Skyland (23 page)

But it didn't make sense.

Zara.

Harper tried to shake the questions out of
his head. He didn't care. Not now. He just wanted to be done with
it all and back on a ship to Den. To Zara.

An hour later, the wire and the plastic bits
clipped under his clothes seemed to burn against his skin. The sun
was slipping behind the horizon, and the scorching heat of the day
was fading into balmy night. Sweat still beaded on Harper's
forehead. His feet were heavy, but they moved forward.

One step, then another, then another, then
another.

Chapter Twenty
Five

in which there is
light, but only barely
...

The sun was slipping behind the horizon.
Inside and outside, the air had grown dim, but there was no candle
lit in the house.

When the door banged shut behind Harper, it
was almost completely dark. Some grey light seeped in from the
window on the far wall. But the window was covered with a long
cloth, and the square of light that made it through the fabric was
the only illumination.

The dull light fell on a black shadow in the
corner.

In a stool facing the wall with the window,
but not in front of the window, a bent man sat. His back curved
over his chest, frail and concave beneath rounded shoulders. His
knees were bent up over the level of the stool, so low it was
almost on the floor. Stringy hair dripped down, covering more of
his shoulders than his head. In the dim light, bald patches shone
on the dark head. The old man sat on the stool not looking at
anything but the wall, not moving anything but his chest as he
breathed, air sighing in and out, in and out, shoulders rising and
sinking slowly, again and again. In the near darkness, Harper
thought he saw a bit of spit dripping from the corner of the old
man's mouth, but it was too dark to tell for sure. It might have
been a bit of food. Harper barely recognized the man. He closed his
eyes and gritted his teeth.

"Father."

He opened his eyes. The old man had not
moved, not even to look up. He did not shift an inch, except for
his chest breathing in and out, in and out. His eyes did not move
from the wall. Harper swallowed. He clenched his jaw, squeezed his
eyes closed again, fought the trembling in his throat.

"F-Father..."

He heard no movement, no answer, no change
in the dark house.

"Father, please. It-it's Harper.
Please..."

He forced his eyes open. One foot hovered in
the air, wanting and not wanting to step forward. One step. His
feet dragged over the dirt floor. Another step.

"Father..."

He reached out a hand, but it only hovered
over the old man's shoulder, not touching the rough shirt over the
bent and bony back.

"Father."

Then his wrist was grabbed, twisted around.
He twisted with it to save his arm from popping from its socket,
twisted his torso along with his wrist held under a fierce grip,
skin splitting under uncut nails, twisted along with his twisting
arm and wrist, and he was turned around, his shoulder stayed in its
socket but he thought for a second his wrist would snap anyway
under the pressure of the hand crushing it.

But the old man's grip weakened.

The hand opened, releasing the twisted
wrist, the arm, the torso that had followed the motion. Harper
dropped to the ground, one hand pressed against the dirt floor,
keeping himself from falling face down, the other hand hanging
limp, throbbing. Bare feet, soundless over the dirt walked around
in front of him and Harper looked up at his father.

Finally, the old man looked at him, directly
into his eyes, staring down at Harper on the floor. The anger, the
hate twisted his face into a perfectly familiar mask.

"Hello, Father."

The old man stared down, his eyes dull
pricks of light in the darkness. He did not speak. Harper sat back
on his heels and rubbed his sore wrist and arm. The old man turned
away.

"Father..."

His father walked back to wall where he'd
sat, standing this time, again with his face to the wood
boards.

There was silence.

"I am glad to find you alive," said
Harper.

The old man did not look around, and the
growl of his voice was low, but when he spoke Harper caught every
word.

"You betrayed me."

"I did my duty–"

"Duty! You couldn't even–"

"I did my duty for my wife! How could you
ask me to throw our life away?" Harper felt burning tears in his
eyes and squeezed them shut as the words tumbled out. "Not
my
life.
Our
life.
Her
life. To abandon her on
this forsaken rock raking muck forever? How could you!"

"You betrayed her."

"I saved her from a life of a muck raking
and hate."

"You betrayed
Her.
"

Yes.

Harper covered his closed eyes with one
shaking hand, and bent his head. He knew who his father meant by
Her.
The exact same accusation had been circling in his own
mind since he set foot on the flying abomination.

He shook his head. He looked up, right into
his father's eyes. "She can protect Herself. I betrayed no
one."

"Abomination."

"Father...."

"Abomination!"

"I have been closer to Her than you can
ever–"

"I cannot look at Her!"

"Father–"

"I cannot look at Her!" His father's head
swiveled on the shrunken neck, he looked towards the curtain
covering the window. From the side, Harper thought he saw a tear in
his father's eye. "I cannot–I cannot
look
at her."

He sniffed.

Then the old man was crying, tears running
over the wrinkled face, a sobbing noise came from the twisted lips,
rough and painful sounding, like the sobs were torn up from a
sandy-dry throat.

"I cannot
look
at her."

"Father, please."

The old man shook his head. "How
could
you?"

"I couldn't... It was..."
wrong.

But the word had no meaning.
Right, wrong
–
they had no meaning outside the mandates of the Sky. Harper
looked away from the old man, the old shadow of his father,
shrunken in barely a week.

"The harm of going was less than the harm of
staying and... a-and going through with it. Five thousand people,
Father. Five thousand! They are alive because I went. Even if it
wasn't...
good
..." Harper faltered. "It was better. It
was
good.
..
" The words, the explanation of these
notions – foreign to the cult of obedience – faltered. There was no
language to explain it.
Once, you didn't know the difference
either,
he reminded himself.

His father was silent.

"I am sorry." Harper's throat tightened with
the same tortured sobs he'd heard from the old man, but he bit them
back.

He understood.

He had once lived without question, without
right
or
wrong
outside of what the Sky wanted – or
was said to want.

I am sorry.
He couldn't speak. His
lips trembled with stifled sobs.
I wanted to do right.

Harper pushed himself up from the dirt
floor. He turned his back on his father to hide the tears. He
reached for a candle stub in a clunky metal holder and fought to
refocus. He lit the candle. The light did not bring any cheer to
the dark room.

Get the information. For her.

He closed his eyes and Zara's face shone on
the blackness behind his lids. He opened his eyes and turned back
to his father.

In the candlelight his father looked like a
completely different man from the one Harper had left only a few
days before. The only thing recognizable was the mask of hate
twisting the old face.

How am I supposed to get information from
that?
"Father, did you..." Harper shook his head at the
futility of his question, but the wire and recording bits just
under his shirt prodded him of why he was there. "Did you blow up
the other ship?"

He choked out what might have been a laugh.
"Idiot!" He spat on the ground. "Would I be here if I had?"

"You know what I mean. I know it was the
Sky-Reverends. And I know you must have been part of it after I
didn't... after I..."
betrayed you.
"...after I failed. Who
did you get to do it?"

"They chose themselves."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

He's telling the truth.
Harper felt
sick. "You don't even... you don't even know who they are." He
shook his head in disbelief.
Would he have known my name if I
weren't his own son?
"How can you be so heartless? We were
taught they were heroes! And you cannot even name them."

"Not to a traitor!"

"I am not–"

"Abandoner!"

"I did not abandon any–"

"Where is your wife? Harper, where is
she?"

"She is safe."

"She is abandoned."

"No–"

"You abandoned her, too. Like you did the
Sky, like you did the planet, like you did your own father."

"No–"

"You took your wife out from under they Sky
and abandoned her in the blackness of space."

"She will be safe on Den."

"Den? In Union Proper?
Pah!
" He spat
again on the dirt floor. "Forsaken planets! Better to have left her
here under the protection of the Sky and done your duty."

"There are Skies on other planets."

His father's hand shot out, the old man's
fist connected and Harper's head snapped sideways.

"Shut your blasphemous mouth!"

"There are. Ours is not the only–"

"Traitor.
Traitor.
"

"I am not... father, I am not. I... I
saw
her. I was there, in the Sky."
But she was not. There
was only blackness.
He squashed that memory down. "Let me...
let me prove it to you." He gritted his teeth against the lie.

"You have already proven where you
stand."

"Look I-I," he flailed around for the words,
"I made a mistake."

His father snorted.

"No," Harper persisted. "You don't
understand. Look, I'm not here to talk about what I
didn't
do. I'm here to get help for what I
will
do."

His father looked up. His eyes were
narrowed, his teeth clicked together, agitated. He said
nothing.

"They were keeping me in one of their ships.
Like... like a prisoner. I... made a mistake," he said again.

"You brought it on yourself."

"Whatever I deserve, Skyland does not
deserve to be held hostage. Whatever you think of me, I am
not
that kind of traitor."

"A traitor is a traitor."

"No. I am still a Skylander. I will not live
in a Union prison on my own planet. Father..."

His father glared.

"Father, I will not destroy Skylanders. But
these are not Skylanders. Their ship – the Union's... Let me
destroy it."

His father squinted at him, head tilted,
considering.

Harper stepped forward towards his father,
slowly, carefully. Again one hand reached out and slowly, carefully
he put a hand on the old man's shoulder.

"I am not
that
kind of traitor,"
Harper hissed. "Let me destroy
their
ship. Let me destroy it
and redeem myself."

His father shook his head. "You have been
where you should not. You have trespassed against Her heavens."

"And Her forgiveness is up to Her. But what
about yours?"

"Mine..."

"Can
you
forgive me?"

"If I believed you, I could."

"I will do it, then. I will go to the dirt
stores. The Union soldiers, if they find me, will not think
anything of a little soil in my pockets. When you see their ship in
flames, then will you consider forgiveness?"

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

The old man nodded. "Maybe."

Maybe. And that is good enough...
Harper closed his eyes. "Do you promise?"

The old man hissed.

"Do you promise, Father? To
consider
it? To consider forgiveness? If I destroy the ship?"

Another hiss. Then, "Yes."

"Then I will do it."

Harper turned away from the old man and
opened the door.

For a moment, there was a dim glow on the
ground outside from the candle-lit shack. Before the door shut, the
glow went out as the candle was extinguished. Then the door banged
shut behind him. Harper looked around. Somewhere in the dark
country there was a sniper hiding, with him in the crosshairs.

Or more likely, there was no sniper.

Because they knew he wasn't a threat. Just
like they knew he was on the first ship.

He was not the only traitor on Skyland.

Chapter Twenty
Six

in which there is
light
...

The walk back to the base was dark but not
lonely.

Harper could feel the eyes of the hidden
Union troops on him. Maybe through the crosshairs of a sniper
rifle. Maybe through the windows of the planes whizzing above. They
might as well have been walking beside him.

Didn't matter.

The night was quiet and dim and empty. No
one stepped out from the shadows. No one shouted or came to talk to
him. Harper paused for a moment at the edge of his village. He
stood in the dimming light of evening and looked around and
listened.

Somewhere a door snicked shut.

A stair creaked.

A baby wailed, then was hushed.

In the corner of his eye, a shadow walked,
then disappeared.

Then there was nothing. No one.

Harper stood for another moment at the edge
of the quiet village road. And then, slowly, he began the walk back
to the base. Alone. Just as he had walked away from it an hour
before.