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Golden

In the dark of destruction, nothing is more vile than light.

By Staci TroiloPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
18

At the forest’s edge, Axel hid behind an overgrown yew, searching for patrolling sentries or bands of renegades.

All clear.

That didn’t mean they weren’t there. Best to wait for nightfall before leaving the cover of the trees.

After making himself as comfortable as possible, he ate his last apple and finished his water. Not nearly sated, he peered between branches.

His war-weary eyes welcomed the sight of a weathered sliding board. It stood tall and proud in the late afternoon sun, the last soldier in a defeated army of fallen playground equipment. Why had nobody cannibalized it? The swings, seesaws, merry-go-round, and spring riders had been stripped to supports. Even the climbers had been dismantled, the pieces probably used as clubs or shivs.

Childhood memories surfaced—him and Ezra playing there until fireflies flickered and streetlights shone. His thoughts quickly turned to Dylan. Of a childhood stolen before it began.

Axel clutched the heart-shaped locket around his neck. It had once been his mother’s, a beloved trinket holding pictures of her sons. The war had begun and resources were scarce by the time his wife conceived, so Mom gave her the necklace as a token of congratulations. After Carrie died in childbirth, he put a picture of her in one side and Dylan in the other.

The locket was the only personal item he took with him when conscripted.

His father wanted to use his connections so Axel could avoid serving, but he refused. He was honored to do his duty for the cause. Mom was scared but proud. Dad and Ezra considered him foolish and didn’t bother seeing him off.

Axel left Dylan with his mother, vowing to win the war quickly then return.

He received three messages from his father before cell service was lost.

Your brother’s been drafted.

Your mother and son have been killed.

I’m hiding Ezra. I’ll hide you, too. Come home.

That was ten years and one leg ago.

The sun slunk beneath the horizon, blushing before it hid for the night. Purple shadows crept across the playground, spectral fingers groping at Axel.

He scratched his stump—rubbing a phantom cramp in his nonexistent calf—then used his walking stick to help him stand.

Time to go home.

###

Rockford looked exactly as he remembered. And nothing like it used to.

Row houses stood so close, neighbors could pass cups of sugar through open windows.

Some things never changed.

But other things did. No one sat on porches, tended to landscaping, or washed cars in driveways. Hell, no one dared light a lamp.

A neighborhood that wasn’t neighborly. What did that make it, exactly?

He grew up in the house at the apex of the cul-de-sac at the top of a hill—in the community, yet set apart. There were no window-to-window exchanges with people next door because there wasn’t anyone there.

Axel never thought of himself as above the rest of the town, but as he climbed the hill toward home—or as Dad called it, Hale Manor—he began to see some glaring disparities between his family and other Rockfordites.

Now, the most notable difference was his father brashly turned on his lights. Several, based on the bright glow coming from the living room windows.

The shuffle-clunk, shuffle-clunk of his boot and walking stick cut through the too-silent night. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d have laughed at the absurdity—his maiming hardly made him the embodiment of Hale privilege.

His leg screamed as he crested the hill. The house was darker now, just a single lamp burned. Still, someone was there to greet him. If he made it. Every step was sheer torture, his leg and arm quivering under his bodyweight.

Sweat-soaked, he reached the door. Finding it locked—as it should be—he knocked, his key long since lost.

“It’s past curfew.”

Axel would know his father’s baritone anywhere, though it had aged a decade and was muffled through the wood. Fighting tears, he cleared his throat. “It’s me.”

A second’s pause stretched to infinity before the locks clicked in quick succession. The door flung open.

“Axel?” Dad looked like a feeble old man, but he yanked Axel into a bone-crushing embrace. They stood in the threshold, rocking, sobbing. Holding each other up as they released a decade of resentment.

“Close the door before someone sees!”

He knew that voice, too. Extricating himself from his father, he easily looked over the aged man’s bent form to meet Ezra’s heated gaze.

Stepping to the side so his father could shut them in, Axel never took his attention from his younger brother. Gone were the wide-eyed innocence, the laugh lines, the soft hands and lanky body of youth. In their place was nothing but hardness—the height and breadth of a man who knew hard work, the shrewd stare and clenched jaw of one who trusted nobody.

Dad flicked the locks with practiced swiftness.

“So, the prodigal son returns,” Ezra said.

Axel shook his head. “Still not a scholar, huh?”

His brother’s eyebrows arched.

“I didn’t leave to take liberties, Ezra. I left to fight for them. For you. For Dad. For… everyone.”

“Were you going to say for the son you abandoned? Dylan and Mom would be alive if not for you leaving them unprotected.”

Axel lunged forward, brandishing his walking stick. It wouldn’t be a fair fight. Ezra had two legs to stand on and five years’ youth on his side. But none of that mattered in the face of honor.

Before Axel could defend his family, Dad jumped between them, arms outstretched. “That’s enough. You two didn’t act like this when you were children. You won’t start now. Not under my roof.”

“You haven’t run Hale Manor in ten years,” Ezra said.

“As long as I’m patriarch of this family, I’m in charge. Get Axel something to eat.”

“Prodigal son,” he muttered on his way out.

Axel limped to the sofa, then sank into the cushions with a sigh. “He’s grown spoiled.”

“He’s grown. Always been spoiled. My fault, I suppose.”

Couldn’t argue that. “Awfully bold to have lights on, Dad.”

“We’re protected. There’s a lot you don’t understand.”

“Tell me you didn’t bribe an overlord.”

“Not exactly.”

“I gave my leg battling them. Mom and Dylan gave their lives. My wife died because we couldn’t get to a hospital. And you rolled over rather than fight back?”

“It’s not that simple.”

Axel struggled to stand. “It's a matter of principles or power. I chose the former. You chose the latter. And I lost everything while you’ve been living in luxury. Look outside. Do you see any neighbors with lights? How many Rockfordites live fear-free?”

Ezra returned with a tray laden with bread, fruit, and water. “Leaving so soon?”

“He’s staying.”

“No, I don’t think I can.”

Dad shook his head. “Where will you go?”

They both knew he had nowhere else.

“Ezra, make sure Axel has fresh sheets and towels. And get him some of your clothes.”

His brother’s jaw ticked, then he stormed off.

Axel glared at his father. “You betrayed me.”

“There are extenuating circumstances.”

“Better dead than a turncoat.”

“Let me explain.”

His blood surged with righteous indignation and abject fury, but his head swam. He’d rationed his food for so long, traveled so far. He was weak, tired, malnourished. It had taken everything he had to get home—he had no strength left to storm out.

Dad gave him a gentle shove.

Axel dropped onto the sofa. The scent of warm bread wafted to him from the tray on the table. His willpower snapped, and he dug into the meager meal.

“If it were just me, son, I’d agree with you. After losing your mother and Dylan, I understood why you fought. I almost enlisted myself.”

He glared at his father over the rim of his cup.

“Family means everything, son.”

“Then you—” Axel whipped his head around at the sound of a baby crying. “Dylan?”

Ezra came into the room cradling an infant.

That was his son’s blanket—the one Mom had knitted for him—but his baby had been born a decade ago.

And Dylan wasn’t alive.

Axel swallowed past a lump in his throat.

“No,” Ezra said. “This is my son. Zain.”

“Your son?”

His brother nodded.

“Wow. I… congratulations.”

“See?” Dad said. “Family.”

“Can I hold him?”

Ezra hesitated, then stepped forward.

Axel smiled and held out his arms. Until he saw the golden color of the baby’s skin.

He snatched his walking stick, lurched to his feet. “Traitor! You… mated with one of them? They’re trying to obliterate us!” Axel lunged for the little half-breed monster, but Ezra turned, yanking Zain from his reach. His fingers barely grazed the baby blanket as his father tackled him to the couch.

Axel bellowed and bucked as he fought to get free. It didn’t matter if it was half-Hale. It was also half-alien. And he’d sworn to avenge his family and kill them all.

A glow appeared in the hallway, then the room grew intensely bright. He shaded his eyes. The light was so brilliant, it hurt his ears and rattled his bones.

“Stop, Imara!” Ezra yelled. “You’ll alert them!”

The vibration halted, the sound died. The radiance dimmed, though the room stayed bright.

Because of her.

A golden… woman stroked the cooing baby in Ezra’s arms. “I’m sorry, my husband. I thought to stop the fighting before your brother got hurt.”

Axel shook his head. “I don’t want one of your kind doing me any favors.”

“We aren’t all bad.”

He scoffed.

Imara bent to retrieve his locket, torn loose in the scuffle. She traced the heart before opening it. “Your family’s lovely.”

“Give me that!” He lunged for it.

Ezra slapped his hand. “Settle down. The necklace was Mom’s. If Carrie can’t have it, she’d want Imara to.”

Axel tried to get up again, but he’d lost his stick and sprawled on the floor.

Someone pounded on the door. “Open on the authority of the High Council!”

Dad wheeled around. “They saw the light! Hide!”

“It’s too late.” Ezra cradled his son tighter.

Axel rolled from his stomach, then scooted back against the wall.

“I’ll take care of it. Stay behind me.” Imara walked to the door. She opened it a crack, but two blindingly golden sentries barged in. Her spine stiffened, and she lifted her chin. “What gives you the right to enter?”

“We’re checking on a disturbance. Who are you to bar our entry?”

“Chancellor of this district.”

The guards looked at each other, then at her. “We’re new to this command, Chancellor. Do you have your edict?”

She produced credentials from her pocket. While one studied them, the other eyed the locket. Imara frowned but handed it over. He snatched it and grinned.

“And this Earth scum?” the first asked.

“My servants.”

“One’s hobbled.”

“How I punish the disobedient is my business. Don’t you have rounds to make?”

“We won’t be far, Chancellor. Have a good evening.”

After they left, she locked the door behind them.

Axel scrabbled onto the sofa, then hung his head. “Are you satisfied, Ezra? They truly have taken everything from me. Now I don’t even have a photo of my wife or son.”

A warmth spread through his back. He looked up.

Imara lightly gripped his shoulder.

He recoiled from her touch.

She held her fist in front of him. “Give me your hand.”

“No.”

His father nudged him.

Axel sighed and extended his hand, palm up.

Imara dropped the two pictures from the locket into it. “You had a lovely wife and son. But you still have a beautiful family, if you wish to be a part of it. I will not force you. But you are welcome.” She looked at her husband.

Ezra slowly approached.

Axel stared at him, then reached up. His brother placed the baby in his arms, and he cradled Zain against his chest.

Short Story
18

About the Creator

Staci Troilo

Staci's love for writing is only surpassed by her love for family and friends, and that relationship-centric focus is featured in her work, regardless of the genre she's currently immersed in. https://stacitroilo.com

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