Everyone turns. Carrick hobbles from the outskirts of the crowd. The gangs make a pathway for the stocky man to stride through their ranks. He limps, but he’s walking, his ankle no longer broken.
“You can’t kill him,” says Carrick. “He saved me.”
Even I’m stunned by this bold turn of events.
“I’d be dead but for Edmon Leontes. You have to let him go!”
“Insolent worm! I command here, not you!” The Warden screeches.
“Let him go!” someone calls out. The cry is echoed. “He got his lashes. Let him go!”
“Let him go! Let him go! Let him go!” The chant rises from the inmates who only moments before were calling for my head. The Warden’s eyes shift nervously. The guards around the perimeter finger their humbatons, but the inmates outnumber their jailers. Here is the reason that gangs are divided, I realize—a way to keep inmates separate, so they will never rise up against their masters. I’ve just given them something in common. Kill me publicly and I’m a martyr.
“All right! In light of this advent, young Leontes can be let go,” he says reluctantly. “Cut him down,” he murmurs to Greelo.
I save him the trouble. I pull with both blood-soaked arms. The poles break loose from their moorings and crash to the ground. I’m like the mythical Samus, toppling the dome of Hyperius with his great strength. The crowd cheers, and I hobble from the auction block.
“That’s it, Baldy Patch!” they shout.
I stride toward Faria’s hut, feigning strength, secretly ready to fall.
I don’t feel the needle. Faria’s trick with his hands ensures I’m numb as he sews my lacerations.
“You’ll heal.” I smell the rubbing alcohol as he dabs the wounds. “If you had a Pantheon medic, you would receive skin grafts. Unfortunately, here at the edge of darkness, there will be scarring.”
“Scars you see hurt the least,” I mutter.
“Pithy,” he returns sardonically.
“What now?” I gently put on my shirt.
“In the morning, you’ll begin as my apprentice.”
“Apprentice?” My eyes go wide.
“Medical assistant,” he corrects.
He’s not ready to give up all his secrets. Yet.
“The Warden will want to keep you out of sight after today, but you’re right. I am old. The prison will need someone to carry on the healing work.” He smiles. “Your father banished you here so you couldn’t cause any more unrest to his plans, but one day, he’ll remember the value a son has. Stay alive, and when he calls upon you, do not forget I helped you.”
“How will you help me?” I ask.
“First, by teaching you to become invisible.”
My brow furrows with question.
“From the day you arrived, I knew you were trouble. You stand out. You make enemies. If you want to survive, you must change. It’s the great tree that is uprooted and breaks in the storm. The lowly reed bends and survives. Do not be noticed again.”
“I never wanted the attention,” I say.
“You didn’t eschew it, either. You’ve met force with equal force.”
“Should I have done otherwise?” I ask.
“That’s not for me to decide.” He shrugs. “I only teach what I know. If you want to learn, you’ll follow.”
I nod.
“Good,” he says. “Return to camp. Make no sound. Talk to no one. Acknowledge if you’re spoken to, but no more. You’re not one of them anymore. You’re a shadow. Forever outside. Do you understand?”
I return to the Picker camp and take a place outside the circle. Some notice and nod. One gestures for me to sit beside him. It’s more friendly acknowledgment than I’ve ever received, but I’ve made a bargain. It’s funny, I wouldn’t have thought I’d care, but the desire to have camaraderie is overwhelming after so long without. It feels as if the old man’s blind eyes are upon me, though, so I stay apart.
I’m not one of them and never will be. I’m Faria’s apprentice now. I’m invisible.
CHAPTER 19
CABALETTA
The morning alarm rouses the men, and I rise. As the camp prepares, the gangs organize themselves into lines to enter the mines, and I walk through the shantytown to the igloo. I enter to find Faria seated in meditation. I take up a seat across from him, waiting for him to speak.
My impatience gets the better of me after nearly an hour of anticipation. “Well?” I ask, exasperated. His eyes snap open, and he glares. “When do we start training?”
He closes his eyes. “I have said. You do as I do. Now I am meditating.”
“That’s all we’re going to do?” I can’t believe this.
“Perhaps you’d prefer to return to the mines?” he asks.
“No,” I mutter.
“Then, yes, this is all we do.”
“What are we even meditating on?” I sigh. He told me mastering the flow of meridians through the body and the Dim Mak could take years to learn. I haven’t any time to lose. At the very least, I thought I’d learn to set a bone or suture a wound.
“Meditate to master the self,” he says. “You can master nothing until that’s mastered. So that’s the only end worth anything.”
I exhale in frustration, but I close my eyes. “Faria?” I ask.
“Master,” he corrects.
“Master,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Have you mastered the self?”
“If I had,” he answers, “there would be no need to meditate.”
We sit in silence for the whole day. Hour upon hour, thoughts swirl like a maelstrom. My father, my brother, Nadia, my mother, my longing, my anguish, over and over. Some moments pass where I drift and think of nothing. Before long, the evening alarm has sounded.
“Return tomorrow,” Faria says.
I leave, shaking my head. Working in the mines was almost better than sitting doing nothing. Almost. I stop at the Ration Bar before heading to the Picker camp to sleep. I take my place outside the circle.
A healer’s skill is contingent upon having people in need of healing. If there are no injured or sick, then what else is there to do than sit? I don’t know how I’ll survive the boredom. Toiling in a dark cave doing menial labor was not what I wanted for my life. Sitting and doing nothing isn’t, either. Regardless, I settle into the routine. Wake up, go to Faria’s hut, sit in silence by the fire. I take food and return to camp to sleep. Wake up. Do it again. The monotony of my inane thoughts is maddening. Mastery does not come. I drop my head into my hands.
“This is it?” I bemoan. “I’m supposed to master my thoughts, but all I think on is death and the hatred I have for this godforsaken planet, the injustice. If I’m supposed to calm the storm, I can’t.”
“Then don’t quiet the storm,” Faria responds, eyes still closed.
“But isn’t the point to become emotionless?” I ask.
Faria chuckles. “Why are you here, Edmon?”
“Because my father murdered my love, my family. He forced me to marry another, and I refused to play his games.”
Faria nods. “Is that fair?”
“No,” I say darkly.
“What do you wish to do about it?”
“Make him suffer,” I growl.
“You expect to shut that feeling away?” he asks. “No, I ask that you feel it more. There’s no other way to stand over your enemy and cut out his heart. Accept your hatred and you won’t be rash or stupid, you’ll be cold. Don’t quiet the maelstrom. Become the storm.”