Page 13 of Null & Void

I scream at her to run, go, escape. But she stays, unaware of the seconds ticking down to the moment our life changes irreversibly.

“We’re practicing how to disarm someone with a knife. Move into the barn.”

Confused about why he’s red with anger, she follows him.But his anger fuels me, sharpening my teeth and claws. It feeds me.

“Right. Try to get my knife,” he instructs, as he throws his knife from hand to hand, dropping into a defensive position.His skin—so pale it’s almost translucent—is going pink from the cold.

She steels herself and advances, focusing on his knife and his body language. We’ve been learning how to do this since we were five and Jaena saw us winning scraps against the older boys in the children’s compound. She thought perhaps it was our Gift, but it wasn’t. We are good,very good—especially for our age—but not Gifted.

There’s nothing special about us.

I try to stop her. Dull our skill, be meek, anything to stop what’s coming. But she disarms him easily, his face sweaty as he demands the knife back.

“Again,” he tells her, and she swiftly disarms him with little trouble.

“Am I doing something wrong? Isn’t this exactly what you want me to be doing?”

Pasha is Gifted, not in weaponry, but in teaching, and he just so happens to be adept at weaponry. We’re better though, even at thirteen.

“I thought you’d be grateful that I gave you more one-on-one training instead of having to deal with a full group for the first time. Instead, you’re showing off and giving me attitude.”

Pasha was always a bit odd, maybe a little creepy, but never nasty. A decade our senior, we thought he’d enjoyed teaching us one-on-one for the last three revs. But finally, today, we were supposed to be with the rest of the kids in secondary, learning as a group instead of being hidden away.

“Here, take the knife, and I’ll disarm you and show you how it’s supposed to be done.” He hands us the knife, and she prepares to attack so he can defend and disarm.

“Do it badly, don’t win, let him disarm you!” I try to yell, but nothing stops her from pinning his arm behind his back and holding the knife to his throat.

She releases him and hands his knife back, which he snatches and moves in so close that she’s stepping backward to keep some distance from him.Every step, every time, fuels me. Sharpens my claws, lengthens my teeth, just that little bit more.

“You really do think you’re better than me, don’t you, Mika? I thought maybe once you were sterilized, some of that fire would be extinguished. But no, you’re just the same arrogant little bitch you’ve always been.”

Right now, this is when she realizes. We’re backed against the wall of an empty stable.

RUN.

But she doesn’t run. She still doesn’t truly understand the danger. She still trusts him. Still believes he won’t hurt us.

Even afterward, when he leaves us broken and bleeding on the empty stable floor, she doesn't understand. We still don’t.

Why didn’t she fight back?

Why didn’t she fight back the next time?

Or the next?

Why did it have to be me?

I never did get to join the group.

I know I can never change the sequence of events. I know yelling and screaming at myself does nothing. But still, I try, and still, I wake up gasping for breath. The revolting memory of Pasha’s touch still caresses my skin. Over a decade of this nightmare and it’s still as raw as it was back then.

I catch Riley’s eye, awake in his bedroll, as I have the few times I’ve woken from a nightmare. He doesn’t sleep long either, or much at all for that matter. He’s often carving wood, but something about the time of night and the hushed silence stops me from asking what. I calm my breathing and let the nightmare-fueled memory wash off me until I fall back to sleep.

We reach a beautiful old cobblestoned cottage surrounded by all sorts of trees and vines with a massive stable around midday the next day. It’s beginning to drizzle, and the pluming smoke from the chimney gives me hope that the inside will be warm and dry.

The cottage is reminiscent of the small parts of Nemoris I’ve seen. With only two assassination assignments in Nemoris, I haven’t seen much of the country at all.

The two men I was sent to assassinate, one Laguzborn and the other Erduborn, both hid in cottages like this. Though the assignments were two revs apart, the similarities were uncanny. Both knew I was coming and accepted their fate as soon as they saw me waiting for them. I was instructed to kill them brutally, painfully. I did neither. They sat on a couch and a kitchen chair, respectively. And didn’t fight back. Both hung their heads, waiting. I slit their throats. Then, when I knew lifeblood no longer ran in their veins, I brutalized their bodies. No one would know they weren’t tortured.

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