Firedown Sun

"Step back! Step BACK!"

Being obedient little kids, all fifteen of us took two giant steps backward and stared, wide-eyed at the men shining flashlights into our faces to identify us. Throwing my hands in front of my eyes, I was suddenly reminded of something that I couldn't place. Some sort of dream, maybe? Whatever it was, it made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

They were dressed completely in black, holding flashlights longer than those of the police officer's and were predictably taller than the Peacemakers.

I had studied the differences between the Police and Ordermen and the Peacemakers. The police drove around finding anyone getting into trouble so that they could put you into a cell for two nights straight, and if something went wrong, you could call them up on those strange devices called telephones- I had never used one and didn't think I'd ever have a use for one, either. Ordermen- there were Orderwomen, too, and they were far more cruel and frightening than the men, in my opinion- that showed up randomly on your doorstep, demanding you to put your hands into the air and stand up against a wall and not move a MUSCLE. They could search you and your house, not to mention take things of yours, even if they were personal belongings, without a warrant. They were the ones that you feared the most. Peacemakers just loved the law and kept in contact with the Ordermen if they found someone questionable. But they weren't scary. They were actually quite polite. I liked the Peacemakers.

But the Ordermen were the hell-hounds of the city. If you got in trouble with them hot on your tail, there was no way you were surviving.

"Dasumne..." I heard an Orderman whisper to a figure by his side. She whipped around immediately, in a blinding flash, and I felt the entire world turn ice cold as she spoke.

"The ruins are off limits tonight," she snarled, baring her teeth in a half-grimace, half-smile. She was looking straight at me, her black eyes slitted thinner than half moons. "In case you didn't know, it's also time for you KIDS to be in bed." She emphasized "kids" like it was venomous, almost like she was about to spit on our shoes in disgust.

"We understand that," Lune said, suddenly at my side. I ducked my head to avert his gaze. The freezing atmosphere had suddenly shifted. Because with him so close to me, I could feel his body heat radiating off of his skin and I felt the urge to move closer...

My stomach twisted and flopped sickeningly again.

Lune continued to explain. "We couldn't sleep, and we were just going to meet here to talk."

"Sure, sure," Dasumne hissed, obviously not believing us. Her eyes flickered to meet mine again. "No other plans up your sleeve tonight?"

I looked straight into her evil, black gaze and kept my expression unreadable. "None that we'd like to share with you."

Her lips twitched. Whether in annoyance or amusement, I knew not, but she turned to the Orderman who had called her name, who held a notebook and pen. That's right. This occupation was one of the reasons they taught you how to write in school. For most jobs, it was a useless skill. They still bothered to teach it nevertheless.

"Mendrick," she whispered, just loud enough that we could catch a spare few of her words. "... The kids...hide and seek... fire... police report... and they... don't let... sight... dangerous... THAT one..."

With the last words she'd whispered echoing in my ears, I told Dragonblade to get OUT of here, as softly as I could. But I could tell that Dasumne and Mendrick were watching me as I rode into the safety of the shadows. It was almost like they could sense where I was even when I turned invisible to them.

Had they been talking about me? Which one of this gangling group of teenagers had they been referring to as "THAT one?" And what could we do about it if they decided to come after us?

I'd already had my dad taken away. He'd been released. But he, and many other people I cared deeply for, could be swiped away into non-existence in the blink of an eye.

Because no one died in Monten. They just ceased to exist.

"I'm sick of this," I muttered. "I'm sick of them freaking running our lives!" I pushed Dragonblade forward, and the fourteen others dragged up the rear.

"Where are we going?" Resh came up beside me. "We can't get into the ruins. See? They're surrounding the whole thing."

I breathed out angrily and retorted, "Well, as long as we get away from that horrendous Dasumne," I spat out her name, "then I'm fine. I don't care where we go, just as long as it's not-"

"Uh, Kitten? You may not want to say that around Lune."

I glared toward his retreating back. He'd spiraled around, going the opposite direction and falling in right behind all the others. It felt strange, him ignoring me, not vice versa.

"What's his problem? He doesn't want me bashing the stupid Orderwoman?"

Resh got a peculiar look in her eyes, and she muttered, "No, he doesn't. Dasumne's his mother."

*

We ended up circling around and finding a narrow pathway through a mini forest only half a mile from the hospital ruins, where there was a little pond and plenty of coverage to hide from any patrol men or women on duty. We didn't see anyone around this abandoned place, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

I leaned Dragonblade against a tree trunk, nodding in recognition toward the members of our "group" that walked up to me and said hi. I didn't try to actually place faces with names, or even really say much to them. I had other things on my mind.

I found Lune by himself, sitting on a snow-covered log that must have fallen years ago, his eyes trained on the man-made moon shining in the dark sky. The pond sparkled with the lunar light before him, the water perfectly still, and I realized it was frozen a moment later. Obviously.

When a twig snapped beneath my boot, I paused. Then he called out to me. "Are you here to bash me, too? Because I'd prefer not to hear it, if you don't mind."

Biting my lip, I walked a wee bit closer, feeling pathetic as words rolled off my tongue. "No. I... I wanted to say, uh, that I'm sorry. I didn't know. If I'd known she was your mother, I would've held my tongue. And I know that really doesn't change a thing. But, I'm sorry, and I... I bet she's a wonderful woman, a great mom. She's probably... good to have around. To keep you, uh, following the rules and... and other stuff."

He was silent a moment. Then I saw a small smile creep over his pallid lips and he whispered, "There's a free spot here next to me if you want to sit down."

I exhaled in a rush. Even if I'd sounded completely lame, I was glad he hadn't told me to go fall off a cliff or something. If someone had said something like that about my mother, I would have considered that option. I sat down beside Lune, cupping my hands together and intertwining my fingers slowly, one by one.

"Yes, she pushes me a little more than most moms," he laughed. "She always tells me that if I became a rebel, she'd search me in a heartbeat. You got to admire her spirit, though. She gets really into her job. So does my dad. That was him. Mendrick, if you remember." He shrugged. "They act like they're not even married when they work together, but at home, they're the most romantic couple you've ever seen."

I couldn't help but laugh with him. "So is that why?" I asked him, hoping he wouldn't freak by me using "why" in a sentence.

He didn't. "Why what?"

"You made friends with Sorin. And you memorize all those rules and follow each one with exactness."

He pondered that for a minute, then shook his head. "Not the only reason why. Yes, I got on Sorin's good side because of my mom, but... I don't mind so much. I mean..." He held his arms up and looked around our hideout. "Here I am. In the heart of rebellion." He folded his arms tightly across his chest and muttered, "But that doesn't mean I'm really a part of it."

I nodded, staring at the snow sprinkled across the top of my boots. I licked my lips and whispered, "Me either."

"Ha. Well, that'll change."

"What do you mean?"

He stood. "Come on with me, the others are getting ready. You'll understand soon enough."

I was about to say Resh had told me the same, and it had been proved false in a matter of a few minutes, but then he reached out his hand and I couldn't figure out how to make my tongue work. He took my hand gently and led me over to where the others were sitting down on boulders or fallen trees or just the snowy ground, all watching us as we made our slow approach. My fingers in his felt so small, so weak. His skin was warm. Almost like a flame. My eyes fell to the snow and I couldn't bear to call that thought my own. This was the Outcast, right? The boy that was perfectly wrong for me. That I'd hated the moment I met him.

That had very strict parents that would turn him in to the leaders if he did one thing wrong. Without hesitation. And that was why he was so obedient, so friendly to Sorin all the time. So SMART. Because of his parents. Because of the punishment he'd receive if he did anything different.

I dared to glance down at our hands clasped together as he led me through the dark trees. So why was he here? If he wasn't a part of this, then why did he stick around? If he was risking his existence and relationship with his parents, then why was he doing this?

"Welcome them when we're in front," Lune suggested. More like an order, actually. As we stepped in front of the group of kids listening and watching intently, I cleared my throat and let go of his hand. As it dropped to my side, I couldn't help but notice how empty it felt...

After clearing my throat a second time, I told the group, "Uh... welcome. I'm glad you came. Um, would you mind telling me WHY you came?"

Lune chuckled at my side, his eyes glowing a lighter color than normal. In the midst of the blue and green ocean of those eyes, I noticed specks of gold, and I quickly looked away, thinking, Stop paying attention to him, pay attention to THEM! Turning my focus onto the kids from the sixteen-year-olds' block on Heavenlight Row, I pointed to Havva Twigley, whose hand shot into the misty air the second I asked for volunteers. "Go right ahead," I prompted her.

She stood, her form appearing not so thin in the bundle of warm layers drowning her. "I heard what was going on in your house, with your wall. But when it stopped, so did everything in my room. My heating blanket, the lights, everything stopped working. I knew it had to be because of you."

"I doubt that," a boy argued, standing up over to my left, the one I rememebered from Sorin's class, the one with the dragon charm for a trademark. I squinted, trying to recall his name, and felt the Drumer boy bending to whisper in my ear, "Tyeson Armack."

"Thanks." Just one more thing to add to my guilt from hating him before. Just one more reason NOT to feel hatred toward him.

Tyeson looked over at me. "I'm sorry, Kitten. I don't mean any offense toward you. Honestly I don't. I just don't believe one act of rebellion could do something so huge. It doesn't make sense."

"So what are you doing here, Tyeson?" Lune questioned. "If not to believe in Kitten, why else?"

To believe in me? Was that Lune's explanation? His excuse? Was that why these kids were here? I shifted my feet uncomfortably.

Tyeson gave Lune this look, like he was scrutinizing him and, judging by Lune's height and suddenly obvious, unreasonable magnetic connection to me that I couldn't shake loose, Tyeson realized he wouldn't win a fight no matter how he tried. Lune could pin him, no problem.

But Tyeson Armack smiled. "Personally?" He shrugged. "It's too cold without a working heating blanket, so I can't fall asleep. And not to mention Kitten can handle fire two times better than any of the Fire Pit Managers we've got. And, uh, I think her friend Resh... is, um, really pretty. If I get closer to Kitten, well... you get the picture. Besides that, I don't really know why I came." He raised one eyebrow as he met my gaze, cheeks still a little red from his confession of being attracted to Resh. "Was it worth it?"

I swallowed, then gave a brief, awkward nod. "I hope so," I muttered. "Otherwise, you are in a big pickle."

Tyeson grinned. "Good enough for me." Before he fell back to his seat on a snowy log, I noticed he peeked over at Resh, who was turning more red by the second. A smile grew on my own face. Watching Resh blush was incredibly entertaining.

Pharis got to his feet next. "I think my reasons are better left unspoken. But, Kitty, I agree with Havva. I think you caused this."

"Are you blaming me or is that a thank you?" I wondered.

"A thank you," he said without batting one eyelash. "Kitty, no one else can do what you can."

The statement hung in the air. As he sat down, his intense moonlit eyes still holding me captive, I inhaled sharply, the icy wind burning my throat as it rushed into my mouth and dried my lips of any moisture. No one else could do what I did? What did that mean? What could I do? What couldn't anyone else do?

Each of the teenagers stood and gave their excuses for waking up so early in the morning, risking their reputation or their very reason for existing, just to follow me into the dark forest. Some acted timid, like Poppi Redmistle who stayed by the side of her childhood friend, Perisnow Lilley.They were mutual opposites; Poppi hardly spoke a word and wore dull grays or black- her trademark- while Perisnow bubbled with conversation no matter who the listener was- just as long as they listened- and she had a changing style, consisting of every color under the sun, especially the vibrant ones. Perisnow's trademark was the lavender choker neck chain she wore with a diamond stitched into the center, right where the hollow in her throat was. She persisted it was real, but it was almost certainly fake. The two very different friends seemed to be tagging along because they thought I was a bold, brave troublemaker. And they honored me for it.

And of course, Jaz Erewing was among my "followers". He had very simple reasons. He wanted to support me as much as he could, since he was my neighbor and since I'd never done any wrong to him. He saw no reason to stay in his broken, cold room when he could be spending time out here with me. Even if it wasn't worth risking a fire to warm him up. If there hadn't been Orderman on duty, I would have built one up.

Then a boy got to his feet that caught and held my shocked, wide gaze. Fawkes Griffith. I knew him, of course. But I hadn't seen him in so long I had almost forgotten his existence entirely. How could I ever forget the one who introduced me to matches? Well, helped. He definitely led me to Ankun at least...

I could remember everything. How much I'd admired him as a child and then been the best of friends for three, long years. We were always hanging together, talking about anything and everything. I loved how he was never ashamed to speak up, never cared if anyone rejected his ideas. He didn't care if they wanted him to shut up or told him nobody was listening. But he argued people would at least HEAR, and then what he said would echo in their ears in the future, and it would impact their lives.

They certainly did for me. When he spoke, I'd listen intently, admiring his strength and braveness.

As a six-and-a-half-year-old, I grew so deeply attached to him, I couldn't imagine that I could ever live without him in my classroom. But when I turned seven, he was in a different homeroom, and for a while I didn't know what to do.

And then one day he walked up to me and said he wanted to be friends. Just like that. And I accepted immediately.

He told me all his secrets, and I burst with my own, usually lying on the ground by his side, staring up at the night sky in his backyard. He was the one who taught me about stars. Sometimes I still found myself searching that midnight black for them.

They never showed. I don't know what the leaders did to the sky, but those stars were either invisible or just didn't exist anymore.

Just like so many other things here in Monten...

That night so many years ago, the one before he disappeared from my fantasy of perfection and friendship and rebellion, he told me how he wanted to die.

"I don't want to be burned," he'd said into the open air, randomly, it had seemed. I had turned to look at him, searching for a sign that he was about to tell some joke or if he really, actually meant what he was saying.

I had lifted my head up by my elbow and leaned against it, asking, "What makes you say that?"

Fawkes hadn't looked at me. He'd kept staring into that black void above our heads, stating his wishes to the invisible, somehow-not-existing stars, "I don't want to be burned because then there would be no evidence I'd ever lived. The leaders could hide my ashes, and I'd become fake, a myth." His voice had turned soft, and his eyes had finally met mine. "If I could choose how to die, Kitten, I'd want to be frozen to death. Because if I turned to ice, I'd be here for everyone to see for always. You can't hide a frozen body very well. I would never be forgotten, would I? No one would be able to say I wasn't real?"

I had brushed my fingers against his arm and whispered, "I would never forget you, even if you did burn."

"Fire's such a pretty thing, and yet it can kill you. Why's it so awful to people? What did we do to ever deserve to be burned by its touch?"

As a nine-year-old, I hadn't had much experience touching flames. So I just sat up and did what I could. I'd blurted out a promise.

"I'll find a way, Fawkes. I'll find a way to never be hurt by it. That way, if they do try and burn you, you won't be!" I'd grinned and tried to persuade a smile out of him.

And he had smiled. The most brilliant smile had appeared on his thin, nine-year-old lips, and he had hugged me tightly. "I hope you find a way," he'd whispered to me. And then his mother had called him inside for the night.

And that was the end of our friendship. I never found out what made him change. What turned him into the silent boy I saw for the following years, never speaking out again, never asking me how I was doing in my search for a flame that didn't burn. I kept at it, though. I did the bravest thing a child could do and marched to the trader's house, the one I knew loved books, and brought along a big bundle of them.

"And what's your name?" I remember his voice had been so rich, so smooth back then. It wasn't as clear and clean now. I suppose that's just time and old age showing us that they're the boss, not us.

"Kitten Zigbol," I'd replied in my biggest, maturest voice, holding up my bundle. "I'd like some matches, please."

Ankun became my substitute for Fawkes. Although I could never lie on the grass and stare up at the sky at night like I'd done with my ex-best friend, he gave me my new reason for living: burning the matches and obsessing about finding a way to not be hurt by their flame.

And I have to say: I wasn't the least bit successful with that part. But I did gain a new friendship, and I became obsessed with not just living up to my promise to my ex-best friend but to having a flame as often as I could. To filling that absence Fawkes left behind with his silence, to speaking up against the city. To never being afraid to be who I wanted to be, to saying what I wanted to say, and having my own, separate brain, not the one I was programmed to have from birth. Thus I became strong. Unstoppable. Kitten the brave. Kitten the rebel. Kitten, the girl with matches.

As I stared into Fawkes' eyes, thinking about all this, I wondered what had happened to him. Why he held his tongue. Why, after that night, he stopped wanting to hang out with me. Why, when I came to his house the next day, he closed the door and told me not to come back tomorrow, to just leave, that we weren't friends anymore and that he didn't want to talk to me about it. That things were just different now and that there was no changing it. He'd decided it was time to move on.

And the nine-year-old me had just turned around and accepted it. I wondered why about that, too. The dreaded why. It was apparently now glued to my vocabulary.

"Hey, Kitten."

I shook myself out of that old fantasy world, still trying to figure things out. How much had Fawkes changed now? Had he turned back into his old self? His face was so much more angular, more manlike than when we were nine. I'd hardly kept tabs on him after he left and Ankun filled in his spot in my heart. Especially when Hexa and Resh and I became inseperably close.

Now I wondered if he'd been keeping tabs on me. Had he been watching me all this time, trying to find the best time to slip into my life again and pick up the pieces where we left them?

Could I let him, even? I wasn't sure if I could be near him without feeling angry or upset in any way. I might slap him. He deserved that.

And, of course, since I'd been day dreaming about my childhood, I'd missed his reasons for coming here tonight, so that left a void instead of an answer to all my questions I was pondering silently. Actually, in my head, I was screaming them. Right at him. Directly into his intense, emerald eyes and into his very soul.

He's here, I reminded myself. That's what matters.

I ignored Lune's concern, plain on his face as he reached toward me. I pushed his hands away and appreciated that he kept quiet when I rushed toward Fawkes, who had sat down on his log, apparently finished with his reasons. I felt Lune's eyes trailing after me. But he didn't say a word, and that was something else I'd have to thank him for.

Boy, I was warming up to Drumer fast.

The rest of the rebel group broke into divided sections; Resh, Hexa and Lune sat together underneath a tall maple tree, no doubt discussing me and my spaced-out expression; Poppi and Perisnow moved to the pond and started a competition to see who could break the ice first by hurling rocks at the frozen surface; Pharis began whistling calls to the few night kreatures resting on tree branches above or burrowed in tunnels below; Jaz collapsed onto the ground and started drawing things in the snow with a stick; Havva joined Jaz and watched him silently, looking like she was about to fall asleep right then and there. I noticed Havva leaned onto his shoulder casually, but it was almost in a romantic way. I immediately turned away and focused on getting to the center of the crowd and to my ex-best friend.

He glanced up, the brilliance of his green eyes striking me like they always had. My tongue felt numb. Swallowing, I mumbled, "Are... are you..." I took a breath. "You changed. I thought that... But... you're here, so..."

Smiling, Fawkes patted the spot beside him on the log. Just like Lune had done, I recalled. I fell to it stiffly, fingers twitching out of control. I pushed them into my coat pockets, hoping he hadn't noticed I was acting so strangely now that he was present.

"I speak only when the time permits," he told me.

I blinked, understanding what he meant. He stayed silent about his opinions unless... unless it was time.

"So?" I muttered, not bothering to stay on that subject any longer. Who cared about voicing opinions anymore? Could he at least explain his abandonment?

"You'll learn, too, eventually." His voice was much deeper than the childish tenor one I heard in my memories.

It wasn't the only thing that had changed.

My brow furrowed, and I found myself shaking my head. "I'm not falling for it," I protested stubbornly, keeping my voice down. "No one's holding my mouth shut. Ever."

"Well, I'd think not. Mostly because, lawfully, they can't. You'd just end up buried under six feet of earth like that hero Bloom of yours."

I was about to punch him in the face for that remark, and then I realized something: Most people said he was a myth, since he no longer was alive. That always happened when a rebel disappeared; they became a fantasy, something that had never actually existed.

My hands still clenched when he said "that hero Bloom of yours," like it was poison. I dug my nails into the soft, fragile skin of my shaking palms. "He used to be yours, too, Fawkes," I hissed. "Or is your head too messed up now to remember that? Did you forget everything?" I couldn't stop. I kept throwing questions at him. "Remember when you told me about Nimeous Bloom? About how he wouldn't shut up for anyone, and how you wanted to be just like him? What happened to that, Fawkes? What happened to US? What is going on in your mind, huh? What's wrong?"

Fawkes didn't burst or freak out like I thought he would. His eyes became blank, losing their intensity and becoming the dull, lost void I felt growing inside me. Did he feel it, too? Did he feel the emptiness our lack of friendship had created? "I don't know," he admitted. "When I stood up to give my reasons, I said I didn't know why I came here then, either. I just said that you were... you were an old friend. And... I just... HAD to come." He met my troubled gaze, his expression gentle and repentant. "I said I owed you at least that."

I felt the air escape my lips, felt guilt wash over me. I'd accused him without even listening to what he had to say.

But then he looked away. "Maybe I was wrong."

And, despite the knowledge that the old Fawkes was still in there somewhere, and that I just had to break that part loose from the rest of the programmed, robotic version of him, I found myself agreeing. "Maybe you were," I mumbled. "After all... I've been doing fine. You know, without you."

I felt horrible for saying every word of that. But he seemed to appreciate my honesty.

"I know that. I've seen it."

Good. He had been watching. I placed a hand on his right knee, feeling him move slightly closer. Not close enough to make it feel awkward, but to the point where both his knees brushed my left thigh. I whispered, "I'm glad you're here. But... if you're feeling that you need to leave-"

He interrupted me. "Kitten, I'm not like that," he said fiercely. "I'm still me. Still the same guy. Changed in the head, maybe. But not in spirit. I'm still me."

And then he convinced me completely.

His lips rose into that old, rebellious, slightly crooked smile I'd see when we told each other secrets. When we were being totally honest with each other and telling things we would never even mention to other people. And I couldn't help but return the gesture. A rush of relief overcame me.

I hadn't lost him. Not all the way.

He was buried under a thick mask, a pretty good disguise. And he wouldn't always come out of it. He would still stay silent, still be that goody-two-shoes citizen of Monten and abandon me. He wasn't my friend again. We were still ex-best friends.

But he was still there, deep down.

And that was what truly mattered. That the city hadn't completely destroyed him. No matter how hard they forced change upon him, underneath all those layers, Fawkes, MY Fawkes, would never die.