A Heart on the Edge

Essa Sagui stood before her fellow Council members with a weak heart but a determination that could not be swayed. They had a purpose, and she was the only one who remembered it. They were here to keep things balanced, even, and – though not always ‘free,’ at least neutral. It was their job to keep the Harris and Green’s conflicts against themselves or, at the very least, on their respective sides. And not to involve the ‘lower,’ ordinary people who are just trying to get on with their lives. She had to stand firm, alone, against their inherited strength and her fellow corrupted members.

“I vote that we reinstate the Founders’ Contract. Not only will it limit Harris’s suffocating hold on trade profits and limit him on taxation – opening up a fairer and equal profit to the Greens. But it will also greatly limit Harris’s rite of succession. I know not everyone is a fan of his son. And being someone who has had to deal with him, not only in class but also out-of-school hours, due to him and Jenniffer Green being almost inseparable for most of the years I had to direct the school’s theater, I fully see your points and struggle to disagree. However!” She whipped her index finger in the air, shaking her petite frame and loose skin. “If we can limit Harris’s choice of succession to only his boy. Then, at least, we know what’s coming. Right now, he could name anyone. Anyone!

“Can you imagine him naming Farris Bellaird as his heir? Yes, it’s unlikely; he is a very distant cousin who lives and runs a smaller town farther north. But it’s still very possible. And I know most of you are old enough to remember when he was given partial power for one week! Imagine having to live with that for an indeterminate amount of time. Or worse, think of who Farris might name! We need this contract reinstated. And the sooner, the better. Vincent Harris isn’t getting any healthier; that’s the one good thing about him. We know he’ll die sooner rather than later. So Please!” She slammed her fist on the podium harder than she meant, but it helped drive her meaning home, so she did it again and again with each plea. “Please. Please. Please! Vote to bring back the Founders’ Contract, if not for yourselves, for your children.”

With a stern nod, she turned from the stand and moved back to her seat, where she let out a gasping breath. Her heart raced like she had chased her twin toddlers around the house for an hour. And she hadn’t done that in over thirty years. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small grey tablet. With a swig of water, she swallowed the sweet-tasting pill and almost immediately started to feel herself relax. She knew it didn’t work quite that fast, but just taking it made her feel better, and in time, it would ease those ever-strained muscles of her heart.

The rest of the meeting went as she expected; some voted, most didn’t, and she left unsatisfied. She thought about going to the podium again like she would’ve back in the day; continuing to talk and persuade until the morning came or everyone had voted. Now. Now, she was just too tired, and even the thought of walking up those four stairs again winded her. She thought of how her great-great-great-grandmother was probably rolling in her grave, but there was nothing she could do. She took comfort in knowing that at least her great-grandmother would understand. It was her heart disease Essa had inherited, after all.

And it wasn’t like she hadn’t fought. She was one of the only Council members fighting against the plague, which was Harris’s oppression, even before the bratty tyrant that is Vincent Harris had inherited his power. And she would still fight for this, but not now, not tonight. It could wait until morning when she’d have breakfast with half the members in this room and dinner with half of the other half. ‘Stand for something, or you’ll fall for anything.’ That was her family’s motto, after all.

As her driver helped her into the car, she had a fleeting thought. What if she had followed through that day? What if she would’ve ran away with Roan Hert? Raising her kids out in the western islands as a simple housewife in a simple city with normal politics. Would she still have had this heart problem? Would she have been so strict, stressed, and mocked? Would her mother ever forgive her? And then she thought of the state of the Council had she never been a part of it, and the doubt passed as quick as the late evening’s breeze.

They arrived at her home just as the last of the sun flickered behind the tree line. It was a small house, much smaller than she had been raised in. But once her boys grew and moved out, and she got too weak to host ‘persuasion parties,” as she liked to call them, there hadn’t seemed a point in keeping something that size. Memories aside, it just wasn’t practical. Plus, the young newlyweds she had sold it to needed and deserved it so much more than her. And this place was perfect. It was sheltered off on the edge of town, closer to the Green side of town, but still in the ‘Neutral’ area. Best of all, it had a relatively straight shot to the Hospital. It hadn’t been much effort to build a small stable with a comfortable living area for Parson and Dusty. Parson was the only servant she had ‘kept’ after leaving her childhood home. She had tried to fire them all, but Parson was the only one she couldn’t convince to leave. He claimed it was for Dusty and that he couldn’t allow her to sell him. But she knew, she’d always known. But there was no place in her heart for all that now. She appreciated and respected it, never, or at least trying her best never to take advantage of his admiration. And he seemed to understand, respecting her space. And when they came to the mutual agreement he would stay ‘for the horse,’ it was he who suggested building a separate living area.

Would any of her students believe that her staff loved her? That she had to fire them all forcibly, and even at that, some still fought to stay. Could they understand that she was strict in the classroom so that they would have discipline later in life?

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” Parson’s voice broke her chain of thinking.

“Yes. Everything is fine. Just an old woman reflecting on her life,” she said with a wavering smile.

“Any regrets?” He said, his hope gleaming through the faintest crack.

“Many, old friend. But nothing I would change.” She let out a small sigh. “It all worked out as it should. I have two healthy boys living their own lives with four grandkids I see twice a year. I’m proud of my career, if not still frustrated by it. I influenced the younger generation the best I saw fit. And I created long, loyal bonds.” She gave him a genuine smile, looking into his eyes with a loving pat on the hand.

He returned her smile and a slight nod, pulling his hand away first. “I couldn’t agree more. It’s been an honor.”

“And it’s been a privilege.” They gave each other another slight nod before he turned and left out the side door. No more than seven steps on the cobbled stone path, and he’d be at his door. She heard him yank it closed; she had purposely had them build the frame slightly too small so she could take comfort in him coming and going. She scanned her home; a single lantern in the center lit every corner of her living room and kitchen. She knew it was old-fashioned to use lanterns, but she enjoyed the lighting, and it saved money. It would probably even light her bath and bedroom if the walls didn’t obscure them. But the size didn’t matter; she was surrounded by the things she cherished most: her first, as well as the last, trophies for directing, copies of her own published screenplays, the couch that, not only where her twins were conceived but, she also raised them from – spending countless night’s sleep with them in her arms until a servant came and took all three of them to bed, picture after picture of class photos – so she would never forget the face of those she influenced and guided – even if they didn’t quite appreciate it at the time. And countless other nicknames that fanned the flames of passion in her heart.

Essa reached into her bag and pulled out another pill; in the dim light, it looked whiter than usual, and when it touched her tongue as she swallowed it with a swig of water, it tasted bitter and lingered in her mouth long after. Doctor Willhime had worried her that the pills might go ‘sour’ if they expired, but that shouldn’t have been for another few weeks. She would talk to him about it tomorrow evening, just before she headed to dinner. She was sure Parson wouldn’t mind the extra time with Dusty out about town. It was just another old-timey thing she enjoyed, and though she couldn’t ride anymore – she enjoyed carriage rides almost as much.

Even though she took all her normal precautions; cool water, breaks in-between limbs, and controlled breaths, her heart still felt like Dusty was running in a race during her bath. By the end, her hands trembled, and her whole chest ached. Because the pill expired, they must have been less effective. With careful and slow steps, she made it back to the kitchen and grabbed another pill out of her bag. Taking it with a whole glass of water, she’d regret that later when she’d have to get up for the bathroom in the middle of the night, but as the bitter pill slid down to her stomach, it relaxed her, putting her mind at ease.

Typically, after her bath, she would sit on her couch reading a book until the wick of the lantern burnt out, but tonight – despite her racing heart she was completely drained of energy and could think of nothing else but lying in bed. She hobbled through her bedroom door and collapsed onto her bed, sitting on the side to remove her socks before lying in the center of the bed, which was only a few inches bigger than her. As usual, she laid on top of her covers, both for the extra comfort and to help her stay cool, and, more importantly, she wouldn’t have the strain of making it in the morning.

As she lay there, staring up at the shadows of the dancing flame in her lantern flick and wave across her ceiling – completely exhausted and fully awake, her mind began to wonder once again. Thinking of how she never followed up with any of her students. She taught them, pushed them, punished them, and kept every class photo from years gone by, but she never went out of her way to find out if she had done right by them. There’d always be flunks and no goods, but she wondered about those she cared for and gave an extra push. But she had two perfectly happy, successful kids of her own that she was proud of, and that was enough proof to show that even if the youth didn’t always agree with or like her methods, they still worked. She wondered if any of them would come to her funeral when her ticker finally gave out. She wondered how her grandchildren would fare without her; did she leave a big enough impression on them? What would be the stories their fathers would tell them about her?

Essa tried to breathe the way Willhime had taught her, trying to slow down her heart. She tried to use the counting technique to ease the stress in her mind, but it raced. She closed her eyes, breathing out the pain whenever her chest was gripped by it. She thought more about her life, looking back on it with a smile.

*****

Parson pushed his door open with a forceful grace to not make any noise. Even though Ms. Sagui was most likely still awake reading in the corner of her living room, he tried not to startle or stress her out, especially now that her heart was so weak. He wished she wouldn’t push herself so much. But one thing was for sure: she was an inspiration. Unlike most people with her wealth and power, instead of doubling her staff so she wouldn’t have to lift another finger, she had fired everyone, sold her mansion to a lovely couple down on their luck, and moved to a house where she could, try, to do everything herself.  Which was more than most of the ‘nobles’ he’d seen around here do, especially on the Harris side of town.

He snuck around the front of his house like a teenager, trying not to wake their parents or the help trying not to wake the head of the house. He thought as he rounded the corner and headed into the barn. He wasn’t doing anything wrong; in fact, he was doing more than completely necessary; he didn’t want Ms. Sagui to be bothered by him working into the night, nor did she need to be losing her sleep in her condition. Opening the door on the hinges he greased weekly, he slid into the barn with less noise than the owls that normally who-ed high up in their trees, though tonight they were oddly silent.

The barn was more than double Parson’s and Ms. Sagui’s homes combined, but it wasn’t nearly enough, in his opinion, for Dusty. The old stallion had spent most of his life in an open field with four brothers and six sisters as well as two mates. Now, he was confined to a single building, with the only reprieve being trips around the town, pulling the carriage that Ms. Sagui had enjoyed so much. Thankfully, the old boy didn’t seem to mind. “As long as you get your midnight Sugar, ain’t that right?” The large copper animal trotted up to him with a very lippy exhale. “Here you go, as ordered, sir.” Parson held out a flat hand with three slices of apple dipped in honey and rolled in oats. Dusty ate them with gusto, licking Parson’s hand ‘clean.’ He stared into the beast’s eyes, feeling a sense of awareness that both frightened and fascinated him. He smiled at the boy and rubbed his snout.

An explosion shook the barn, orange-blue light beamed in through all its cracks. Parson dropped to the ground, covering his head, waiting for the flaming roof to come down on him. There was a screaming whistle that was followed by another chest-rumbling explosion. Heat licked the back of his neck as yet another sounded off again. The hot breath of flame passed over his neck with a snort?

Parson flipped over on his back to find Dusty staring down at him. For just a moment, as another explosion went off, he was backlit by a green hue shining through the cracks of the ceiling. The thought that Dusty was more in tune and unstartled by fireworks was only in his mind for a moment before he shot up and ran outside. He watched as another screaming missile flew into the air, but he didn’t stay to admire it because the sparkle of blue and red swirls set him back on track.

Bursting through the side door, they always left it unlocked for just this reason. He began searching for Essa in every inch he passed. There weren’t many places she could fall that weren’t in sight, but he wasn’t risking it. Two weeks ago, during the Festival, he had found her under the kitchen table in an attempt to crawl to the door for help. Those fireworks had been shot off almost a mile away and had still startled her so bad she had had an attack. These fireworks were going off just above the house. He couldn’t find her anywhere. Her lantern wasn’t even in its spot for her to be reading on the couch.

The flicker of flame caught in the corner of his eyes, and his worst fear began playing out in his head. He knew he should’ve gotten flameless lanterns for her. He ran to her bedroom, kicking the small table in the center of the living room towards the couch – out of the way. Bursting into the bedroom, he was pleased to see it wasn’t on fire from her dropping the lantern. Instead, he was met with Essa, perfectly pristine, fully at peace, in the center of her bed. Like Death, herself had come down and plucked the life from her. He shook away his captivation of her beauty as she was bathed in purple light and ran to her. He snapped a finger to her neck and her wrist just as the doctor had shown him. Her heart was still beating, but his breath of relief was cut short as it was beating too fast for him even to count.

The hissing of a fuse burning far too close for comfort caught his ear. Not looking back at the window, he scooped Ms. Sagui up and ran for the door. There was a pop that left a ringing in his ears and made his eyes water as they passed the flipped table. Like a snake bite, he felt a sting in his left leg, but he continued to the car. He flung the door open, placed her in the back seat, and ran to the front, the pain in his leg doubling. He turned the ignition, nothing. Not even an attempt to turn over. He threw open the door, hobbling back to Ms. Sagui, and headed to the barn.

“Dusty!” He felt himself yell but heard nothing. “Dusty! Get to the…” The horse was already lined up with the carriage. He had even managed to place the riding harness over his back. “Good Boy!”

Parson gently placed Essa in the back, ran to the front to finish strapping Dusty up, and jumped in the driver’s seat. “Ride, buddy! Ride!” Dusty took off like Parson hadn’t seen him do in fifteen years. The prize stallion kept full speed down the almost two-mile stretch to the Hospital. Parson was reminded of the sting in his leg. Looking down, he found a shard of glass sticking out from his calf; blood covered his pant leg as well as the footrest of the carriage. He touched it, grinding his teeth at the pain, and shook his head. “They’ll take care of me when we get there. After they save her.”

Out of breath but still whinnying like mad, Dusty came to a stop, a plume of gravel dust trailing in behind them, at the front of the large building. Parson guided himself down from his seat and limped to the door with Essa in his arms. “Heart. Racing. Weak… Attack.” It seemed Dusty wasn’t the only old male winded. He tried again, watching their mouths move, but nothing came out. “Weak heart. Lots of… Stress! I…” One of the employees took Essa from his arms as his world faded to black, and the floor came up to meet him.

*****

Dusty, as they liked to call him, a name well-earned due to his speed as a youth – and seemingly even now, stood outside of Parson’s mate’s health home. He was excited, exhausted, and nervous. It wasn’t often that Parson stayed inside the large building for so long. Parson’s mate usually did, but once she was settled, he would return and spend time with Dusty. Take him home for a nap or at least bring him food. But a lot has changed in the last few years. Dusty was quick to adapt, though. He didn’t mind much as long as he was fed. He had even been beginning to enjoy the solitude of his new home, away from the crowds of his family. He did miss his mates, though. But only to have someone to talk to.

After a quick doze, Dusty woke with the sun and found someone walking up on him dressed all in white. Not his Feeder, not his Feeder’s Feeder. They spoke to him in a plain and simple way, but it wasn’t Parson. He and Dusty had had over twenty years together, giving Dusty plenty of time to learn what some of the words he used meant in context with him, but this person gave him nothing but words in a tone that was almost entirely flat. Her red hair flapped in the breeze, and all Dusty could do was whiny in response. He got some words but in an order that didn’t make sense: Parson, Sorry, Passed, Home?, Field, Horses. Dusty blinked at the fair-skinned woman as she unlatched his harness and grabbed his reins.

Dusty resisted for a moment. The woman turned to him with a smile. “Sugar?” Dusty twisted his head with a huff in disbelief as she pulled one of his favorite treats from a small container. His stomach rumbled as he hadn’t had anything since Parson gave him this treat last night. He snatched it with gusto and gave a satisfied nigh as the woman led him on.

She took him to one of the biggest fields he had ever seen. Despite there being twice the number of horses than before he had moved, there was more than plenty room for him to have days completely to himself. He could come and go to the stables as he wanted. Unfortunately, he never saw Parsons again. But every night, the red-haired lady would wait for him to come to the stable and give him some Sugar.