My mother asked for and was granted a couple of days off, and she wants to use it to visit our old subchapter, 14. Elsey is still too unwell to travel with us, but Roc and Tawni agreed to keep her company while we’re away. Tristan insisted on coming. He seems afraid to leave my side, maybe ever again, which is cute. Despite his good intentions, however, Mom said we needed to do this alone, and after much discussion and debate, he conceded, promising to tear the Moon Realm apart looking for us if we don’t return within two days. I thought it a bad time to remind him that the Moon Realm is already torn apart, so I just agreed with him.
Although the train ride only takes half a day and we arrive in the afternoon, the lights are off in the big cavern I used to call home. The sun dwellers have cut off all electricity to the Lower Realms and for now we have to use flashlights and lanterns until the Moon Realm engineers come up with a solution to the problem.
As we walk through the city, the beams from our bouncing and bobbing flashlights reveal the destruction that took place a lifetime ago. Memories of the explosions as we climbed the fence to escape from prison flash through my mind like a slideshow. Buildings crumbling, cracks in the streets, the toppling of the fence. All distant memories now.
We pass a number of work crews, busily repairing the damage. They stare at us as we pass, and while outwardly they look haggard, tired, I see the fire of determination in their eyes. These are the men and women who will rebuild and then go to war for their very survival, and for the survival of their families.
The houses in our old suburb didn’t fare much better than the city. Many of them have shattered windows and crumbling roofs. Some even have gaping holes in their sides which allow us to see inside. I’m surprised to find entire families inside, sitting down to have a meal together, to play games together, to simply be together.
“They can break our things, can break our bodies, but they can’t break our spirits,” my mother says.
I feel a shot of heat in my belly, as if a match has been lit within my gut.
We reach our house, which is in shambles, the entire front wall caved in. As we step over the threshold, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pain as I remember the way my father used to look when he came through the door after work, tired but happy. We’d run to him, Elsey and I, and hug him.
When I lean against the wall, shocked by what I see, a memory is unlocked from some safe deposit box in my head, more vivid than if I was living it right now.
I’m ten years old and it’s my birthday, but it’s just like any other day. My dad wakes me up at six in the morning for training. It’s still dark in the caverns, although even at midday, the thin, pale lighting from the overhead cavern lights is dim at best. We train on the tiny stone patio behind our shoebox house. My mom is already up and getting breakfast ready, but she doesn’t say anything as I pass her. She does glance at me, however, and I can tell from the slight curl on one side of her lip that she knows it’s my birthday and wants to surprise me. I pretend not to notice.
My dad is already outside, stretching his arms and legs. I follow his lead, because if I don’t, I’ll be sore tomorrow. As I stretch my arms above my head, I see the glittering flutter of wings as a bat slides noiselessly above us. The rough, gray cave ceiling is slowly coming into focus as the cavern lights begin to brighten right on schedule.
We start with hand-to-hand combat—my favorite—and, according to my dad, the most important part of training, because “you can always count on your own hands and feet,” as he likes to say. I’m feeling energetic, which I try to use to my advantage, striking quickly with sharp stabs of my feet. But my dad is always up to the task, faster than me, blocking each attack with ease. Even when I start inventing my own moves, my dad just swats away my roundhouse kicks and judo chops like pesky gnats. He says my invented moves are creative and effective, although they never seem to work on him.
It gets frustrating sometimes, not being able to beat him, especially considering how hard I work. He says he pushes me harder than Elsey because I’m the older sister, and I can protect myself and her. That just seems like a free pass for El. He also says I’m getting stronger and faster with each training session, which sometimes is the only thing that keeps me motivated.
So I keep at it, chucking fists and feet at him faster and faster, until a thin sheen of salty sweat is coating my bare arms and legs, where my pale blue tunic won’t cover. As I begin to tire, I become bolder, lunging forward and aiming a knotted fist at his sternum, at one of the places that he told me will hurt the most. To my absolute shock, my clenched fingers slide smoothly past my dad’s blocking arms, connecting with his chest, and I feel the solid thud of bone on bone and muscle.
My dad grunts and lifts a hand to his chest, massaging it gingerly. I can’t help but to lift my offending hand to my mouth as my lips form an O. “Dad, I’m so…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
My dad laughs and I stop talking, my eyebrows rising along with my confusion. “Don’t ever apologize for winning a fight, Adele,” he says.
“Wha…what? You mean I…?”
“Won—yes.” My dad is grinning. “You are learning so fast, Adele. In a couple of years I will have nothing left to teach you.”
“So the student will become the master?” I joke. I am such a dork—but I don’t care.
He laughs, deep and throaty. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, but yes, you are doing well.” Sometimes Dad can be so serious.
But I am grinning, too. I’ve never even come close to hurting him during training. The familiar rhythm of my hands and fists smacking against his hands and fists has become like a soundtrack for our mornings together. But I’ve added a thud to the mix, and for that, I am proud. I couldn’t ask for a better present on my birthday.
“We’ll finish early to celebrate your success,” my dad says.
I frown. “No, Dad, I want to finish the whole session, please.”
Dad laughs. “That’s my girl,” he says. “You’re so much like your mother.” I never understand what he means by that. My mom is a quiet, generous soul who would never hurt a fly. Me, I’m tenacious, feisty, and sarcastic. A redhead with black hair, my mom always says.
I’m not able to beat him again during training, but once was enough for me. When we come inside I’m exhausted but happy. Somehow our tiny stone house looks even smaller than before, but to me it’s cozy, it’s home.
A warm and tempting aroma fills my nostrils when we cross the threshold. My birthday surprise. Freshly warmed bread, not more than a few days old, from the bakery in the subchapter. Only half a loaf, but more than I’ve ever seen in our house before. A real birthday treat.
“Happy birthday, Adele,” Mom says. “Go wake your sister.”
I smile and sigh. Yes, we live underground. And don’t have much money. And live in constant fear of the Enforcers, who ceaselessly roam the streets. But we have each other: my mom, my dad, my sister, Elsey, and me—a family. We’re all we really need. Oh, and a warm half-loaf of bread for a birthday treat. For a moment, I am happy.
“Adele,” my mom says, and the memory fades. Remembering my father, how things used to be, makes the flame that started in my belly flare up, heating my chest. It’s a fire I haven’t felt in a while. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head and the cobwebs disappear. “Yeah. I was just remembering.”
“Your father?”
“And you,” I say. “All of us. Before…”
“I know. This place is so full of memories. That’s why I wanted to come here one more time.”
My mom moves away from me, rummaging through the rubble, looking at old pictures and trinkets. I watch her for a minute.