Satara sat on the porch. Its wooden edge dug into the back of her knees and the shadow of her feet skimmed the ground beneath her as she swung them back and forth. She pretended she wasn't paying attention to the main gates. Pale pink petals landed on her hand and stuck to her black kimono, obscuring white tiger design sewn up its length. She flicked them off with an irritated wrinkle of her nose.
They were having kung pao chicken for dinner. Its heavy sweet and sourness mixed with the soft fragrance of the cherry blossom trees dotted across the walls around their home. Somewhere beyond them, Brother An was playing his bamboo flute. A tune woven from the blue of the sky above, the sigh of the breeze, every individual scent of spring, and the impassioned swell of his own thoughts. She breathed in until her lungs complained and kept her eyes open though they wanted to drift shut in pleasure. I don't want to eat by myself again.
Her father tried to keep mealtimes calm and relaxing, speaking in between each dish to share stories about the other Tribe members. He asked what they thought about new and potential laws, whatever those were, and told them news about somewhere called the East and new discoveries that had been made there without revealing too much. Mother didn't like it when he spoke about that place. Is that why she's always angry with –
“Were you waiting for me, little one?” asked Saytarnia.
Satara jumped and would have slipped off the porch if her sister hadn't caught her upper arm from behind. Her soft chuckle melded with Brother An's music.
“Tarya!” She scrambled to her feet and threw her arms around her older sister. “'Scared me!”
“I never mean to.” Saytarnia hugged her, hiding her from the rest of the world with the wide sleeves of her kimono. Beneath the dark fabric, Satara cringed at the underlying scent that always accompanied her sister these days. It reminded her of knives in the kitchen and one of the harsh herbal soaps in their bathroom. “I'm sorry.”
“Gate?” She pointed at the unopened barrier.
“Just because a gate is there, it doesn't mean every one will use it.” Saytarnia gently eased herself from her hold and grasped her hand instead. A knowing shadow fell across her expression.
“Why?” Satara tilted her head as they followed the path of the porch around the house. The smell of the kung pao chicken strengthened and called out to her stomach like a loud voice.
“Maybe because that's what other people expect them to do.” Her sister's hair had been half tied up into a knot at the back of her head and the rest fell down to the end of her shoulder blades. A dishevelled ebony curtain fluttering in the breeze.
“Yes. Some people seem to take issue with doing what is expected of them,” said their mother from the side of their chabudai table.
She nodded at the the cook, who set a steaming pot down in the middle of the table, and her sharp eyes returned to them both. Saytarnia stopped just before the threshold as if awaiting permission to enter her own home.
“Such as returning home in time for our evening meal.” Their mother smiled, each word a blunted barb, and gestured towards the table. “Sit down before everything goes cold.”
Their father smiled at them from the furthest side of the table and nodded. Satara grabbed Saytarnia by the wrist and tried to pull her into the room.
“Come, Tarya! Food!” She laughed and waved a hand at the feast laid out for them.
For a moment, her sister's wrist and forearm stiffened beneath her fingers. Her chin lifted in a silent response and Satara's stomach clenched. But then Saytarnia closed her eyes and smiled, allowing her to lead the way to their parents.
<><><><><>
“Tarya!” She pulled on the back of her sister's haori with both hands and dug her heels into the soft earth.
A gentle hand landed on her head. “You should be asleep, little one.”
“I come?” Some other people were waiting for her sister by the gate. Only men it seemed, though she did notice a beautiful person with pale hair.
“Not now. I must leave and you must sleep.” Saytarnia crouched down and entwined their fingers, having detached her hands from the haori without alerting her. “Mother and father will worry if you leave them like this.”
Satara hesitated. The house, a large shape several steps away, didn't seem too lonely and worry wouldn't keep her sister home. She had to try something else.
“My birthday!” She shook her head and nearly dislodged the comforting touch. Her eyes were puffy from waking so suddenly and shiny beneath the threat of her tears.
“I'll be back in time for your birthday.” Moonlight fractured the deep brown of Saytarnia's eyes, the unnatural stillness of her features, as she stroked Satara's face and cradled it in her palm. She brushed away Satara's tears with the back of her hand. “I promise. Don't cry.”
“I not cry!” Satara scowled but her chest was going to burst despite it feeling utterly empty.
Her sister disappeared into the night with the strangers, pausing only to point at the house until she turned and made her way back inside.
<><><><><>
The sun set impatiently. Satara stood by the front gate, one hand pressed to the wood. Her parents had started to decorated the house and Saytarnia still hadn't come back home. She thumped her frustration into the gate and it rocked unnaturally on its hinges, returning closer to her face than before. She tucked her fingers into the gap between its edge and the threshold, and pulled it towards her. A rectangle of choices, of freedom, opened its arms in front of her. Acres of land. The rest of the village formed shadowy shapes in the distance, stained red by the sun.
If Saytarnia wasn't going to come back to her in time, perhaps it she'd be better off going to her sister first. She stepped out through the gateway but a warning stilled her knees and drew sweat to the surface of her skin.
“Mother and father will worry if you leave them like this.”
Saytarnia's voice was a rope twisted around her spine, connecting her to their home. Satara sighed and backed into the safety of their courtyard, pressing the gate shut. She didn't want to worry anyone. And she didn't want to miss her sister's return.
She turned towards the house and frowned as the gate creaked faintly.
Hands grabbed her from behind before she could look back. Large. Merciless. Lukewarm and smelling like scorched stone.
They smothered her voice as she cried out her sister's name and covered her eyes like an infinite blackness descending upon her family home.
And dragged her back into the freedom she had willingly rejected.
<><><><><>
Satara averted her face and the abrupt movement reverberated painfully all down her neck. The hands were her own, pressed to her face. The remnants of an anguished cry echoed within the confines of her teeth. However the barely visible ceiling above, framed her parted fingers, did not belong to her. She lowered her hands, skin moist and warm from her rapid breathing, and pushed herself up onto her elbows. Ripped and stained wallpaper striped the walls around her but the swollen pain crushing her ribs shoved aside any further details about her surroundings.
Distantly warm like the hands that had dragged her away from her home. Away from her family.
She rolled over and held her chest as though it would fall open, biting back a groan of pain. What was that? What family? Her quivering fingers brushed the nylon of a dark sleeping bag and she forced her half closed eyes open. Where am I?
“Satara?” Moonlight from an open window cut across the darkness like a knife and revealed half of the speaker's face.
The breath faltered in her chest before she identified his dark eyes and long black coat. She tried to push herself backwards as he turned away from the window frame completely but didn't approach her. Her ribs burned beneath her touch and nausea danced at the edges of her self control. Questions darted like shooting stars across the sky of her thoughts and were replaced by devastating comets falling towards the earth of her physical condition. If he tries anything, I won't be able to stop him like this but – Gritting her teeth, she squeezed one hand into a fist and pressed it against floor – I can't move …
“Tara!” Jason's voice broke through the silence like brilliant sunlight through heavy grey clouds. His feet pattered the floor behind her followed by the thud of his knees which pressed against her back. “You're awake.”
“Jayce?” She rolled back onto her elbow as he shuffled away again. The fragility of her voice threw her off balance almost as much as the blatant relief in his moonlit eyes.
“You okay?” One of his hands supported her neck and upper back, and the other rested on the fingers she held to her chest.
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No but that's not important right now. We're stuck in a random room with a stranger. His expression wavered as if he could read the silent answers on her face and the corners of his mouth lowered as he wanted to stop them from trembling.
“What happened?” she asked instead, focusing on him instead of the dreams that curled around her limbs and wriggled beneath her skin like snakes waiting to sink venomous fangs into her reality.
She was acutely aware of the man standing in the shadows like a ghost from her memories. Her heart jolted inside her as a more recent image overwrote one memory in particular. A woman standing in the doorway of the MMA hall.
Saytarnia.
She had come back. They had fought and she had –
“Uh –” The reluctant dread in Jason's voice gave way to wobbly concern as she tried to sit up, grabbing his sleeve even as pain pressed her eyelids together. “Hey, you shouldn't –”
“Saytarnia. Where's she gone –?” she demanded in an agonized hiss and half collapsed against him before she could finish speaking.
His panic pulsed against her forehead and the hand at her back pressed her closer to his chest. She didn't have the strength to push him or herself away.
“Satara, you should drink this,” said the man standing over them and she barely managed to turn her head towards him.
Up close, he looked younger. He looks like – A headache bloomed in her skull like a malignant flower, watered by the consecutive shocking events. Hell, it's him! His voice was softer than it had been in her dream and the absence of his sunglasses helped to humanise him further. But his barely visible eyes were the same semi-hollow pits she remembered and, as he crouched down to offer her a bottle of water, something about his scent reminded her of azure skies, dusky pink petals, and the lilt of a bamboo flute. Was that place real as well?
“Who are you?” She squinted beneath the weight of her headache and was unable to accept the bottle. She was sure her ribs would splinter if she removed her arm from around them.
“I can explain everything later, after you've had time to rest,” he replied.
Though he didn't say anything, Jason stiffened against her. He's not trying to help me run away but it doesn't seem like he trusts this guy completely either.
“I need to go home.” She half turned towards her friend again and he blinked apprehensively at her. “Jayce, what time is it?”
“It's after nine.” Words teetered on his lips. “But –”
“I need to get back. The Langs will –” A voice in her head overlapped hers and cut off the rest of her sentence.
“Mother and father will worry if you leave them like this.”
She froze as the past matched the present like two jigsaw puzzles in the same box. Some parts connected. Others never would. She couldn't understand why the pieces had been mixed together in the first place.
“I told them we went out to celebrate but it got late and now the buses aren't running.” Jason's tentative smiled told her the truth. He knew it wasn't his best lie but hoped she would go easy on him after considering the circumstances.
“How?” Where's my phone? I didn't bring it to the hall.
“I texted them. They think you're staying with a friend.”
She frowned and each furrow in her features stung as if they had been carved out by razor blades. “But I don't have any frie – ”
“Yeah, but they don't know that.” The concern on his eyes suddenly changed direction and flowed inwards. “Do they?”
What happened while I was out? The scent of blood filled her nostrils from somewhere close to her face and she remembered –
“Why?” Her toes barely scraped the floor. She clutched her broken ribs and each breath shuddered in between her set or words. She squeezed her eyes shut and tears rolled off her chin. “Why are you doing this to me? Now. Back then. Why?”
“I told you, if you want to know the truth, then live.” Saytarnia's palm heated up. Their temples touched. “You have to live, Satara. Even if your zai feels like poison.”
“I don't – want to –” She sobbed and grabbed onto the front of her sister's coat.
Something ripped and her neck burned. Satara screamed, unable to tell if the sound had come from the scar on her neck being torn open or the air splitting around them. Blood, hot and foreign, spilled down her back and chest. Her entire body was alight, crackling from the inside out as if electric were running through her blood.
The urge to curl up flooded her system. She clenched a handful of her hair to control it and breathed hard through both her nose and mouth as the air seemed to lose its oxygen content. Why didn't she kill me? Why do that to me in front of everyone and then tell me to live? What the hell is zai?
“I'll tell you everything.” The stranger's voice followed the harsh cacophony of her memories like ocean waves falling upon the shore during a calm summers day. She couldn't remember ever going to the ocean. Not with the Langs. Nor with her real parents. Doubt twinged deep in her chest. My real parents … The guy from her dream passed the bottle to Jason as he continued speaking. “But you'll need your strength to hear it. This drink will help you sleep and recover faster.”
“I don't want to go back to sleep.” Semi-warm hands waited for her in the nightmare she knew she would have. She never wanted to feel them again. Relaxing her fingers in her hair, she studied Jason's conflicted expression as he looked from her, to the bottle, and then at the person crouched behind her. How can I sleep here with a random person watching me? I couldn't even handle Saytarnia properly while I was awake and for some reason this guy reminds me of her.
“I've added herbs to the water.” Though his expression remained neutral, the stranger's gaze mirrored her dread like a stain he had hastily covered up with a square of cardboard. “It should stop the dreams. For now.”
“Which herbs?” It was a pointless question. She knew nothing about herbs and wouldn't recognise them even if he did decide to share any names.
But he smiled like someone looking at a nostalgic photograph. “Too many to name right now. Just know there's nothing in there that would hurt you.”
“How do I know that?” She struggled to sit up and not lean heavily on Jason's arm, taking the bottle of brown water with darkened bits at its base from him.
“Because I'm not here to hurt you. Either of you.” His eyes flitted briefly to her friend. “I'm here to bring you home.”
Home? Unbidden, the house in her dreams floated into sight. She blinked it away. I don't have a home any more.
“You should rest, Tara.” Though he touched the end of the bottle in her hand, Jason's gaze remained fixed on the guy opposite them. “I'm not going anywhere.”
The stranger nodded at him and stood up. He walked over to a doorway half hidden beyond Jason as if he also needed the space he was giving them and pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat.
“I'll be on the roof,” he said over his shoulder. He lingered only until they made sounds of acknowledgement and then escaped her sight.
It sounded like a promise rather than a threat. Satara opened the bottle and swirled its contents thoughtfully. It smelt strongly of the fresh ginger tea Mr and Mrs Lang drank every morning.
“You don't have to drink it,” said Jason.
I shouldn't drink it. Not something given by someone I don't know. Even if he's telling the truth and I don't have any more nightmares. Even if Jayce's here while I sleep. I've seen what that guy can do to other people, haven't I?
“I doubt I'll sleep if I don't.” She grimaced and hesitated before lifting the bottle to her lips. “I hope it doesn't taste too bad.”
He looked away as she drunk half of it. The taste was lighter than she expected it to be, burning only slightly on its way down. Amongst the myriad of flavours, she only recognised chamomile which was one of the other teas the Langs had in their kitchen.
“Bad?” he asked as she resealed the bottle and handed it back to him.
“You can try it if you want.”
He held onto her as she lowered herself back onto the sleeping bag, hands hovering uncertainly as she tried to roll over to face him and winced. “He said he fixed your ribs but maybe you should just stay like that.”
Fixed my ribs? She fidgeted until her neck and head didn't feel like they were trying to settle a divorce. What the -?
“Who is he, Jayce?” she murmured out loud. “And what happened?”
The careless glow on his face had dimmed since she last closed her eyes. His shoulders stayed raised as if they were under attack and he wouldn't look straight at her. Is it because I lost? To Saytarnia? In a distant part of her thoughts, the idea sounded like an ominous gong. Is he ashamed of me?
She remembered the boys in the hall cheering as she was taken down, most mocking her attempts rather than encouraging her. Her own screams as Saytarnia broke her ribs had left traces of blood in her throat. They had all seen her utter defeat, Jason included, and the shattered pieces of a mask she hadn't realised she was wearing rested heavily in her lap. Her adoption into a rich family. Her supremacy in their fight class. Her lack of friends due to studying. Choices. Not coping methods. He doesn't even know I have a sister, let alone what she did to me –
“His name's Sinastar. He showed up after Saytarnia left.” He raised both hands as if to ward off another wave of questions, shaking them as the startled pulse of her heart seemed to crash against him instead. “Just sleep for now. He'll probably explain everything better anyway.”
What do you mean … everything? As much as she wanted to grab him and demand answers, the herbs in the drink seemed to have other ideas. Shadows crept across her thoughts, wiping them out one by one until she could only see how exhausted she was. She fell backwards into a soft emptiness with one final thought.
How much do you know, Jayce?
<><><><><>
White street lights, multi-hued signs, and the yellowish light from hundreds of windows turned the sleeping town into a reverse sky. Electric beads scattered across a length of worn black velvet as far as the eye could see. A patchwork of night life. Up on the roof of the derelict hotel, the continuous noise of society was far away. A soft hum easily ignored. The breeze was colder, sliding beneath his clothes, and Sinaster released his hair from its ponytail to protect his neck from its touch. He returned his hand to the pocket of his leather jacket that had been bought for the same reason and had done a good job so far.
She's awake. Satara's conscious face replaced the view of the town before his eyes. Her lifeless stare. The disciplined stiffness of her expressions. How she resisted the urge to visually succumb to the pain he knew she was going through. They've lived different lives, in different places, and yet … she's so much like her.
The image of his other cousin replaced the first. How she had looked the last time he saw her. The person she had been before that. The line between his homeland and the horrific experiences linked to it blurred. He had missed her by a matter of seconds today. In between the sound of glass breaking and Jason calling out frantically to Satara, she had vanished again before he could get the answers he needed. Just as she had the last time.
I'll save you too. And take you back home. Even if means I have to – Jason's feet, half steady on the rungs of the ladder leading to the roof, cut his musings short. He closed his eyes and his hands rolled into fists in his pockets. He took a deep breath as the boy scrambled onto the small platform and opened the door with a soft grunt. He waited until Jason was standing right behind him before speaking.
“You came back.”
“'course I did.” Jason's breath hitched and he stepped forward to stand at Sinastar's side, glancing furtively at him. “Why would I leave her with a guy I don't know?”
“I understand.” Sinastar smiled at the apprehension coiled like barbed wire around the other's body language.
“You're not angry?”
The boy was only four years his junior but had seemed even younger the first time Sinastar had caught sight of him outside the school with Satara. His easy laughter. The way he bumped into people and apologised just as fast as if he had no idea what being unaware of his surroundings could do to him. It had worried Sinastar at first but he soon realised Satara was the complete opposite. He had seen her reach out and gently steer Jason away from people with a hand to his shoulder or back, though he had always seemed unaware of her touch. She usually moved things out of his way first if she could, rather than lay a hand on him.
“You're looking out for my cousin, your friend, and making sure she's safe.” Sinastar shook his head. “Why would that make me angry?”
The last day seemed to have aged him by several years. The effort it took to meet Sinastar's gaze was visible on Jason's face. Anger bubbled out of cracks in his composure like larva beneath a bed of rocks. The carefree lightness of his movements was gone, stolen by the weight of the truth he had asked for but would never have been ready to hear. I'm sorry I couldn't tone it down any more than I already have.
Jason shrugged and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He turned his gaze to the town below and began speaking in a low tone. “Mum and dad think I'm staying at a friend's too but it's only a matter of time until they start wondering what's going on, you know? The Langs too. They're even more strict than my lot.”
Sinastar heard the underlying question but couldn't answer it until he spoke to Satara.
“How is she?” he asked instead.
“Not bad.” Suspicion clouded his tone. “She fell asleep real fast.”
“The tea had a lot of ingredients.” Several strands of hair moved in the breeze and tickled his throat. He pushed them back and covered his throat with his palm. “Not all of them were herbs.”
“What?” Jason looked at him sharply.
“I don't have to tell you Satara lives her life on guard. Now you know why.” The mistrust in the other's eyes wavered as it had been since their first meeting. Sinastar smiled with every ounce of sincerity he possessed. “Today proved she was right to feel like that but living on the edge continuously isn't good for anyone.”
“So you lied to her about the drink?” Jason shook his head, a lack of comprehension beading his brow.
“She needed to sleep but wouldn't have accepted anything from me without knowing the ingredients. No. Even if I told her, she probably wouldn't have had it anyway.”
“So you made me give it to her?” His mumbling slowly transformed into a growl.
“You being here for her is the only thing that can combat the trauma she experienced today. Do you understand?” He waited but the level of confusion on Jason's face didn't change, though the word trauma seemed to pull his shoulders even higher than before. “Satara feels safe with you, Jason. Not with me. And, right now, that's what she needs the most.”
“I – I s'pose,” he muttered, turning away to hide the sudden colour in his cheeks. “So what's the plan?”
“Once she's better, I'll tell Satara everything. About the past. About her sister.” He muffled a quiet chuckle. “About the drink too.”
“Think she'll be better by Monday?” Jason's voice tilted self-mockingly.
“Physically? Maybe. The Slaixings heal very fast.” The moon watched them like an eye hidden behind the ever present clouds of the country. His hand dropped from his neck to hang at his side. “It could take a lot longer for her mind to heal.”
“What'll you do? If she takes a long time to get better?”
Sinastar half closed his eyes, creating the illusion that he still had time as he murmured, “I'll wait.”
Jason lifted his head, presumably following his gaze before he nodded to himself.
“I'll wait too.”