Chapter 20

  Another day, another silent morning, another prickle of pain, his last reminder. Arturo would learn today, or he would be leaving, lies or not, brother or not, helping the Father or not. A knock came at his door, and he fixed his attitude. Juan’s round face appeared in the opening in the door, the big man bent at his waist like he was talking to a little kid.

  “Buenos dias, Arturo.”

  And he responded with a content, “Buenos dias, Juan.” Juan smiled at Arturo. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Valeria had been so happy to see him. He hoped she’d be happy to see him again after a late return home.

  “Esta?s listo?” Juan questioned.

  “Sure am!” Arturo popped up and threw on his robe. The giant never stopped smiling through the door. What a nice couple of men these brothers were. Juan pulled open the door, slow, as if careful not to break it, as if he learned in the past just how easily his strength could break something, and Arturo couldn’t comprehend what Juan and his twin were capable of. Arturo didn’t know whether to be worried or excited about learning just what he and his brother would be capable of, but his anxiety about learning how to use his blessings was decisive enough on that front.

  Musky air met him in the hallway, the torches flicking in suspended dust. He followed Juan, hooded and careful, the possibility of running into Emiliano weighing on him, the race to figure some sort of explanation for his escort running rampant through his mind. He would have to be the one to explain, after all, Juan wasn’t the most eloquent person he’d ever met. Arturo was hungry, he tore at his fingernails, but they made it to the mess without incident and found their way to the pantry.

  Aquiles pouted in the corner with an unstopped vial of the syrup in his hand, glancing at it like he was asked to drink horse piss.

  He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept well again, and Arturo determined his brother could use some tequila and a fun night out. Conversely, Arturo felt well rested and ready to train, and if he didn’t figure it out today, he would be done with all this craziness anyway. Nothing to worry about. He was determined to knock Juan off his big feet. He would be so happy for Arturo.

  Socorra shoved a vial into Arturo’s hands. “Mira. Arturo, drink up. You’re getting loud today, nin?o.”

  He gulped, somewhere between wanting to help or flee. Regardless, Arturo downed one delectable, sweet slurp then continued onto a second. He chased it with lime and smacked his lips.

  “Disgusting,” Aquiles choked.

  “Callete?, aren’t you all about ‘fueling my body’,” Socorra mocked him with a deep voice.

  “Si?, pero…”

  “Pero nada. Drink the syrup, or you’re not coming with us.”

  That secured a scowl from Aquiles, then he decided Arturo was deserving of the expression as well, so the scowl was sent his way too.

  “Put on a new face, hermano. I’m not doing this today.”

  “New face,” Aquiles spat and shook his head. He yanked the cork off a vial and choked down its contents. He drank the ichor from a second and third to make his point. Aquiles spread his hands as if at the end of a performance.

  “Gracias,” Socorra chirped. “Juan, bring the bag of vials. If we make good progress, we might need some more fuel.” Both brothers reached for the bag and knocked their heads against each other, then both of the brothers leaned back and chuckled, rubbing their foreheads. They cocked their heads at each other and pointed at the bag, then looked at Socorra. She watched them with her jaw hanging half open, then just turned and left the pantry. “Hood up, nin?o.” The Juan on the left, Arturo had lost track of which was which, shouldered the bag. It clinked an incessant rhythm as Aquiles put on a bigger and bigger frown.

  ***

  Aquiles’ throat was thick with mucus and bile, and his stomach twisted from all that syrup sloshing around in him. He did not feel ready for a day of training, yet as he walked to the sound chamber, he felt a warmth grow over his body, his eyes lifting and his steps feeling solid. His stomach still felt a little sick, but he also felt like he could run a mile. He hoped there were no negative consequences of ingesting so much sugar at once.

  Creaking wood echoed and bounced off the walls of the chamber as his weight bent the rungs of the ladder. The sounds weren’t as intense as before, and Aquiles noticed the wall was lined with hay. “Trying to help us in case your brother decides to blast us away with a shockwave today by accident. The hay should absorb some of the sound, so we don’t go deaf.” Socorra spoke and walked by Aquiles without slowing.

  Arturo was climbing down the ladder now and asked, “Who brought it all here?”

  “Blindfolded Young Ones. Horacio found them smoking tobacco they’d gotten from the city somehow,” Socorra got the words out through her chuckles. “There’s an exit like the one near the mess hall upstairs. Leads out to some stables on the other side of the city wall. Pretty good if you ever needed to sneak out.” She pointed to the spot in the circle opposite the ladder, “Small square, bit less gloss than the rest. Alright, nin?os. Warm up with the forms.”

  Aquiles groaned while Arturo’s head shook with emphatic nods.

  ***

  Step, step, hiss. Step, step, hiss. A conspicuous cadence, but Josefa tried to keep the hisses of pain quiet. She should be dead. She was making her typical rounds about the Monastery, keeping an ear out for talk of the Arm and the Arm of Us and any story of said Arm of Us in two places at once, all at Socorra’s order. Josefa heard nothing. Her feet screamed at her, toenails peeling back from the skin. Every movement she made prompted a demand from her body to stop. She should be dead. There couldn’t be thunder without lightning, and her Bolt was gone. Socorra now saw it fit to rub that in her face, putting them all in danger with a Greatstorm in their halls.

  Josefa took the stairs in stride. Walking on level ground, walking upstairs, doing squats, being stabbed, it didn’t matter. She was at her threshold of the pain she could manage at every second of every day. She wished she was dead. She knew that about herself, but she never vocalized it, not even in her own mind. Tried not to at least. Josefa lowered her head. Perhaps some food would make her feel better, she could return to her rounds after grabbing a bite to eat. Then, the rest of her route would carry her to the pyramid peak.

  Quiet dribbles of voice and murmurs ensconced Josefa in the crowd, and she lost herself in it, let herself be lost, drifted through, diaphanous. No one could track her through all the people. Her height was an advantage. No one noticed her. No one ever did. She was Socorra’s shadow, the ghost of the Monastery. Here, she haunted. Here, she knew the place of every rock, dust mote, and pimple.

  So, when she arrived at the entrance to the mess hall and noticed the slightest lip in the stone in the hallway further down, she froze. Someone had used the tunnel. Workers and servants had never left an improper seal on the door, and they weren’t scheduled for a shift swap. Had it been Socorra, or someone else, in a rush for some reason? Josefa looked around her, and satisfied she wasn’t being watched, snuck into the tunnel. She called out, “Socorra? Aquiles? Juan? Any staff?” Only her echoed voice responded. Whoever had been here ran off.

  Or they were in the Monastery.

  ***

  Arturo’s legs strained with his weight in the first stance of the jaguar form. Sweat beaded on his brow, then he felt it. He swore he could feel the breath in his chest move through his gut and into his fingertips. He wanted to try again. He wouldn’t fail this time.

  Couldn’t.

  “Child Socorra,” he grunted, “I think I’m ready now. I finally understand what feeling to focus on.”

  Socorra stopped her pacing and walked in front of him. Even in this squatted position, Arturo had to drop his head to meet her eye. “Up!” She slapped his chin, and he raised his head, and his eyes broke from hers. “That’s a good first step, Arturo.” She continued pacing.

  “So, I can try again?”

  Socorra giggled and shook her head, “Replicate that feeling over your next two hundred breaths, and we can try again.”

  Aquiles groaned again for the three hundredth time that day. Socorra cocked her head at him. “We can make it five hundred breaths if you don’t think the original amount was sufficient.”

  At that, he cleared his throat and moved to the next form, feet wide and placed his right forward and left back, hands held at chest level with fingers straightened like blades. “No, Child. That won’t be necessary.” Aquiles looked straight at Arturo, “I have full faith my brother will learn enough after the first task.” This man could be a menace. Arturo shivered and energy tickled his fingertips with the next breath as well.

  ***

  Josefa was a wraith in the crowd. She scanned the monks and the Young Ones, each and every face, for someone that might not belong in the Monastery. Her heart was a drum in her chest, the first time the Monastery needed its guards’ skills in full, and the Juans were off galivanting with Greatstorms. For the time being, she was able to forget her pain and focus on the task at hand. Josefa had let someone into the Monastery. She should be dead.

  A scream ripped over the crowd from up ahead.

  Josefa snapped her head in the direction and shoved her obstacles out of the way. Children and Young Ones, men and women, young and old alike she pushed on, racing towards the devastation that awaited her. Josefa arrived to meet an absolute mess. A young woman, dark skin and long hair, stared down at the spear protruding from the pot of plants in her hand. Blood dripped to the floor, and everyone made a circle around them. Josefa looked the woman up and down.

  The woman snatched the spear from the Young One’s hands and sucked on a small cut on her thumb. “You careless little cretin! You busted my West Mountainous fern pot and cut my thumb! You will be on punishment for months! I will be talking to your weapons master about this!”

  Air rushed back into Josefa’s lungs, along with the relief that nothing bad had happened here, nothing beyond a mostly harmless accident. “Thank the Parents,” Josefa breathed her full lungs out.

  The young woman spun on her now, “You think this is a good thing? That plant is nearly extinct, and this young man just endangered one of the last of its species!”

  “Lo siento. I only worried something worse had happened.”

  “Like what, murder?” Well, yes actually. “Nothing like that happens here,” the young Child continued, “you will run to Child Horacio at once and tell him Child Emilia sent you for the worst punishment he can imagine right now!”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I’m not a Young One here, you can’t order me around like that,” Josefa responded with an equal attitude to Emilia.

  The woman’s haughty demeanor evaporated, and her shoulders sagged. “Ah, I’m sorry, hermana. I’ve just had a bad couple of days.” She looked at the terrified Young One again, “You’re still going to get it, though.”

  Relieved and mentally exhausted, Josefa continued scanning the crowd for trespassers, if only she knew what to look for.

  ***

  “Wider feet, Arturo,” Aquiles corrected his brother. The country boy nodded his head and widened his stance. Truthfully, his stance was perfect before, and Aquiles was just frustrated. His brother had reached one hundred eighty-six breaths now, and they were so close to real training. “Wider fe-”

  “I think they are quite wide enough, Arm of Us,” Socorra chided him. She’d been watching him with more intent than his brother. It didn’t make sense. Aquiles knew what he was doing. By the Father’s name, he could already make lightning at will. This training was ridiculous. How long would they be continuing like this? Weeks? Aquiles thought he might burst before that happened.

  “Two hundred,” Arturo entombed, and his voice rang eerily, caught up a bit in the hay along the walls. A preternatural jumble of tones echoed instead of a full spectrum. Aquiles did not enjoy that sound.

  Socorra clapped once and smiled. “Buenisimo, Arturo. Do you feel confident?”

  “I believe so.”

  “You believe so, or you are?”

  “I am confident, Child. I can do it.”

  “Great. Juan! Juan! Get over here. Across from your respective twin.” The oafs shambled over, too dumb to pay attention on their own, and Other Juan took up position across from Aquiles. “Same thing as yesterday. Aquiles will go first. Arturo, keep breathing and feeling. Let the feelings out when it is your time. Just breath, nin?o.”

  Aquiles watched his brother. The fool was tensing again in anticipation of his trial to come. He snorted to himself, then took up his stance.

  “Juan, disperse straight into the ground. Let’s not light this hay on fire and cook ourselves.”

  “Si?,” he rumbled.

  “Alright, Aquiles. Amp up your reach a tiny bit from yesterday. Make Juan work for it.”

  Aquiles nodded. He breathed in, gut, arms, fingertips, and reached out to his target before him. He grunted, and little arcs jumped between his fingers. Pops and sizzles pinged around the chamber. “Relax. Just reach out and touch Juan.” Aquiles clenched his jaw, then forced his teeth apart.

  The world around him disappeared, fresh air gushing into his nose. He could almost pick out Other Juan’s heartbeat like a little bit of lightning on its own. Aquiles reached out and grabbed it. Purple and fiery hot, a thick arc leaped up from nonexistence and connected Aquiles outreached hand to Juan’s chest. Rain and wind whipped through Aquiles’ mind. Everyone’s shadows stretched out to the far walls, stark black and solid, the blessing of a Bolt outshining the lights of man.

  The arc lingered there for the briefest of moments, but longer than the instantaneous phenomenon he’d experienced before. Other Juan’s strangled yell knocked Arturo’s grasp from his chest across the twenty-pace distance. The man dispersed directly into the ground as instructed, smiting and charring the stone. Other Juan collapsed, and his brother rushed to his side. Aquiles knew the man lived, or else his brother would be dead by his side.

  Socorra stared in disbelief, “Never. Never have I seen someone show strength like this in their first days.” She shook her head. “Aquiles, you must be more careful. You’re lucky Juan still rivals your strength. You would have killed any other Storm in this pyramid with that.”

  Aquiles met her gaze, “Even you?”

  Socorra’s eyes were suspicious.

  Aquiles snapped out of whatever had grabbed hold of him. “I’m- I’m sorry. I barely reached more than yesterday. I swear.” That was true, he had more trouble finding that connection, but he did not pull on it but a fraction harder.

  Socorra kept her concerned gaze on him, “I believe that. Come, Juan. Your brother is fine.”

  Other Juan was blinking unconsciousness from his eyes now and rubbing his hands. His fingers looked fresh and red with light burns. Aquiles felt terrible. He’d chided Arturo for not understanding their potential, and here he was nearly killing a friend that only meant well. He had to be more careful.

  “Alright, Arturo,” Socorra said, her normal confidence returning. “Just breathe.”

  ***

  Josefa couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary in the crowd. She was probably making a big deal out of nothing. Those new twins really had her on edge, and her pain was at its worst today. She had good days, bad days, and outliers. Today was an outlier.

  The main square was clear, stairs clean, Children trumping about as usual with their books and scrolls and an expertise everyone had to know about. Other than the silly situation with that Child and her plant, nothing was out of the ordinary. The Young One had scampered off to tell on himself to Horacio. That old man was infamous, and the Young Ones dreaded seeing him on his bad side. One way to get on it was him hearing about your malfeasance from a Child rather than yourself.

  Step, step, hiss. The adrenaline had left her, and all that running and pushing caught up to her. Josefa could barely close her hands. She fitted straps to her knives that allowed her to hang onto the weapons when her appendages failed her like this. It happened far too often these days. She checked on the blades, a habit, reaching a discreet hand to her sides to feel the stiff metal of the hidden knives. No one would know she was armed. That’s how Josefa liked it. She didn’t need to draw her weapons quickly, she just needed to draw them without notice, and Josefa had more than twenty years of practice. The blades could be planted in a man’s kidneys before she moved, and they sang in want of retribution to Maria’s death. She could wait another few months or years. She’d been waiting half her life.

  Once her breathing calmed down, she began her walk up to the pyramid peak. Her appetite had left, and she wanted some fresh air. Lunch could happen later. Josefa dreaded the climb, but the reward would be worth it. She hoped.

  Josefa took the first step and saw something ahead. The trailing end of a black cloak disappeared beyond the next level’s landing. Young Ones and Children wore brown, always. Servants wore white, always. No one wore black. Josefa leaned out over the stairway railing to see the robe’s wearer appear from the bend. No one showed. Either they were in the hall leading from the landing, or they were ducked below the railing. Hiding.

  She took the quickest steps she could without making noise. It should be enough to catch up to someone creeping up the stairs. She rounded the bend, and a bent over figure in a long black cloak froze mid-step. It turned, slow and deliberate, and drew up to its full height. A man’s face was shadowed under a deep black hood. It was wrong. Grey and lifeless, like a fake face, or mask.

  Josefa had found a suspect after all.

  The man gritted his teeth and whipped around, cloak billowing behind him. He sprinted up the stairs now with reckless abandon. He'd already been spotted. Josefa sprinted after with her knives drawn, crying to herself with the pain of each slam of her foot to stone.

  ***

  Arturo grunted. He strained and felt he was pushing with all his might. Nothing happened.

  “Nin?o, you are tightening your stomach. That draws your energy in. Relax.”

  He stopped straining and bent over, gasping for air. “I swear I had it doing the forms earlier.” He dragged in another breath and continued, “Breathe, gut and into fingertips…” Arturo had an idea. “I was doing forms with my hands out in different stances, but I’m trying to make a shockwave while plugging my ears. Can’t push through my fingertips into myself.”

  “It’s really more of an expression. You can push from anywhere.”

  “Well, I can’t figure it out. Can I try with my hands out?” Behind him, Aquiles was sighing his discontent. Arturo rounded on him, “Callete?! I’m figuring it out. It's been one day!”

  His brother raised his hands like he hadn’t expected any reprisal. Arturo rolled his eyes. Socorra gestured to Arturo, “Go ahead, nin?o. If you’re successful, it will be loud.” Bolt Juan had been standing with his fingers in his ears for the better part of a half hour. He wasn’t even paying attention anymore, turning in circles where he stood. But the self-absorbed Arm of Us didn’t seem to believe Arturo would be successful. He stood ten paces away with his arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. Arturo was tired of that.

  He breathed in, felt a buildup of that energy in his stomach, roiling and ready to burst, pushed that energy up his arms, passing through his elbows, into his hands, and all the way down to his fingertips. He sent his fingertips forward in his mind, trying to knock Juan over.

  Several walls of white air exploded from his fingers and hurled themselves at Juan. The Thunderhead stuck his hands into the assault and the shockwaves split about him. The waves ricocheted off the wall and bounced randomly across the room before dissipating. Arturo’s ears rang like he expected, unable to hear the Juans’ and Socorra’s praise. His fingers felt a slight tingle of heat, how odd.

  Aquiles just stood silently, but the smugness was gone. Maybe he was finally realizing this was real as well. Hay began drifting down after being blown into the air. The walls of sound and force were only a few paces across when they reached Juan, but the skilled man had stuck his own small set of shockwaves just before his hands and split the assault. He’d still been pushed back several feet, heels catching on stray straws of hay.

  After a worrying several moments without hearing, he heard Socorra say, “We should update the Father on our progress. He could factor that into his timelines.”

  She walked into the center of the chamber. Aquiles walked over to Arturo and gave him one curt nod, “Bien. Finalmente.” Arturo rolled his eyes.

  Socorra spoke, “Father.”

  ***

  Josefa’s legs shouted in her bones, her lungs were on fire, and her clothes were a hot comal to the skin. She was crying out loud now but closing the distance on her stranger. He lumbered up the stairs, too big for his own good. Her legs pumped in perfect coordination, they just hated doing it.

  Her pain would not stop her here. They had made it nearly to the pyramid’s peak. The stranger showed no sign of slowing. Through strained muscles, Josefa screamed, “Stop! Or I! Will kill! You!”

  The man seemed to gather remaining strength and stamina and charged ahead, opening the distance Josefa had closed on him.

  She was going to make this man hurt for having her chase him like this.

  The man turned the last corner, and his feet slid under him. He bashed into the wall before the exit to the garden. Josefa reached it and kept her footing. “Ay cabro?n!”

  He didn’t slow or weave through the path. The cloak caught on branches and thorns as the man barreled straight through the vegetation of the garden. She imagined Child Emilia would not find that very pleasurable.

  A great leap took him over the sundial and into the open space before the railing over the garden. His jump was high, too high. Josefa hadn’t seen any man or woman jump like that before.

  “WHO ARE YOU?!” She tore her throat raw screaming.

  He slid to a stop just before the railing. A great gray hand thrust into the air, fingers spread and corded forearm muscle standing out. The wind whipped his cloak, exposing more gray skin. His hood blew back to show a completely bald, gray head.

  “Stop what you’re doing!”

  His fingers began jumping with little arcs of lightning.

  “Pinche-”

  Josefa threw herself behind the sundial. He shot dozens of dancing streaks of lightning into the air, not at her, but towards the sky.

  The bolts reached hundreds of feet above the pyramid. People from across the city would be able to see that. An aroma of fresh grass and hard rainfall washed over Josefa, and the air sizzled and popped with energy. It outshone the sun at midday, irregular shadows bouncing on the ground, the sundial indecisive on the time of day in the blue and purple light.

  The man held it for a few moments longer and then closed his hand. His skin smoked and turned black.

  Josefa stood back, and with less confidence, called out, “Stop! I’ll bring you down!”

  The man looked back and smiled a gray smile, “Adios, hermana.”

  He squatted and jumped, shooting out over the railing of the pyramid. Josefa reached to her boot and flung a throwing knife towards him. It caught him on his fall back down, thudding into his shoulder. He had no reaction.

  Josefa rushed forward to look over the edge. Halfway down the pyramids slant, he collided with the stone and rode it down on bent legs. When he stopped at the bottom, she watched him reach around and pull something from his back: the knife. He looked back up.

  Then, he turned and faced down El Derecho.

  Josefa followed his turn with her eyes. Right between the Ministry and Monastery, a huge mass of guards bristled with weapons on the move. Their general now knew the Monastery was not ready, and he’d just given his signal to attack.

  The Ministry was marching on the Monastery.

  ***

  The Father swept forth from an abyss in the air.

  “My child.” His mask blinked to a smiling face. The storm wreathing his shoulders in cloud and lightning, raged in the air. Water poured from him.

  Something was wrong, the god’s energy was off, so Socorra asked, “Is everything alright, Father?”

  His mask blinked to a questioning look. “Soon it will be, Socorra. Soon it will be.”

  Socorra agreed, “Yes, Father. The twins are learning quickly.”

  “Si?, si?. I know. I have seen.” His mask blinked to a frown. “I am truly hurt to inform you that their training can no longer be continued. Thank you for bringing them together here for me, Socorra. You did the right thing.”

  Socorra listened to him speak. Her heart beat with terror, “What are you talking about, Father?”

  His mask blinked back to the smile, “I hope you can find your love for me again, Socorra.” He paused and turned his head to the twins, Arturo and Aquiles. “But demons may not be allowed to live.” He turned his head back to Socorra. “I am sorry you wasted so much of your life.”

  The Father turned, and the abyss swallowed him. Socorra fell to her knees, silent, too dumb struck to react or think. “Demons… not demons…”

  Arturo whispered behind her, “What happened…”

  Socorra didn’t respond and stumbled to the ladder in a daze and began to climb. The hatch was thrown open.

  Josefa stared down at her, face covered in sweat and chest heaving, but she spoke clearly and steadily, “The Monastery is under attack.”

  Socorra turned back to the Greatstorm, to her triumph, to her greatest loss, and she tasted vomit in her throat and her brain buzzed with pumping blood, but an alarm sounded in her ears, her training and experience clearing her mind. She eyed Arturo and Aquiles as they stared up at Josefa in horror.

  “The Father betrayed us.”