Bigger than Ourselves

The streets of my slum town are anything but cheery. Oil puddles fill the alleyways, and I do my best not to step in them as I duck in and out of the shadows.

Not many people are out, especially not at this time of night. Candles light a few windows, flickering like tiny beacons in the dark. For a small moment, I wish the fire were bigger so that I could have the pleasure of warming my hands.

“Please, neighbor, spare a coin for a starving friend,” says a raspy voice from my feet. I look down at the man, huddled in a wool blanket. He shivers. His eyes are black as the oil spills, his hair and ashy gray. “Please. I’m not sure I have the strength to move on.”

“I’m about as unlucky as you, my friend.” It’s true, a lot of people here are starving. But at least I’m not this man.

“Oh.” His voice is barely audible.

“But today is your lucky day. I just so happened to get paid today.” Reaching into my pocket, I gently press a small, copper coin into his boney hand. “I wish I could offer you more, but I have family at home to take care of.”

“I understand.” His voice rises, his spirits rising with it. “Oh, bless you! Thank you, young man!”

I nod, moving along the street away from the man. It isn’t long before I sense someone following me.

I quicken my pace, my hand flying to the gun hidden under my coat. No. I won’t use it unless I really have to.

My pursuer is fast. Nimble, almost inaudible footsteps dart in and out of alleyways that I pass. Bless my stars, though, there’s only one of them. A small figure, I gather by quick glances. Maybe a child. Even more reason not to use the gun.

There is a small yell and my pursuer kicks me in the backs of my knees, sending me to the ground. I tuck and roll, standing to my feet when I feel that I’m a safe distance away.

The figure comes at me. They try to grab me, but I beat them to it, grabbing both of their wrists. Before they know it, their arms are twisted around them and they’re up against the wall.

The hood falls off her head. Her.

“What do you want? Money? Why don’t you go get a job.” I slam the girl’s face into the wall, before freeing her and giving her some space. She whimpers, her fingertips flying to her forehead where she bleeds a tiny amount.

“Please,” she whispers as I turn away. “Just enough for a biscuit and a night at the inn. That’s all I need.”

The hopelessness in her voice tips me. Then again, she might just be an addict like so many others on the streets. They jump people like me, desperate to buy themselves a fix.

“Alright, I’ll do you one better.” I turn to face the girl again. “You can come stay at my place for a night. You can’t have some dinner, and I’ll throw in breakfast too.” I raise an eyebrow. “Or were you just lying to get a few fixes?”

She narrows her eyes. “I’ll have you know that I don’t do drugs.” She pushes off the wall, her shoulder brushing mine as she passes me. “The name’s Darby.”

I raise my eyebrows at the sound of her thick, strange accent. “Gatlin. Gatlin Casey.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, Mr. Casey, are you just going to stand there and gape at me or can we get out of the cold?”

Her words combined with a swift, icicle-like wind break me out of my peculiar daze. “My apologies. This way.”

The heels of our boots hitting the road create a strange rhythm. Darby’s legs move twice as fast as mine, since she’s shorter. Though she has no trouble keeping up.

I open the door to a small house at the end of the road. “Here we are. My home sweet home.”

“Gatlin!” Izabella, one of the orphans, announces my arrival. “You’re back!”

She runs towards me, jumping into my outstretched arms. I swing her up and around, placing her on my hip. “Hey, Izzy.” I sniff the air. “Is that dinner?”

She nods. “You’re just in time! We’re having leftover stew!”

Darby recoils a few steps at the sight of many children rushing towards us, grins on their faces.

“Gatlin!”

“Who’s this?”

“How was your day at work?”

“Is this your girlfriend?”

“Woah, woah, one at a time.” I laugh, gently peeling the many arms off of me. “Everyone, this is Darby. She’s going to be staying the night.”

“Yay! You can bunk with me!” Izzy takes Darby’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you to the dining room!”

I’m about to follow after the two of them when a voice calls me back. “Gatlin.”

I look down the hallway to find Ms. Sparrow, the orphanage headmaster, approaching me. Her age shows through her tired eyes, gray hair, and frailing figure. Has she thinned since I last saw her? Her clothes consist of robes that are more like rags. After all, she saves all the better fabric for the children. She wears a long frown. “How much did you make?”

“Ten tijara,” I say, digging into my pocket and pulling out nine copper coins that match the one I gave the man. “Oh. Well, make that nine. I met a man on the way and took pity on him.”

Ms. Sparrow smiles softly. “You have such a good heart, Gatlin.” Her smile fades. “If only your heart could save the orphanage.” She looks after the children, who all crowd around Darby, filling the room with many questions. “I don’t even want to begin to think about what's going to happen to the lot of them.”

“The Higher will turn them into servants, if they’re generous enough.” Execution, if they’re not.

“We can only hope that they can prove themselves. I’ve had them help with the housework more and more. Hopefully it will prepare them for servantry.” Ms. Sparrow turns her gaze to me again. “How long will you be staying before you have to go again?”

“As long as it takes me to find another job,” I say, trying my best to smile for her. “I’m hoping to find something that’s gonna pay more. Maybe eleven tijara instead of ten.” I grin.

Ms. Sparrow bursts out with laughter, throwing a frail arm over my shoulders. “Oh, Gatlin, I forgot how much I’ve missed you around here.” We walk with the crowd of children towards the dining room. “Are you hungry?”

My grin widens. “Always, ma’am.”

I’m fiddling with one of the children’s toys when there’s a knock at the door. “C’min,” I mumble, not sparing a glance across the room.

“You’re still awake?”

The unfamiliar voice makes me turn around to look at Darby. Her auburn hair, once braided, hangs loose in waves around her shoulders. It shimmers in the reflected moonlight.

I raise an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.” There is a small moment of silence. “What’s up?”

“You didn’t tell me that this place was struggling,” she says, crossing the room to stand by my side as I continue to fix the small toy. She gapes. “How can you see in this light?”

“Moonlight is all I need.” I look back up at her. “And I didn’t think that the orphanage was of any concern to you.”

“Well, what’s going to happen to the children? Where will they go if this place shuts down?”

“If the Court succeeds at closing us down—and I’m sure they will with the Higher’s backing them up—the children will be tested to see if they are healthy enough to be good servants. The younger ones and the physically incapable will either be put to other work . . .”—the words catch in my throat for a few moments—“. . . or executed.”

Darby gasps. “They would do that?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Of course they would. You’re not from around here, are you?”

She freezes, her eyes going wide. “W-what gave you that idea?”

“Anyone who doesn’t know how cruel the Higher really are is bound not to be from this country.” I look up at her. Her eyes are strange. A ring of gold around her iris, spreading into a blue-ish green, fading to a deep blue. She turns away. My cheeks warm, realizing that I’ve been looking at her for a few seconds too long.

“You’re right. I’m not from here.” Darby crosses to the window, leaning against the windowsill as she peeks outside. “I’m actually from Veyter. Your enemy country.”

“How did you get here? Why are you here?”

She sighs deeply. Have I asked too many questions?

“I crossed the sea until I reached land. I ran away. I—” She pauses, hesitating. “I didn’t like how our government was running things. So I left.” She turns to glare at me. “And don’t you dare ever quote me on that.”

I raise my hands, surrender-like. “I know, I know. Information like that could get you killed.” I grin. “This isn’t my first time playing with fire.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I might be able to help you. You know, with keeping this place open.”

I lean back in my chair. “I’m all ears.”

“I’m the head of the rebellion. Well, one of the heads.” She smirks. “We have resources.” Her smirk widens into a grin. “And I was actually looking for you, Mr. Casey. I want to recruit you.”

She cuts me off before I can even think of responding. “I know that you never liked the idea of the rebellion, my sources tell me. But we could restore this place. Help you. Help the children.” She lets me ponder it for a few moments. Then, she whispers, “I don’t think you have much of a choice, Gatlin.”

And she’s right. I don’t have much of a choice. Darby knows where to hit. What buttons to press.

She hits hard. And she’s pressed all the right buttons.

I can’t believe I fall under her little spell.

“Fine,” I bite out. “But you do not, under any circumstances, bring the children into this. Just me.”

She smirks again. “Of course not. I would never put children on my front line.” She pushes off the wall. “In return for your service, we’ll pay more than the monthly payments on this place. I’ll even provide the resources and workers to fix it up.” She winks. “I look forward to working with you, Gatlin.” The door closes behind her.

I lean back in my chair, exhaling. I’m not sure what to think; how to feel. I promised Ms. Sparrow that I wouldn’t get myself into the war. And I just did.

Then again, she does always say that you do big things—things bigger than yourself—for the ones you love.

“Gatlin?” a small voice asks. I turn from packing my bag to see Izzy standing at the door. She messes with the cuff of her sleeve. “Darby said you’re leaving? Already? But you just got here!”

I stuff an extra shirt into my bag. “I know, Iz. But Darby’s got work for me. And I’m gonna get paid a lot for it.” I pick up the small, metal object on my desk, turning it around in my hand. Slowly, I cross the room and press it into her small hands. “Here. This is for you.”

She looks down at it with wide eyes. “My own knife?”

I press a finger to my lips, squatting down to be at her level. “Don’t tell Ms. Sparrow. She’ll whip me if she finds out.” Izzy smirks. “I’m leaving you in charge. Protect them for me, Izzy.”

She watches me. Searches my eyes. Then, finally, the small thirteen-year-old nods. Her lips shift into a deep frown, and I can tell that she’s holding back her tears.

I squeeze her shoulder, and she lets out a small sob. Collapsing into my arms, she buries her face in my jacket, doing her best to stifle her sobs.

“You promised, you know,” she whispers. “You said you would never join the war.”

“I know. But I have to.” I pull away, looking her in the eyes. “Just trust me, Izzy. I’ll come back. I won’t leave you alone.”

“You better not.” She turns the hand-made knife between her fingers. “Or I might have to use this on you.”

I smirk, standing to my feet. I swing my bag over my shoulders, turning towards the door. Darby leans against the doorframe, fixing me with her blue-green hazel eyes.

“Time to go?” I ask.

She nods slowly, watching Izabella for a few moments. “Time to go.”

I begin to follow her, glancing over my shoulder at Izabella. Her eyes are on her knife, as she traces the letters of her name carved into the hilt. I allow myself to smirk, turning back around and following Darby.