Chapter 16: A Pale Horse
This was, without a doubt, one of the strangest parties she'd ever been to. Subdued was the right word. So was excruciatingly polite. The Etherians were putting on their bravest faces, trying hard to appease the Eternian guests. More than once she'd heard someone mutter about "cultural differences" and how those accounted for the spectacle they'd watched in interest and then, later, in horror.
It felt odd, now, to think about the joust. At the time, it'd been fun and invigorating. She could say in all honesty that she enjoyed how hard it hit; that she'd enjoyed hitting back. But she never would've agreed to do it had she known about the looks she'd get or the cold shoulders.
Glimmer still hadn't said anything to her, Bow just threw her apologetic looks. She'd tried to reconcile with Catra when they were getting ready. The excitement of the joust still burned through her veins, and she kissed Catra's neck until she told Adora to stop. So, they'd gotten ready in mostly silence after that. Catra didn't even pause to let Adora tie her bowtie. It was disconcerting to say the least—to have won so publicly and lost so privately.
What was almost worse was how Etherians flitted away from her when she got close. Like skittish animals, they scattered in her presence. They were scared. And as she watched the party proceed, she came to realize that, specifically, they feared her. Sure, Lady Slayer and Lord Battlefield had their fair share of people avoiding them, but it wasn't quite the same when these actions were between strangers. These were her people, her friends and acquaintances. And they backed away. Left her alone.
Only Finn and Reyna were acting normal, none the wiser to the specifics of what happened. 'Someone got injured?' Finny had asked. Adora told them the truth, that all four participants had been hurt in various ways. But when a limp didn't linger and a shattered shoulder seemed perfectly normal, injuries were easy to forget and hard to imagine. They'd moved on quickly, and Adora found solace in her children's easy world.
Reyna chatted away about her magical testing, and new training regimen. The sorcerers had indeed detected her magical prowess, and she went in for training right after school. For one hour a day, five days a week, her channeling abilities were refined. The later someone got training for their magic, the less they could control it, the more they were controlled. Adora knew that all too well. And if she had anything to say about it, Reyna wouldn't stumble through and guess her way to proficiency the way Adora had. If she did nothing else for the rest of her life, she'd always make sure their kids weren't unmoored, lost and naive in their respective lives. She'd learned a lot of lessons in the worst ways possible, but she'd learned them on behalf of many different people, so they didn't have to stare at the sky and count all the ways they fell short. Hopefully that was true, anyway.
Eventually Reyna got swept up in the roaming pack of children being overseen by the castle's childcare specialists. Her friends beckoned for her to come and play horses, and never once in her young life had Reyna turned down such an appealing offer. With a wave and smile, her daughter disappeared into the cloud of youths, and it was just her and Finn.
Finn was a little bit unknowable, a little bit complicated. Certainly more complicated than Adora, a fact that her poor therapist heard repeatedly. And their relationship suffered because of Adora's ignorance. She knew this—could feel the distance forming. So, she read every magazine on current theater trends. When she'd tried to discuss it with Finn, they had no idea what she was talking about. 'They're twelve,' Catra reminded her, 'They don't know anything about the Royal theater. They just want to spend time with you, you don't have to study for that.' And that was where Catra was wrong. Kids loved Catra. They always gravitated towards her, and that just wasn't the case for Adora. She had to have a plan or she'd just have nothing to say. All her relatable stories from when they were kids were, as Gimmer once told her, far too disturbing for children. So what were they supposed to talk about? That was where her planning came in.
But tonight was different. There was no plan. Maybe just have dinner with them? Maybe try to find some common ground through natural conversation? That seemed next to impossible, but she'd pulled off harder.
"So, Finny, how's Sarah?" Adora placed her hands on their shoulders while they spooned some food onto their plate.
"Oh, you know, she's–"
"That performance was most impressive indeed," a voice interrupted from behind her. King Elric. Great. Of all the people to run into. "I've never seen someone fight like that. Was that even your dominant hand?"
Adora tightened her grip on Finn's shoulders as they both turned to face him. Never had she intended them to meet but here they were. Her sweet Finny and the vile King. "No, it wasn't, Your Majesty."
His eyebrows rose and he nodded approvingly. "If you can fight like that…" He took a step forward and Adora drew Finn a bit closer. "I'm guessing that you've been asked to fight in a lot of wars?"
Unsure where he was going with all this, she decided the best course of action was to be as straightforward as possible. "Yes."
"And have you fought in any of them?"
"Some, if the cause was just."
"And how many of them have you won?" At this question, Finn glanced up at her, looking as off-put as she felt.
"All of them."
"Hmmm," he said, tapping at his chin, "Maybe you'll win my war."
Oh, boy, they could really get into it. She wasn't some mercenary for hire, wasn't some young gun looking to prove herself. She fought when she had to, not a single battle more. And she would've told him off then and there, but she couldn't do that in front of Finn. "Maybe, Your Majesty, maybe. Now, if you'll excuse us." She began to steer herself and Finn away until he caught her arm. With every ounce of self-control, she forced herself to meet the King's gaze rather than send him through several layers of wall.
"Enjoy the party, She-Ra. It's for you and your great victory." He smiled wide, too many teeth, too much gum.
"It's for all of us, Your Majesty," Adora said, "To bring together our people." Finn shifted under her hands and appraised the King with narrowed eyes. She also stared at him until he let go of her arm.
"Our people, Princess? Don't forget that you're one of us. The best of us, no doubt. A proud Eternian, as is your child." The King looked towards Finn and their tail bristled slightly. "Lord...?"
"It's Master Finn, Your Majesty," they said smoothly, no sign of anxiety in their measured tone.
"Master Finn, of course. Glad to meet your acquaintance." He held his hand out limply and Finn cocked their head at the gesture. It wasn't quite looking like a handshake, and it certainly wasn't a high-five. Finally, Finn took his hand lightly, and shook up and down. Seemingly pleased with their effort, the King said, "Now, I should go tend to the other guests. If you'll excuse me, Princess Adora, Master Finn."
They both watched him stride away before Finn turned from her grasp. "What a creep. I hate everything about that man."
"You know, Finny, I don't like using the hate word, but I think I agree with you. And he's definitely a creep." Adora smoothed out their shirt at the shoulders. "Stay away from him, okay? Don't ever be alone with him. And if he ever talks to you when I'm not there, please tell me. Sound good?"
"You don't have to ask me twice. Now can I go? I wanna see where my friends went."
"Oh, ya, sure. Don't let me stop you. And I'll be around. In case you need anything or...anything." Really, she couldn't have come up with anything better than that?
"Sure, Mom. See you later." With that, they turned and disappeared into the throng of partygoers. She watched them go and contemplated what to do next.
She didn't have to think long.
"Hell ya, Princess Adora." Lady Slayer pounded a fist against Adora's back and came up beside her with a grin. "I was worried all you Etherians were a bunch of softies, but you took the biggest hits and still won." She shook her head and downed the rest of her drink. "Incredible, absolutely fucking incredible." She narrowed her eyes and looked Adora up and down. "You know, I heard that you're actually from Eternia. I didn't believe it but now…?"
"You heard right," Adora said. She glanced over Slayer's shoulder but still couldn't pick Catra out from the crowd. "I was kidnapped as a baby and brought here."
Mid-sip Slayer stopped and took some time to consider Adora once again. Finally, she said, "No shit?"
"It's true."
"I believe it. You're tough as nails. Of course you're an Eternian." She slapped Adora's arm and motioned at the bartender.
"Actually, Etherians are quite-"
"-Get a drink for the woman of the feast," Slayer said to the bartender, "Strongest thing you have." Before Adora could prevent this oncoming cataclysm, the bartender was already handing her some dark, brown drink. She took a whiff and sent an apology to her body. It was something alien and almost guaranteed to send her to the floor. After gulping some of it down, she vowed to keep it to one.
Lady Slayer slung an arm around Adora's shoulders and grinned. "You're a true Eternian, you know that? Look, I have something for you. No one's bested me in years, and I think you've earned it." Truth be told, Adora was somewhat afraid. Slayer was more than a little tipsy at this point and what could she offer after weeks on the run?
She removed her arm from Adora and began to undo her belt. Oh, no. "Oh, wait. This is not-"
"-Here," Lady Slayer said while holding out her belt, "It's only right that you have this. I vowed to keep it so long as I kept winning. And now it's yours."
"I couldn't possibly-"
"Please take it. When we joust, the losers always have to give up something to the victor. Money, horses, whatever. I don't have much to offer." She scratched at the base of an antler and looked away. "So, please, just take this."
The belt, upon further inspection, was much nicer than she'd originally realized. It was made of fine, light brown cloth and another section hung down on the hips for a scabbard. A large knot curved around an ornately carved belt buckle. She peered closer and found the same winged lions on the buckle as were on Slayer's shield.
"You really haven't done this before? The jousting or… or the winning?"
Adora straightened back up and shook her head. "No, I...I don't know anything about Eternia. I've never seen jousting before. I know the language, I guess, but that's really about it." Her home planet was as alien to her as fighting to kill, another Eternian tradition she still wasn't grasping.
"Ah, too bad. It's a beautiful place, you know? I'd die for it," Slayer said before taking another drink, "I hope I see it again." She rubbed her eye with one hand and looked at the floor.
Adora wanted to pity her, she really did. Getting driven out of her home like that must've been horrible. But she had something Adora never did, would never get—her birthplace, her family, her childhood, her culture. What was the Fright Zone's culture? Armour? Gas masks? Power over weakness? The only art she could remember was cadet drawings taped to a metallic wall and then, later, thrown in the trash. And could any of it be passed down to her children? Any legacy? Any traditions? Off the top of her head, Adora couldn't think of a single thing worth keeping from the Fright Zone.
"Woah, hey, you just went somewhere. Everything good?" Lady Slayer narrowed her eyes. "Is the drink already hitting?"
"Lady Slayer," Adora began, "I will find a way for you to see Eternia again. If I can do anything about this situation, I will. And then we can both go home."
She searched Adora's face before a grin began to spread across her face. "Here's to going home, Princess." They both raised their glasses and clinked them together before taking a long drink. After that, Slayer positioned her belt around Adora and fastened it tight. "And here's to your win. You earned this, fair and square."
"Is my wife stealing from you?" A hand glided over Adora's back and Catra leaned into her side. With the other hand, she held her own drink of, if Adora had to guess, soda or wine.
"Only my pride and dignity. She deserves this belt for her great victory today. You should be proud of your superstar. I've never fought anyone like her." Slayer reached out and punched one of Adora's arms. Her eyes widened and she jerked her head up to look Adora in the eye.
"What? What is it?" Adora scanned the crowd quickly, but everything seemed normal.
"No wonder you won when you've got these absolute fucking weapons under there." She squeezed both of Adora's biceps and nodded slowly, possibly to herself. "Goddamn, you gotta teach me your ways. What's your regiment? And what the fuck do they feed you here?" She froze and turned her attention to Catra. "I'm sorry, Princess. I shouldn't be swearing around you."
Catra's eyebrows rose and she laughed. "Are you kidding me? Adora's a princess, too, and I bet you've been swearing around her all day and night."
"Ya, but...she's a soldier."
"And?" Catra asked.
"Oh, boy, I'm just digging myself into a hole here." Slayer scratched the back of her neck and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm still relearning how to be civil. I mean no offense, Princess Catra."
Seemingly deciding to take mercy on her, Catra smiled and said, "None taken, Lady Slayer. And please, don't let me interrupt the jock talk. I was just stopping by to say hi."
"There's not much else to say," Adora said, "If you and Brett Battlefield wanna start coming to our trainings, you're more than welcome."
"Hell ya, we do."
"And don't sell yourself short. Fighting you wasn't easy. And come on, you have powerful weapons of your own." When Slayer looked at her blankly, Adora gestured towards her antlers and added, "You have a great rack."
In all her years, she'd never seen Catra spit out her drink quite like this. She actually sprayed it out and coughed and everything. "A-d-o-r-a," Catra choked out.
"What?"
"You can't go around telling people they have nice racks. You just can't."
Adora looked between Catra and Slayer, desperately trying to fight the rising embarrassment turning her face hot. It'd been an innocent comment, but its full implications started to percolate in her brain. "Wow, Lady Slayer, I meant no disrespect. I honestly—"
Slayer let out a full belly laugh and slapped Adora's shoulder. "You're alright, Princess. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. And I take no offense. You wouldn't believe the number of horny jokes I get on a weekly basis."
"Oh, noooooo," Adora said, rubbing her temples, "I promise I didn't mean it that way. That was just a-a foot in the mouth moment."
"Don't even worry about it, Princess. I know you're not like that. Honestly, you've been really kind to me. I mean, I knocked your ass to the ground and shattered your shoulder, and you're still so nice."
Adora took a swallow of her drink. "Ya, well, what can I say? It took a lot of violence to make me like this. What's a little more?" Catra's grip on her uniform tightened and Adora looked over to find her staring. "Sorry, I don't know where that came from. The drink…maybe?"
"You grew up in the Horde right? You, and the lovely Princess?" Slayer asked, nodding towards Catra.
"We did," Catra said, though something tinged her tone.
Slayer, either too drunk or too oblivious to notice, continued on, "Ya, I heard about that. It sounds very similar to the academy I went to as a kid. Lotta dead kids, you know? Just super fucked up. But, hey, it made me a hell of a soldier so that's what counts right?" Slayer finished her drink and shook her head a little. The expression on her face was familiar—glassy and elsewhere.
"Lady-"
"But that's what alcohol's for, right? To keep it all at bay?" Slayer caught the bartender's attention, and all three watched in silence as he poured another drink for Adora and then Slayer. Not knowing what else to do, Adora downed the last of her mystery alcohol and started on the next with a healthy gulp. Slayer followed suit, and some distant voice in Adora's head told her to calm down and stop drinking. "Here's to taking the edge off." They clinked their glasses together, and down went another swallow.
"Maybe we should all drink some water," Catra suggested, "And eat something." She got a couple of waters from the bar and set them in front of Adora and Slayer. Under the watchful eye of her wife, Adora finished her water dutifully. "I'll go get something for you guys to eat." With that, Catra turned and disappeared into the crowd. Hopefully she wouldn't be long.
"Your Fright Zone," Slayer slurred, "Did it ever get…I dunno…weird?"
"Weird, how?"
"The–the teachers, especially this one man, would get me these little treats and shit. They knew I wouldn't make a fuss, I guess. And then, ya…they, you know. Their hands would be down my pants. They'd touch themselves, too. Sometimes they would make me touch them. That kinda shit."
Would it be impolite to leave her own party? How about getting incredibly drunk? People would understand if she got drunk, right?
Adora reached for her glass and finished the last of her mystery alcohol. It burned all the way down. In a way, it reminded her that she could still feel physical sensations. That she hadn't simply evaporated into the night, no matter how much she may have wanted to.
Slayer was still going, still talking. But Adora couldn't listen. Coming into this conversation tipsy and disarmed was neither tactical nor strategic. And she just wanted to go home. If Catra didn't come back in a few minutes, she'd leave. Her tolerance for socializing had vanished at once, leaving a hollow copy of herself in its wake.
Really, she should stay. She should be grateful for the party, and the attention. She should be the upbeat conversationalist that she'd come to be known for. She should be the Princess that everyone expected. Should. Should. Should. Strange how that single word was such a competent jailer.
A weight came down on her shoulder, sending Adora to her feet. "Woah, there. Someone's a bit jumpy."
"Sunny," Adora said, blowing out a breath, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to know if you've seen Taxidermy around?" She swept her blonde braid to one shoulder and shuffled her feet. Dress shoes, military issue. She was wearing her full dress uniform and looking every bit the soldier that Adora had never quite imagined her as.
"Who's Taxidermy?"
"Brick, of course."
Adora shook her head and said, "I feel like I'm missing something. Why is he called Taxidermy?"
"Because he'll mount anything."
Adora slapped her hands over her ears and said, "Ahhh, never say anything like that to me ever again."
"Never say what again?" Brick asked as he strolled up. His suit and exposed midriff made him look so much like Bow that Adora did a double-take.
"Why we call you Taxi—"
"—Sunny," Adora warned. Her frayed nerves had eaten up all her patience. She eyed the exit, and wondered what excuse would work on these two.
"Someone's in a bit of a mood, aye? What is it? Is mom still giving you the cold shoulder? Don't worry about her, she'll come around."
"You saaaaid we might see some ghosts tonight," Lady Slayer mumbled, "So, where are they?"
Adora rubbed her temples, and replied, "Spirits, not ghosts. And they're around, trust me."
"I haven't seen a single Spirit today," Brick said, "Not one."
"Really?" She closed her eyes, and there they were. Spirits, hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. Waiting for her to reach out. It wasn't like she could see them, it was more of a feeling. The same kind of feeling as being watched, being carefully assessed. She was such an easy target. Whether she wanted it or not, her presence, by design, was well-known to Etheria. "They've been watching me all day."
"Ah, I was wondering when Adora's merry band of idiots would show up," Catra said while sliding a plate in front of Adora and then Slayer. She hung close to Adora's side, and wrapped her tail around her waist. Without having to say a word, she knew Catra was worried. She was still pissed, true, but her worry was winning this emotional war.
"That would be suuuuch a great band name," Sunny pointed out, "If this whole governance thing falls through for us, that's our backup plan."
"Well, Catra's a great singer. She could be our leading lady," Adora said while picking up a deviled egg.
"You can sing?" Brick said, cocking an eyebrow, "What a tasty nugget of information. But it makes sense."
"It does?" Now it was Catra's turn to be surprised.
"You are so over-the-top dramatic that of course you'd be our charismatic, yet deeply volatile frontman. And you have those edgy, fingerless gloves."
"I have what?" Catra scoffed, "Now, you listen here and listen good you little–"
Not particularly interested in the details of their imaginary band, Adora turned her thoughts to the Whispering Woods. To the buzz at the back of her head. Etheria was always with her, always a part of her. There was no Adora without Etheria. And the reward for knowing the planet so well was that it knew her too. But tonight it did not feel like a reward. Positive emotions flowing from the forest were few and far between. That had been true all day, but only now had she begun to appreciate the hostility radiating towards her. She closed her eyes and felt the heat of accusation burn the connection between her and Etheria. But the planet wasn't monolithic, and neither were any of its emotions. There were tendrils of appreciation and an undercurrent of love flowing towards her. Still, the animosity was hard to shake. Ever since the portal business started, the tide had begun to turn against her. And with Spirits out in full force tonight, the detachment between the two amplified.
Despite everything, she still couldn't bring herself to regret letting the Eternians through. The planet knew her, chose her. It should've known she'd never let people wither and die. In fact, it was a little ridiculous that it was still upset by the Eternians. The decision had come and gone. Wasn't it time to move forward?
She made a mental note to speak with Mara tomorrow. Maybe there was something either she or Mara could do to alleviate the tension.
"Where were you?" Catra's voice came into sharper focus, and Adora shook her head to clear her mind. "What were you just thinking about?" She brushed a strand of loose hair behind Adora's ear.
"Mara, actually."
"You know," Sunny started, "I wish I could meet Mara. Like, really meet her. Not just see her float around on occasion." Her eyes darted wildly around before she added, "Not that I mind, o'great Spirit."
Adora looked up from her food towards Sunny. Was she being genuine? Or was this some hidden joke? After too long passed, she decided to proceed with the truth. "You have."
"What? When?"
Adora gestured to herself. "Everyday."
For a group with several drunk people, things fell surprisingly silent. Finally, Brick said, "You're Mara?"
"More or less." The stained-glass windows lining the Great Hall all had something to say. An important battle, an extraordinary person, a celebrated happening. And they all had something else in common—they were the pieces of Etheria's history. They all told the unified story of their planet, their home. But they kept their individuality, no two windows were the same. She-Ra was a little bit like that, too. "Mara loved to sew, and I'm not patient enough to stay still. Akiko was a sailor, and Camile never fought in a battle. I was a child soldier, and Lucy's parents were blacksmiths. We're different in a million ways," she explained, "But we've answered every call to action. There is no cry for help that we've ignored. We'll always be the first to fight and the last to fall. When you meet…" Adora paused. Announcing the next She-Ra's name so publicly wasn't in anyone's best interest. "When you meet the next She-Ra, I think you'll see what I mean."
"...So, you get reincarnated?"
That was all Brick got out of that? "Something like that."
"You're telling me that the next She-Ra is gonna have your terrible sense of humor?" Brick said.
"We can only hope." Adora threw him a cheesy grin and took a bite of food.
"Spirits, preserve us," he muttered.
"This Mara, is she a Spirit? Did she go to the Fright Zone, too?" Lady Slayer asked, steering the conversation backwards in time. Catra tensed beside her, and they'd both somehow reached their Fright Zone tolerance capacity at the same time.
Judging by Slayer's earlier comments, she could veer out of safe territory with bludgeoning efficiency. She'd already knocked what little was left of Adora's social stamina off course. For her own sake, she had to shut this drunken interview down.
"You want a story about the Horde," Adora stated, not a question, "I don't have one. Stories, by definition, have to make some sort of sense, and with each passing year, the Horde makes less and less sense to me."
In the future, she watched herself keep talking. Her sober self would cringe at her bluntness but, ultimately, would find no fault behind the sentiment she expressed. "I don't know what you're looking for, Lady Slayer, but it isn't me. I still can't figure out what happened to me. And I won't be able to figure it out for you. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
Looking unperturbed, Slayer shrugged her shoulders and took another drink. "It happens, Princess. No hard feelings. We're fighters, not feelers." Her half-lidded eyes lazily skimmed the party and she added, "I got an idea of how to make myself feel better." Adora followed her gaze, and saw a group of women casting looks their way.
"Tomorrow I'll get someone to come and help you," Adora said. Because even if Adora couldn't shoulder this weight, someone else could.
"Thank you, Princess, thank you," Slayer said, her tone distant. She pushed off the table, and headed towards the women. She looked every bit the gallant knight with her polished armour and flowing red cape. Adora tried to pair that image with Slayer's disturbing admission from only a few minutes earlier, but she couldn't quite form these disparate experiences into a singular person.
"You've never told someone you can't help them. Not even once, in all the years I've known you," Brick said. He set his drink down and shuffled a little bit closer. Sunny and Catra exchanged looks with him that sent a prickle of anger up her spine. She didn't need to be handled with kid gloves.
"I remember the day I figured out that Shadow Weaver was a person. She was perfect before then, could do no wrong. When I realized, I think the world was ruined a little bit." The details of the day eluded her; it wasn't particularly remarkable. It was sometime during those shifting, blurring hours, and then weeks, when she'd just joined the Rebellion. "And I'm so sorry to say this, but you're gonna realize the same thing about me. Even I have my limits, even I disappoint."
"I'm not disappointed," Brick said.
"Are you sure?"
Other people's expectations of her weren't hers to bear.
She'd bear them all the same.
Brick paused, and there it was. She was right, he was disappointed. Well, he could join the ever growing line of people disappointed and disillusioned with her. "Ya, I'm sure. You just don't turn people down like that."
"For the most part, you're right." Adora sighed before continuing, "But she's been trying to talk to me all evening about the Fright Zone and…" She waited for some words of wisdom to conjure in her mind and fall effortlessly into her apprentice's waiting hands. Problem was, she first had to have something wise to say about the Fright Zone and its impact on her. But she'd lived too long to have some clever, dismissive quip at the ready. And she'd lived too short to provide any actual insight into healing a wound (problem was, the Fright Zone festered). She laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping to be calming and sincere through touch. "Brick, I just can't go there. You understand what I'm saying?"
He held her gaze, looking, looking, looking. She'd like to join him, and stare at herself. Maybe try and find the elusive truth etched in some laugh line, perhaps swimming in her irises. "I think so," he said, but his tone told her everything she needed to know. She wasn't making sense to him. Things didn't linger for the young man. It was always on to the next thing, the next girlfriend, the next boyfriend, the next fight. He would never understand that Shadow Weaver hung around. Or maybe it was her lust for power that hovered over Adora like one of Beast Island's many hungry creatures. Whatever it was, it was sitting in the next room. It was listening in. Lifelong pauses and uncomfortable, diverting eyes weren't in the cards for the Prince. And good. What had she fought so many battles for if not to save the next generation from such things? But right now, they couldn't understand each other. Everyone else in this room was the same. The cold, surprisingly clear hand of disconnect gripped her throat as she looked at other faces. She was different from them, but in the worst ways.
Sunny wasn't paying her much attention, and who could blame her? There were a million more interesting things to think about. Things like impressing the Collinder twins. "Come on, Brick. Let's go see what Pace and Lee have to say. We haven't seen them for a hot minute." He threw Adora one more curious look before getting dragged away by Sunny.
Once the two were gone, Catra struck at the heart of the issue. "What's wrong, Adora?"
Being asked so bluntly, with point blank accuracy, almost made her go on the defensive. But this was Catra. She knew everything, or would soon enough. Why hide from her oldest and closest friend? "What if these aren't my people, Catra? What if I'm supposed to be somewhere else? Be someone else?"
"Is this about Eternia?"
"Of course it's about Eternia. And it's about Etheria, too. Maybe this isn't home. Maybe I'm the odd one out, and I just never realized I'm in the wrong place. Do you know what I mean? I'm looking around now, and it's almost like I'm looking at strangers."
"Adora." Catra shook her head. "Where is this coming from? You're not just one of us. You're the best of us. Who the fuck cares if you were born on Eternia or Etheria?"
"They do," Adora said, nodding towards the crowd, "And maybe I do, too." Now the alcohol was talking, she could feel how it dulled her thoughts and loosened her lips. "This is supposed to be my party. I won. And people won't even look me in the eyes. Well, the Eternians will. They're the only ones that seem to give a damn about the joust. They're not the ones giving me the cold shoulder." Instinctively, she searched for Glimmer's pink hair and found her laughing beside Bow in a small group. Adora kept her eyes on Glimmer as she finished off the last of her alcohol.
"Can you really blame us? I mean that was fucking terrible. Every time I close my eyes, I hear your shoulder cracking. And I was sitting like a hundred yards away. I mean, what were you expecting? That Bow and Glimmer were gonna be happy that happened to Brick? He's their big baby. They've never even let him suffer through a stomachache."
Suffering was such an intense word and, yet, it had lost its meaning to Adora. The encouraged depravity of the Horde had bred suffering with enviable competency. These people didn't know what suffering was. They didn't know what it was like to have floor pulled out from under them when Shadow Weaver showed up in the middle of a training session, when she called Adora away with a single, beckoning finger, when she locked the door and told her not to tell anyone, when Adora realized that she had no one to tell.
Sometimes it was strange to think about the Horde. Sometimes it felt like a fever dream, some hazy story that belonged to the distant past. When they stood in the middle of an ornately decorated ballroom with guests, it was hard to imagine that it happened thirty years ago. And it was even harder to remember that it had happened to her.
That was suffering. Not some stupid joust that was just a game. And no one in this room, except Catra, could come close to seeing that. But, somehow, that didn't feel like the right thing to say. Instead, Adora said, "You're right and I'm wrong. Let's just move on."
"Come on." Catra bumped into Adora's side and looked up at her. "That isn't helpful and you know it. Just talk to me."
"Etheria hates me. I pissed my closest friends off. I can't connect with my parents. Finn doesn't want to talk to me. Nothing's clicking. It just hasn't felt like I belong anywhere."
"You belong with me," Catra said, "And with the kids. And the Best Friends Squad was never meant to be three people, you know? It sucked when there were only three people."
"You mean before you joined?" Adora asked with a laugh.
"The specifics don't matter. But I stand by what I said. I'm sorry that you're feeling alone. But they're just that—feelings. It's not true. You're not alone. And, ya, maybe the joust wasn't your most brilliant idea, but we still love you. Glimmer will come around. Eventually. Bow already came around. I'm getting there. Finn's just being a tween. Everything is okay or it will be." Catra nudged the plate of food closer and added, "And drinking is not going to make you feel better. In fact, it will probably make you feel worse."
Maybe but the world had dulled to a comfortable fog and the intensity of, well, everything had dialed down a notch. And it wasn't the deviled eggs producing that effect.
She put a hand on Catra's shoulder and then moved it up so it laid against her neck. The delicate sweep of her neck was always hard to ignore. Now more than ever. Adora brushed her thumb across her throat, but dropped her hand when she saw Catra's uncomfortable face. Was it too much? Too public? Too tipsy?
Surprising herself, Adora asked, "You think you've healed?"
Catra pursed her lips and considered Adora. Her mismatched eyes missed nothing, and Adora was probably no exception. But that was fine. Maybe Catra could figure out what was poisoning her mind and souring her mood. "Depends on what issue we're talking about. I've got a lot of shit that needed healing."
"The Fright Zone, I guess. Maybe Shadow Weaver more specifically. But I guess also just generally."
Catra leaned into Adora's side and sighed. "Oh, Adora." Another sigh. "I know you've been upset lately. And I know the Fright Zone has been gnawing at you. You don't know how many times I've wished I could save you from that place. Back then and now." She circled an arm around Adora's waist before continuing, "But to answer your question, I'm good. I feel put together. It took a long time. But I know that no one knows that better than you. It's been years and years of hard, shitty work. I've had so many hard looks at myself, at the damage I caused, at the abuse I suffered. We suffered. None of it has been particularly easy. And sometimes I wondered if any of it was worth it. But now I wake up every day and I can look at myself. I can believe you when you tell me that I deserve a happy life. So, yes, my ass has been kicked by life in a million different, fucked up ways. But I can look you in the eyes and tell you that I'm healed. Not some half-measure fix, either. I used to think that I'd have to carry all that shit for the rest of my life. I'd live in some gray area of never getting over it, but still being able to move on. But I don't. I'm really okay. I'm really over it. Does that make sense?"
It did. In the worst way. Because Adora did live in that gray. Catra had so eloquently put into words the very thing she feared. Adora still carried the Fright Zone - would still shoulder it into death. She had never recovered while Catra had long ago escaped that prison. Why hadn't she seen this before? Why hadn't she realized?
Adora put her fork down as her appetite dried out. "Hey, you look pale. Are you okay?" Catra asked. She put her hand on top of Adora's and moved her thumb along Adora's knuckles.
How did she even begin to describe how far from okay she was? How could she tell Catra that one foot was still in the Fright Zone? How did she admit that when their kids relied on them? On their stability? On their emotional regulation?
As if she'd thought them into existence, Finn and Reyna walked up behind Catra and wrapped their arms around her. "There you two are," Catra said, delighted, "Are you guys having a good time?"
Reyna nodded vigorously before launching into a winding, complicated explanation of the politics that lead to eventual war in Horselandia. Finn seemed engrossed in what she was saying, so did Catra. They laughed at all the right moments, causing Reyna's eyes to practically glow with excitement. And Adora couldn't even focus. Not on her daughter, not on Finn, not on Catra, not on the party. Snippets of conversation wove themselves around her, but she gave her attention to none.
"While you guys are talking, I'm gonna go find grandma and grandpa, okay? Then we can sit down to eat." Adora stayed put while she said this, not daring to get close and have her kids smell alcohol on her.
"Okay, sounds good," Reyna said, "Anyways…"
Catra's jaw tightened as she made eye contact with Adora. There was no fooling her. There was no faux graceful exit that could happen around her wife. Adora waited for some comment, but none came. She watched her family for another moment before she found a door and slipped outside.
She would find her parents. Eventually. But right now she needed a breather. She unbuttoned her uniform's tight collar, and sagged against the balcony's railing. A quick glance around told her that no one paid her any attention, and she was free to stare into the Whispering Woods.
There was something about the woods tonight, every night for months. It was holding vigil, strangely, for Adora. A witness to a witness. Every time she thought about a Horde kid dying, they died again. The woods would pause on a death and give it the reverence it'd never been given. So many children died in the Horde that their faces blurred together. Their graves turned into one grave, and she remembered how she tossed them so easily into that tangle of limbs. She'd been there, and she'd dug, and that meant something. Maybe not for the first fifty years of her life but certainly now. She made a promise, all those years ago, to each and every kid she'd carried out in a little bundle. It was never uttered, never thought, but she'd made it all the same. Someone had to remember them and that someone was her.
She hung onto Catra and the kids like she was still digging graves at midnight. She clung with the same fingers that threw those bodies. Adora looked down at her hands then. Too young. At this age, with her profession, her hands should be gnarled and scarred. They weren't, they were smooth and soft. Elegant, even. It was unfair, if she was being honest with herself. They were buried under a great tree as children, and she got magic that extended her life and vivacity. They'd never escaped. But, in some ways, neither did she. And which was worse? Joining the great Spirits of the past or living on?
Maybe things were fairer than she thought.
A strange world they lived in. It contained multitudes of opposing truths. A bloodless war. The Lost Generation being found again. Herself. She was a healer and unifier first, warrior and fighter second. But no matter what order they fell in, she frequently cut someone down only to heal them a second later. Worse still, she helped bury those kids, and didn't quite realize the Horde was evil. Training accidents happened, of course. Children got sick. Kids died all the time. And not knowing anywhere else, she'd assumed this was all normal. She couldn't know any better, right?
But there was something else. This gnawing feeling of if not here, then where? If she ran. If she and Catra ran, where exactly did they go? What exactly did they do? There were no wars in the wild, and what was a soldier supposed to do? Catra was different, still was. She would be smart enough, flexible enough to figure things out. But Adora knew war before she was a warrior. She knew war so well, so early, that she'd know it into her next life. And who was she without the fight? Who was she if not a soldier?
The terror, as she'd come to think of it in recent years, were all the vague reasons why she didn't leave the Horde sooner or see it for what it was when she had a million reasons to start questioning things. The threats against Catra loomed large in her younger self's mind, as did the moral arguments for saving Etheria from the Princesses. But so did her blooming identity's vice-like grip on being a warrior. She must've subconsciously realized there wasn't much else out there for her.
In the end, she stayed for eighteen years. Did it really matter why? The effect was the same. She could've run; she didn't. She could've protected Catra; she didn't do that either. She could've spoken up about the dead children; she kept her mouth shut. And here she was, still thinking about it. Still trying to figure out what this strange emotion picking away at her was.
Grief felt like the right word. But it belonged to the wrong person. This wasn't her own grief, it would never be. It belonged to Etheria, mostly. And if the dead were still around, it certainly belonged to them. Her grief was reserved for survivors. It was reserved for her mother and her father. For Catra and for She-Ra. And it went like this: why did the things that happened have to happen? On a night like this, when the Spirits prowled around in open sight, this felt especially difficult to wrestle with. Surely the world could've fundamentally changed had it wanted to. The Spirits knew more than they ever let on, could do more than they'd ever do.
What cruelty led to Queen Evangeline's coup? What violent intention bred the Evil Horde? And why hadn't anyone done anything to stop it?
She closed her eyes, and a soaring tree waited in her thoughts. It'd come before. A flash of a memory when she caught sight of a similar looking tree. And it was beautiful, that was the thing. That was the hang up. It should've been ugly and repulsive. But its branches reached out like long comforting arms, and its trunk was bigger than some houses. It leafed out every Spring, and its light green coloring somehow thrived in the Fright Zone. In fact, that might've been the only tree in the whole place. A couple times, when she was young, she wondered how it stayed alive with the smog and bleaching chemicals. She stopped wondering the day she helped bury some kids under it.
"I get these moods, too," her mother said from somewhere behind her. Adora turned just in time to see her settle against the railing, "Yer father doesn't quite get it Not many do, I'd guess. But I had 'em since I was a little girl. Even my ma would comment on it. 'Such a sad little girl,' she'd say, 'And ya have nothing to be sad about.'" Her mom looked at her with a soft smile painted across her face. "And I guess I gave 'em to ya."
"I'm not sad. What makes you think that anyways?"
"Dear, yer all alone on a balcony at yer own party while yer wife and kids are dancin' in another room."
Adora went back to searching the forest for movement. "Maybe you have a point." And what else was there to say? Perhaps they'd run out of everything but the truth. So maybe it was time to start there. "I keep thinking about a tree. I can't quite shake it. It's a tree that anyone but me would never pay a second thought to."
Her mother rubbed a hand over one of Adora's arms, which propelled her to keep talking. "It's all part of this strange thing that's happening to me. I remember a word here, a word there. And now I'm remembering a tree. And every time I think about it, I think about burning it down. But I know I shouldn't try to find it. I know it should be left alone. You know? For the dead. They don't have anything else. And I put them there. Most of the time they were wrapped in a green sheet or blue blanket. I don't know how they died but I could guess. And sometimes—"
"Natalia," her mother whispered out, "Adora. Please. I can't hear about this. I'm so sorry, dear. I just…can't."
Adora was good with people. She had a million ideas and ways to forge a relationship. And not one of those would get her through the rest of this conversation.
Perhaps, somehow, she did understand her mother's point. In the deepest, most emphatic reaches of her heart, she understood how her mom couldn't hear about the Fright Zone. How she couldn't bear the weight of knowing what happened to her daughter. The worst, most cynical part of her, wondered how they could ever have a deep relationship if they faltered so easily when it came to the hard stuff.
"I understand, Mom." She vowed, then and there, to store the Fright Zone far from her parents.
So she looked for something else, some other connection. In her mother's face, maybe there was some common ground they could find. But there was nothing. At forty-eight, she was learning a lesson. Or maybe she'd known it all along. There were countless ways to be alienated from someone, and precious few bridges between people.
"There you are," Catra greeted from somewhere behind her. "I thought you'd be back to eating by now." She slung an arm around Adora's waist and smiled up at her. "Hannah. Good to see you. Reyna couldn't stop talking about how much fun she had dancing with you. She's still in there trying to practice the steps you showed her."
Something passed between Catra and her mom then. Something indecipherable to Adora. but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "Such a darlin'. I'll go an' show her the rest of the dance. And then I'll save ya two a seat for dinner." Her mom patted Adora's arm before turning to leave, and then it was just her and Catra.
"Hey Adora." Catra stepped away but sandwiched one of Adora's hands carefully between her own. The warmth coming off Catra sent goosebumps up her arm, causing her to move forward, to be a little closer. "Tell me what's wrong?"
Where did she begin? How could she tell Catra that the world was pouring over her like acid rain? Despite her best efforts to remain calm, tears began collecting in her eyes. She rubbed at an eye with her free hand and let out a shaky breath. "I, uhhh, I'm not like you."
"And thank goodness for that," Catra said, with a smile that didn't quite work.
Adora sniffled hard before tears began to glide down her cheeks. All she had to do was speak the truth. Nothing more and nothing less. "I'm not healed, Catra. It didn't happen for me. And I don't know what to do about that." She opened her mouth again, but there was nothing more to be said.
She could tell Catra wasn't expecting that. And she knew why. Out of the Best Friends Squad, out of the many orbiting people in their life, Adora was their immovable center. She was the planner, she was the inspiration, she always knew what to do. And she'd come up short, she'd come up speechless, and now what?
"We'll…we'll get you there," Catra vowed, "We'll do whatever it takes. We can travel the galaxy again. We'll take the kids. And we'll fix this."
"It's been thirty years, Catra. Everything that can be fixed, has been fixed." She had to whisper these words; her voice was going.
"You can't believe that. You. Out of everyone. You don't just give up like that." Now a few tears fell down Catra's face. "Do you remember what I told you at the Heart? You're still that stubborn person. I have never seen you quit anything and you better not start with yourself."
With age was supposed to come wisdom, but she felt like the exact same young woman who'd faded at the Heart. The same one who faltered, who almost let go. But that also meant she was the same person who'd crawled back to the living, who'd rejected the abyss, who'd decided to live. "You were right about me. Back then. And I hope you're right about me now."
Hopelessness had always been her worst enemy, her smartest rival. It matched her blow for blow, and had never quite been defeated. One day, when she was in her early twenties, a strange epiphany rolled over her. With the certainty of the rising sun, she knew she wasn't going to live to see thirty. It wasn't true, of course. She knew that now. But that certainty was hard to shake. Out of all the supposed destinys in the world, this one caught her with its simplicity and possibility. How many didn't think they'd live to see the future? How many were right? And when those thoughts came, they were hard to kill. She circled back around to that sinking feeling time and time again, rain or shine.
And then Catra was hugging her and some hopelessness left for the day. Strange how she couldn't chase that emotion off by herself, but Catra could get rid of it without a single word. Adora wrapped her tight and nestled into her neck. "You should take a few days off work. I will too," Catra breathed into her ear, "And we can figure this out. We can fix it. I promise."
"Right now is a terrible time to take off work. With everything going on with Tirik and the Eternians and–"
"-So?" Catra asked, pulling back so they could see each other's face, "That stuff doesn't hold a candle to making sure you're okay. It's just a job. Our family is my priority, and that includes you. Okay?"
"Okay." Someone's booming laugh carried in from the party, reminding her of why she was out here in the first place. "Are you still mad at me?"
"No, don't even worry about that. Just…just don't play that stupid sport again. Please. I can't bear watching you get hurt."
"As you wish, Princess," Adora said before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Well, jousting was fun while it lasted. And, come to think of it, she would be ending her career with a perfect win ratio.
"Now, come on. We gotta get back in there or Reyna will get pissed that we took too long out here. She is dying to tell you all about Horselandia, you know."
"How many times can these horses go to war, make up, and backstab each other?"
"Almost as many times as our friend group," Catra said while lacing their hands together and pulling Adora towards the door.
"Huh." Adora scratched at her chin and contemplated that one.
Later that night, when everyone was finishing dinner, a chill descended upon her despite her heavy uniform. She shivered at the temperature drop, and turned to ask Catra if she felt it too, but a guard moving quickly through the partygoers caught her attention. He stopped in front of another guard. Then they both approached the Captain in charge of securing the feast, and all three bowed their heads close together. Other guards around the perimeter brought up their weapons, and began shifting to the massive door leading from outside the castle into the Great Hall.
Adora stood. Something was wrong, or at the very least, suspicious. She went around the side of their table, and felt goosebumps begin to prickle up. Without trying, her magic traveled through her until she shook with the power surge and she shifted into She-Ra. Candles and torches waved as she sucked in the room's energy. She checked under one of her white gloves and found her skin glowed with blue First Ones writing.
Her magic triggering involuntarily and it coming on so intensely could only mean that a Spirit was nearby. A powerful one. "Adora, what–?"
The doors to the Great Hall slammed open, their hinges squealing at the stress. The lights in the corridor leading to the banquet room flickered a few times before blowing out completely. Guards, with their swords and laser guns raised, started to rush over but they'd do nothing against a Spirit. "Hold," she commanded, lifting a hand to stop them. They stopped and looked over their shoulders at her, eyes wide. These were some of her best soldiers and she could see them shaking. A high-pitched screech interrupted whatever command was coming out next. She gritted her teeth at the noise—metal on stone. In the darkened corridor, sparks flew as some weapon dragged along the stonework.
"Spirit," she called over the noise, "Why are you here? You know this isn't a fight you can win." The noise and the sparks stopped suddenly, but the clop of hooves against the ground was clear as ever. It moved closer, the looming shadow barely visible in the darkness.
Fire ignited in a long, thin line and illuminated the side of a white horse and armoured hand. It must've been a flaming sword. It kept moving forward deliberately, drawing closer. The rattle of the horse's bit and saddle echoed in the banquet room. Reyna whimpered somewhere behind her and cold fear constricted Adora's throat. Her kids, her wife, her friends. All here. All vulnerable.
She summoned the Sword of Protection and stepped forward. "Leave now, Spirit. This is not your place."
"It's not yours either," a familiar voice said. A very familiar voice. Was that-?
Out of the dark stepped a white stallion, frothing at the bit, and herself. Long blonde hair, longer than hers was now, flowed down the other Adora's shoulders and back. A golden crown sat upon her head, a halo-like thing that drew one's eye to her porcelain face. Her robes, dyed in rich purples, were that of a Queen. A long, white scar, like a lightning strike, ran from her jawline up to her left eyebrow.
A guard ran up with her sword at the ready. The other Adora stopped her horse and watched the approaching guard with...amusement? "Wait!" Adora yelled. Too little, too late.
The guard got within a sword's distance, and then she was tumbling through the air. Adora blinked once, twice. Her mind struggled to put the pieces together; it all happened so fast. A streak of movement from the other Adora was all she could picture. The crack of magic confirmed that the Spirit had blown the guard back with superhuman speed and magical prowess.
The guard collided with a table, knocking it and various foods to the floor with thunderous clatter. She groaned and began to pick herself off the ground. Alive. Moving. It didn't look like she was bleeding. This wasn't an evil Spirit. An evil Spirit would've broken the guard's neck, would've opened an artery, would've caved her head in.
Three other guards rushed towards the Spirit, weapons raised and aimed. "Stop!" Adora yelled, and all three paused. Satisfied they wouldn't attack anymore, Adora stepped carefully towards her doppelgänger.
"Speak, Spirit. I know you mean no harm."
"Not to them," the other Adora said in the ancient tongue. It clicked at its horse, and the pair moved towards Adora with a disconcerting clink of equipment. Something was wrong with the horse. White froth dripped from its mouth, its sides were lathered with sweat, and its eyes rolled in a frenzied haze. It bucked slightly under the other Adora, its nervous hooves tapping loudly against the stone path.
"Child of war," the Spirit started, "You were born during a war, you will die during one. That is your destiny, don't make it Etheria's."
Able to recover slightly from her astonishment, Adora asked, "What do you mean?"
"This thing, this hate, this war. It's not ours, Eternian. You're bringing it down on top of us. You'll crush this whole planet. Go back to your people and leave us be."
"I would never do that," Adora said, meaning every word, "I would never harm Etheria."
The Spirit swung its sword upwards until the tip was a breath away from Adora's neck. Heat from the sword's fiery aura lapped at her face, and a bead of sweat rolled down her temple. The crowd gasped, and every single guard shifted closer. The fuse on this situation grew shorter by the second. This Spirit might not be evil, but it wasn't necessarily good either. She had to get it out of here. And fast.
"What you fear, Adora, you will become."
The sword's fire roared forth, crackling now and licking upwards with an intensity that made Adora flinch. She expected, implicitly, for the fire to stop at the hilt but it started burning higher. First the Spirit's sleeve became engulfed, and then its robes. The smell of burnt hair was overwhelming, and it was easy to see why—the Spirit's braid disappeared into the roaring flame. She should've raced to put out the fire, beaten it out with her cloak, gotten a bucket of water. Instead, she watched herself burn.
The Spirit wheeled its horse around and dug its heels into the stallion's side. The pair shot out of the room, the horse's hoofbeats echoing ceaselessly around the room. Should she follow it? No, something told her not to. It probably wanted Adora to give chase, and then what? Where would it lead? So, she ran over to a nearby floor-to-ceiling window, and watched the flaming rider gallop across the castle grounds and disappear into the woods.
She shifted back into her regular form and turned to the dead silent room. All eyes were on her, waiting to embody the appropriate feeling depending on Adora's disposition. Finn and Reyna huddled close to Catra. Their eyes were like saucers, and their fur was poofed out to twice their size.
Okay, so, showtime.
Adora conjured the biggest smile she could pull off and flashed it with enthusiastic abandon to the waiting crowd. "The Spirits are really rowdy tonight, folks. That was just a prankster, nothing to worry about. You know how they can be on the Day of Restoration. That one was just having a little bit of fun."
For some reason, people believed her. Probably they wanted her words to be true, so they didn't think too hard about the situation. She imagined the collective thought of: 'If She-Ra thinks things were okay, they probably are.' The tense shoulders went loose, and the bright eyes dulled as the situational sobriety faded. The music came back on, and the Spirit pause was surprisingly unimportant. And everyone was back at it, like nothing had ever happened. Adora rubbed at her eyes, wondering if she'd hallucinated how quickly the party pivoted back to being a party. But it was real. Not for the first time, she marveled at how quick people were to bury the uncomfortable. She'd seen it all before; she was made up of uncomfortable things. Things like being a First One and coming from the Horde. Things that were hard to talk about so they weren't.
How exactly had a Spirit infiltrated the most secure building on Etheria? How did its weapon get so close to She-Ra? As it turned out, drinking another glass of ale was much easier than thinking about these questions. In some ways, she envied those who could ignore their natural alarm bells.
The only person, of course, who didn't immediately forget the flaming Spirit was Catra. As soon as Adora sat down, her wife shot her an alarmed look as she scooted closer. "What did it want?" Catra hissed under her breath, "What's the problem?"
"I, uhhh, I think the problem might be me."