Page 43 of Beyond The Maples
Ethra's wind still blows, mostly dust clouds, but still he doesn'tfeelgone. We can still make fire. Surely, the god of wrath, if he had truly left, would have taken that with him. It still rains, and the coast, although mostly uninhabitable, still has water lapping its shores. Which allows the rain to creep onto our continent in some spots. The goddess Dyea though, most would argue she is gone. There is nothing green or good or new anywhere.
I've seen the temples, and the churches erected to honour them all, seen the places of worship where people are told to pray and leave offerings. What offerings people have to leave, I'm not sure. The church we have in Strayton is small and always crowded with the same eccentric people from dawn until dusk. I never enjoyed going.
The execution blocks are usually beside the church, and something about it has always felt wrong. Officials say that when someone breaks the laws, their souls are to be offered back to the Gods in penance. Every soul carries its own energy, a force that belongs to the elements themselves.
Even souls without magic, they say when offered, give life back to the land, eventually. This is the way back to their graces, showing our devotion through sacrifice. Maybe I should go pay my respects, and see if it makes a difference. Knowing my luck, our whole country is just waiting on me, and with my late devotion everything would be set right. I would probably be set on fire for my insolence.
Maybe I would welcome it, especially if it meant everyone could live better.
The next day, my mood has improved marginally. Our crew's found an ease with one another that I find comforting. I love listening to Leo and Farra's idle bickering, Berkley's constant scolding of them. I even understand Tarius a bit more now. The more I watch him, the more I realize Leo's assumption was right, and years of being on alert around men means I'm programmed to expect the worst.
During breakfast, Wesley posted the ranking of our scores on the wall. For what purpose? I have no idea. Everything seems performative here one way or another, from our training to our lessons we're on display.
I failed fairly miserably, near the bottom of the cohort. I played it off like it didn't bother me, but I felt shame as everyone around received passing marks. The professor had come and handed me the papers earlier, noting I should brush up on my general knowledge and try again.
Farra notices my mood, catching me outside in the hallway by myself.
"Everything ok?" she asks, with a crease in her brow. I nod back, trying to smile.
"Yeah, tests stress me out, I guess. I'm annoyed. I'll have to take that test again, is all."
Farra motions to my paper, "Can I see this for a second?"
I cringe a little at the thought of her witnessing my failure, but I hand it over. Farra takes a few minutes, carefully looking over my answers, humming to herself.
"This is odd, because we've talked about a lot of this and your general knowledge is honestly the best out of everyone's."
I purse my lips, shame dripping off me.
"I've just always been bad at this," I wave my hand at the paper. "My brain overheats or something. I complicate every question, like they're all some elaborate trap. They asked who the last reigning royals were, and I know, but I unraveled the question until it didn't make any sense. I turn into this big idiot."
I laugh at the last part. Hoping to make light of it, so she doesn't see just how thrown off I am. Because it doesn't really matter, does it? I am going to sling a baton around, not lead a lecture hall.
She sees right through me.
"Don't you dare. You aresmartMaple. Your brain just works a little differently. I can't help myexpressiveface any more than you can help the way your brain processes information. I learned a few tricks with my brother when we were trying to rewire his brain after he came back. We can work on them tonight?"
She grasps my hand, squeezing. I feel a little relief at this, not only at my friend's offer to help but simply that there was no judgement or concern in her words.
"Alsoooooo. I shouldn't have to point out, to you that these tests don’t matter, right? They just want us all to be on the same page for when we go out and if there's civilian unrest, or even an uprising or something, we can redirect from an informed standpoint."
Something about this notion sits wrong. The memory of my dad's voice ringing in my ears again, the words unclear. Farra gives me a worried glance, no doubt seeing my brain drifting.
"No, I know. I know it's silly, but I've always been sensitive that this stuff doesn't come naturally to me. My siblings are brilliant. Like they came out of the womb a little scientist and historian, just like our parents. It just always made me feel a bit like a black sheep, I guess."
Farra shrugs and swings her arm over my shoulders, pulling me in for a side hug.
"Well, I think you're just as smart. I've seen it. Your brain just might work differently. Also, no offense to your family, but in this world, what good does being able to recite the history of the first engineered seed do you, anyway? You can take apart a radio and rewire it. I'd much rather have you on my team than some historian." She looks at me like she dares me to disagree with her.
I laugh, but my brow furrows for a second at a thought and she stops to see what's wrong.
"Wait, did you compare me earlier to your brother? The one with permanent brain damage?"
She throws her head back, a wild laugh bubbling out of her.
As we head to combat, I don't feel as weighed down by worry. I realize saying these things out loud helps set me free a little. I know Farra can listen without taking it on, and that in itself is a gift.
As I reach for the swinging doors to the training facility, I hear a commotion. Farra and I dart into the room. My first thought is that someone is fighting, and it's gotten out of hand, which has happened a few times now.
