Book 2: Furious Hours
"We are bound by a common anguish."
-Harper Lee
Chapter 22: Happiness at the End of the World
Life wasn't the same after Wall Maria fell, seen in the smallest of things. Whenever little babies used the restroom in their pants, the waste was scooped up and used as fertilizer. They were praised for their contribution to humanity at such a young age. Fruit rinds and nut shells ground to make sweet-smelling candles, with flowers in short supply. Laborers stuffed the blends in cotton sacks and strung them around their necks, making fourteen hour shifts, dawn to dusk in the summertime, that much more bearable. Old houses repurposed as firewood, replaced by stronger ones of mountain stone. New families sat alongside old families and watched heritage homes go up in flames, cooking the millionth round of potatoes. Tears spilled at unpredictable times, caught by handkerchiefs and squeezed into reserves before any comfort was given.
Despite the decrease in surplus population, businesses flourished. Some turned to fine clothing and spent resources from extra shifts on lush coats with detailed embroidery. With the lowered cadet age, young children bought military paraphernalia and books on training, hoping to be that much more prepared for the field, to bring honor to their families. Vacations were out of the question, but families of cadets traveled hundreds of miles to see their children at graduation, reprise, and culminating tests—whenever the ruthless trainers afforded the teenagers a respite. Motels and meeting houses flourished; pubs and restaurants never emptied. Horse and wagon rentals serviced families who only had one or two mares. Others focused on entertainment, spending their time underground with nameless harlots; they crawled home at the witching hour, drunk enough for thieves and murderers to commit their work uninhibited. With mothers, fathers, and children diving off in different directions, a family united at a dinner-table was something unheard of; they blamed the titans entirely.
The divide wasn't so novel. Always, mothers hid themselves behind books and friends. Children stayed away from home with their friends long after they heard their names called. Fathers drug themselves home at ungodly hours with someone else's name written on their backs. But now it seemed inevitable, this dissected reality. Marriages forged under that grim blanket, and breaches of covenant were met with shaken heads instead of bursts of anger. No one put it into words, no one told the new bride of her reality, that her husband would be exactly as her father.
The Cartwells spent a day preparing their invitations, tearing old newspapers into tiny pieces, soaking them in strawberry scented water, and drying sheets on clotheslines. Larmie, with decades of callouses on his fingertips, survived paper cuts at the head of the line. Hajule laid the pieces on mesh tablets, soaking in the water and casting the drippings in a small barrel. After the sheets crisped, colors blended into an even gray, Jamie used a knife and cutting board to shape the sheets into diagonal rectangles (he meant for them to be squares, and this was the most precise job for him). Edie penned messages with curls and squiggles, betraying the simplicity of their event. But Jamie was going away, and despite promises of honor and visitation, they treated his departure as if their next would be a memorial service. The siblings knocked on doors directly and cheerfully shoved the papers into the hands of neighbors, brief acquaintances, and the best of friends. All of them took it with shaking hands, hardly believing they had a seat at that unbroken table. So they pinned it on the wall and eagerly awaited two weeks to pass, while the siblings rode home to resist time's toll.
Edie wasn't sure Jamie would survive training and his first journeys, especially with the bare minimum of training now required by the Cadet Corp. But she'd seen him change, since Wall Maria fell. He'd trained, yes, and gotten stronger, not to mention taller. His eyes were darker, and hopefully that would be enough to survive the first year. Larmie and Hajule had a sadness about them, too, and only death or triumph would change them.
The tension built until that day, September twenty-second, two days before he went off to the Cadet Corps, that the village gathered around Mr. Solway's shop to wish the family their best, to offer their condolences, to say their words of wisdom to the new cadet. It wasn't a usual occurrence, but everyone in a ten-mile radius knew that Jamie intended to join the Scouts. Something was so magnificent about that to them, one of their core families so nobly giving up the chance to carry on their family name. Although few doubted Larmie and Hajule would waste more than a year of mourning before trying again, perhaps with some differences in their parenting style.
Mr. Solway was loud, louder than a vanguard. He hosted valiantly, as the Cartwells surely wanted to keep their home a sanctuary. He moved all his stock to his basement, cleared away all the shelves, and set forth a feast that surely cost him three months' wages. He greeted everyone with a speech about their support, their kindness, their humanity to give the only son such a send-off. He moved swiftly through the crowds, commenting on the children's growth, the lovely dress, and the wondrous occasion. Hajule and Larmie, meanwhile, stayed linked to one another and seated on a porch bench, observing all the festivities with a meter's advantage.
Jamie kept Edie with him, greeting everyone seven times over. Edie Cartwell, and her little brother Jamie. Jamie Cartwell, and his heavenly older sister. The one to go, and the one who was rumored to be invited. There was talk long after they left, of their humorous nature and easy conversation. They invited the others in and left a kind of spell at every turn.
When others filtered in from the highways, the two were the first line of defense.
"Domo!" Edie exclaimed the moment he came into view. "Jamie, you remember?"
"Yeah!" Jamie clasped his hand and shook heartily. "You brought us honey when I was younger. But dad hasn't taken me to market much since Wall Maria."
"Haven't been down to market much lately. There's too much mountain hospitality to deal with you lowlanders, dontcha think, Edie? As nice as you Cartwells are, those mountain folk don't give a damn how much money you've got or how many felonies those MP's tacked onto your name. Everybody here's asking, 'why's there a red dot next to your trading license?' instead of asking how your day was and such. But I guess this is enough reason to come down, with you trading your life away for no reason." Domo chewed his bottom lip and took another whiff of his cigarette. "You ever been to the memorial a few tens of miles south of here? Better carve your name in how you like it. If you don't wanna go by a nickname, write it in a will now."
"It's good to see you, too." Edie and Jamie took either side and led him into the fray. "Did you hear if Karmen and Lana would make it?"
"Passed them on the road," he said, brushing them off. "But both of 'em are getting up on in age. They'll never sell that little mountain cottage of theirs, 'specially with the natural defense against those pasty monsters. Heard one of 'em went after you two specifically. Care to share how a titan ended up in some Wall Rose farmland?" He waved his hand again and caught sight of Mr. Solway. "There's my one unruly customer. So much for good company at this shindig." He shoved a package wrapped in brown paper in each of the kids' hands. "You two get lost. I'm sure you've got pleasanter company to hang off of."
Jamie unwrapped his in a minute as Edie took care of the gratefulness virtue. "Mother and father made sure to invite him. He's only met me three times."
"You're a careful counter. My sympathies to your teacher." Edie found a lovely shawl inside, used, with the initials L. S. embroidered on the tag. She ran her fingers over the letters. "Lydia."
"It's an antique," Jamie added in a hushed whisper. He held up a badge, the two wings of freedom crossed over a banner. They were white and blue, yellowed with age. "They've changed the blue shade a few years back. This must be from a decade ago, at least."
"Eight years, I think. But it's been a while." Edie pressed a hand against her forehead. "Goodness, it's been a long time."
"No kidding." He rubbed his finger over the handmade logo. "There's a lot riding on this."
"You'll do fine."
As the hours drug on, morning turning to afternoon, some locals brought out guitars, wind instruments, and several drums. A circle of dancers formed, leaving the talkers a bit more room. Tinnul and Corini arrived around then (despite living less than a mile away and claiming they would be there from dawn till dusk, helping with setup and cleanup), saying brief hellos and diving straight into the fray. Edie joined her parents for this portion, a hand on Hajule's shoulder, watching the couple spin. They laughed often, despite the occasion's purpose, spinning faster and harder than anyone else. Corini put his hand low on his bride's back, and Tinnul leaned close for kisses every minute or so. It seemed they were abandoned by any other family, and perfectly content.
She pulled her mother up at the sound of another carriage rolling in. "That's Karmen and Lana," she exclaimed. "It's been two years since I've seen them."
"And close to five for me. Such a shame, that Corini and Tinnul saw them sooner than us." Hajule patted Edie's hand, and they quickened their pace. "Hopefully, you'll give us reason to see them sooner this decade."
Yes, that's coming up. Edie felt her stomach turn. "We'll let the pieces fall as they may."
"JULIE!" Lana screeched and pulled her cousin into a hug. The two circled one another, speaking almost incoherently, leaving Karmen and Edie to their pleasantries.
He stuck out his hand for a shake initially, then shook his head and embraced her. "My, you're taller in my imagination. Still happy in this heat-hole?"
"More so. Jamie keeps me on my toes."
"Any prospects for you?"
"I wish I could say otherwise. I feel like a disappointment."
Karmen laughed. "This wouldn't have happened if you stayed on the rocks! There's no young men there for miles. So, who's the lad?"
"His name's Levi. He's…resilient, to say the least."
"He'd have to be, to wear you down. Whatever happened to your resolution?"
"I have a little brother now, and he's obsessed with the man. I made a promise and am intent on keeping it."
"Well enough, well enough."
Edie gave him a look. "You're more chipper than I remember."
"Well, with a great-nephew joining a death troupe, a new great-niece in the family, and a honeymooned couple that we had to kick out of our lovebird cabin, I'm feeling like a young man again. Besides, you remember that fold you taught Lana?"
"Yes."
"She's made a little business out of it, selling custom cloth by that very design. Some people think it's grand enough to send to the king. Luckily, they haven't got us engaged with the old geezer yet."
"Come now, there's policemen here."
"Speaking of policemen, is this Levi the one that Domo said was flirting with you on the trail? I don't want to believe you were spotted so quickly."
"No, that was Private Amile. He…shot his shot, to be sure. Levi is in the Scout regiment."
"So military men have a thing for my niece. Well, little do they know, she's a confirmed bachelorette. Thankfully, I'm not." His wife finally released from Hajule's clutches, and the three shared a happy reunion. Edie gave her greetings to Lana, then left them to rejuvenate the party.
But the happiest surprise of all (at least, for the guest of honor) came close to sundown, when everyone from the outer reaches had arrived. The festivities could be heard from miles, and campfires shown for further away, this guest reported. It was something for the decades, and he was only glad to be a part. The guests all knew their purpose in coming, of course, but after hours of dancing and drinking, some seemed to forget, and a hush fell over the assembly when Commander Erwin himself rode into their streets.
"He came after the titan attack, too," one whisper reported, "and that was when they asked Edie to be in the Scout regiment. Jamie had already decided."
"I heard he's already training with the Scouts, and getting insanely good at their special gear. There haven't been real experts, well, ever. There's no need for them," another rumored. "I know the Scouts are a death trap, but they say Commander Erwin is the best. Maybe Jamie will be alright."
"Don't get me wrong, the Scouts don't stand a chance against the titans. But they've got their best shot with Erwin and Jamie on front lines. I hear they're strategizing again to take back Wall Maria with new weaponry!" Another shadowed figure conned.
"And Captain Levi, too!"
Jamie met him at the porch, standing alongside his parents. With a brave face, he saluted the Commander, and the two shook hands. The crowd cheered, and Edie watched from afar, helping Domo up from his last belch.
"They're idiots," Domo mumbled, quite ready to go home. "Every last one of them."
"Don't worry about them. I've met the man and can tell you that Commander Erwin is better than the last. Shadis didn't know what he was doing, but Erwin's…calculating." She hoisted his shoulder over hers and dragged his feet to a horse. "C'mon. Larmie said you might get wasted around now and said you could crash at the farm. Let's get on with it."
By the time she returned, the party was in factions. Many still danced around a bonfire, singing in drunken voices. Others talked around Solway's shop, with fathers and mothers hand in hand. Children tired of their games and joined their parents, begging to go home but sneaking off for more cookies and cake. But the older ones, those in Jamie's class, and a few years younger and older, sat on playground equipment, surrounding Commander Erwin and Jamie. Edie walked behind, out of sight, and heard descriptions of training, equipment, and battle formations. The children looked on excitedly, with wonderment in their eyes, voicing concerns of death and receiving promise that death would mean something—all from Jamie. It was honorable, in the speakers' eyes, and the others adopted those lenses.
"The gamble never does end, does it?" she mused, and returned to Mr. Solway's shop.
