Chapter 17

  Buenos días, mi hijo.

  Prattling of the paranormal pierced Aquiles’ heart with a freezing terror, and he gulped air like a reverse scream. “No, no, no! Not this early again!” He looked outside his window at a dark sky, the moon directly overhead at the Parents’ hour, the literal middle of the night and for the second night in a row. He was already wishing he could have just awoken to blasting agony, so he could just go about his day after it subsided. But no. The Mother had to go crazy right along with the Father and blast him from bed at the peak of darkness. A life tortured by ruined sleep, over and unending, was a looming despondency of Aquiles’ outlook on his future.

  Socorra had nearly ended him yesterday. His chest still ached, and the tiny hairs above his heart were singed away. Claws scratched at his skin from his insides, a feeling that could drive him mad.

  Aquiles was too tired to get up and dressed but too wired to close his eyes and go back to sleep. Warm blankets enveloped him in a comforting embrace, rough wool, and he relished in it. He tried not to take too many comforts, he needed to stay hard after all; but he allowed himself this one.

  Was that himself or Socorra talking?

  Desperate to cling to sleep now and prove he was more than a tool for others, Aquiles closed his eyes and breathed out in fake content, intent on slipping back into unconsciousness. That bugging irritation of eyes with no desire to stay closed tickled at the skin on his hands, begged his muscles to throw off the blanket. Anger was a damned good stimulant. Tickles turned to pulling turned to him tossing the blanket to a heap against his wall and jumping from his bed, turning to grab and violently shake the mattress, fabric thwaps ruffling his sheets, the pillow cratering from furious punches. “I just want to SLEEEEEEEP!”

  He flung the pillow at his wall, leapt after it in his anger, and stubbed his toe. His eyes bulged. A bent nail and purple skin welcomed him into this fresh hell, and he pushed his other foot on top of the banged-up pinky toe and tried not to scream. Blood rushed in his face, and the heat of his mood was overwhelming. Aquiles punched his mattress and wished he’d been stabbed instead. He hopped around, afraid to put weight on it. “Que pinche di?a!” He bit his lip and smacked his thigh to distract himself. He’d rather his heart stop again.

  At last, the torture ended, and Aquiles ached with the desire that his brother was having as bad of a night. The word ‘brother’ almost came unbidden in his thoughts of the country boy. Disgusting.

  The wool in his robes did not match the comfort of his bed, and, in fact, it felt even rougher than normal. Tearing at the rope cord about his waist, the clothes tightened far too much for his liking, but the constriction was distracting. So he tightened his boot laces until his feet were numb and high-stepped it towards his door.

  Metal squeaked on metal, the hinges always squeaking, useless things, and Aquiles stuck his head into the hallway. The Juans were nowhere to be seen, and Josefa wasn’t lounging around like a bored cat. To be sure, he squinted down both directions of the hallway, focused on the odd nook or cranny she might be hiding in as if she were a quarter her size and made of the night itself. Not satisfied, but without another option, he left his room.

  Aquiles walked down to Arturo’s room. Part of him really hoped his brother would be asleep. In that case, he could just go to the top of the Monastery and watch the shadows meander around the sundial, listen to the distant sounds of a sleepy city, waiting for another unbelievable day in his unbelievable life, pondering what might be at stake training him to use his gifts, training a Greatstorm to know their power. Part of him hoped his brother would be awake. This could be their first time to speak without supervision or chaperoning giants with barely the capacity to speak on their own.

  A scowl pulled on his lip at the thought of the Juans. They moved with such confidence, astounding grace, an awesome ability in coordination with each other. Aquiles didn’t feel it often, but he knew the stab in his gut to be jealousy.

  He arrived at Arturo’s door.

  ***

  Arturo sat on the bed, bent over at his waist, forearms resting on his knees with his head hanging between his legs. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stay awake, couldn’t sit, and couldn’t stand. Neither could he find Socorra after his temper got the best of him nor could he stomach the memory of how he’d acted, how he’d pushed back with such poison in his words. Scorn was oil in his water. He sat back and looked around the room before shuffling sounds drifted through the corridor outside his room. Servants had extinguished every other torch beside the one at his door earlier in the night, perhaps saving fuel. That bit of light hadn’t helped with his sleep, but now it illuminated a figure in the hall, uncanny in that Arturo recognized his own thin shoulders on a body without his nigh on lazy stupor.

  His brother stood with an expectant air beyond the door.

  “Do you never sleep?” Arturo croaked with a voice betraying he wanted to do just that.

  Aquiles voice sounded fresh and sharp, “It’s starting to feel like I don’t,” a juxtaposition of the soft shadows around his face.

  “Please, come in. I’d say make yourself at home, but you live here,” Arturo responded in a tone that could have been nicer. His brother creaked open the door to enter the room but stopped and stood just inside the doorway.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ve been awake,” he glanced up between his legs at Aquiles and returned his eyes forward, “lot to think about.”

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  “Yes, this must be a lot to take in.”

  Arturo furrowed his hidden brow at the condescending response. “What was it like living it up in the city?”

  “I’ve been out of this pyramid less times than I can count on my fingers,” Aquiles scoffed.

  He sat up a little straighter, surprised at the revelation, “Really? That must be maddening.”

  Aquiles spat, “You don’t know half of it. Socorra claimed fun would make us too soft to serve the Parents,” his voice dying off towards the end as if realizing something for the first time.

  “Well, if she was worried about keeping track of you all, it's hard to miss a tall, lanky pendejo like you.”

  “We are the same height, Arturo.”

  Smile and laugh killed by Aquiles’ raised brow and lecturing tone, Arturo sighed and responded, “Yeah I know, I was just- nevermind.” Aquiles’ posture made Arturo uncomfortable. “You can sit down and relax, amigo.”

  “Actually, would you like to go on a little walk?”

  His leg’s screamed no, but his mouth betrayed him, “Sure.” So, he followed Aquiles from the room, his heart cursing him with weariness, his mind wanting to learn more about this man.

  Aquiles whispered over his shoulder, “Hood up. I quite believe Socorra would rather kill us both than let you be seen.” He took a breath and added, “And, I’m quite sure she’s capable of it.” Arturo didn’t appreciate being commanded like that, but he understood the necessity. He drew the hood over his face and mired his features in darkness. “The pyramid’s peak has a beautiful garden and places to relax. It has a good view of the city.”

  They walked in silence, fearful of drawing attention from any passerby to their resemblance of each other. One other soul roamed the pyramid this hour, a wizened man sitting and entrenched in the folds of his robe at a bench in the main square, drawing a jaguar in charcoal on a notepad, so lost in the artwork he might have dropped dead for surprise if Arturo tapped his shoulder. Aquiles whispered, “Relic of another time.”

  The hike was a daze for Arturo. Each step carried him higher and further from the grounded reality he’d wallowed through by twilight. He emerged into fresh air and a cool breeze, reminders of the larger world around him. “I missed the fresh air,” he prodded for conversation.

  “Yes, me too.” Aquiles seemed to break free of a trance, “Let us sit by the railing and enjoy the view of the city.”

  They moved together along the pathway, between branch and bramble, serrano and cilantro. New aromas tickled Arturo’s nose with each step, spicy, sweet, and serene was this place, and as they walked the garden gave way to wild types of vegetation: small trees, shrubs with tiny flowers, and tall grass. “This is what I grew up in.” Arturo passed his hand through the grass. The edges of the blades tugged at his skin, flirty kisses more than sharp pricks. He knew the feeling, and he smiled. Aquiles ignored him. The days must have been long, as well he knew, and Aquiles would be otherwise engaged to say the least.

  A small clearing opened in the garden, and an enormous sundial luxuriated in the moonlight, casting a shadow with an ambiguous grasp on where the light should end and the darkness should take its place. Twenty-seven letters, thirteen on one side, thirteen on the other, and one in the center, were carved into the circle of stone to mark the hour with the dial’s shadow. Arturo stepped through the alphabet in his head and counted the corresponding hour for each letter. After another several paces, the garden opened suddenly to a small viewing deck where eroded stone made up the floor and the thin benches. “They really worked with what they had, huh?”

  “Que?”

  Arturo gestured around, “Lot of stone, and only stone, around here.”

  “What are your structures built with?”

  “Whatever we can find, honestly. Some dried mud, some wood, some metal sheeting when we can get our hands on it.”

  Aquiles raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head at the answer, “Quaint.”

  “Do you always talk like this? Or just with me. Because you don’t seem to want to talk to me very much.”

  “I’m attempting to unlearn a life’s worth of information that’s telling me to end both of our lives at every opportunity. There’s quite a bit to work through.”

  “I heard the same stories as you, Aquiles.”

  “Then, perhaps, you didn’t fully understand them. Us, a Greatstorm, if anything about the legends are true, we could level this place with a thought. Even if we’re not destined to be some evil demons, we have a great responsibility to the people here.” Aquiles jabbed a finger down towards the city with each phrase.

  “Amigo, if you tell me I don’t understand something one more time, we are going to have a problem. And, if I don’t understand all the implications, I promise I am trying. I have my own worries with this whole situation, can you accept that you are not the only one absolutely ruined by this mess?” Arturo waited for a response and got none, “I’m trying to understand.”

  “Well,” Aquiles clenched his jaw, “try harder.” Twinkling lights down in the city mirrored the smoldering fire building in Arturo’s chest.

  “Do you have some problem with me, hermano? You asked me to come here on this ‘walk’.”

  “Don’t,” Aquiles’ voice broke, “Don’t call me that.”

  “Look at the fingers you point and accuse me with, Aquiles.” He waved his fingers in the air. “Listen to your voice! They're the same as mine! Whether you like it or not. I may not fully understand our situation, but at least I can accept that and learn.” Aquiles turned in circles, and Arturo continued, pushing forward, “Can you?”

  Aquiles stopped in his revolution of pacing and looked down at the city, at the smolder down there, and a gust of wind blew over them. After many long heartbeats, he said, “Socorra told me you knew my parents.”

  Unvoiced anxieties flooded from him and left only relief. Those two were his real parents. “They raised me, yes,” and then sternly, “And they were my parents, too. Our parents, hermano.”

  Aquiles head twitched back and forth, and with an overly-controlled tone, he asked, “Are they back at your home?” Quiet sniffles in the night.

  His own answered better than the word, “No.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Sniffles into sobs, “They’re dead.” Smoke and screaming and acridity and charring meat. “I woke up in a fire. And my papa? threw me through the window. The roof fell on him right after.” Arturo breathed out the smoke, “I never saw mama?.” Screams. He had heard her. “They’re gone.” His brother’s head twitched up and down now hearing the story, and Arturo recognized a man resigned. He felt the same. He could barely remember his mother’s face. He didn’t talk about it much, didn’t like to. This was why. He couldn’t contain his emotions, and he felt too vulnerable; but his brother deserved to know. Their son deserved to know. He choked back another sob.

  Arturo thought of something, “That sombrero I wear. It was his.”

  A boy more than a man looked back at him sharply, tears shimmering in the moonlight. He turned back away. “I would like to see that more closely then.”

  “Yes.”

  Flapping wings and a screech broke the silence between them. A dark shape moved over the lights of the city. It swooped up above them. Finger-like bones stood out, light shining through thin skin from the moonlight, and Arturo recognized the shape. A bat. Aquiles cocked his head at the passing animal. “We hardly ever get bats out here.”

  Arturo chuckled with a throat that wasn’t done crying, “Do you ever come out in the middle of the night?”

  That same noise was thrown back at him, “No, I guess I don’t.” Aquiles shook his head and laughed again, “I really hate what my voice sounds like.”

  “Yo tambien.” They both laughed together this time. The bat screeched again.