Poles Apart

Only those with inherited riches and insensitive-lacquered hearts may rest behind the polished walls. Only the sanguinary receive a home enveloped by blue diamond, guarded by loyal cretins. I am permitted to stare at the peace from a distance before returning to my hovel made of supplies gathered from the earth. And while Swayers inside the walls thrive in their trades of jadeite, I use what lays below my feet, and I eat what soars above the platinum strands on my head.

“An Aberration!” they shouted. “Rid of the malformation before we’re plagued!” But now, even thirty miles away from the perimeter, I can hear the boom of the announcement speakers. They tell the tale of the paperwhite-haired child who grew up in secret.

Because she was different, her and her family were executed. The autarch’s, Ephraim’s, version of the story is entirely true — apart from the fact that I am not dead.

I suppose schoolchildren are told this story in efforts to remind them all to remain exactly the same. After all, Inferiors are easier to control that way. And considering all Swayers - Inferiors and Ephraim himself - practice fire generation and weaponry, it is vital to an autarch’s protection of reign to restraint diversity. So what a shame it would be if the Aberration rose from the dead to avenge her family.

Ephraim has sent military Swayers into the forests outside the kingdom for the last fifteen years. I am starved of revenge, and I am well trained with the help of wild creatures made of furs and gnashing teeth. Every two days, Ephraim’s five Swayer assassins march with stealth into the dry wood and brown grass. Their palms face toward the sun, charging their skins to ready their flames. Today, I stay perched in the thickest tree I could find near their path to search for me.

Before my family was slaughtered, they all tried to teach me how to use my flames in private. We never progressed. But despite my strange inability, I’ve found other ways to conquer Swayers. I have strength unlike any other, more self-reliance than Ephraim’s dependent soldiers, and an anger more flammable than any fire.

My mother’s screams of terror. My father reaching out to his fifteen-year-old sons and his wife for one last embrace. My brothers staring at me, both warm and kind and silent so they could sacrifice themselves for me. And I hid. I hid in the street well, where they all told me to stay. I could only peek up far enough to watch their lives be publicly stolen before running away underground, tears blinding me. I was only a girl then, but it doesn’t excuse my cowardice. Now, I am no longer idle. Even without fire, I can feel it burning inside. I feel the flames licking up my stomach and into my throat, tasting vile. My fingertips dig into the tree branch until they split and bleed. Their footsteps are echoing now. They’re so close. I can smell their palms smoking.

There was so much pain in my heart for so many years. I cried so many tears. My throat became raw from screaming in agony on the days Swayers weren’t searching. No more. My parents’ and my brothers’ lives were not taken in vain. They mean something, and their deaths meant something.

Before I can jump on one of the Swayers, my branch cracks beneath me. I don’t falter when the lead Swayer launches a burning ball of red and orange in my direction. Their eyes are full of shock and fear and excitement all at once.

“We were really beginning to think you were a myth,” one jokes.

A malicious smirk dances on my lips. “You are really going to wish I were.”

Immediately, I leap from my branch to a tree across the path. My skin warns me that their flames are close with the alarming sensation of heat. One hit could brand me with the mark of murderers. But again, I am not afraid. My thirst to slit their throats only enhances as they continue to attack me as best as they can. I waltz and twirl with equipped grace in the trees. Their frustration increases as well, and in turn, they dial in more precisely.

One of the women eyes me just at the right time, nailing my ribs with a dagger made of the forest’s enemy. I fall from my height in the trees, landing on my back with a thud that stole the breath from my body. All that fuels me is the image of my family’s death. I limp up, looking behind me to see them cheering and running to claim their hunted prize. But I hide behind a fallen log, hand pressed onto my charred and bloody gash. I steady my breathing and try not to grunt as one gets too close, lunging onto him and cracking his neck quickly. His eyes stare at nothing, and his hands sizzle out as the fire dies inside.

“Oren!” the woman who struck me cries. Her eyes lock onto mine with fury. “You filthy Aberration!”

I force myself to forget about the pain in my side as I stand up and sprint away from the four Swayers left in my wake. After half a mile, I dive into tall grass, evading their sight once more. As they near, another man’s voice can be heard dialing for more Swayers. More soldiers bearing flames to scorch my body. That’s exactly what I need.

One woman and the guy radioing for backup get closer. I grab one foot of each, yanking them to the ground. One of them, out of fear, lights a fire in the dry grass. I roll on top of the woman, grabbing my homemade knife out of my pocket and jabbing her in the neck. She holds onto the hole with both hands to save herself, but to no avail. The man comes after me next, but I throw an elbow into his nose before spinning him around as a shield for another soldier to melt his face away. Two more are left dead as I run again.

I can see the opening of the trees, where light sheds through to signal an entrance to Inferior Pond. This is the only place where Inferiors are allowed outside of the walls with guards supervising them. Here is where I plan to expose myself to daily Inferiors doing their washing and cleaning and water collecting. Here they will see I am not dead.

The last male Swayer grabs me backwards by the wrist and throws me into the sand just outside of the clearing. I groan and grasp my side, squeezing my eyes shut as I throw my boot into his knee. He collapses, fire missing me as he cries out. I scramble to stand before yielding my knife in the air and lunging it into his skull with a scream. Several Inferiors and guards stare and scream in terror.

I haven’t been around so many people in nearly two decades.

“I am Kiska, the Aberration! I am alive!” I shout, voice shaking. My skin is covered in blood, and I can feel the air become chilled instantly. It must be cold by the pond. “They can’t kill me!”

They all gasp, murmuring fearful words.

Before I can keep stability, the last Swayer standing tackles me from behind. She flips me over, pinning my arms to the sand. I struggle against her but then laugh, blood spilling from my lips. I stain my skin crimson. Everything is cold.

“They saw me. It’s on the kingdom’s broadcast. I win, evil witch,” I spew.

She roars before lifting her hand and pressing into me with a blaze so hot it should melt right through me. Only it doesn’t. I don’t feel heat. In fact, I feel the exact opposite. And it feels so good. So right. I look down to see her fist locked in a block of ice.

Ice.

“What are you, you freak?” she screams, frantically trying to escape the ice. It isn’t melting as she tries to use her free hand of flames.

I can feel it coursing through me. The ice belongs in my veins.

“Get her!” a soldier shouts.

They start to charge towards me. I feel my heart racing, and my breath leaves white clouds, ignoring the heat of the summer. I see Mom. Dad. Tysek. Perron. They were taken away from me. Murdered. I will never let their memory fade.

I scream.

I scream so loud the earth cracks and the trees shake. A cold I have never felt before shocks my spine.

The world falls still.

My eyes open.

No soldier or guard is alive, bodies frozen and purple.

Inferiors stare at me in fear, huddled together in amazement.

And I look out beyond myself.

I froze the pond.

I froze the forest.

I froze the kingdom.