Chapter 18

  Aquiles rested easier after his conversation with Arturo, after he heard about his parents. It wasn’t closure, not exactly, and a shameful burn still roiled in his gut, a jealousy of his twin he tried with all his might not to stoke; but the knowledge was a soft blanket on his shoulders protecting bare skin from the cold. His brother returned to that prison to sleep away the remaining dawn hours, and Aquiles tried to do the same but failed. Instead, he sat awake on top of his covers, robes on, and sketched something new into the papers dedicated to familiar sundials and rotating night skies. He sketched his mother, or what he thought of her. She wasn’t smiling in his drawings, and that wasn’t on purpose, but her eyes made Aquiles feel a happiness and sorrow tear his heart in two. Soon, he was to get up and train to use the blessings gifted to him by her, and by his father, and by the Parents in the Ministry.

  Fear wracked his chest, a companion to the jealousy, fear that Arturo and he would lay waste to the Monastery and all its innocents out of ignorance or impatience or impotence in restraint. Aquiles almost hoped the powers of a Greatstorm were as much legend as was the lie the Ministry fabricated and forced the Father to disseminate, but the gods’ hope in their ability to help were palpable, and Aquiles’ own hope for a sort of mediocrity waned with each day, waned with the power he had already displayed. His nose had healed from a break in days.

  He dressed for a second time that day and decided to leave his room more conspicuously this time. Waiting for him outside, Other Juan stood with his sinewy and sizable arms crossed just below his equally impressive chest. Aquiles was starting to distinguish the differences in the large twins without the other specimen present for comparison. Differences in their smiles were substantial, and both smiled enough. For example, Juan, the Thunderhead, smiled with a boyish air, lips pulling back near to his ears and laughing lines becoming more and more permanent about his eyes, but Other Juan smiled with a lopsided stupidity that made Aquiles want to snap his fingers in front of the man’s face and see if there would be any reaction. Another obvious tell that this one was the Bolt was Socorra could only trust someone of that blessing to counter any tomfoolery Aquiles might decide to partake in. So, all in all, Other Juan.

  “Vamos a comer, Aquiles.”

  Aquiles nodded, returning worry dissuading his appetite from forming. “After you, Juan.” The large twin turned and strolled off in the direction of the mess. His laboring steps looked slow, but the length of his strides carried him far. Aquiles scrambled to keep up. He imagined Other Juan’s twin would be fetching Aquiles’ twin. He shivered.

  When they arrived in the mess, Other Juan’s brother was escorting a hooded figure into the kitchen. That would be Arturo. Socorra sat alone at one of the round tables in the center of the hall. It was getting later into the morning, later for the Monastery anyway as the sun had only just broached the mountains, so most Children were done eating breakfast. She motioned Other Juan in the same direction with a nod of her head, and Aquiles followed the giant into the kitchen.

  A punch of aromas assaulted Aquiles. They moved past bustling cooks tending boiling pots of soup and burping vats of frijoles. One station’s cook bent over a row of vials and poured the vile sweet stuff into each one. Slotted pantry doors seemed to open on their own, the hooded visage of Arturo slumped just inside was overshadowed by Juan, twice his size. Cooks moved out of the way of Socorra’s shambling form, and she swiped up several of the vials before walking into the pantry.

  Rows of dried chiles hang from the ceiling, different hues of red, dried blood to scarlet, they shivered with the closing of the door behind the Arm. Aquiles leveled a nod at Arturo, a more familiar gesture than he’d expected it to feel. Arturo nodded back, the effects of too little sleep too late pounded into his drooping eyes. He’d learn to shrug off that feeling while living here. Stores of masa and sacks of rice surrounded where the floor met the wall, wheels of cheese were stacked in mounted shelves, and Aquiles supposed these more subdued smells were quite nice. “Grab some queso,” Socorra jerked her head towards the shelves, “and drink as much of this as you can stomach.” She handed each of them four vials of stoppered sweet ichor.

  Aquiles screwed up his face in disgust, “Is this necessary? I know the Storms drink it, but it’s so disgusting.”

  “Our bodies need energy for lightning and thunder, just like the skies.” She pointed vaguely up with a lazy hand, “So, lesson one…,” she said in a mocking and haughty tone, then glanced at Aquiles, “...of the day, keep your stomach full if you want to do anything with your blessings.” She switched back to her typical rough tone, “Sugary stuff seems the quickest to work. The Ministry and Monastery have fueled their Storms with this for centuries.” She downed a vial of her own.

  Arturo leaned in, “It’s better with chile? and lime.” He picked one of the drying chile?s from the roof, bit it, and downed two vials in quick succession.

  “I’ve heard.”

  Vortices of dust danced about the pantry, stray rays of light poking through the drifting curtains from some source on a level above, and Socorra stood there in the musty pantry with a grin the Juans would only dream of, “Nos vamos, nin?os.” Juan and Arturo left first, hood up and at a brisk pace, no time for anyone to stare, but most people cast their eyes down around the Arm anyway. After a few minutes, Other Juan and Aquiles followed.

  A long walk of consternation led Aquiles to only one large, ugly, and unsightly conclusion. This beast would be a training partner. The oaf smiled back at him as they approached the door behind the statue.

  Aquiles cursed under his breath, “Mierda.” Other Juan chuckled.

  ***

  Socorra followed the twins, the double pair of destruction walking out of that crowded pantry and towards a whirlwind of the world to come. She stopped before leaving the mess hall and looked into the shadowed corner adjacent to the exit, “Keep an eye out for anyone a little too interested in those four.” In response, Josefa stepped from her shadow and met Socorra’s eyes, and feeling her guilt to the Monastery’s queen of stealth, she added, “I’m sorry what I said about sacrifices the other night. She wasn’t one. I just wanted to get through that conversation with Aquiles. Believe me, amiga.”

  Oblivion seemed to drip from Josefa, her prowess in the darkness and ferocity with those knives she tucked in her belt, “If this is the plan Maria worked so hard to help you and hide from me, then so be it.” She became a silent shadow shifting into the crowd in the hall.

  “I know how to pick ‘em,” Socorra sighed to herself.

  Her sore feet carried her to the great hall, but her mind up and left to wander elsewhere. She hated having to be so forceful with Aquiles, but his thick damned skull could only be cracked into with a hard hit. He’d gotten his hit for sure. Tingling and hot, she felt the sensation of reaching for bolts for the first time in years. Socorra was unpracticed, dull, more of a blunt club than a sharp knife, after so much time in disuse. She refused to use the blessing she’d shared with her brother, cultivated with him, after the Ministry punished him for crimes he did not commit, for her own crimes and the schemes she had shared with Maria and all those poor souls. So much death, for this. The Ministry traded in it behind their curtain of benevolence, hid it in wildfires and accidents, but they always got their death.

  Socorra bristled with forgotten rage. It turned to slow embers over the decades, to something careful and crafty, but it threatened to leap with flames anew, searing unknowing flesh with the heat of her intentions. Those men and women, spitting in the face of the Mother and the Father, wielding unrighteous powers and injustice against the people, forsaking the gods of their lives, the Parents of their childhoods. No. Socorra would not stand to share another breath with these heretics. The Parents used to rule with the will of the people, and the people loved them, and the Ministry sought to break that will and the relationship with the gods that made them, sought to control them. But they failed to plan for her, and they failed to plan for the Parents’ love because they had forgotten it.

  She found herself standing at the hatch to the chamber below, staring into the shadow cast by the statue of the Parents, their tied hands an indistinct ball cast over the pews of the hall, she found herself standing in the Father’s shadow. The sculptors got his face wrong, he was a simple looking man, kind, not regal. Still, it sparked something in her to continue, to see through what she had set in motion twenty-three years ago. All of those Storms had died for this, and please for the health of the Parents and their land, let it not be in vain.

  The hatch thudded behind her as she descended the ladder. The Juans stretched together, moving through various positions to relax their muscles for work. The other twins stood some ten paces off the center of the chamber, awkward, looking around like they didn’t know each other. She had the same nerves her first day, countless years ago, but she had a loving sibling to rely on. What did these boys have? Regardless, Socorra started, “We’re going to run through some breathing exercises and forms together today.” The identical twins stared at her dumbly. “Aquiles… Basic breathing and forms of jaguar today.”

  The boy seemed to snap out of it. “Oh, perdo?n. The same as I know from the sword?”

  “Si?.” Socorra was trying to stay calm. She didn’t expect her usual use of tough reinforcement was going to work for this instruction. Yelling at toddlers made them cry and yelling at these two would be equally unproductive. Maybe when they were separate. They knew less about their blessing than her youngest pupils at a mere five years old. Aquiles began to show Arturo different stances and how to move between them. She walked over and around them, “Jaguar forms are all about forming a strong base and switching to useful stances fluidly. Arturo, you will master these.”

  His eyes bulged, and he tripped over his feet. “Wide and low,” Socorra slapped the back of his leg, and he yelped. Aquiles smirked at that. “You want one?” The smirk vanished. Maybe she could be a little tough after all. “As Thunderhead and as a Bolt, you may extend yourself beyond the binds of your skin. Bolts can reach to objects, or targets, and establish a connection. Lightning. Thunderheads push out of themselves. Shockwaves.” The Greatstorm moved between two stances of the first form. “Breath, Arturo. Relax. You can’t push if you’re pulling everything in. Feel your pulse to your fingers and back again.”

  Aquiles moved as gracefully as anyone Socorra had seen. He’d bested her with ease in the sword last night, given time, he could be a mighty power to reckon with. “You may reach or push from any part of yourself, like you’re extending your very being.” The instruction was a meditation for her, the words known and coming without thought, words of generations of Storms, then there was the new with this circumstance that made her hair stand on end. “As a Greatstorm, it is said you should be able to do this to a much greater extent than a typical Storm.” She paced around them in circles, adding pointers, slapping, and shoving as needed to get Arturo in the right position. “I’m anxious to see if that’s true.”

  Arturo struggled to speak while maintaining his balance in a new stance Aquiles was showing him, feet wide apart and facing forward, legs bent at the knee, “Well, if we’re gonna help the Father anytime soon, are you gonna teach us to use these powers?”

  “They’re not powers, they’re blessings. And you can already use them. I reckon you’ve been doing it by accident.” They both looked like they were trying to hide something, Socorra reckoned she reckoned correctly. “There’s nothing stopping you. Your body just needs the right push.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “That is all there is to know. Now, time will guide you. Use these breathing exercises when stressed, in through your nose, out through your mouth, reverse it, hold, and you will be able to control your reactions. Emotion can be a powerful tool when using your blessings. It can be a raging fire when you fail to contain them.”

  Arturo learned the fourth stance from his brother, then said, “It’s really loud.” Socorra just raised an eyebrow at him, so he continued, an invisible weight lifted and left his shoulders broader, his back straighter, “I killed a puma, the first time I used them. I know now, admit now, that’s what it was. And my ears felt ready to burst from the sound. Can I learn to stop that?”

  She nodded, “With practice comes finesses, you will be able to shroud your ears with smaller shocks to protect them.” Socorra glanced at the ones standing with their fingers in their ears, “Until then, follow their lead.”

  Arturo looked in their direction, chuckled, then copied them. She walked over and slapped his legs again, “Wider.”

  Aquiles gave his brother an angry and exasperated look. Socorra said, “It's fine, Aquiles. He needs questions answered. Don’t be so touchy.”

  “I already know all of this. Why can’t I move on to actual training?”

  “Because being in a Storm is being in a bond. You will train at the same pace and help each other. You think they got to be so good at what they do by chiding each other?” She pointed at the gigantic brothers slapping at each other’s faces and ears now, “When they aren’t acting like YOUNG ONES?!”

  One last slap resounded in the chamber, sound echoing far longer than was natural, and Thunderhead Juan turned his head a single degree per second like a sudden movement would get him eaten, then they both nodded in unison. Aquiles worked his jaw. Such a subtle man. “Despite their behavior in off-time, those two work harder than anyone around them. With their natural talent, they’re the strongest Storm I have ever seen.” Socorra jabbed a finger up at Aquiles chest, “You two could make them look like a fart in the wind. Shape up and shut up, Aquiles.” Arturo watched the exchange with eyes wide.

  “And you,” Socorra turned her attention to Arturo, “stop acting like a pendejo who doesn’t know his culo from a donkey’s. Aquiles and I told you ten times already, wider feet!” She slid his foot out to the side, and he audibly gulped. “We don’t have years to master everything, we have months. The Father can only deceive for so long. When you two can get past whatever odd resentments you have towards each other because of mami? and papi?, we will make real, tangible progress.” They both looked furiously at her now, she hit the wrong button there. It was unnerving to see the same muscles standing out in the same cheeks, same nostrils flared, the same cold eyes on two faces locked onto her own.

  Getting past the fear that gripped her, she choked out, “That’s the kind of coordination I’m looking for.” They eyed each other. Arturo’s face relaxed, but Aquiles held on to his own anger. By all that is good, a Greatstorm had just stared her down. The very one she sought, and she feared them. That tiny voice in her head, the superstitious and unreasonable bit of her consciousness, stuck in primal ways, still believed the stories of demons razing villages and slaughtering peoples. Surely, it wasn’t true. “Aquiles, have him taught in the entirety of the jaguar forms today. If he can learn them, we can try something more interesting.”

  The Arm-in-training took the comment to heart, standing up that instant, arms behind his back, a bit of Horacio’s air about him, a deference to the student’s motions without the approval. And, he said, “I’m rather tired of going through things I learned as a little boy. Let’s work.”

  Socorra sat back and leaned against the chamber's smooth, black wall. She’d let the nin?o teach so long as he wasn’t too horrible to his brother. Aquiles needed to learn how to get his knowledge out of his head and into another’s, a skill with no forms or rules, a skill Socorra had trained in her entire life, a skill she knew nothing of. More so, Socorra had worn herself out with all the energy she spent on Aquiles in an effort to tame his emotions, whether it be electric or emotional. She had felt the so-called blessing eat away at her when she reached for him. She drew on far too much. That boy should have been charred away to nothing, but he took the blow like a bad smack on a training day. A stopped heart was nothing for her to repair, however burnt flesh and melted marrow was mighty difficult to mend. That boy should be dead. It could be an inkling of the power these twins might wield. Socorra shivered.

  Matched movement and labored breathing sent hushed sounds of rubbing fabric and raspy throats bouncing around the chamber like the identical twins were right next to her. The big twins were as calm and composed as ever, steady breaths and serene faces. Those two were models to be studied by Storms for generations to come.

  Arturo, as it turned out, learned rather quickly. It appeared the tenacity of his brother to learn and to master his arts had been shared in the womb if not their upbringing. With a few hours until dinner, Arturo had made his way through every stance in the first jaguar form. “Have you practiced anything like this before, nin?o?” Arturo looked at Aquiles like he thought Socorra was addressing the new Arm. “I mean you, pendejo.”

  “Lo siento,” he looked down sheepishly, “I was a shepherd. We didn’t practice things like this. We guided sheep.” Socorra raised an eyebrow at him. He continued, “I guess there’s a lot to learn fast when you start out. You can’t lose sheep in the herd. Each animal is worth a week’s living in wool.”

  “Regardless, you’re doing very well, Arturo.” Positive remarks worked on this one very well.

  “Gracias,” he grinned, half-surprised and half-ecstatic. Time to rub it in and work the other one.

  “Isn’t it impressive, Aquiles?” A test of the boy’s demeanor and state of mind.

  “I’d like to move on to the use of our gifts. You said if he learned we could move on,” he ignored. Arturo wiped sweat from his brow, several hours of standing in squatted positions was taxing. Aquiles’ brow was dry, but his eyes dripped magma.

  “I said that. Are you satisfied with how your brother performed today, or not?”

  Aquiles barked a laugh, “What does it matter what I think? He learned it, didn't he?”

  “This isn’t just about him. It’s about you together. If you don’t think he’s ready, then you have more to teach.”

  “He picked up everything faster than anyone I’ve seen! Are you happy?” Shout ringing around the chamber. Arturo raised both his eyebrows, seemingly impressed with himself. Socorra watched the jealousy pour from Aquiles' down-turned mouth and hard glare.

  “He’s an adult, Aquiles. We teach these basic forms to nin?os. You were how old when you learned this?” Aquiles pushed his lips together and shook is head, and his brother looked let down by her statement. “Cuantos an?os tenias, Aquiles?”

  “Five!”

  “And you can’t take that your brother, a grown man, learned it faster than a five year old?”

  “It’s not about-”

  “Stop.” Then she breathed in.

  “You both did well today. Arturo, you learn quickly. Don’t begin to think you’ll pick up on everything so quickly. Aquiles, you taught well. Rid yourself of the jealousy you’re feeling toward your brother. He’s been nothing but sincere with you.”

  Aquiles scowled at her then turned to his twin. The boy gave him a questioning look. Aquiles scowled at his twin too.

  “You cannot learn to use your blessings out of anger or hatred. They must come from within, as your breath does.” Socorra stared Aquiles down. “Are you calmed, nin?o?”

  Aquiles breathed deeply through his nose then exhaled with control, his breath out a slow rush of air. He closed his eyes as his lungs ran dry, breathed in again normally, shoulders falling into that relaxed, lithe posture he always carried. “Yes, Child. I am calm.”

  “Bueno.” She smiled at him. “Use our lessons to train your sense of self, your calm and your mind.” She snickered, “I can’t slap your mind to widen its stance, but I will beat you into mindfulness if I must.

  “Ok, as promised,” Socorra beckoned the Juans over with a flick of her wrist. They walked in unison and took positions across from their counterparts in the Greatstorm. “Do not reach far, and do not push hard.” Juan and Juan took up dueling stances, the Bolt stood to the side, left shoulder towards Aquiles, and the Thunderhead dropped his weight and spread his legs, chest towards Arturo.

  “Aquiles first. Reach out your hand and let your mind touch Juan here.” She jabbed the Bolt in his chest again, the physical reenactment of their previous engagement. “Feel your breath and energy move from your gut to your fing-”

  An arc of lightning lit the chamber with a blue hew. It lasted an instant. Juan took it straight in the chest and small arcs danced from his fingers to the ground. The smell of rain flooded the chamber and a faint zip echoed across the walls. Bolt Juan smiled widely and clapped his hands at the performance, “Si?, si?! Que bueno!”

  “Si?, muy bien,” Socorra agreed. Aquiles looked more sure of himself now, more comfortable. “You will learn to redirect the reach of another Bolt like Juan in time, Aquiles.” He nodded in the affirmative.

  Disbelief riddled Arturo’s face and stance. “What did you expect”

  “I’m not sure,” he stammered, “it just feels so much more real now.”

  “As real as it gets. Now, listen to my full instructions and do not interrupt me like your brother.” Aquiles smirked.

  “Yes, Child.” The same voice as his brother spoke the same words, but it sounded foreign on Arturo’s lips.

  “You must focus differently. Breathe and push your mind outwards. Let it ride a wave towards Juan.”

  “Can I plug my ears?”

  “Si?, nin?o,” she stopped, then gestured at Aquiles and the Juans, “best we all do. You don’t need your hands. Neither do you Aquiles, but it will help to use them for a while.” Both nodded. Thunderhead Juan straightened his hands, making of them blades to cut the coming shockwave. Arturo placed his fingers in his ears and grunted. The chamber echoed his grunt, but no shockwave. After a few moments, Arturo let out a loud puff of breath.

  “I pushed so hard, but nothing happened,” Arturo panted.

  “You tensed. You didn’t push.” Socorra walked over and reached up to his sweaty face. She gave him a couple pats on the cheek. “We can’t learn everything on the first try. Continue your forms and breathing until dinner. You can try again tomorrow. Very few produce any results on their first try.” At that, Aquiles drew himself up, moving from comfortable to proud. Damn, that boy was difficult. “You figured it out before we even started. Don’t break your hand stroking your… pride.”

  The brothers all continued repeating the stances of the form. Socorra paced again in circles, slapping here and giving tips there, but soon, they broke for dinner. The Juans escorted their counterparts out, Arturo with his hood drawn up and sweat soaking his robes. Socorra stayed behind to update the Father on their progress.

  ***

  “No importa, Arturo. Pronto,” Juan tried to cheer him up. Arturo was disappointed in himself. This was all so foreign, and he didn’t know how to feel anything in his body through anywhere. Was he supposed to just imagine it?

  “Gracias, Juan.” How odd they were both named Juan. There must be some deeper reason. Maybe sharing a name strengthened whatever bond existed between a pair in a Storm. Arturo was determined to learn as fast as possible. The sooner he could help Socorra right this business of the Ministry and put all of this behind himself, the sooner he could see Valeria again.

  Buenos dias, mi hijo.

  Arturo yelped, then straightened his face. Juan spun around and looked about them. “Que paso?”

  “Nada,” Arturo shook his head and acted confused, “nada.”

  ***

  Aquiles walked silently behind Other Juan. He took pride in what he accomplished today. He hadn’t produced any lightning like that since his accident with Jorge in the training ground, and now, he’d done it on purpose. His success tempered his anger towards his brother. One short conversation in the night would not solve a life’s worth of time spent with his true parents.

  At least, Aquiles had shown him up in the end.

  A tinge of shame stabbed at his heart for this resentment he held towards Arturo. He stamped it out and reveled in his newfound abilities. He would be untouchable. He put his hands behind his back and extended his fingers out.

  Pop.

  ***

  Socorra swept into the Children’s mess, a judging murmur following her, a predator prowling prey, or maybe some internalized guilt at her actions and schemes she refused to recognize was beginning to paint her perspective. She waited for it to start.

  It would be more like the execution broadcasts than the conversations. The conversations were fast, this would be less so. Child Lola, nose full of star charts and mouth full of horchata, raised a milky grin up to Socorra’s entrance. The Arm had once been good friends with the women, but they’d grown apart. She’d grown apart from most, even Josefa could be a stranger sometimes. Lola’s eyes grew distant, and Socorra closed her own, took deep breaths, bidding these moments of calm before the Storm. At her direction, the Father was showing the monks the truth now, the lies of the Ministry, the fact the Union was controlling the Parents, cutting against everything that the governing body should stand for, everything these monks knew to be true. The monks would not stand for this, Socorra hadn’t, but they couldn’t know the whole truth, couldn’t know about the boys.

  And her guilt grew.

  And Lola’s eyes came back to her own.

  And Socorra’s old rage lit new in her old friend’s eyes.

  And that rage lit in the eyes of all the monks around her.

  The master botanists. The master astronomers. The master poets. The master sculptors. The master healers.

  The master archers. The masters of the spear, of the staff, of the knife, and of the sword.

  And Socorra knew her plan would work with these men and women behind her. They looked to her for her plan. They followed her to the main square where the Father had told all his Children to gather after he dumped his centuries of pain and desperation into each of them, and she climbed the dais at the center, and she called over the sea of her rage finally roiling in the Monastery, in these masters and in these warriors.

  “We will begin training to take back our Parents from those heretics that would seek to control them. We only have months.”

  And a resolve spread through the crowd, silent, for these monks were, above all, masters of themselves.

  Guilt consumed her as she prepared her mind to train her true weapon: the Greatstorm.