The Painted Rebel: Chapter 1

           To me, an empty wall was a blank canvas. Unfortunately, most of the blank canvases were private property.

Well, what one person didn’t know wouldn’t kill them.

         My headlamp illuminated the canvas before me as I squeezed the nozzle of an aerō can and streaked the wall with orange to touch up the pink sunrise. Each night brought me closer to completion, but tonight it was going to be finished. Alas, my masterpiece was under the Talis Street bridge rather than the Aurelius Gallery of Fine Art. The odds of a famous art critic being able to appreciate it were nil.

         Setting down the orange, my hand moved to a custom-made yellow a shade below dragon scale scarlet but a hue above vivid gold. With a paperboard stencil, my hand lifted the can and—

         sprt… sprt… the arō can sputtered like the dying breaths of an old man. “No!” The marble inside clattered as I shook the can vigorously. I tried the nozzle again, but even the dregs were gone. Typical Jesty, when they’re done, they’re done.

“Vain!” My arm propelled the can farther down the river. It hit the stonecrete with a clunk before rolling away.

I was so vaining close! A few more minutes and I’d be done. One glance confirmed that my work didn’t look finished, at least to me.

A homeless man sat against the pillar across from me in a ramshackle tent. He stared at me as he huddled next to a heat lamp, watching my tantrum with intrigue. I’d never seen him here before. Maybe he liked my piece?

I packed up my stencils and arō cans into a colorful paint-stained duffle and retrieved the chucked can. With everything packed, I stripped off my jacket to tie it around my waist and extended my wings out. The homeless man’s eyes went wide as he saw the wings colored with splotches of red, yellow and blue that matched the highlights on my hair. The wings were a canvas as well, albeit a black feathered one. After a friendly wave to the homeless man, I ran down the riverbed and jumped into the night sky.

         The cold wind whipped around me as my wings cut through the air. Hair kept getting in my face, forcing me to constantly brush it aside. A simple glance at the world below me brought a smile to my lips. There was nothing like flying in the Capitol. The constant buzz of noises, the everlasting glow of lights, and the towering buildings that reminded me of the spires of home. Below me, thousands of beings from dozens of species and races milled about the avenues.

         My night vision had waned with the pills, but I still spotted a sloppy sausage cart on a street corner. I hadn’t eaten a decent meal in hours. But going down meant risk—

         The offending stomach grumbled loudly and I gave into its temptation, angling my wings down to descend. A few moments later I landed on the street and ran onto the sidewalk right before a ground car hit me. As I folded my wings in, bystanders stared. I ignored them as I walked up to the cart. The creature behind the cart, a stocky dwarve type, raised a bushy eyebrow.

         “Two sloppy sausages please. The full cart.”

The dwarve grunted and put two wrapped sausages, cheese bread, and a massive pile of chopped onions onto the griddle. The greasy sizzling smell reached my nose and my mouth watered. The dwarve piled the sausages and grilled onions onto the cheese bread and wrapped them in foil as I dug into my pocket for the rels.

I heard a garbled comm and jerked around to see two Protectorate Enforcements striding towards me. One had their hand on a baton and the other’s hand brushed up against their sidearm. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead, and it wasn’t because of the griddle.

I quickly handed the dwarve the rels and shoved the sausages into my bag. By the time I turned around, I was face to face with them. My fingers began to twitch.

“Uh, hi sirs.”

“Miss,” the one on the left said. “We just saw you… touch down. Do you have a permit to be flying in this airspace?”

“Yeah, of course. Give me one second…” My hands patted my pockets like I was actually looking for something. The Protectorate on the right put two fingers on his helmet. There was comm chatter.

“Description? Colored hair and wings. Positive ID. Moving in for 10-2.”

He put his hand on a pair of wristbinders. “Miss, you’re going to have to come with—”

I barreled through the two men, knocking them to the ground as I sprinted into the middle of the road. My shoulder was nearly clipped by a ground truck as I unfurled my wings and gained altitude.

Why would I pay for something I was born to do?

I flew close to a residential tower and breezed past a lit window. For a brief second, an elve child snapped their head up from a book.

Man, I loved doing that.

Above the buildings, I reached “cruising altitude” as glistening lights danced below. But the beauty didn’t last as I came above the Ghetto District. Ramshackle streets and long neglected buildings covered the landscape. On one street, an Enforcement vehicle’s siren sounded accompanied by red and blue lights. There were the distinctive pops of gunfire a mile away. Below me vagrants huddled around trashcan fires. I frowned: it needed more color.

The sound of an engine roared behind me. An Enforcement gunship was approaching my tail. The front lights shined in my face and I shielded my eyes with my arm as I felt the heat.

“Land now!” a robotic voice said through the gunship’s loudspeaker. “By the Order of the Protectorate, you are violating several laws of…”

As the voice droned on, I folded my wings in and went into a steep dive. The gunship activated its own red and blue lights before giving chase.

“Vain,” I muttered, unfolding my wings with an oomph that knocked the wind out of me a second before I splattered into the street. I flew ten feet above the cracked roads while the vagrants around fires pointed at me and shouted.

The gunship was a hundred yards back and quickly gaining.

I looked down each alleyway I blew past until

There’s one! I pulled my wings up and looped around, a maneuver that caused my head to spin, before landing at the mouth of the alley. I literally hit the ground running and skidded in front of a sewer cap with a triangle painted on it. My hands found the rim and I attempted to pry it open.

It didn’t budge.

Behind me the gunship landed and the side doors hissed open. Footfalls sounded.

“Son of a—” I channeled my annoyance into the stupid lid and lifted it off. On the lip of the hole, I folded my wings in right as the lights from Enforcement flashlights hit my face. I gave them a grin as I hopped down ten feet.

The height would have broken the legs of the average human, but Alŷtrians were not average humans. I bent my knees as the impact jolted through my body.

I fumbled through my bag for the headlamp and clicked it on. The sewer was devoid of sludge as it had for the past century. I’d been down here so long that I didn’t smell anything anymore. Of course, I still felt the dank moisture and mildew permeate my skin.

Above me, Enforcement stared at me, beaming their lights down. I couldn’t help but give them a cocky wave before going deeper into the labyrinth. Some time later, a service ladder came into view. There was a dim yellow light above, illuminating the passage in a tainted glow. Below the light was a pair of painted white wings. Resting my hands and boots on the rungs of the ladder, I paused. No more footfalls. No more shouting. Satisfied, I climbed down into yet another tunnel that had a light at the end. The sounds of voices and hubbub of the Market poured through it. The familiar pungent aromas of Rat’s Cove reached my nose and I took a deep breath.

My wings folded tightly against me as I untied the jacket and slipped it back on. The end of the tunnel led to the backside of an old skweakian woman’s booth. She had faded brown fur and wore a veil, chittering at me in irritation.

“I t’old you t’o st’op coming t’is way.”

I dug into my pocket and tossed her a coin. She caught it midair in her claws.

“I had some heat on me.”

She shook her head and stepped aside to let me pass.

I emerged from the booth into the heart of the marketplace crammed with wanderers and skweakians, the diminutive rat humanoids that made the Cove their home. A water strider browsed blades curated by a skweakian blacksmith. An elve-type munched on the ever-popular skewered rat from a skweakian food cart (don’t ask). A human pawed a bin of outdated gadgets as a skweakian techspert answered his questions.

By an alleyway, a “blind” beggar wearing a tattered poncho emerged from the shadows and grasped my legs.

“Spare a rel for a blind beggar miss?”

My hand moved to stifle a laugh. “How’d you know I’m a miss? Vito.”

Vito sighed and sat back down. “I-I did that on purpose! Just tryna’ test you.”

“Sure…” There was the sound of faint movement behind me. Out of instinct, my body moved to face a little boy as his hands reached towards my pocket. He froze, a look of surprise on his face as my hands rested on my hips.

“De, you’re still doing it wrong.”

De pouted. “But it works on everyone else.”

“Until it doesn’t!” I snapped. Guilt overcame me and I softened my voice. “You’re getting better though.” I stuck my hand in my bag and gave him a warm sloppy sausage squished from the pursuit. He quickly snatched it and devoured it in a matter of seconds. He looked up at me, smiling. “Thanks!” De wiped his mouth with a rag like I taught him. “How’s your art going? Are you almost done with the sunrise one?”

“Almost, just need to stop by Jesty’s for a refill. Don’t tell him that though.”

De made a zipping motion over his mouth. “When can I see it!”

“It’s far from here. But once I figure out the logistics, I’ll take you.”

De beamed.

“Hey you got a sausage for me?” Vito cut in.“You got any info?” I retorted.

Vito shook his ragged head. “Nothin’.”

“Then go back to being blind.”

De giggled.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Vito scolded him. As they began to argue, I walked away…

And froze as two Protectorate troopers holding rifles strolled through the crowd. Everyone gave them wide berth. They had no reason to stop me unless they recognized me. I was wearing jeans and a plain black windbreaker with the hood up. However, my bag was splotched with years’ worth of paint stains. Easily identifiable. My pulse quickened. I fought the urge to run away as I walked, keeping my head down and focusing on putting one foot in front of—

“You there! Miss!” One of the troopers called out.

They probably didn’t mean me. I pretended not to hear them.

“You with the bag,” the other trooper said, much closer. The clunk of their armor plates was close behind.

The feathery Avieth in front of me seemed bent on staying still as I tried to push past him, but then the gauntlet landed on my shoulder. My body went rigid. It’s about to be a slugfest—

“Spare a coin for a blind beggar?” Vito cut in, clutching the legs and belts of the troopers.

The trooper took his hand off me and kicked Vito away. Vito groaned but was uninjured.

“Filth!” The trooper spat. As they were distracted, I slipped deeper into the throng. A quick glance backwards and I saw De prowling behind the troopers. A grin spread across my lips.

Another ten minutes of walking through the Cove led me to the residential area. Nothing more than hundreds of abandoned rooms that had been the living quarters of maintenance workers hundreds of years ago. Those living here were broke, desperate, addicted, hopeless, hopeful, or hiding. Most of the inhabitants were skweakians, but many others were humans, goblin-types, and dwarve-types. Soon I made it to F Block. Several men stared at me but didn’t approach. We all knew each other by name, and we had an understanding.

At least I thought we did.

One of them jumped out at me and seized me by the waist. I didn’t recognize the wrinkly tattooed face, but I did recognize the wild look in his eyes.

“Hey—a little lady, did I see you on a wanted poster?” He slurred. His breath smelled fetid as his mouth opened into a toothy grin. He brought his lips close to mine…

—and I slugged him across the jaw. He fell to the ground as his jaw broke with an audible crack. He spat out rotten teeth as he tried to get up. I got on top of him, grabbed him by his raggedy shirt collar, and slammed him to the ground.

“Mention that to any Protec and I’ll have some fun with you,” I hissed.

He groaned and clawed feebly at my face. I brought my fist down into his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood spewed out and he sobbed.

I stood up and dusted my hands. The brass knuckles clinked against each other. The men watched in silence. I saw some swap the few rels they had for quiet bets.

“What happened to guarding the residents?”

“He was an out-of-towner,” said a middle-aged man in a bulky jacket. “Kept prowling around here. We wanted to see if he’d show his true colors if he thought we were like him.”

“Would you have let him pass?”

“’Course not. We got our families there too.” He gestured to two of the men and they picked up the man none too gently. “We’ll dump him in L Block. Let him serve as a warning to those other creeps.”

I grunted. “Alright.”

The corridors were filled with equally spaced doors on either side that seemed to go on forever. The only light came from yellow bulbs above each door that bathed the hallway in an eerie yellow glow. F Block. Families. Outside one door, two human children played with a ball in the narrow hallway. At another, a little tuskel girl drew with chalk on the ground. A skweakian couple walked past with their child in a cart. For some down here, day and night held no meaning.

Eventually “home” came into view. Across from my door, a tattooed elve-type woman with silver hair held a crying one-month-old. Arrēlla and Anthēn. She whirled around as she heard me. There were deep bags under her crystal green eyes. She was young, maybe my age. If there was anyone I pitied down here, it was these two.

“He couldn’t sleep,” she said. “And... neither could I.” Her body quivered as she held Anthēn closer.

The distance between us closed as I came up beside her. “Don’t worry. He won’t find you down here. If he does…” I held up my fist coated with the vagrant’s blood. Her eyes went wide.

“Oh! Someone tried to jump me earlier,” I said quickly. The baby stopped crying. He reached his hands towards me and began babbling. I glanced at his mother and she nodded. I extended a finger and he wrapped his little hand around it.

“Hi, little Anthēn,” I said softly. Anthēn cooed as I stroked his head with my finger. His eyes began to droop.

“Uh, you know… I’m still trying to get settled here. Do you think you would be able to paint my place? I…wouldn’t be able to pay you though.”

“Of course.” I was going to offer to do it anyway.

As I removed my hand, the baby cooed quietly and she kissed his forehead.

“I think he’s out now.” She bounced him in her arms. “Yeah, he’s out cold.” She smiled at me, a sad smile.

“Good night,” I said quickly and unlocked my door before my heart could break any further.

My back rested against the door.

Home wasn’t the right word for it. When most people imagined home, they thought of a comfortable bed, hot food, and a loving family. My home was a stonecrete box with a tiny bathroom attached. More like a glorified jail cell. There was some trashy furniture, but the only part that made this place truly mine was the art. The walls were tagged from floor to ceiling with bright pastel patterns and landscapes of the city. On one wall, I’d painted a view overlooking the city. Sometimes if I stared at it for too long, the birds in the distance would flap their wings. Countless sketches, designs, and paintings were taped onto the walls. I tried my best, but at the end of the day it was still an airless box.

Not bad for a 22-year-old.

Then again everyone back home is probably doing better.

After triple bolting the door, my duffle hit the floor and I hauled myself into the bathroom. Ten minutes of lukewarm water later, I came out in pajamas tie-dyed to colorful oblivion. My wings stretched through slits I cut in the back and touched the walls. It was uncomfortable to keep them under a jacket for hours. Like me, they needed room to breathe.

I reheated the sausage, plopped onto the bean bag chair, and clicked the tiny vidscreen on. Lifting the greasy mess to my mouth, I took a bite. The crunch of the grilled onion, the gooey melted cheese, the sweet and tangy sauces, the juicy wrapped sausage.

Ah, divine.

It was gone in minutes, and I was still hungry. Flying burned calories like nothing, but I didn’t regret giving my second one to De.

The vidscreen was tuned to the news.

“In other news, the upcoming one-year anniversary of the One Day War is this weekend. A full day’s worth of celebrations are scheduled, ending with the dedication of a statue in Memorial Park to commemorate Protectorate victory over the Defenders,” some anchorman said.

The wars were never important to me. What was the point? When the Legion fell, my life didn’t change. When the Defenders fell, my life didn’t change. The Protectorate has been around for two thousand years, so they weren’t going anywhere. I sure as skrell wasn’t getting drafted anytime soon.

However, there was a fair on the weekend of the dedication, and I signed up for an art booth to sell my art the moment they announced the fair months ago. I fought with some event organizer for weeks to secure a booth (apparently not sending an official ID makes things “difficult”). But the fair fell on the weekend, the only days I had off. With everything set in stone, I couldn’t help but feel giddy. Not because I actually expected to sell anything, but because of the exposure. Legal exposure. People were finally going to see my work. This was the closest opportunity I could ever get to a gallery, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

Days off. Working. Ugh. No doubt The King heard about my little escapade. I’ll have to explain that to him. At least he won’t fire me. I think.

I sighed. I’ll worry about that later.

As I clicked off the vidscreen, my adrenaline spiked at the same time my head pounded and my legs became weak.

Oh no.

Quickly throwing my trash into an overflowing bucket, I stumbled into the bathroom and threw open the cabinet. The pill bottle rattled loudly. Not good. Unscrewing the cap confirmed what I already knew: only two pills. Great.

The pills went into my throat like rocks, and I used water from the sink to gulp them down. Immediately my vision became blurry, and the room spun like there was a ground quake. My hands gripped the sink for stability as my wings quivered and my head throbbed harder.

Then it stopped. The room went still and the headache disappeared.

The mattress and sleep beckoned me, but getting five feet was a challenge as my legs tried to adjust to stable ground. Soon, I was lying on my side with an unzipped sleeping bag folded over me. My wings stuck out behind me, resting on the hard stonecrete.

Another night in F Block. Another night in Rat’s Cove. Another night in filth.

I closed my eyes and let my fatigue carry me to sleep.