Unfit

  Unfit

  Chronicles of Kwan, Book 2

  By: K.Hippolite

  Copyright 2012, Petroleum Entertainment

  ISBN: 978-0-9784431-9-1 (Electronic Edition)

  Note that a glossary of terms follows at the end.

  “Kwan, don’t be all tense. Everything is going to be okay,” says David McKnight.

  I glance at him in surprise. It’s like he can’t feel the air. Or perhaps he chooses not to.

  Surely he can see the ominous cloud in the east, tinged with purple against the azure evening sky. It rises vertically; a column of giant bees prepared to swarm an intruder. It’s belligerent and accusing. I feel like the very atmosphere wishes to blot us out.

  “The sky wants to warn us that Kajo will kill those twins,” I tell him.

  “Nah, he’ll more likely sit down and discuss differences with them,” says Dave. “Right, Kim?”

  He glances back at Kimberly, who follows five paces behind us. She is wide-eyed and alert. I suspect she senses the angry sky. Kimberly flicks her long blonde hair and tilts her head quizzically, when Dave turns to peer at her a second time. She makes no reply.

  “See? Kim agrees,” says Dave. He takes my hand under his arm. “Come, you’re almost home now.”

  His mind is an opaque wall at the moment, which is normal for electrokinetics like him. Both Dave and Kim are Lightnings, so they’re highly immune to mind-reading. I wish they would stop for a few moments and enter rapport with me, so they could hear the thoughts wafting around us.

  But they march on, as if the act of walking can banish the demons. As if each step is a brick in a giant wall that lets them ignore the screams of the fleeing telepaths across the world. Screams often cut short when the telepaths are found by their Lightning masters.

  I allow my senses to carry my mind five hundred kilometres south to Mara.

  Mara has just jumped onto a chainlink fence three times her height. As she hurriedly scales it, flashlight beams play off the bend at the far end of the alley. Excited shouts echo from that direction. Her pursuers are keen to retrieve her for their leader.

  I appreciate that I’m valuable to them, says Mara. But can I kick you out of my head so you’re not a distraction?

  I release her reluctantly. I don’t want her to die in some alleyway down there in the League. I want her to live many more years in her home in Graal, where she won’t be a slave.

  One day, Lightnings will no longer hunt down telepaths and force us to pacify their people for them. One day, Lightnings will be respected leaders. That’s when they won’t need mind-control anymore. But that will be after they’ve learned to stop fighting each other.

  After all, Dave and Kimberly are walking me home from the fight at school. The twins fled that duel, and Kajo still pursues them. I know he must do this to wrangle for control of East Hillvale. I just wish there was a solution that didn’t involve someone dying.

  A bus passes by slowly, followed by a farmer leading two horses hitched to a cart. The farmer stays well back of the bus, since the sparks from the electric cables overhead can startle the horses. The cobblestone road is lumpy and in sore need of resurfacing. This causes the cables to dance and spark with vigour as the bus ambles along.

  Brick houses roll past us, broken only by the larger apartment blocks. We pass a flickering neon sign, under which men in top hats and women in fine dresses flag for a horse and carriage. While I worry for our leadership, they prepare to party. Very well. Sleep on, little city.

  Dave pats my hand and smiles. He’s calm as usual. Brown-haired, grey-eyed Dave, sporting his light green windbreaker and book-laden knapsack, will probably spend the evening blissfully reading.

  “Got a package, I see,” says Dave, interrupting my thoughts.

  We have reached my house. A mint-green paper bundle lies on the porch before the front door.

  I climb the front steps and pick up the package. I can tell it contains flowers without opening it. There’s a little card tucked into the crease. It’s addressed to me.

  “Methinks Kwan hath an admirer,” says Dave.

  “Hah, something like that,” I say. I haven’t made it public knowledge that Greg is my boyfriend. It was only last night after all. My parents don’t even know yet. Though, I’m sure they suspect.

  “And, it seems she’s already in the know. Tell me, does someone love our little Kwan and she’s not saying?”

  “Good night, Dave.” I kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for walking me home. Both of you. Come give me a hug, Kimberly.”

  Kimberly meets me halfway up the stairs and goes through the paces stiffly. It makes my spontaneous gesture look awkward, so I add in a cheek-to-cheek kiss. Kimberly puts on a face like she just met me for the first time.

  I find myself wishing she would smile again. Hopefully she will if the others play ball after school tomorrow. For now, she’s withdrawn back into herself.

  I wave once more to them as they leave. Kimberly will walk Dave to his house, then continue on to her own, which is in the east. She lives in the part of town where Kajo will meet the twins. It seems dangerous to me, but I know Kimberly’s powers make her very fast. Trouble will be hard-pressed to keep up with her.

  My parents are in the livingroom reading the paper when I get inside. By the scents wafting from the kitchen, I can guess they’ve already eaten. They probably thought I was delayed after school with Greg.

  “Hello, dear,” says my mom as I walk into the livingroom. “Who sent you flowers? Was it Greg?”

  “I found them outside. I guess he didn’t knock. Very strange.”

  I take the flowers into the kitchen and flip open the card.

  Dear Kwan. I was working a block up the street, when I saw you here. Hoping we could meet for coffee sometime. ‒ Robert.

  “Hmm, that’s not what I expected,” I say to myself aloud.

  He’s sent me three daffodils in a bed of greens, with playful larkspurs poking between them. Robert must be a part of the builder’s guild working on the storefront at the corner. I’ve passed there a dozen times and didn’t see him. I feel so unobservant.

  “Do those flowers mean what I think they mean?” asks my mother, entering the kitchen.

  I fold the card into my palm. Let my parents believe the flowers are from Greg or they might be on the lookout to tell Robert I’m taken. I want him to hear it from me. It will be softer that way.

  “They do, Mom. Greg asked me out. I said yes.”

  “Oh dear, that’s wonderful.” She hugs me, then holds me at arms length. We rinse a vase for the flowers, and I let my mom fuss over the arrangement and feeding. Once the flowers are placed on the kitchen table, I slip off to the basement.

  Our sewing machine is set up in a corner. I pull the metal chain on the bulb overhead, bathing half the cramped work area in light.

  My incomplete dress rests on the board to the side. Last year I found a beautiful golden silk on sale. I broke the bank to get three arm-lengths of it, spending two summer’s worth of my savings. I’ve been working on the dress on-off for the last six months. It has to be perfect, since I will wear it to meet Greg’s parents.

  I have to re-thread the machine, since my mom used it last. That takes only a moment, and then I’m happily pedalling it to add the pleats and frills. There’s enough left of the silk to bunch into frills for both shoulders. And I’ve used a velvet ribbon to make collars for the sleeves.

  This dress will have to be fancy to impress the Lanarrs, since their house is clearly that of high family. It is a rare thing for a girl of my family’s status to meet an interested boy from high family. That makes this dress more important than a bridal gown.

  There’s a change in the air as I work. A cluster of thoughts rolls through the house, showing me people
running in confusion under a hail of dust and broken glass.

  Kajo has found the twins.

  Now they will fight. It seems electrokinetics are always coming up with reasons to hurl their lightning bolts around. Whether they engage in street-level duels like Kajo versus the twins, or contests for entire demesnes, the world has known non-stop battle for the thousand-plus year rule of Lightning.

  I catch little snippets of panic from the east. The battle has chased people from their houses. I feel the ground tremble as they try to get to safety. I smell burning; a mix of ozone, burning drywall, and smoldering paint.

  The smoke curls around people’s feet, like ghostly constrictors trying to prevent them from fleeing. The dust forms a sickly orange cloud that lights up in occasional blue bolts of energy. Camera flashes, almost, in an urban hell.

  The emotions are multi-faceted in their fear and anxiety. Some minds are desperate to find their missing loved ones. It is too much for me. I have to stop working because my eyes are watering too much to sew neatly.

  An entire apartment building is slowly collapsing. No one can see clearly and it’s hard to breathe. I can taste the sawdust in their throats from here in my basement.

  Silence. The duel has ended, but the fires are only just getting started.

  Where is the Coalition? Why don’t they come?

  I can hear their cries for help. But the Coalition doesn’t dare travel that far east. No help from our supposed leaders: Kajo has to rescue them from the burning buildings himself.

  I’m battered by a storm of hurt and anger. Much of it is directed at the Coalition of Lightnings. This worries me. The response from the Coalition is assured, and I fear it will prove deadly.

  In the morning I drop in on Kajo. He’s at home resting, but his mother knows me and lets me in.

  I keep my visit short. I’ve only come to let him know that Dave and Kim got me home safely. He needs to rest from the fight; dark scratches and welts crisscross his arms. The Lightning twins did not go easily. He is upset that he couldn’t save everyone from the fire. It’s not something he says: it’s what I see by the shadows in his mind. A pity he doesn’t also regret killing the twins. It’s a business-like necessity, to hear him justify the duel.

  Thus, I leave Kajo to rest. Besides, my main target is the construction site on the corner of my street. The old pottery store, where Robert will be working.

  At first, all I see are the ladders and two men replacing a storefront window. When I walk all the way to the corner, I spot Robert at the side of the building.

  He’s up on a ladder painting the edges of a sign with a brush. He has his longish black hair pinned out of the way, so it won’t pick up flecks of paint as he works. He’s managed to keep his overalls relatively white and free of paint. That, or he bleaches them regularly.

  I wonder if he’s too busy to talk. Perhaps I will return at noon.

  “Hi Kwan!” says Robert, spotting me. “Hold on.”

  He loops the bucket of paint over the top of the ladder, sets the brush on it, and climbs down. I watch him do it, envious of his grace with the ladder. I’d be nervous on a ladder past the third rung.

  He wipes his hands on the handkerchief he keeps in his back pocket as he approaches, blue eyes on me. Such a rare combination he has, with that dark skin and those wonderful, playful eyes. He’s no doubt from the islands where Orion borders Wyverna, so a mixed heritage of Kajo’s people and my own. I should like to learn more of his family history.

  But I’m here to make sure he knows about Greg first and foremost.

  “Hi Robert,” I say. “Thanks for the flowers. I thought they were from my boyfriend at first.”

  “Oh, you have a boyfriend? I’m sorry about that.”

  “Nah, don’t worry. They were very nice. I have them up on the kitchen table.”

  “Hey it was nothing. Hope they cheer you after that audit.”

  “Audit?” I whirl around to peer down my street.

  The auditor’s cart stands in the middle of the road about a block and a half from my house. A young man stands before it, holding the two horses reins. He wears the Coalition’s black on deep blue and carries the official tax-journal.

  “Oh, you didn’t know?”

  “I have to go now,” I tell Robert. I leave him climbing back up his ladder as I head down my street.

  Auditors travel in groups of six to ten, inspecting houses in pairs. It takes a long time to do inspections, so I get home before they reach our front door.

  When I get through the door, I find my father smoothing the carpet on the stairs. I know our family identification from Orion and cash savings are hidden under the stairs in a wooden box, safe from a sensitive telekinetic’s eyes. The auditor will be sensing for gold and silver. Wood and paper will escape their scans.

  There’s a knock on the door right behind me. The auditors must have seen me coming home and sent someone over right away, lest I slip over a back fence bearing away any of their precious gold.

  My father comes downstairs and opens the door.

  “Megerin, tax auditor,” says a man in robes.

  “Sure, sure, enter.” My father steps back, making way.

  Megerin sweeps into our front hall, followed by an uneasy-looking assistant holding a clipboard. Megerin stands straight and moves with the grace of authority. His gaze looks sharp during that brief moment his eyes rest on me.

  But he doesn’t hold my gaze. He glances around the hall, taking in our faux-wood panelling and faded-rose wallpaper. He eyes the wooden coat rack nailed horizontally on the wall and the dangling, brass-plated light fixture. I can’t shake the feeling he’s even counted the number of shoes at the door.

  “Anything to declare?” asks Megerin, as he strides past me, opting not to remove his boots or cape. Nothing in the livingroom attracts his attention, so he moves right into the kitchen, followed by his assistant.

  “No, nothing new,” says my father, following them.

  I walk into the livingroom, listening to the sound of Megerin opening our drawers, followed by the rattle of silverware. Megerin will do physical searches where he senses metals, so as to locate all possible undeclared gold. The punishment for hiding gold or untaxed credits is confiscation. A punishment, I’m certain, Megerin has awarded enough times to leave him bereft of a soul.

  “We have no more gold,” says my father. “The last of it was taken in the other two audits this year.”

  There’s a tacit complaint in his voice. Before the Coalition took over, audits took place once a year.

  If Megerin hears the complaint, he gives no indication. He confers with his assistant about the value of our silverware since the last audit. Satisfied that our kitchen’s value has remained unchanged, he leaves and goes upstairs.

  My father goes with them, following them into the bathroom. I climb to the top of the stairs to watch.

  “New tiling here,” says Megerin.

  “I did that by hand,” says my father. “That should increase the house-value by at least twenty gold, which grants us the home renovation tax-break, right?”

  Megerin looks to his assistant, who nods and flips through a few pages on his clipboard.

  “According to our records, you received a break less than twelve months ago for basement wiring,” says the assistant. “So this renovation must apply to some future audit.”

  They do a quick sweep of my parents room, then mine. They take longer in mine, so I join them to see what they find so interesting. Megerin has my newly completed dress out of my closet. He studies it appraisingly.

  “My daughter made that by hand, from basic fabric she bought for about half a gold,” says my father.

  “Masterfully made,” says Megerin, running his hands along it outside the protective plastic sheet. “I’m going to appraise this at forty-five gold.”

  My father chokes in surprise. The figure is half a year’s salary. If I could sell my dresses for that much gold, my parents wouldn’t have to work
.

  “Pen this residence down as taxes paid,” says Megerin, turning to leave with the dress.

  “Wait,” I say. I rush past them before they can leave. I grab my three best dresses from my closet and hold them out to Megerin. That’s half my wardrobe, since I only have seven dresses, counting the one he holds. “These three dresses, I offer, in exchange for that one.”

  “Thank you for your generous offer, but this one will suffice,” says Megerin, sparing the others a passing glance.”

  He leaves with his assistant. I move to follow, but my father puts an arm around me. They don’t even check my brother’s room. I hear the tread of their boots on the stairs as I hang my dresses back up.

  “Don’t worry, Kwan. You can make another dress.”

  “I made that one just for Greg, and he hasn’t seen me in it.”

  “Hun, it’s just things.”

  “Special things, to me.” I twist out of his grasp and go to my dresser.

  “Now, hun, don’t do anything foolish,” says my father.

  I have seven bank notes in twenty-credit denominations. Auditors don’t much like paper money because it leaves a trail when they try to convert it into gold. Paper trails make it hard to skim funds off the Coalition’s tax intake.

  One hundred forty credits. It’s my life savings from various summer jobs I’ve held. It’s been hard saving that much. As my father works seasonally, repairing boats for a living, there’s never much extra money for savings.

  I fold the notes in half and tuck them into my purse. My father stops me before I can leave, setting his hands on my shoulders.

  “Hun?”

  “I will follow them to the tax office and appeal his decision. When they lower the value on the dress to what it’s really worth, I will buy it back.”

  “And if they refuse the appeal?”

  “Then... I will find myself a corner somewhere and cry my lungs out.”

  “Is that a promise you won’t use your powers on them?”

  I stare at him horrified. I’ve never before stepped over someone’s will to force them to do anything.