Interlude 3.14: Thicker than Blood

The next day, Jemi Garen visited an elderly lady in the hospital. Atlas was still connected by the Kraken’s cord, forced to follow her, but she made him wait outside.

The old woman was tucked below layers of blankets, watched dutifully by the nurse who trotted back and forth between the beds of this ward. Beside the bed were an array of pulse, breathing monitors, instructions about the patient’s diet, pamphlets… but also several scrolls, a bundle of sticks, and a collection of shiny stones heaped in a pot of iridescent glass.

“I didn’t expect you’d be at that school, Mrs Ming,” she said. “You switched schools.”

Mrs Ming looked up. Her fingers stilled on the parchment, where she had been counting the rows and columns of a densely-marked chart. She adjusted her glasses.

“But I guess you did,” Jemi continued in a wry voice. “Did you divine it?”

At that, the old woman gave a little, cracked-lip smile.

“You’ve grown a lot, Cockatrice,” tittered Mrs Ming.

Jemi tilted her head. “You sure see a lot, Teacher.”

She chuckled at that, nodding at her bed and monitors. “I’m not a teacher anymore. I’ve retired for a while now. That was just the last school I worked at. But yes, I switched from school to school.” She took a sip of water from her bedside tray-table. “Before that, I was always moving. I wanted to meet as many as possible, as early as possible, so I could divine the lives ahead of them. I wanted to guide them in the right direction. But…” Her eyes were shining behind her glasses, in some undescribed emotion. “Even with eyes that see this much, sometimes I do the wrong thing. Sometimes… by speaking the prophecies, I am fulfilling them. I should not have told you what I saw. You were a child, then. No child is born dark. They are only made so.”

Jemi Garen listened to the old fortune teller’s ramblings in silence.

Mrs Ming turned those eyes on her. She nudged at the bouquet Jemi had brought with her. “I see that boy did listen to my instructions after all.”

“The flowers are pretty,” Jemi commented quietly.

“You haven’t read the note inside yet, have you? Do it, girl, do it now.”

“There’s a—?” Mrs Ming started jabbing her with one of her bamboo sticks, and so Jemi hastily stuck her hand in between the lilies. She found a piece of slightly crumpled notepaper, a folded little square that had been nestled deeply in the petals. With one hand, she flipped it open.

Thank you jiejie for saving the school!

Thanks for putting out the fire. All the students, teachers and staff have your gratitude.

I wished the school would burn down so we wouldn’t have homework HAHA, but it would’ve been pretty sad to see the koi pond go. Soooo… thank you :)))

Over the notepaper were dozens of little ‘thank-you’s, written in messy childish scrawls, adorned by doodled smileys, flowers and hearts.

“That was just my class,” Mrs Ming said, satisfied. “If the other classes in the school knew, they’d surely thank you the same.”

“It’s nothing they should thank me for,” Jemi stated. “Especially not someone like me.”

Mrs Ming studied her.

“Villains are made,” said the old woman, “but so are heroes, you know?” She closed her eyes.

“The birds were singing a lot that day, when you were there. The last time I had heard such a beautiful melody… was when I taught your class.” She breathed. “Go and be happy, little Lark.”

Quietly, Jemi watched Mrs Ming take her last breath. To the last, she held her frail hand in hers, the scent of lilies gentle in the sterile hospital air.

~~~

Four months.

Trees drooped with glistening ruby fruit.

The breeze blew over plains of green-yellow grass, sending ripples across the surface of the paddywater, shimmering under the sunshine. Insects buzzed, while birds chirped from the branches and windowsills. A cow gone loose wandered onto the single empty road, flicking his tail curiously.

Linqin really hadn’t changed much in seventeen years.

Atlas and Jemi arrived in the village to help fix up the water supply. It was an unsophisticated job, just relaying some pipework and filling out papers, but the village mayor’s letters to the company responsible had gone ignored, and the villagers had not the resources to do the pipes themselves.

To maintain their anonymous identity, they worked mostly at night, down and in the dirt. In the day they concealed themselves well. Some villagers saw the work happening and contributed their efforts, quickening the process. But their mysterious helpers never made themselves known.

Now, resting themselves in the shade of a roof, the Chief Marshal looked out across the countryside. He was sipping on a can of nectar as he looked over at his assistant.

“Have you been here in all the years since you became a Beast?”

The young woman glanced at him. Her cloak had been wrapped tightly around her face to avoid recognition outside, but the weather was sweltering. For now she shed the hood. She was eating an apple-flavoured ration bar. Sweeping her dull-gold hair back, she shrugged as she settled against the wall.

“Nah, what’s there to do here? It’s just rice and cows.”

“Have you not been to see your family again? Not even once?”

“......” Jemi shrugged again. “I’m the Princess of the moon. My Beasts are my family now. My home is the Den.”

“I see.” He looked out to the horizon. The elder angel’s eyes traced a certain farmstead. “Do you want to go visit the farm again? Now?”

“No,” she said abruptly. When stared at, she continued with some reluctance, “…it’s for the best they don’t see me like this. My mum would ask questions, and I couldn’t hide anything from her. She deserves to have a daughter she can be proud of, you know? I should stay away.”

“Didn’t you once criticise me for the same thing?”

“I’m…” Jemi shook her head. “I’m not ready today.”

Atlas stood up.

“I said I wasn’t-”

“I know,” he said. “They’re out. I was talking one of their neighbours earlier during work. No one’s home today. At least, come see the house with me.”

“What for?”

“Oh, why not.” With a flap of feathered wings, Atlas sailed off the roof. Yelping, Jemi was dragged clear off the roof via the Kraken’s cord.

And then they were creaking their way in through the window.

Even in Linqin, people did keep their doors and windows locked. However, the window to Jemi’s room had been left unlatched. Her sisters had shared a room; her brothers had shared another. Jemi had been fitted last-minute into a sliver of space they found between the living room and wall and there, installed a door and a cupboard to make a third room. However, it had been a room wholly hers.

Everything was left exactly as it had been the day she left. Her clothes were still in the cupboard, her toys and books—old birthday presents—in a box, her medicine in its capsule by her bedside. As Jemi climbed into the room after Atlas, standing and looking around, she noticed the clean sheets and folded blanket on the bed.

On the pillow, there was a red scarf.

It had been sewn by hand, though you wouldn’t have guessed it unless you peered closely. It was made of a cheap but sturdy material. It was very comfortable, and kept warm during winter, but was cool enough to wear during summer. The colour was beautiful after all these years, crimson as the peel of a fresh crabapple.

Jemi knew this, for she had once worn this scarf around her neck as a child. She’d asked her mother to sew one for her ninth birthday, thinking it looked cool. And faithfully, she’d worn it every day for a year, no matter where she went. However, one day when she’d worn it out hunting, she tripped on some root. Her scarf snagged on a thornbush and tore a large hole in one end. Ashamed for having destroyed her beloved scarf, she had bundled it up and hid it in the back of her closet. When her mother asked her why she wasn’t wearing it anymore, Jemi had said that she’d just lost interest.

Now, it was lying out here in the open again. Jemi’s fingers closed over the scarf’s tasseled end, lifting up the bolt of cloth.

At the other end of the scarf, the hole had been mended. Not patched over, but rather, the torn edges had been hemmed by stitches, forming the rough shape of a diamond. Sunlight filtered through the gap, a bright spot of light within the scarf’s shadow.

“She’s been waiting for you to come home,” said Atlas beside her. “She’s waiting, still.”