Page 43 of In Death's Hands
He turns to me, smiling blindingly. “Why aren’t you dead?”
My lips stretch and the smile on my face almost feels foreign. “Maybe Death saved me for a reason. Maybe I was never meant to be dead?”
His smile disappears so quickly it leaves me reeling. But the hope is still there, and I see it reflected in his eyes. “Maybe you weren’t meant to die,” he whispers.
It seems to shake him as much as it does me. It’s strange, seeing someone care so much. The system tried to take care of me, but even though orphanages were not that common anymore, and certainly lacked public recognition, the staff were overwhelmed and just that: staff. They could never replace thewarmth and love one should receive from a parent. They had to protect their hearts too. Can you imagine caring so much and so deeply for each and every child that crosses your path, and a few months or years later you’re forced to cut ties with them? It would tear the hardest heart apart, over and over again.
No, I don’t blame them, or the system that still provided me with a safe space to land after the disaster that shaped who I am. But it doesn’t erase the years of feeling alone in a big world. In my quest to enjoy this life no matter what, I met countless people while out partying, but it was all superficial. And it grew old quickly, especially when I had to wake up early to earn a living when those I was partying with could safely go home or skip a few classes in the morning to rest. I could have done the same, but I’ve never been able to touch that bank account my adoptive parents left me, let alone go back to that house I had no memories in.
I did know they had an accountant that still tried to bring me in occasionally, tried to let me know that taxes were being paid and if I ever wanted to, he’d be happy to start the water and electricity back up. But I’m not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be.
The closest thing to real friends I’ve found are Joana, Isaiah, Eilidh and Mia, and I can’t help but wonder how they’d feel about that. Would they pity me while they think of their own friends as the real ones?
So having Nathan so relieved you’d think he was the one told that he wasn’t meant to die feels like a cool balm to my heart when it’s been hurting for decades. But my question remains. “Why are the Novensiles after me?”
Seeming to shake whatever gloomy thoughts were clouding him, Nathan says, “I don’t know. The Novensiles are a group of their own.”
“What does that mean? You said before that you lot were having issues with them.”
His lips twitch. “You lot?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What? Do you have a name for yourselves? Let me guess. The Sparkly Ones or… The Glorious Bunch.” He shakes his head and turns to go to the kitchen but not before I catch a glimpse of a smile. I follow him. “Oh, wait, I’ve got it! The Mighty Teleporters!”
A chuckle escapes him as he grabs a bottle of water, and I feel like I’ve won a race. Any race. All the races. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s called Fading, not teleporting. Trust me, you never want to be teleported.”
That makes me pause. “Wait, so teleporting actually exists?”
He nods. “Yes, but it comes from forgotten bits of human magic, and the poor fools I’ve seen attempt it ended up in bits and pieces.” He finishes this disturbing statement by taking a greedy sip of water, and my eyes hyper-focus on his Adam’s apple and the movements of his lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle.
I have to swallow too, and look away as heat that has nothing to do with the fireplace spreads all over my cheeks and down my body.
When I look back at him, he’s serious again. “Mylotand I have had issues with the Novensiles. Problem is that none of us can remember their roles Before. But based on their actions since we woke, we think they are a rogue group acting on what they think the Order wants.”
“How do you know it’s not actually true? They have tried to kill me.”
“That very fact confirms my suspicions. If the Order wanted you dead, you would be dead. I thought you might exist out of it;the lack of the Fates’ threads is proof enough that something is off, but you could very well exist in both.”
“I’m not following.”
“What if you are indeed out of the Order, but that is exactly how it’s supposed to be?”
“How what’s supposed to be?”
“Your path.”
“I thought without the Fates’ threads, one couldn’t have a path.”
“That’s what we believe. That’s whatIbelieved, but what if I’m wrong?” He doesn’t seem excited, which is what worries me most in this conversation. Because being out of the Order and not having a predestined path doesn’t seem bad exactly, just a bit lonely if everyone else does have something laid out neatly for them. Although I’ve witnessed the lives of others, and it’s rarely as neat as it appears from the outside.
“So the Novensiles are acting based on what they think should be, but if the Order truly needed me dead, I would be. Is that it?”
He nods, and I feel my head pounding behind my eyes. I think I’ve had enough of talking about crazy-ass subjects for a while. Unfortunately for me, I don’t think I have a choice.
“They’re basically a crazy religious order acting on what they believe their overlord wants, then?”
The laugh coming out of Nathan’s mouth is as much a surprise for him as it is for me, it seems. He clears his throat and turns away quickly. “Right,” he answers tightly. “That pretty much sums it up, although I would never have used those words myself.”
“That much is obvious.” I wonder what kind of a life this man has had since he woke. Turan and the others seemed tobe pretty familiar with the way I speak and were using the same vocabulary and turns of phrases. Despite their accents, they appeared to understand the world as I know it. Nathan is another story. He seemed at once too familiar with certain aspects of humanity, like death and accidents and the darker side of humans, and also completely clueless about what anyone would call the basics. Earlier I used the microwave to heat up a box of takeout that had gone cold too fast, and I swear his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He tried to hide it, but the reaction was there. Just like he sometimes seems to be mimicking my words without sounding completely sure about them.
