Chapter 8

  Buenos dias, mi hijo.

  Aquiles’ eyes creaked open in a dark room. His candle remained unlit in the corner. The familiar shy gloom of the moon through his window was absent this morning. The Mother’s greeting seemed absent its familiar warmth, and with an absent mind, he ran through the familiar phases and dates and confirmed the moon was new.

  Again, he found himself in his room after passing out. Aquiles had certainly claimed his fair share of black-outs and pass-outs and knock-outs over the past days. It was unbecoming of the apprentice Arm of Us. This new position of authority bade him to speak with the Father, to liaison between the Ministry and the Monastery, but it seemed he might have to add one-on-one training to the list, elevating a Young One to liaison his unconscious body from some random spot in the pyramid to his bed every night.

  “Que? patetico,” Aquiles spat at himself. A pair of slippers mocked him from the side of his bed. He shoved his right foot in the right slipper, then missed with the left. Snatching the uncooperative footwear from the ground, he shouted and flung the slipper out of his window, heaving breath in a rage. Aquiles realized what he did and cringed at himself, wincing as he looked at the slipper bounce down the sloped stone to the next terrace of the Monastery. No angry sounds came from below.

  The pair of boots he wore to the Ministry yesterday were placed neatly next to the rest of his clothes. Boots would work today in training as well as any. Aquiles could not wait to swing a sword and get his anger and frustrations out of his mind, forging them into ringing metal. What happening to him? He snatched fresh robes from his wardrobe. He was no Bolt. Socorra must have saved him. What was wrong with the Father? The man… Man? God. The Father was erratic, and that was unsettling.

  “Stop pitying yourself. Just work up a sweat, then talk to Socorra about all of this,” Aquiles hissed then tightened the cord around his waist. He bent to pick up the soiled robes from his traipsing about the Capital and noticed several vials of the sweet ichor. Maybe that fire in his veins could make him feel better. “Nope. Nope. I’m not a Bolt. That is blasphemous, I have no brother.” Why would it have to be a brother? It could be a sister. “Or sister. Or any siblings at all.” By the Father’s good graces, he was correcting himself out loud. He was unraveling quicker than a decade old robe spun by a shaky handed cripple. Aquiles laced his boots tightly for a vigorous training session and looked out the window. His voice shook, “Good Morning, Mother.” He turned and raced to the door.

  Light from the hallway spilled through his door, yanked open haphazardly, before he caught himself and cast a wary eye in both directions of the hall. Young Ones scuttled about their business as usual. No Juan. Nor Other Juan. No Josefa, nor Horacio. Best of all, no Socorra. He would approach and talk to her when his head was clear. Best avoid the annoying, hag, no, respectful Child, until his mind and emotions were settled. The drain of the last day pulled at his eyelids and scratched at his unresponsive limbs. He glanced back at the vials of ichor. No, not a Bolt.

  Empty stomach and a roiling, boiling mind, Aquiles stepped gingerly through the halls, the occasional Young One pausing their own treks in trepidation to bow and say, “Arm of Us.” The title didn’t titillate him anymore. Training would be done on an empty stomach today. Maybe his mind could follow his gut’s direction. Hunger could be a useful sensation, and Aquiles often found himself light and sharp as steel while working on an empty stomach. His boots made soft thumps as he sauntered down the hallway towards the training yard. A pang of anxiety ran through him as he thought of all the missed classes from the last couple days. Classes be tossed to the wind, he was trying to come into his new role and had bigger things to think about.

  The cord on his robes squeezed just below his stomach as Aquiles lifted his shoulders and raised his chin and threw that shrewd judgment he was so proud of casting out into his world. It was not arrogance as Horacio claimed. Aquiles was confident. He knew himself better than anyone. Young Ones’ heads bowed at his passing, afraid to meet his eye. As they should, he was the new Arm.

  Aquiles made his way unbidden through the main square and past Young Ones sat in a circle around a thumb of a Child pointing and lecturing about the pyramid structure. Each of their little faces were drowsy with sleep, and the droning Child - not noticing, but more likely not caring - gestured about herself and at the stairs and at the gently sloping walls and at the stone and dirt. Rain or shine, the Parents’ hour or sun-up, the Children could lecture. Aquiles made his way into the ready room. With a practiced hand, he undid the knot on the cord around his waist and hung his robe on the wall. The other hangers reflected torchlight, empty, and dawn’s cool light creeped down from the dirt ramp up to the training ground.

  Corded, starved muscles stretched, complained, then sighed in relief as Aquiles swung his arms in circles about his shoulders. He would do a quick warmup before drilling then get into some throwing knife work. His neglect of the ranged weapons had been collateral in pursuing mastery of the sword. But really, he should be a master in all these weapons. He was naturally better than-

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

  Aquiles dropped and spun his foot in a circle connecting with the back of his attacker’s ankles. He jumped onto the fallen man, and by the Father’s might was he big. Ay.

  “Perdon, Aquiles,” Other Juan grunted up at him. The man’s great smashed in mountain side of a face and rock tumble of teeth looked back up at him.

  “Hola, Aquiles. Buenos dias,” Juan rumbled from just beyond them. He spoke as if every word was a struggle to remember. Deep and stupid voices. Aquiles’ irritation had been slowly brewing after a thorough degassing of distractions since he’d presumably taken on some blessing. He pushed himself off Other Juan, this one had the uglier and more crooked nose, to stand and run his fingers through his short, bristly hair.

  “How did you know to find me here?” He glared at Juan. Juan stared back blankly. Aquiles whipped his head to look down at Other Juan, “Do you two know anything at all?” Other Juan was digging fingernails into his teeth, not paying attention. Aquiles kicked his thigh, “Oaf! Was it Socorra?” Other Juan, barely noticing the kick, smiled, and nodded at Socorra’s name. “Of course. Well. Please leave.” Aquiles trudged up the ramp and over to the weapons rack.

  A veritable earthquake rung the dirt of the floor and the ramp like a bell in a mission tower as the bull of a man heaved himself to his feet, though it really was quite graceful, but Aquiles ignored that. Sighing, he stopped his trudge and looked to the sky with eyes unseeing behind tightly bound eyelids hoping this affront to dedication to fade away, and called, “Pendejos! Vete! Please! Leave!” He turned then, dropping his arms to his side, letting them flop loose and heavy. And the twins just stood there. Staring at him. Heads cocked like lost puppies. Other Juan was still smiling. Maybe it was time to practice throwing knives now. Aquiles lunged for the rack and grabbed one of the small blades with a red tassel around the hilt. “Leave!” He hurled the knife, one of his better throws really, hilt-over-blade, directly at the stupid brute’s stupid face.

  A light burst of air and a small pop echoed across the training ground. Juan’s shirt fluttered near his shoulder. He did not budge. The knife lodged itself between two stones of the pyramid instead of between Other Juan’s eyes. “Unfortunate.” Aquiles hadn’t really expected to land a blow like that, even on the worst Storm. So, Juan was the Thunderhead in this odd pairing. Other Juan hadn’t flinched and kept on smiling. These two trusted each other, and Juan hadn’t used his hands like most Thunderheads would attempt. The best trained should be comfortable pushing thunder from anywhere on their body, or so he’d been told. He hadn’t seen truly trained Storms in action until Emiliano and his brother were beating his culo. Aquiles turned and pushed up his bottom lip, slightly impressed. Best to keep it hidden.

  Still, he had to quell a surge of anger. Looking back, he scolded, “Please don’t just stand and watch me. It makes me very uncomfortable.” In truth, an audience was invigorating and led him to try more daring and impressive feats, but these two were unnerving with those glassy stares. And, at that thought, their eyes seemed to focus, and Juan nodded his head in respect. Then, they turned to each other… and began to dance.

  It was a slow dance, careful and deliberate, and loving. The brothers moved in tandem, Juan’s foot stepping back and Other Juan’s foot landing where his brother’s had left, attention bereft of Aquiles ever having existed. One hand pushed into the other, the other fell back. And they moved like that, together. A great circle around the training ground was drawn by shifting and light feet, toes drawing a slow branching of lightning in the sand, some earthly representation of the skies above capturing all the majesty of the gods and their blessings. Air began to buffet the ground around Juan’s feet. Stalks of grass in little islands of green across the training ground began to sway. Aquiles breathed in the smell of rain. Little cracks and snaps of sound whispered in his ears. The brothers’ held each other’s gaze, knowing and understanding passing between them, a life’s knowledge passed without words. The air around them distorted, standing white mist encircling them. Aquiles saw arcs of lightning jumping between Other Juan’s fingers, between his arms and torso, between his teeth as he breathed heavily.

  These brothers hadn’t trained together. No. They ate, slept, and thought the same things since they could walk. People did not move like this, but these giants did. And for the first time, Aquiles understood the blessings of the Parents.

  He had seen the Storm.

  The twins completed a circuit then closed their eyes and centered themselves with deep breaths. Other Juan turned to Aquiles and smiled. He gestured at the sword rack, and Aquiles turned his head to look at the brutish metal hanging there waiting for clumsy hands and feet to swing it at practice dummies. If he was unnerved before, now he was embarrassed. No, he could show these two his own sort of dance, something to clear his mind of the awe. Sunlight broke the clouds and bathed him in warmth. A renewed eye showed him the truth of the metal before him.

  The swords of the monks were straight, narrow, and light. The tip whistled with sweeps; the handguard hummed with strikes. Child Ronaldo wrote poems with ink and quill, Aquiles wrote them with slicing metal in the air. Sweep up, pull hand back to ear, toes point into the dirt, and slide the foot forward under the handguard. Strike. The flexible blades always gave away the wielder’s unease or inexperience. For Aquiles, they told of his devotion. Flexing only into movements and holding still with his arms outstretched. He went through one of his forms, quite a taxing choice, this one requiring many lunges and jumps and sidesteps. The sword was held only in his right hand, the guard encompassing his knuckles, narrow blade attaching to the shining hemisphere around his hand. Only his right hand, yes, but swordsmanship was always about both hands. Both hands, his hips, his shoulders, his eyes. Everything. He supposed the Storms learned to use their whole bodies to their advantage too.

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  A bead of sweat dropped from Aquiles’ hair and down his face. He looked over after a deep lunge to see if the twins were still watching. They were, bodies carved from the pyramid stones, striking and still.

  After a half hour of trading forms with the twins, Aquiles grew tired. “Pue?s. That’s all I have in me for the moment,” Aquiles sighed and put the sword back. His hunger was getting the better of him, and his head rush of anxiety and emotion had long since faded.

  “Esta? bien!” Other Juan said with a child’s enthusiasm. Then, the two brothers faced each other once more, ostensibly for more training.

  “You stay out here if you like. I’m going inside to break my fast. Please do not follow me.”

  Ignoring him, they took a step apart, turned away, then shot back around with hands outstretched. Thick, white-hot lightning ignited in Other Juan’s palm. A wall of white and sound blasted from Juan.

  “NO!” Aquiles hadn’t meant to scream.

  The white wall engulfed Other Juan and passed harmlessly around him. The lightning veered towards the right of Juan and struck the knife still sticking in the stone wall. It turned white hot in an instant. Aquiles looked down at his outstretched hand. Embarrassed, he wiped his forehead. The brothers hadn’t noticed. He felt a deep sense of grief. No one had ever looked at him the way the brothers looked at each other. Was he doing something wrong? Would he never have that connection? Aquiles shook his head, and sweat, not tears, flung to the ground.

  The smell of the rain still lingered in the air. Aquile’ recalled the feelings when a bolt arced from his palm towards Jorge. It didn’t seem natural. The twins made their powers look natural. Aquiles’ experience could not be the same thing. He took up the sword again now with reinvigorated thoughts to be stripped by intensive labor. The sword whistled with his continued drilling. Two men, expressions as soft as their unfortunate visages would allow, watched him practice now in earnest. They seemed intrigued. He performed a thrust into a spinning leap sideways, dodging the phantom counterattack. An outline of an opponent cracked its neck and flexed in the background, in the walls, in the dirt. The man moved as a shadow, anticipating Aquiles’ every move.

  He danced across the grounds becoming like fluid, like air, swaying like the grass. This felt natural. Steel and arm. He caught glimpses of the twins’ reactions. Raised eyebrows at certain movements and awed smiles. Storms could be so powerful yet still fall for the ingenuity of a simple man. Well, not simple, Aquiles was a rather impressive swordsman if not quite a master; but he enjoyed the sentiment, nonetheless.

  Jabs and swipes and feigns came from his phantom at a fever pitch, and Aquiles ducked and dove and parried the unreal blade and struck back. Finally, with no other possibility but a draw, Aquiles took the phantom back into himself with a deep breath of air. He turned back to the twins to boast and noticed Socorra stooped between them. Her wrinkled lips curled in a smirk. His innards revolted, and with a wince he said, “Child, I was just working the sword to start my day.”

  “An awfully flowery work, verdad?”

  “I can get caught up in the drills, Child. The sword is a comfort.”

  “And you’ve been rather uncomfortable these past days?”

  Of course he had. “I’ve just needed to adjust to my new position.”

  Socorra’s smirk turned to a grin. “I understand some of what you’re going through, Arm of Us. I remember the first time I stepped into the Father’s hall. It was like being juiced and mixed into salsa. Then, he takes you and mushes you back together like broken pottery.” She shivered, “I tend to make my conveyances with him from my own room and bed now. Mucho ma?s comodo.”

  “He said that. How can you talk over the distance?”

  “It's just he now, hmm? How does the Mother speak to us every morning and night?” Apparently Aquiles poorly hid his displeased expression, and so she sighed and continued, “The Father thinks at us… I think back.”

  “It cannot be that simple.”

  “You try it next time, and tell me how simple it is, pendejo.” Socorra took a step forward and stood right between the mountainous duo. “We all have different paths in life, Aquiles. You are a dedicated and passionate man, and you are difficult with yourself… and others. Please. Treat yourself with the same dutiful view you hold of your place here. You’re not just the new Arm. You are a memory to someone. You are someone’s future.” She looked up at Juan and Other Juan. She barely reached their hips. “Bueno?”

  Tears were held behind a wall in his eyes. He clenched his jaw. Where had that sudden genuineness come from? How had she known? Aquiles jerked his head in response, “Si?. Gracias.”

  Socorra kept that knowing smirk, and the Juans just smiled at him.

  Something else now was on Aquiles’ more academic side of his mind, a side he didn’t often give in to save for the Parents and the stars. “Those two did a little dance earlier. It ended rather explosively, but they didn’t affect each other. How was that possible?”

  Socorra’s smirk turned to a smile, more malicious than amused. She made a sign of deference to Juan and bowed her head. He stuttered like rocks bouncing down a cliff, “Es… es mi hermano.” He gestured nervously at Other Juan.

  “Si?,” the Bolt replied simply.

  “Great! That explains it, gracias.”

  “A Storm’s powers don’t work on each other like they do everything else,” Socorra paused then added, “or everyone else.”

  She looked at Juan and jerked her head at his brother. Juan punched the air and a circular shockwave shot at his twin. It split around Other Juan, and the two halves collided with the stone behind. She jerked her head at Other Juan then, and he punched his brother in the gut. Juan bent over roaring with laughter in between coughs that could produce a lung.

  “Doesn’t work on the normal stuff though,” Socorra barked a laugh as well. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn more with time. Especially, if you’re to oversee their training. Which is kind of your job.”

  “But I’m not part of a Storm.”

  “Of course you’re not. You speak with Father, and you will heed his calls. You’re part of something greater. You will learn, Arm of Us. Every person with this station before you, since the Parents built this city and settled La Terra itself, has learned.”

  How grandiose of her. A bit of real confidence renewed, he bowed and replied, “Then so will I, by the Parents’ guidance.”

  Socorra turned and walked down the ramp; the smile never left her face. She called out without turning, “By the way, we have pilgrims in town for mass, by the Parents’ guidance. That’s your job now too, ha!”

  Juan and Other Juan were taking turns punching each other in the gut. They were retching and laughing and coughing.

  “Would you two cut it out?! Callete!” Socorra grabbed them by the ears and hauled them to their feet.

  Other Juan straightened, tears running down his face and choking back chuckles, “Es mi hermano.”

  Aquiles sighed, “Yes, I know he’s your brother.” At least it was just these two and not the witch Josefa. She made his skin crawl. He wiped the dirt gathered about his ankles and feet from his practice and dressed himself in the ready room. The twins lumbered on into the pyramid. New roles and responsibilities. Breakfast called to him, and the mess hall was answering. He could find Child Emilia to help him prepare for the mass. She would be giving a gardening lecture at the pyramid peak by this time of day. Emilia could help in getting the mass in order, by the Parents’ guidance. In fact, she held the actual copy of the Parents’ Guidance for mass. All of the calls and answers were laid out and color coded. Aquiles was as devout a Child as anyone, he literally spoke to the Father yesterday; but he did not find it appealing or necessary to memorize the book.

  After a short walk and a brief meal, warm fueling food sat in his stomach, his muscles coming back to life. Cold spring water from the mountains wet his lips, and the ancient stone stairs bore the weight of him as his shoulders and chest compressed and heaved under the burden of his responsibilities, his worries. Aquiles pondered the conversation with the Father. A tide of Young Ones broke around his stride, hands clasped behind his back. “Arm of Us!” High pitched and terrified of their superior. He smiled and nodded at a few. What did the Father mean Aquiles could help? Help who with what? And where did that outburst about lies and deception come from? At least he didn’t have any more odd lightning incidents.

  A quick glance around confirmed he was alone on the stairs. The Young Ones had passed, and everyone else was little ants walking the main square as he looked over the stair handrail. Aquiles kept walking with hands clasped behind him, and he concentrated. Just one spark between his fingers. He stuck his index fingers straight out behind him.

  “Hola, Aquiles!” Child Emilia cheered as she bolted down the stairs. That tide of Young Ones must’ve been her class hurrying to their next lesson.

  Pop.

  Aquiles’ heart stopped in his chest and his foot froze midstep. He flinched and tried to recover, “Did you hear something, Child Emilia?”

  “Yes, maybe a little pop. Probably just flaking stone hitting the stairs,” she slapped the wall of the pyramid, “this old thing is coming apart, huh?” She smiled and, very clearly, fake laughed. A bead of sweat fell down her temple. By the Father’s might, she was more nervous than he was after almost getting caught. Getting caught creating lightning.

  The young, bubbly woman only reached his chest, pale skin glistening in the lamplight. She’d really worked up a sweat. Odd girl.

  He responded, relieved she hadn’t figured out what had happened, “Yes Child, maybe we can try to get more attention paid to our home.”

  “Yes, ha, well, uhhhh. I’ll let you continue your walk, Arm of Us.” She flew past him, hair bobbing in a bun.

  “Actually, I was walking up to see you… amiga,” he called after her. That last part felt wrong. Too personal. He didn’t know how people talked like that.

  Emilia nearly tumbled down the steps trying to stop. She turned and squeaked, “Verdad?” Then, she cleared her throat and spoke with slightly more control, “How can I help you?”

  “Child Socorra has instructed me to lead the pilgrim’s mass tomorrow as part of my duties as the Arm of Us. I know you were bestowed the Parents’ Guidance used in mass as part of your duties as a newly raised Child.”

  “Indeed, I was! How odd that Child Socorra, just yesterday, told me to refurbish the bindings. She said I would be helping someone transcribe.”

  Aquiles clenched his jaw and tried not to react too strongly. That old puta couldn’t just leave him be for one day. Would he turn so insufferable over the years? Doubtful. “Well, what a surprising turn of events,” Aquiles forced through his clenched teeth.

  “Would- would you like me to transcribe you the- the dialogue, Aquiles?” Emilia nearly choked getting her question out.

  Aquiles faked a smile and nodded his head. “That would be fantastic.” His jaw ached, and his teeth threatened to crack.

  “Que? bueno! Follow me.”

  Emilia led him to her room and transcribed the much-memorized monk-pilgrim dialogue. She threw in much of her own nervous and rapid explanations on what vegetables were in season. Agave from the countryside was brought by loads of wagons to the Capital this time of year. He could’ve used some tequila for his developing headache, not that he’d ever actually drink the stuff. The girl’s incessant chattering rattled his brain. He could hear how dry her throat was, and it made his skin crawl.

  After spending the rest of the day and into the night waiting for Emilia to finish, he thanked her and made it back to his room where he arranged his clothes for the morning. Paper, slightly wet with ink, reflected the moonlight on his desk. Was the flowery handwriting and embellishment necessary for his uses tomorrow? “Yes, Arm of Us. The Parents expect their Children to handle the Guidance with grace,” he mocked to himself then felt ashamed. He was just trying to distract himself with complaints from the feeling of a bolt passing between his fingertips. A bolt he had, indeed, made on his own.

  Pop.

  Aquiles laid his head down and went to sleep.

  Buenas noches, mi hijo.