neat rectangles. The factory master discourages Melek from visiting any of the smaller industrial steel barns we see in the distance. This man doesn’t know my husband. Melek insists on visiting the closest barn and accompanying fields.

It takes at least fifteen minutes to walk down the central connecting path to the first field. This time, it’s not the familiarity of the factory that strangles the worn recesses of my heart; it’s the drawn, weary, dirty faces openly gawking at us.

Surrounding the barn is a high metallic fence that keeps in a flock of small white animals with what look to be wings. The sight is so unbelievable to me, I find it hard to look away. Animals. Real. Live. How do they survive out here? Pulling away from the astonishing view, I find three sets of eyes looking towards us through the thin metal-lined fence as we come upon the gate leading into their home.

“We have currently doubled our yield. With the great renewal swiftly approaching, I have been doing my part.” The factory master’s ongoing monologue hits me like a slap to the face. Doing his part? What the fuck does that mean? Sitting on his ass all day and stealing the hard-fought-for sustenance, the farming workers’ produce.

I boil.

To keep some semblance of cool, I block them out. I can’t be privy to conversations about how they are abusing my people. The brown and dark blue eyes before me are leaving fissures a mile wide in my already cleaved chest. Did Melek bring me here to penalise me? To see the outcome of my life if he’d not plucked me from the lightning factory?

My solence wells with hurt. With rage. My emotions get the better of me, a tear ruining any composure I just held.

A tiny face peeks around the slate barn we’re heading for. I stop in my tracks. The commander, not realising my sudden standstill, pulls at my hand in his progression. I squeak, my arm tugged forward, leaving the rest of my body behind.

At the noise of my alarm, Melek spins and is on me, firmly gripping my upper arms. “Are you hurt?” he asks, low and gruff, only audible to my ears. Grey irises spell chaos, this one minor incident sending bursts of black dots through his normally hollow irises.

I shake my head. “No, I just—you pulled my arm too hard.” Sunny snuggles closely into my right side. He’s been very quiet this whole trip, taking everything in, asking me questions occasionally. I’m unsure how I feel about my five-year-old witnessing this, but I think it’s also good to understand where he could’ve grown up. It’s pure fate or chance that he ended up as my child, in luxury courtesy of his father.

My husband leans in closer. At his breath on my skin, I’m instantly soothed, my fraying nerves dismantling. “I’m sorry, wife. Do you need anything? We can stop for the day?” He rubs my sore upper arm rhythmically. I think about it for a beat. Melek keeps his mouth near my ear a flicker longer than necessary, giving my temple a quick kiss before he pulls back to stare into my eyes.

“Papa, why are the people here so dirty?” Sunny’s voice reaches out to Melek, and he looks down at our forlorn child, his features softening. Crouching down, he picks up the small, well-dressed boy in ebony breeches and a white blouse, lifting him onto his shoulders. Sunny giggles.

If it were only that easy for me to forget.

He doesn’t ignore his son’s question, answering, “These people work the land, so it is natural for them to get dirty during the day, just like when you’re in the garden with your mama.”

Unable to handle the display before me, my gaze floats away from my husband, towards the farmers whose sights linger on us. Those aren’t the faces of people who get dirty from spending a few hours gardening. Those are the faces of people spending days on days with barely any water, dry mouths our constant friends, even saliva a luxury.

Thump.

Thump.

THUMP.

Heart stalling, a lightness fills me. The air blistering. My eyes go blurry as everything moving over my vision distorts—scarred flesh, starved bodies, wheezing coughs, brown eyes⁠—

“Melek.” My voice is a small warning—all he gets before numbness claims me and I collapse to the ground. I don’t make it all the way before a cursed “Storm” hits my ears, two strong arms pulling me up to cradle against a comforting chest of heated spice and leather.

Lashes fluttering, I find myself stretched out on what appears to be a comforter. Gentle hands grip my cheeks eagerly. “Mama, are you awake?”

Opening my eyes fully, I find bright greys staring back at me, and I smile. “Yes, baby.”

Sunny turns his head and shouts, “She’s awake, Papa.”

I wince at the noise.

A chuckle grows closer. “Thanks, son.” Melek’s figure looms over us. He goes to ruffle Sunny’s hair. “How about you go find the toys in your suitcase?”

At the news of being relieved of his duties, my boy sprints off the bed and bounds across the room to two black bags. Melek made us pack light, and Sunny was only allowed to bring a couple of toys. Good thing I remembered his art book and pencils; he loves to draw.