The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Andrei

Six weeks had passed since my first appearance before the people of Oskari, and it was six weeks filled with unexpected attention. The women in particular had taken a special interest in my counseling services, and I was beginning to doubt it had anything to do with the content of my sermons.

"He's always dragging mud all over the floor. Is it really so difficult to put the shoes on the fur? No, it isn't. I should have said this in our wedding vows."

"I understand your frustration, madam," I replied, no longer able to conceal the rote of the phrase. "If not on the fur, where does your husband place his shoes?"

The woman blew aside a strand of hair while I resisted the urge to wipe the spittle from my face.

"On the left side of the door," she said.

"And the pelt is… in front of the door?"

"No, then he'd always be tripping on it. The fur is to the right of the door."

"I see, then I'd perhaps suggest placing the pelt on the left side."

Like so many before, the woman neglected to think her concern all the way through, and like so many before, I offered obvious advice and polite encouragement to leave my office. On the other side of the door, a line of twenty women—and two men—waited.

The next to enter took her seat on the opposite side of my desk.

"What troubles you, madam?"

"It's my husband."

Of course it is, I thought. "What about your husband, madam?"

The woman smiled, ineffectively coy as she adjusted her homespun dress at the bust. "I'm worried he no longer finds me attractive. We've not made love in two moons."

"Have you spoken to your husband on the matter?"

The woman nodded. "He always says he's tired."

"If he shows affection in other ways, have you considered the possibility that he is simply tired? What does your husband do for a living?"

"Do you find me attractive, Brother Strauss? You must be so lonely," she said.

In fact, I was quite the opposite of lonely. I wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

"Well, no, actually, I—"

"You must have desires. I'd like to share mine with you."

While I'd already suspected many of the townspeople were interested in my physical appearance more so than my advice, none had been so brazen as this one. I wasn't impressed. There were important matters to attend. All the recent changes in my life and the newfound attention was beginning to wear me down. I was beginning to feel frustrated while I struggled to find the proper words to say, or the correct way to behave. I extinguished the candle on my desk with my fingers to avoid any unfortunate accidents.

"My only desire, madam, is to see to the well-being of Oskari, so unless the fate of our village depends on whether you and your husband copulate..."

"Forget him." The woman rose from the chair, leaning forward across the desk. A fantastic method of drawing attention to her bosom, if only I were interested. I winced when a stack of books toppled over in the process. Turning my face from the stench of her breath, I plotted my escape to the door. It would be narrow.

"You appear to be making your intentions rather clear, but I—"

The woman pressed a finger to my lips. This had to stop, and as if my rear had been set aflame by the goddess of elements herself, I leaped from my chair and moved to the door in three determined strides. There was no advice, nor any polite encouragement.

Across the threshold, those who waited did so with varying degrees of patience.

"If I could have your attention a moment." I raised my voice above the rest. A sea of compliant brown eyes settled upon me. "We are often guilty of creating our own distress. In cases like these, I urge you to take a step back in search of a new perspective. If you desire mediation, I'm pleased to assist. Upon appointment. If you face an urgent crisis of faith or a matter of grief, I am glad to offer my counsel. To those who mourn the loss of livestock as a result of acts of nature, you should perhaps consider an initiative to produce higher quality stabling. For now, please return to your homes. I've seen as many as I can."

The Church of Oskari was the only remaining building in the village funded by Palisade and serviced by Partisans. Once upon a time, the church housed a parish of thousands, but a decline over the last four centuries reduced it to a shadow of that. Once there had been tourists and pilgrims aplenty. Now there remained only residents without reason to believe in miracles.

However, instead of restoring their faith, I was gradually killing the parish plant life. I was a terrible gardener, and as I tended to that part of my daily duties, I dreamed of the day the Father would assign me a task less murderous. He never did.

While I watered too frugally—or too generously, perhaps—I thought of my companions back at Palisade. I wondered, with a vague sense of fear, what shenanigans Finlay and Sinclair were getting up to. I considered the outcome of the Commander's deployment to the northern territory of Endica—a fate I was glad, while also feeling guilty, to have escaped. On that dreary autumn day, I pondered what I should write in a letter.

"Is everyone still alive?" Or, "Why yes, I am doing well here in Oskari, where the only concern is that of being assaulted in the night by a herd of dissatisfied women."

I suspected Commander Reider would arrange a job in Oskari so the ladies would flock to him instead. This could work in my favour. As for the others, Finlay would be unable to respond due to laughter, and Sinclair would be unable to respond due to illiteracy.

Sinclair—it was because of me she was still trapped at Palisade. She never would have had to lie to the Assembly on my behalf if I'd been able to control myself that day in Delphia. She was counting on me, and I'd let her down.

But whose fault was that, actually? If I'd have been accepted for who—for what—I was, I would have been equipped with the tools needed to manage my power and to better understand my emotions. I wouldn't have been locked in a cage for half a decade. I wouldn't have had to wallow in the fear, the shame, and the guilt until I was forced to forget how to feel altogether.

My cheeks burned as I paced the rooftop, considering the pitiful plants that wilted under my care. I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to put them all out of their misery. The flower boxes would shatter so easily beneath the crushing weight of my fists. In a second, it would be over, and I might feel better afterward. Or I might fail at that too, and rather than soothing myself, I'd only end up with painful splinters. That seemed more likely. My heart rate quickened, and I forced myself into the breathing exercise I'd come to rely on. In, and out, and in, and out. I needed something to channel my energy.

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I looked around until I saw it. The ceramic watering pot. I would say it was an accident—it would be believable. After all, everything I did was an accident. I was an accident. I picked it up by its handle and sent the pot crashing to the ground, sucking in a deep breath as it shattered into a thousand pieces. It was a deep breath I should have held until I collapsed and died, because upon exhale, the temperature around me dropped significantly and the puddle of water froze at my feet.

Having been so consumed by self pity, I hadn't heard anyone climbing the ladder, and by the time the hatch creaked open, it was too late. When Father Belaia stepped out onto the rooftop, he slipped on the patch of ice and landed flat on his buttocks. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or throw myself off the roof, but it was the shock I needed to regain control. I never meant to hurt anyone. I didn't want to hurt anyone.

My heart rate steadied, and the temperature around us slowly returned to normal.

I offered my hand and my deepest apologies.

Once the Father recovered from the unexpected spill and the puzzling circumstances around it, he chuckled. "Even if my frail old bottom doesn't have the padding it once did to withstand such an incident, it isn't me you should worry about. You have received an unprecedented reception from the locals, Brother Strauss, but I doubt if any of them have seen a Celestian Partisan, let alone what they are capable of. Your physical appearance intrigues them, but it in itself cannot harm them. I simply do not wish for a similar, less isolated accident to spread fear."

"I'm not certain the positive reception is for the right reasons. My unique appearance might intrigue certain people, but has done little for my popularity with their partners."

The Father smiled. "You have yet to be pelted with cow excrement. Believe me, this is a positive thing. The people of Oskari survive under difficult conditions. You open their minds and bring hope to those struggling to see forward. You provide a new perspective."

Using my own words against me was an effective tactic, and when there seemed to be nothing more to say on the subject, the Father informed me of the reason he'd climbed a rickety ladder all the way to the roof yet nearly died on a patch of ice. I had a visitor.

Councilwoman Zelda Faust—a woman with the strength to break a boulder beneath her late middle-aged fists, and I mean this quite literally. She was the one who risked her position as one of the most influential people in the world in order to advocate for my life. She'd jeopardized her reputation and her faith, and she'd done it all for a mongrel under unprecedented circumstances. I hadn't expected to see her again so soon.

"Father Belaia tells me you adjust well, does he exaggerate?"

"It might be more accurate to say I adjust."

She nodded once. "Enough to relax my conscience."

The Councilwoman did not sit when I offered. She preferred to stand at ease by the window, looking out over the village. She'd brought with her a large, unmarked crate.

"Has something happened at Palisade?" I asked.

"No, but it's time we touch on a topic that's been avoided for far too long."

As Sinclair would say, I did the eyebrow thing.

"Your father was one of my finest charges," she continued. "He was an odd-looking man, but most would forget after he charmed their wits away. He was thoughtful and he was a brave warrior. Far too kind, much too generous. Although he often indulged in the drink—a Strachan influence, no doubt."

The Councilwoman was correct. We'd never truly spoken about my parents before that day. Everything I'd learned had come from the rumour mill and it was rarely encouraging.

"Your father broke loose of the reins I held too tightly." The Councilwoman paused for a moment's thought. "Had I cut him some slack, I often wonder if he might still be alive."

This may sound insensitive, but I'd never had an overwhelming desire to know about my mother and father. They'd left me nothing but the legacy of an affair resulting in years of confinement—an abomination now forced to hide behind the walls of a church.

"Your mother and Councilwoman Oranen—they were cousins, did you know?"

I certainly did not know I was so closely related to the one who had voted in favour of my execution.

"They were cousins," Faust continued, "and this perhaps plays a part in her vitriolic disposition toward you. Your mother was beautiful, she was powerful, and she was envied. Despite this, she shielded her insecurities with false confidence—her downfall, I've often thought."

"Why are you telling me this now? Are you ill?"

The Councilwoman smiled. "In fact, I've never felt better."

While she may have been trying to reassure me, the surrounding circumstances did nothing but disturb me.

Faust reached into her pocket and produced an intricate steel key, dangling from a sturdy chain. "This key was recovered in your parents' possession upon their deaths. We believe they were unsuccessful in locating the lock. Now I leave the key to you. Your instructions and a practical gift are in the crate. Lose the key and your best is hope is that you do not live to confess it. Are we understood?"

Hardly, I thought.

"Yes," I said.

It was as if I'd wandered on the set of a Delphi production, or as if I'd fallen asleep while deeply engrossed in a fiction novel. The mighty hero's quest, and mighty I was not.

Even after Councilwoman Faust was gone, I couldn't bring myself to open the box right away. I paced, and then I sat, and then I stood only to start pacing again.

What would I stand to gain by investigating the origin of the key? If I failed, would I pay the same price my parents had? Perhaps there was no lock at all. I considered it could be nothing more than a clever distraction—an impossible puzzle to channel my focus lest I accidentally set the village on fire.

"Hey, Strauss," said the box. "I'm starting to feel a bit woozy in here. Reckon you could do me a solid and pop me open?"

The voice was unmistakable. I rushed to the box and pried the lid off.

Feargus Finlay emerged with a characteristic grin. His cheeks were flushed but his hair was no messier than any other day. "It's been a while! How are you, mate?"

I had no words, but it hardly mattered. My companion had plenty for the both of us.

"Wait, never mind," he said. "There's really only one way to be when you're about to go on a treasure hunt. Ready to get started?"

A Strachan in a box. A practical gift, indeed.