Wings

by Fearadhach MecRaudri

  “You and I have developed an understanding and friendship which I believe is strong enough for the questions themselves. I fear you failing to understand my motives. I have held the questions because I feared you might think I mistrust you.” His face turned to pin her with a stare of his own, “I do trust you. Implicitly. You have proven your dedication to both The Column and Lucas time and again. This is enough for me. Many of us here, maybe even most of us, have our lies that we hide behind, our past we try to escape.”

  He shook his head and held up a hand to forestall any protest, “Don’t. Just don’t. You don’t need to with me. I have to review the case of anyone who applies for membership to this city from Outside, and I know how much some people are running from. That you keep your past hidden is your prerogative. You have vetted yourself by your actions, and –as I said - that is enough for me. I am still curious, though, if some of my conclusions are correct.”

  Sharon had settled into a posture of calm listening, with her legs crossed and her hands folded over one knee. Several moments passed before she nodded slowly. Her eyes stayed locked on his and her expression became even more unreadable as he continued. “That you are far older than the late thirties you appear to be is something widely believed throughout The Column, but just a matter of idle speculation. I don’t believe for a minute that you are anything under fifty, and possibly well past that.

  “I know what the rejuvenation techniques can do, in those who’s genes are receptive. It is too bad that the ‘fountain of youth’ they appear to provide is only superficial... or so we are told. Anyway, that seems a good place to start. Mind telling me how old you are, or at least giving me a hint? And, don’t try to feed me some line about looking at you, we are past that point with each other, I think.”

  Her tightly controlled smile turned into a set of pursed lips, then she leaned back in her chair, raised her glass, and allowed herself a real smile. “No, I won’t tell you how old I am. I will admit that I am far older than I appear, but I am just old-fashioned enough not to want to reveal my age. Yes, yes, there is more to it than vanity, my friend, I know I can’t fool you anymore, but I don’t want to go into that either.”

  She slowly brought the glass, and a saucy stare came at him over its rim as it gradually tilted up and she took a long, slow pull from the glass. If not for the dedication he held to Martha the look would have had him rather hot under the collar. Even Martha could not make him completely immune, though, and his cheeks flushed involuntarily. He supposed that was fair enough revenge for asking a lady her age. Her face became an interesting combination of a half-smirk and look of apology for a moment, then was all business as words were delivered as a firm demand. “Next question.”

  Torfan looked at her for several moments, contemplating. He considered claiming that he didn’t have any more questions, but knew he couldn’t fool her anymore than she could fool him. She had answered the core of his question, though, and some besides. She was far older than she seemed, possibly even the forty-five or fifty years that seemed to lurk behind those flinty eyes. Her face held a slight, secretive smile and her head was cocked slightly to the left and toward him, indicating that he should go ahead. “Very well, then. The second question that I have extends from the first, and the sparse but tasteful furnishings here give me a hint to the answer.

  “I sometimes wonder if you were originally from one of the Families, and fled to The Column from some sort of trouble. An arranged marriage perhaps? Or did you…” His words cut off as the hairs on his arms began to stand. A subtle shift in her posture which made it clear he had accidentally tread on an old wound, one still not fully healed. Her self-control was near legendary within The Column, but he no longer believed the legends did her justice. That she could hold such a wound so deep as to keep it unseen by anyone… his respect of her control grew even deeper as a mere flick of the left wrist banished the pain as if nothing had happened.

  She made a gesture with her arm as if to cast his worries over why she came to The Column, and his fears that maybe she had run from the law, aside. “Oh, worry yourself not, my friend. It is true that I was Family, but I could not stand the state of affairs in the world, so I came here. There …”

  This time it was his turn to be curt. He leaned forward rapidly, and the fire in his expression cut her off abruptly. “So, you tell me to ask your questions, then think I would miss what just passed through you. You were hurt somewhere in there, hurt badly. You demand candor, and then…!”

  Sharon pressed back slightly into her chair, seeming unaccustomed to seeing such fire from this generally mild-mannered man. She closed her eyes briefly in the silence that followed, and seemed surprised to find herself gripping the edges of her chair.

  It took some moments, but pained words finally came forth, “Yes, I was Family. Rather high up, too. They had plans for me, big plans I would assume. I … It ….” A single tear rolled down her cheek, and her body started to tremble. They could both tell she was on the edge of a never-healing wound being opened.

  Torfan put a hand on her knee, squeezing slightly to reassure her that she could go on or stop as needed. For a moment it seemed she would continue, but then she drew in on herself and straightened. When her eyes flashed open, they had regained their flinty sharpness, totally at odds with the tear-streak still on her cheek. “I’m sorry. It is, even now, more than I can talk about. All I will say is that it was long ago, that I wandered for some time before being altered and coming here, and that there are those in the Families who owe me a debt of blood. I do not care who extracts that debt, but I will see it done.

  “The Column comes first, however. I will not let my personal vendetta interfere with our cause, have no fear of that.

  “And, the answer to the question you are so concerned I will question your motives over, and that you are trying to get out of asking, is: Yes. This is much of the reason why I haven’t explored the possible feelings between Lucas and myself. Much of the reason, probably even most, but not all. The lesser of the other reasons is that there is our professional relationship to consider. Not our reputations, that doesn’t matter. Hell, half The Column probably thinks we are sleeping together already, the other half probably thinks we should.

  “Involving that much emotion will change the dynamics of any relationship, though, and what we are doing is far too important for that. Of course, the changing of relationships comes to the second least reason, and that is the friendship and close bond we already share. It would likely be much harder for me to come at him with that wax-sealed bottle if I was coming from the bedroom. The last reason is that I am not sure he is ready. Everyone knows he still mourns his lost wife. I know that a new flame with me might help that, or it could send him into a negatively-reinforced spiral.

  “No, as tempting as it is, there is just too much for us both to try it. Maybe, someday, when all this is over and we can sort out our feelings, sort through our grief, and… and…” Her fist balled up in anger, tears threatening again. Her mouth worked silently, seemingly caught between rage and sadness. Torfan reached out to touch her then pulled himself back as if burned when eyes aflame with grief and anger hit him like a physical force.

  That gaze held a threat, even though she didn’t intend it. His reaction appeared to pull her back from whatever precipice she fought, and she closed her eyes and bowed her head, returning her hand to her lap. They sat in silence, and Torfan finally touched her shoulder and spoke, “You promised not to be angry at me for my questions, and here we are with the worst question being the one I tried not ask. I understand, though, if you are angry with me for getting in far enough under your guard for this to come out.

  “I also wish you to know that it is ok, and you are safe with me. You obviously have deep demons here to work out, and those demons have left you unable to trust. Except, here you have trusted me with them, or at least the shape of them. Know that I think no less of you for them, and will guard your secrets to my grave. I am not a
sking you to confide in me, my friend; I am offering to help you wrestle with this if you will. That’s what friends do, though you probably never saw such from your Family upbringing.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I know a bit about the Families and how they operate. I had a girl I was interested at one time who was one of theirs. She probably would have ended up being a good enough woman, too, but the scheming inherent in their way finally got her. So yes, I know.”

  His hand came away as her body started to shake, the rage came off her in nearly physical waves. When she finally looked up at him, though, her eyes were calm. In some ways more calm than he had seen them before. “My dear friend.” She said the word as if it was new to her, as if testing the word on her tongue. He supposed that, in truth, she probably was. “I am not angry with you. I am angry with certain others, with the universe, with circumstance, maybe even myself, but not with you. I am touched, truly, by what you have tried to do here.

  “I will remember it, and I thank you. You have, indeed, gotten under my guard a little. Something I did not think was possible anymore, and for that I thank you as well. But, this is all that I think I can take for one night. I appreciate what you have tried to do, more than you will probably ever know. Who knows? Maybe I will even take you up on your generous offer of an ear one day, if I’m ever ready.

  “For now, though, the hour is late, and I don’t want to keep you from that wonderful wife of yours.” She rose to walk him to the door, and he saw the rage in her movements, despite the calm in her eyes. He went quietly to the door, not wishing to break the magic of what had happened between them. As he turned to say his last good-bye, he found himself enclosed in a close hug, the last thing anyone would have ever expected from the much-reputed ‘Ice-Queen’. He returned it with all the warmth he could put in it. They stepped back and their eyes met for a moment, and the door quietly closed.

  ***

  Sharon shut the door behind her, the warmth of this new friendship warring with the bitter fury which she had nursed for so many years. The glow of this friendship felt bittersweet, and that realization which caused the rage to gain full force. It was this feeling, this love and acceptance, which he had cost her. She could have had this all these years! She stormed from the door, angry tears streaming down her cheeks the only expression of rage which she would allow herself, even here in private.

  He would pay. Oh, how he would pay. It would not be enough to kill him. He would see everything shattered. Every coin his avarice had acquired taken from him, every ounce of respect and awe and fear he had ever inspired turned back to mock him. She would not just see him dead, she would see him broken. And, whether she was there for it or not, he would know. She would see to it that he knew it was her he lost to; that he could still have had it all, if he had simply let her go. Oh, yes, he would pay. If it took her entire life, she would make him pay.

  Chapter 13

  The remote to the flat-vid impacted the wall at great speed and shattered. Lorcan Fendal surged out of his chair and made it half way around the living room even before it hit the wall. The sound had been turned off for the newscast, but the big block text scrolling at the bottom of the screen said it all: ‘Mob Clash. Four dead, five wounded, thousands in property damage.’ Furious strides went up and down the carpet, punctuated by occasional curses, but his eyes never left the news feed. It seemed as though he thought to change it by force of anger. He gave no sign of noticing when the door opened and his secretary gently placed a new remote on one end of the table. Lorcan stormed around the room, his gaze riveted on the TV display which he found so offensive. His lieutenants sat poised on the edges of couches and chairs, too busy watching him to look at the broadcast.

  Lorcan absently grabbed the remote off of the end table and the vid flipped through half a dozen channels. Every single one of them showed the same scene. Two bodies covered with sheets lying outside a nightclub. He flipped through the channels one more time, then dashed the remote against the wall behind him as he screamed, “HOW!?! How did those dogs get that many people that near to that club undetected? Did I not teach you better? Have you gotten so lax that, even though I specifically tell you to be ready and to place all targets on high alert, that the Senlan, the Senlan of all people, are able to get that close to a major target, UNSCANNED, with explosives!? The Senlan for Rescue’s sake! You should have been able to smell that gutter trash from a mile off!”

  “Lorcan felt as though the very air which formed his words had grown hot with his fury. It took effort to tear his gaze from the vid to Henser, his man in charge of that part of that town. “Well? I’m listening!” All his lieutenants went slightly ridged as he crossed his arms and began to tap his foot. They all knew where he kept his pistol, and knew that he might use it in this much of a rage. He rarely shot anyone this high up in the Family, though. At least, not fatally. Well, usually not fatally.

  Henser returned Lorcan’s stare levelly, but remained leaned back in his chair so that his hard gaze did not seem like a challenge. A challenge at a time like this could easily prove fatal, even more so for someone who had just failed. “We all, including you, boss, agreed to concentrate our defenses on our hard assets. To make the opening gambit an attack on a public place of gathering is not the sort of strategy we could have anticipated. Only the Senlan are so bat-brained crazy, and desperate, as to skirt within a hair’s breadth of violating the Conventions on their first move.”

  One of the other lieutenants, Kevin, spoke up. “Actually, there are things here we can turn to our advantage, sir.” Lorcan whirled around to face Kevin, narrowing his eyes on the man’s young face. He never had figured out quite how this one had managed to get himself invited into this inner circle at such a young age, but had never worried himself too much over it. Kevin was a smart one, and ambitious, but too cautious to move directly against his superiors and too skittish to be given much command. Even the boy seemed to realize it of himself.

  Lorcan held his gaze steady for several moments, then lifted one finger to indicate that Kevin could continue. His hand stayed near his gun, though, as the young man spoke. “First, they are lucky that we were able to prevent any outside casualties. Granted, we are lucky as well, but they - as the aggressors - more than us. Even as it is this could turn to our advantage, though. They can claim that they were hitting a target of ours, but they can’t claim that we were using it to shelter anything of value. Any Family can get away with that sort of stunt once, maybe, once in a conflict like this. They will be getting a hard reprimand over this, probably are getting it as we speak. We, however, are not going to be as restricted. We can, at some point, make an outside play when it would be most useful, and neither they nor the handlers will be able to complain much. Yes, we may get slapped on the wrist, but our opponents will take a much greater hit than we do.

  “Our real advantage, though, is that they have just made themselves the enemy in the eyes of the people here; if we play it right. A phone call to one of the major stations by an ‘eye witness’ sometime in the next hour or so could do us a world of good. We lost three good men to their two, and there were no outside losses despite the attackers using explosives in a crowded nightclub. If we can pass off that one of our boys actually sacrificed himself to save ‘innocent lives’….”

  Lorcan pursed his lips briefly, then abruptly picked up the phone. The men in the room recognized the name he called for when the other end picked up as the owner of the nightclub in question. A brief, quiet conversation ensued, during which Lorcan almost smiled. When he returned the phone to its cradle nothing broke, and everyone in the room breathed a little easier. They waited for him to speak, but he just stood watching the news feed. He turned up when the nightclub owner appeared on the vid. The spoke owner spoke briefly, gave his statements and refused questions.

  The nightclub owner said that the reason he had chosen to make the statements was that they were reporting the body count wrong, for it was one higher. One of his ‘security gua
rds’ had thrown himself on a grenade which had been thrown through the door, and saved a great many lives. He applauded the valiant efforts of his security guards, and credited them with the saving of a number of innocent lives. As the reporters clamored for questions, he stated that he had next of kin to notify, and his own grief to attend to.

  Lorcan’s men sat there slightly stunned. One finally let out a low whistle. “Wasn’t that a little risky, boss? I mean, if the press figures out what really happened…”

  Lorcan almost surprised even himself by chuckling, then turned a gaze which managed to be hard and amused at the same time upon the whistler, “That’s the beauty of it, there is no way of disputing it. What our boy there just said is true. One of his guards did fall on the first explosive to come through that door, and he did save a great many lives. The fact that he fell because he was an idiot and not trying to be all noble is something that few will ever know, and even they will begin to doubt by the time this is over. Whoever that klutz was, he just handed us a leg up on this first round. Now we need to discuss what we do next.”

  With that he sat down, opening the floor for others to speak. He muted the television and half listened as his men bandied about ideas. Most of them had decent heads on their shoulders, and these sessions usually came up with at least one or two ideas worth exploring. Kevin would deserve careful watching. The boy looked to have an idea, but appeared to be waiting for the right time to express it. He found himself genuinely curious to find out what it was.

  The conversation moved through the application of their resources for defense, and how to portion it all out. This move weakened them far more than the actual damage it caused. They could not allow those sorts of attacks on soft targets, and they certainly couldn’t retaliate in kind. The handlers would never allow such things, and in any civilized turf war they wouldn’t have to worry about their soft targets until much further on in the engagement.