Call of the Starling

Chapter 8

The next few days are a blur of drills, competitions, and tactical discussions, but mostly, what matters is the time we spend doing nothing in particular at all. In these last seven days, it feels as if we’ve got to make the most of every minute we have left with each other. Because we don’t know who we’ll have lost a week from now. It could be any of us. And no matter what, it’ll hurt.

So while Jay does try to put a modicum of regularity in our routine, he mostly lets us do whatever we want to. We stay up all night, sitting in each others’ rooms playing Truth or Dare and whatever else we can think of, just trying to say everything we’ve ever needed to in the past. Everyone’s confessing things from when they were little, and even now. Not to my surprise, Brant and Sparrow have been doing little in the way of confessing things. I don’t blame them, though.

But six days is too little. Not enough to say everything, to figure out everything, and to realize what matters to you. It’s not enough to tell your friends how much you love them; to tell your teammates how glad they’re there for you. It’s not enough for any of that.

And now that it’s our last night, I don’t know what to do with myself. There’s so many things left unfinished. So many things that I need to do before I die. 

Jay tells us that we need our rest for tomorrow, and so by the time curfew arises, nearly everyone is in bed and ready to sleep.

But not I. I’m still standing in my room, fully dressed, looking around, grasping at memories of my childhood. Of my entire life. 

As the lights click off, I don’t move. I can feel my eyes brimming with tears. But these tears are many things now. They are tears of nostalgia; of loss; of shock; and of paralyzing fear of what is to come.

Because no matter how tough the others think I am; no matter how well I fight and how courageous I appear, I’m still afraid to die. I don’t want to lose everything I’ve ever done; ever seen; ever been. I’m afraid to forget, and to lose all meaning to anyone or anything. I don’t want to die. And I’m not ready to go.

Walking forward, I open the door to the hall. I can’t see anything, but it doesn’t matter. I know our home like the back of my hand.

My hand resting on the cold metal handle of the glass door to the battlefield. While the lights in the rest of the area are off, this room is skylit, and so I can see the ghostly silhouettes of the trees inside the battlefield, illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. Hesitating only for a second, I open the door, and walk inside.

Without thinking about it, I walk to the clearing in the centre, breathing in the cold, crisp air. I close my eyes as I step silently through the light brush, navigating by the collage of images my mind has put together over the years. I can see it just as well.

When I open my eyes, I am standing at the base of an oak. I press my hands against the thick, ridged outer layer of the tree. It holds beneath my clammy grip. I have climbed this tree hundreds of time before, in order to escape from the life I’ve lived just twenty or thirty feet below. It’s not much, but it was all I had.

And so, for one last time, I launch myself swiftly upwards, jumping, and grabbing the lowest branch, locking my arms as I swing myself hard against the trunk. My sneakers find a grip, and I climb onto the branch, standing up without fear of falling, and pull myself onto the next one. In a matter of seconds, I’m nearly thirty feet in the air, and I pause, breathing a bit harder than normal. I can feel the branch give slightly below my weight, but I know it won’t break. I suspect it’s sturdy enough to hold myself and several others. 

I don’t know how long I sit there, motionless, before I hear a movement below. Jolted out of my nostalgic reverie, I glance down. I can just make out the masculine figure of another Dark Worlder standing below me. He looks up, and he notices that I’ve sighted him. Walking over to the tree I am perched in, he swings himself onto the first branch, much as I had done less than an hour ago, and scales the tree with relative ease, as if it’s familiar to him. His comfort with the tree surprises me; I was unaware that any of the other 24-7s had ever made a point of climbing this particular oak. We’ve all climbed some trees, of course, but this was not one of our main challenges. 

When he draws level with me, I finally catch a glimpse of his face. It’s Eider.

He drops onto the branch next to me, and looks at me. “You okay?” he asks, quietly. 

“No,” I answer, my voice catching slightly. I can feel my eyes beginning to blur with tears. I quickly bring my hand up to wipe them away. I can’t cry. Not now.

I lower my hand onto the branch again. As I do, I fell him shift slightly, and he puts his hand over mine, carefully enveloping it in his. Involuntarily, my breath speeds up, and my heart begins to beat just a bit faster. I look at him, and he gazes back at me. Even in the pale light of the crescent moon, I can see the compassion in his eyes, staring deeply into mine. I feel a shiver pass down my spine. And, before I can stop myself, I say, “Eider, I’m scared. I don’t want to go.”

I see a similar look of trepidation pass over his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. “I know.” He responds, his voice low. “But if anyone’s going to make it, it’ll be you. Because for some of us, the constant shadow of death looming over our shoulder, never knowing when it’ll strike, and suddenly knowing it could be you next, no matter how good you are- for some of us, that’ll get to us, and it will ultimately be the thing that brings us down. But not you. You’re scared, but you’re going to make it. Because no matter what, you know who you are, and what you have to do in order to retain your identity.” He looks at me, and now, instead of just compassion, I see a fierce sort of desire staring back at me. My heart is pounding, and I am fully aware of my proximity to him; the feel of his hand over mine. A voice inside of me shouts to back off, to shatter the connection, but I hardly notice it. I am too encompassed in the moment to let it fall away.

He takes his other hand, cupping my cheek, and I am tempted to look away, to escape his piercing gaze, but no part of me really wants to. Instead, I look up at him, biting my lip slightly. His body is only a couple of inches from mine, and I can hear his heart racing. I raise my hand to his shoulder, and rest it there for only a moment, before carefully brushing the back of his neck with my fingertips. His breath hitches, and he gazes into my eyes, silently asking for permission. I hesitate, and he brings his hand back, grazing my earlobe. I press myself against him, and he closes his eyes.

And his lips are against mine, first just barely brushing against them; then pressing harder as my mouth opens slightly. They are dry and finely shaped; soft to the touch. I bring my hand up, into his hair, running it through the individual strands, revelling in the moment. A few months ago, this was nothing but a dream, and suddenly, it’s happening. I’m here. He’s here. And he’s kissing me. 

Seconds later, he draws away, breathing heavily, and the cold, hard reality of the situation hits me. The night before our worlds are being turned upside-down, I’ve let this happen. I’ve allowed myself to become romantically entangled with Eider; something just a month or two ago, I swore I wouldn’t do until after the Clash. I’ve been foolish and selfish to kiss him.

“I can’t- we can’t do this,” I say, and he recoils, an expression of shock and hurt on his face. 

“Great time to tell me, isn’t it?” he asks, a note of anger in his voice. “Right after you kiss me?”

My eyes blur with tears, and I drop his hand. “Eider- you realize how stupid it would be to start this now? The night before the Clash? What if one of us dies? Then what happens?”

His eyes, too have a sheen of tears. “I don’t care, Starling,” he says. “It’ll be worth it, no matter what happens.”

“Not no matter what happens. Because if we let this carry on, and I lose you- I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll be nothing; my humanity ripped from me. I can’t form that sort of connection with anybody until after this is over.”

His gaze dark, he says, “It’s too late now. We’ve already started it.”

And as he kisses me again, and my face relaxes, I know he’s right. It’s too late now. So we’ve got to take the alternative- we can’t die in the Clash. We’ll make it through.