PART II: STRIFE.
10
Kiernan Alcraiz - The Eagle.
Ground.
"I fucking hate you, Maeve."
He does not fucking hate her. He fucking misses her and that is so much worse.
"I'm lying," he says. "But you know that."
The golden forests don't give an answer. They don't let go of its ruler's secrets.
They never have. Maeve is ruler of their realm and he is merely its subject. She swirls in its pretty; the lush oranges and yellows that billow upon their skins. She whispers in words untold, in giggles and hand games. She never says.
(But she tells him a story, in chase-jumps and thrown leaves and squealing bodies. They tell Kiernan that any wish he wants in the world will be made. Away from his Mom and away from home and away in a realm of everything.)
(All he had to do was wish.)
He smiles.
"I wish you weren't dead."
He smiles. (He lies.)
(To himself again, once upon a time.) (Not Maeve's death.) (But that wishes were ever possible.)
"I wish you were here."
He chuckles. (He lies.)
(Maeve would not want to be in a world, grit so real.) (Maeve likes her life in the skies.) (She is a happy entropy.) (She has cut him away and loosed herself out into a discount explosion.)
(Still it is better than here.)
"I wish we could live again."
He hopes. (He lies.)
(Maeve is dead face-down.) (Maeve is suffocating in Kiernan's lungs at the dirt.) (Maeve cannot live again.)
(Neither can he.)
Three wishes. Three wishes, and he blows the metaphorical candle.
The golden forests are out.
Kiernan Alcraiz is alone.
He is alone, when he isn't.
Bitch from One. Sister's lover. The Career of death. Little Miss Suicide Fucking Melancholia.
Madison Saros stares at him.
In the golden forests, she is a ghost.
"Fuck's sake," Kiernan says. He paces and does not meet her face. Autumn leaves and worm-worn branches and broken blisses susurrate under his feet. "Why'd you replace me?"
He asks that to Madison. He asks that to Maeve. He asks that to the forests, that do not call back with secrets.
Madison Saros stares at him. She is a dead wraith. She does not say a word.
"You lied to me," he echoes. "Then you lied to her."
He says that to Madison. He says that to Maeve.
"... But that's the fucking thing. You didn't. You kept your promises," and humour catches in his throat. "just the promises you weren't meant to keep."
Tesserae at their doorstep. Cough medicine, inhalers, rations, everything for a life.
Everything for a useless life. (Everything to an excess life, exploding in her bounce and spin into the abyss. Maeve Alcraiz, his sister, too much for the world: was it any surprise all she could live was a half-life?)
A half-life in exchange for tesserae, inhalers, rations, and a full-froth explosion.
She'd always call that a fair trade.
…
Smog in factory amber. Smog-sad homes. Smog in and all of Two.
Everything wiped with a hand to his hand, a drag into the beyonds. Maeve promised that too: a world of their own, a breathing place, a shelter, a safe place. Another promise she broke, because who is Maeve if not a destroyer?
(Kiernan lies to himself again. Why is here? For salvation. Who made this salvation? Only one name.)
(... Where is he if not a golden forest?)
"I'm tired," he says. "... I'm tired of missing you," he says, and his throat cracks. "... and I'm tired of waiting for you to come back. I'm tired," he says, "of you being dead, Maeve."
I'm… tired of chaos. I'm tired of grieving. I'm tired of my heart.
"... I'm tired of reconstructing you," he says, and he does not say the other part, I'm tired of making you a scapegoat and I'm tired of forgetting you. (He does not say the additional part, to the other part either: I'm forgetting what made you you and I'm so fucking terrified.)
"... I'm tired of her being my only source. And, no offense, but she's — she's fucked, in the head."
Madison Saros stares at him. She is a ghost of agony, tears that can't be down her cheeks. She has known Maeve for five weeks, if he's being generous, and considers it a forever. He has known Maeve for most of his life, and he hates, hates that she knows better than he.
"Fucked, 'cause… 'cause she's only gotten you when you were good." (You damned me to save her.) "... 'Cause she dreams, like she's fuckin', Orpheus, and I…"
He does not let his next words, I am sicker than sick of dreams, fall.
He has lied enough today.
"... I'm tired, Maeve. Just tired."
Just like that, Madison Saros goes away.
Just like that, Kiernan is alone again.
Madison Saros is wraith in human form. She strolls across the camera flashes and the cameramen, clamouring and yelling. They glint her body with reels: of her and Maeve, laughing and dancing in the snow, spinning their legs in the dirt like they'll never fall. Madison Saros footslogs as their projectors flash upon her body. It's a dirty kind of art.
"Is there a reason why you loved her more than me?" Kiernan sniffs. He curls inside himself in their tree's hollows - their tree - the amber creation that reaches up to the tippest-top of the skies. Maeve's words. Tippest-top. Above all.
"Did you see someone to fix?" He rocks, arms closed on his legs, held tight to his chest. "Because, well, she's, pretty broken, broken as all broken things come. Bet it was fuckin' easier, fixing someone who doesn't, doesn't know much 'bout being anything but."
It's easy being healer if your brand of destruction tastes different.
It's easy being healer to her than cleaning up your fuckin' mistakes.
"... I'm sorry. I just," and he chuckles, swirls a finger around his head, "have… some feelings."
Maeve had so many feelings, though she never let it shine as anything but happy. And happy was delivered through the teeth: a grin big and shining, a hound's maw to her pearly whites. Mom never saw anything but, and thought her totally fucked for it. Kiernan didn't see it, and thought her totally fucked too, but now…
How much of a fucking mess was she inside?
He thought of Maeve so immortal, so excessive, so much a force. Her mouth always twitched, worked to configure an explosion. They fucking foresaw it as her end. They saw it. He saw it. Even she saw it.
But then Maeve Alcraiz died mortal, framed in it and Death's sick. And her death was not cut in teeth, razors and grins and roars. No, her eyes were clouded: and yet they never let her be anything but the smiling entropy.
(Her ghost is not here. Her ghost is off into the skies. Funny, that: Maeve Alcraiz won't even do him the good of a haunt.)
Two is golden. Two is bombed from heaven and back and the factories glow in sulphur.
He watches. The facts do not connect.
He watches from his haven of nothing. He watches as the god of all. He sees everything. He feels nothing.
Two is golden.
Two is golden. If he likens himself to a child and takes the branches he grasps as Maeve's left hand, then she may have very well shone the world in her glory.
Finally.
"Leave me alone."
Madison Saros stares at him. She stares at him and she sees him. She is not the old ghost who can't fucking sob. She is here. She is here alongside Jordyn Moriau, who has trekked away to let them talk. She doesn't budge.
"Seriously?" Kiernan snarls. His fists grip, as he wrenches his gaze away from them into the gold again. "Get back to your revolution. This forest isn't yours."
(It's not his, either; but he'll pretend to be prince.)
"... Kiernan," Madison says. "You can't stay—"
"Who says?" His snort's caulked, out of his mouth. "The Vultures have all the propaganda they need. They can say I died, whatever the shitting hells they need. My District's dead. Fuck's sake. I'm done."
"Kier—"
"Don't," Kiernan says. "Don't fucking Kier me. You don't get to fucking say that. You don't."
(Maeve's nickname, by Madison's halting melody, is so godsdamned wrong.)
"If it wasn't clear before," Kiernan snarls. "I fucking hate you. You took her, fucked her and fucked her up. I fucking hateyou, and if you think I'm going to leave with you, you're crazier than I thought."
"… You're right."
He stiffens. What?
"You're right," Madison says. "I destroyed Maeve. Are you happy now?"
…
He is happy. He should be so happy. Isn't that what he wants? A person to blame for his sister's fate— that isn't her whimsy, that isn't the Capitol's machinations, that isn't…
… He isn't. Madison Saros brings guilt's head on herself and he isn't better.
The laugh tears out of his throat. "You knowing your blame isn't gonna make me happy, Saros."
"No," Madison agrees. "It won't."
Silence.
"I'm not fuckin' happy."
"I know."
"I'm not fuckin' better."
"I know."
"I'm not feeling fuckin' anything."
"I know."
"Why can't you say something else?" Kiernan grits out. He looks at Jordyn. She's not saying a word. Kiernan doesn't want to look at Madison Saros but where else can he look? "Just fuckin' say something else. Just… just."
His words fade out. Lurch into cacophonies in his chest. He doesn't want to listen to the resound. Doesn't matter, though. He feels it still.
Madison doesn't speak.
Madison doesn't speak, and the tears spill freely from his eyes, tracking down his cheeks and pooling into bitter pieces in his mouth. They're taunts; they're fucked droplets. They shouldn't be there; and yet they are.
(They shouldn't be there, because they are long overdue. He did not break down the second Maeve died on screen. Only stared, as the snowy blues and blacks played upon his face. He refused to sob. Oh, he hated with the inspired poisons in his chest, lurching with deserved, deserved, that's the fuckin' fate she deserved. Lurched, and he let it...)
(... fill his bodies, whole of his bones into the everywhere it could go.)
"... Maeve destroyed herself," Kiernan echoes. Madison does not speak, and in her lack of speak is I know.
"I want to blame you," Kiernan echoes. Madison doesn't speak; I know. "I should blame you." I know. "I don't know why I fucking don't." I know.
He wants to be mad. He should be mad. He needs the fire riling up his bones, swirling into his ribcage and unleashing in teeth, rage and hatred and the flurry of swords, like his murder of the dummies in the Training Centre, like a rampage.
The fire is there. The rage is there. The flurry is there, wine boiling. Except they've aged into a bitter turmoil; a wept one. What do you do with the tears that have already fled? What do you do with the rage that is out of gasoline?
"She destroyed us both," Madison echoes. Kiernan meets her eyes, finally.
And her eyes.
They're hazy, displaced. Ever-ebbing. Grey, clouding over her darks.
It jumps his heart. It shudders it, unexpected: and all he thinks is, oh. The haunt can't see me.
"She did, didn't she?" Kiernan chuckles. His tears start to drip. "She destroyed us so goddamned perfectly. Like, fuck. Maeve's good at something."
"At lying."
Madison's words are… like livewire bombs. He doesn't like it. It's like he's, waiting for them to explode, or some shit. (He doesn't like it. She's saying shit that should be outta his mouth, rightly. He doesn't like what she's saying, doesn't like how she's saying it.)
"You don't mean that."
"I mean it," Madison says, quietly. "Maeve destroyed me. She lied. The night she told me that she wouldn't destroy me."
"She'd never fuckin' say that." He's defensive, suddenly. Feels the attack on his sister like it's a predator, prowling for an opening. 'Cause Maeve's a lot of 'nomers and misnomers. But destroyer, that's. Maeve tells it, shows it, as it is. Point is, Maeve knows. Maeve won't lie about that.
"No, she never said it," Madison says. "You're right. I let her lie."
Silence again.
"What's this for?" It is accusatory. He bites his lip, glares at Madison like he'll get an answer by intimidating her enough. (Like he is truly god of this realm, alive.)
Madison smiles; a sad thing wrenched by her mouth. "It seems like you know her," she says, "after all."
He feels it now. A shock to his heart.
Doesn't he?
He does.
He does know Maeve, oh.
That shakes a laugh out of him. A wretched fuckin' laugh, a fucked thing. But it's a smile, a breath something, he supposes. Oh, he knows his sister after all. Oh, she isn't utter scapegoat, utter dream, utter destroyer, after all.
No matter what demon or dream she makes herself out to be: Maeve will always be Maeve.
(In his heart, at least; her vision is one he'll try to keep. And she'll be a myriad of colours, of flair and flare and liveliness and freeze but she'll be her, undoubtedly. He'll try, at least. That's all he can do, isn't it?)
"Your sister gave me my life again," Madison says, softly. She steps towards him, and he doesn't retreat. "Maeve might've destroyed me, but she saved me first. Your sister showed me what it meant to live, took my hand and guided me through breathing. She let me live," Madison's eyes are shimmering. "and through the pain of it, I… I dreamt, for the first time."
I dreamt.
That cuts into his heart. That shocks a sob out of his throat.
(She helped you dream, too?)
(Of course. That's what Maeve does. It's her gift. She leaves… life… in people. She gives them worlds and asks for nothing in return.)
"She made me dreams, too," Kiernan whispers. He doesn't say any more: doesn't need to. Madison's a feet away from him now, and she might be almost-blind but she has to see him now.
Has to see his tears. Has to hear his breath's hitches.
Has to feel.
"I just want this to end," Kiernan confesses. He confesses to the tears dripping down his eyes and he confesses to the crying, for his sister and all for his sister; all the tears he didn't let himself keep, for so long. "I just want things to be normal again."
(He says normal but he has not had a normal. Is his normal Maeve and her fantasies, golden forests to the end of days, paralysed in an amber as perfect as it is suffocating? Is his normal her?)
(Is his normal his Mom and him cooking up dinners, coughing his lungs out in Two?)
(What is normal?)
"I can't promise to make anything normal," Madison says. Her lip's quivering with all the unsaids, yet somehow she doesn't have to say any of it. "I can't promise that the Vultures will win. I can't promise any truths, so I won't. All I can say is that I'm trying to fix this."
In the unsaids, he hears.
I'm trying to make this world better.
A better one than Maeve's been left with. That we've been left with.
"You don't need to come with me. You can stay. I get it. But I want to… I want to give something to you. It always belonged to you, I think."
Maddie's fist clasps the string around her neck. He stares as she tugs it and it falls into her palm. She holds it out to him.
She says words, and he says words. In the unsaids, he hears.
I'm trying to make an end.
(I'm trying to do good on a promise.)
You're the only Alcraiz left.
(And I won't let you die again.)
He grips the cuckoo necklace. Maeve's, once upon a time ago. Maddie's, once upon a time. Now his.
His. And his tears fall from his cheeks, splatter on his collarbones, and he grips the rag-cut cuckoo tighter, tighter. He'll keep it safe. For Maddie. (For Maeve, too.)
She reaches out. She offers a hand.
…
Kiernan takes it.
He leaves the gold.
He grasps Maddie's hand.
(She is not Maeve and will never be. Sunken in machine and in real. Maddie is trying for him, and that counts for something, right? Maeve may not be there but they could have a normal together.)
They could have a something.
Kiernan does not wish to dream. Dreams have been too ruined by real. Have always been ruined by it. But hope, that isn't as desperate as dream. Hope, maybe he can have that.
This is how the Vulture Rebellion begins, for Kiernan Alcraiz.
He leaves the golden forests. He leaves Maeve behind in amber. He leaves with her lover clutching his hand, bringing him away into reality again.
(... He does not look back.)