AMNESIA

by Canada Jackson

  The guards roughly carried her to the tiled floor that was slowly grinding open beneath her gaze. Rix pleaded for the Monarch’s mercy but the smile of pure delight on his face made her stop, knowing it was futile. With a rough shove, she slid over the edge and fell onto the sandy ground with a thud.

  She stared up in horror as the ceiling grate closed, blocking out light and hope simultaneously. Rix knelt on the ground and waited for sensation to return to her limbs, stunned into immobile shock.

  * * *

  Darkness surrounded her, and she worked hard to stop the panic that flooded her mind and

  senses. She held her terror at bay and focused on her training, slowing her frantic breathing and settling her thoughts.

  She struggled to remember what she knew about the holding cell.

  It was a circular pit, narrow, like a round, winding passageway. If she kept walking, she would complete a perfect circle. What lay in the tubular middle robbed her of her breath and she tried not to think about it. The walls on both sides were solid and Rix touched them both as she extended her arms. Horror stories she’d heard as a child claimed that the middle cylinder contained hundreds of tiny crawling insects, released to eat the flesh of the prisoners dropped into the cell.

  It was a torturous punishment to death, outlawed for years.

  Rix shuddered and prayed that this was one penalty that Shihlo had indeed stopped, despite his failure to close the pit entirely.

  She lowered onto her knee and touched the ground with trembling hands, furrowing through the damp sand. She remembered learning that the floor was made of a substance that caused quick decay. It turned a dead body into a skeleton within weeks and she shuddered anew. She reminded herself to focus on the now, and not the history lesson from the past.

  Rix scraped her heel into the ground until she had marked a small hole. Then, with one hand upon the inner wall, she slowly moved forward, hoping that when her foot slid into the hole she had just made and her investigation of the circle was complete, she would discover that she was alone in this cell.

  The wall was sharp and uneven beneath her fingers, but it was also slippery with slime.

  Climbing it would not be an option even if she could manage to open the floor grate to escape.

  Rix moved forward, keeping as quiet as she could so that the only sound was the rustle

  of her feet on the sand. Eventually, her heel slipped into the hole. She slowly let out her breath in a sigh of relief. Unless something lay on the ground out of the reach of her arms and feet, she was alone.

  She went around a second time, using her legs to scoop to the left and the right. When she struck something hard, she recoiled, then gingerly leaned forward until her hands fell over the lumps on the ground that had struck her foot. She ran her fingers over the mounds and found that they were skeletons. Three side by side. She explored the clothing they had once worn, and her fingers collided with epilates and buttons that were not Thromian. She frowned in concentration and moved upward toward their faces, then froze when she felt the cold mask beneath her fingers.

  The intricate and ornate masks belonged to only one nation. The Raks of Huggraker.

  But why would three dead Raks be in the Monarch’s underground prison? The Room of Decisions was only for matters concerning Thromians. No outside visitors were allowed.

  The Yimmyrd had been in one time only, to confront the Monarch over the Sanbara.

  He expelled them quickly.

  Rix ran her fingers over each mask, memorizing them, for Rak soldiers wore different masks according to their rank. She broke off a fragment from each skeleton and placed them in her pocket. If she survived, she would give them to Whyle. If not, she hoped that when he received her body, he would find them and figure out the Monarch’s involvement.

  She steeled herself and completed the circle a few more times before she allowed herself the luxury of imagining what was transpiring above. They would do something to free her. By the end of the next day, Whyle would ask about her whereabouts.

  The siblings always checked in with each other. When he would be unable to find her, Whyle would alert Shihlo, who would have the pit opened. He knew the secrets of the Room better than the others did. Alternatively, somebody at the hearing would gossip and the brothers would find out and set her free. There were many possibilities on which to peg her hopes.

  As long as the king did not mete out his justice before they could react. Surely, he wouldn’t kill her. What would he gain?

  Rix shivered in the icy room and rubbed her arms for comfort and warmth. She slid down to the ground and hugged her knees, determined not to give up hope. Her mind drifted to a memory that made her happy. One of her on Earth, sitting at a fire and talking for hours to Revan about her life. In this memory, she blocked out the fact that there was a human girl nearby. A human girl who would win his heart instead of her. No. In her memory, there was only her and Revan, her confessions of failure and his loving response.

  31

  The Monarch Strikes

  Two days later, after receiving no response to his calls, Whyle began to worry.

  Rix made a point of conferring with him every day – a quick call, an invite to go jogging or to a tavern for a drink. For two days, he had not heard a word from her, and her communicator was disabled.

  She lived off the palace grounds, although she sometimes overnighted in his apartment, which formed a part of the brothers’ wings. However, her house androids confirmed that she had not been home for a while and had not given them notice of where she would be.

  Whyle knew that Rix had given up her obsession with Wrexel and now seemed pained over the Yimmyrd Revan. She remained unpredictable, however, and could turn her crushes and desires on a whim. The last time she went missing, she had done so because of Wrexel.

  Whyle fervently hoped this wasn’t the case again. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Rix at her worst now that he had been enjoying her at her best. Drinking too much and dancing with danger like she used to. He loved his sister, but she caused him constant pain.

  He marched over to Wrexel’s wing and entered the dining area, where he found Wrexel and Amber quietly enjoying their breakfast. Whyle felt a surge of anger that Wrexel was playing house while his sister was obviously missing, more than likely because of him.

  “Where is Rix?” he demanded.

  “Good morning to you too, cousin.” Wrexel sipped his drink and raised his eyebrows, waiting. “She’s been missing for days.”

  “I have nothing to do with her disappearance this time.” Wrexel pointed at a chair. “Join us.”

  They argued about Rix’s whereabouts while Amber watched in silence. Whyle did not trust Wrexel when it came to his sister, and Amber didn’t blame him after what Wrexel had done to her on Earth. Wrexel remained openly dismissive of Rix but Amber had grown fond of her. She found that since her time on Earth with Revan, Rix was different. Calm, sober, and genuinely in love with the Yimmyrd who did not return her feelings.

  Whyle calmed down and greeted Amber. “My lady, First Lord, please forgive me,” he said formally in a bid to excuse his rude behavior.

  Amber liked Whyle; it was hard not to. She was at ease with him and enjoyed his occasional visits. She hoped Wrexel had nothing to do with Rix’s disappearance, although from the expression on his face, she could sense that he did not know.

  “Wrexel, I know you have a... set opinion of Rix, but I have seen her a lot of late and she has been very mature and different after her time with Revan. If she is missing, I think there is a problem,” Amber said.

  Wrexel, to her surprise, acknowledged her opinion and turned a more serious glance on Whyle.

  “Why don’t you tap into her logs?” he suggested. “We both know you can do that.”

  “Rather an invasion of privacy.” Whyle looked uncomfortable. “But yes, as a last resort, I think I will do that. Thank you.” He lifted Amber’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

  He returned
his attention to Wrexel. “Have you seen Staede of late?”

  Wrexel directed an angry look at Amber. “Ask my wife.”

  Amber groaned, for they had just stopped arguing over her additional training sessions with Staede. Since her illness, Wrexel had shown less tolerance of her time with him. He never liked the idea of her training with Staede but became accustomed to her regular sessions until her fever.

  Now he was more hawkish over her time. The day before, he had secretly watched a session in the dark recesses of the gymnasium. Staede threw her to the ground whilst teaching her a reactive move and each time he did, he would pin her hands behind her head and feign attempts to kiss her. Amber was used to Staede’s teasing; it spurred her energy to fight even harder when he grasped her backside inappropriately or brushed his fingers across her breast. While Wrexel watched, Staede pinned her down during their final practice and this time, instead of feigning, he caught her mouth with his own and ran his tongue across hers even as she struggled, only to jump up, turn to the corner, and say, “Did you enjoy the show, Wrexel?”

  Wrexel was still planning his revenge on his brother and had disappeared quickly, leaving nothing but mocking laughter in his wake.

  Whyle looked at Amber curiously.

  “He is training me in combat,” she explained.

  Whyle snorted but did his best to hide it with a sip of the warm beverage Leyahanna had placed before him.

  “I’ve been trying to tell her what she is dealing with in Staede.” Wrexel looked at her accusingly. “Staede fucks anything female that passes him. He loves a challenge, and she is a challenge to him, nothing more.”

  Whyle did not respond, but the look he gave Amber showed that he agreed with Wrexel.

  “On another subject, Whyle,” Wrexel ignored the stubborn set of Amber’s chin, “have you given any more thought to the plans Staede and I presented last week? I think we covered most of your concerns.”

  Whyle’s mug froze en route to his mouth. “I thought I made it clear; the answer is no.”

  Wrexel’s face did not change, but the air was decidedly chillier.

  “If you toe the line and avoid doing anything else that threatens Thromian culture,” Whyle looked at Amber for emphasis, “we will regain your lost support and continue building for a three-fourths majority. The Monarch is well-monitored, rest assured, and controlled at present. Our vigilance and work against his acts of terror are succeeding.”

  Wrexel looked at him with disdain. “I believe you said those exact words the week before his weapon of mass destruction nearly destroyed Throm.”

  * * *

  The Monarch’s bomb had taken them all by surprise, but Whyle’s surveillance of the Monarch had increased tenfold since then. There would be no testing on Throm again.

  “Why are you so insistent on war again this week, Wrexel?” Whyle demanded, for both he and Shihlo were scared that Wrexel had lulled them into a false confidence that he had abandoned his plans.

  Wrexel’s eyes narrowed angrily. “The Monarch’s Red Guard is still growing, and I have Intel that says he is ferociously rebuilding all that I blew up. I just don’t know where but I will find out and when I do, I’ll destroy it all again.”

  Whyle slammed down his mug and made Amber jump. “Many of his new recruits are formerly Green Party supporters, turning to him because of your choices. Does that mean anything to you? The Monarch will retaliate with a terror attack and hurt even more of your followers!”

  “I have no choice!” Wrexel shouted back. “The very idea that we have to watch what we do or suffer terror attacks is unacceptable. His Red guard is orchestrating these attacks. Why not destroy them before they destroy us? You are paying attention now only because the Monarch’s attacks were on a large scale; have you forgotten our disappearing supporters of high rank before that?”

  Wrexel spun his monitor across the table toward Whyle. “In the last six months, he has murdered double the number I did when I took out his ship-building plants.”

  Whyle spun his monitor straight back. “Civil war will tag at least five zeros onto your murders and his, so why would we back your plans when Shihlo is working to win this democratically? There was no movement at the last full moon; given time, Shihlo will win back what we lost!”

  When Wrexel folded his arms stubbornly, Whyle seemed to have had enough. “I will bid you farewell now, Wrexel, before this gets more heated. It’s been a while since you and I had hand-to-hand combat, and whilst I do enjoy the rush of proper engagement with a worthy opponent, I’m in no mood.”

  “What a shame,” Wrexel said sarcastically.

  Whyle kissed Amber’s hand again and excused himself.

  “What’s going on?” She was always on the outskirts of their discussions. Even when Staede was around, he spoke to Wrexel apart from her. Amber had a vague idea of their plans, which were roughly that Wrexel wanted war and Shihlo did not. However, now that they had spoken, she wanted to know more.

  “Nothing that concerns you. Let’s enjoy our breakfast.”

  “I’ll just ask Staede,” she said coyly.

  Wrexel slammed down his mug. “Staede will not reveal our agenda to you, no matter how hard you make his dick.”

  “We’ll see.” She used his favored expression.

  I’ll never want you… We’ll see.

  I’ll never forget Travis… We’ll see.

  “I want Whyle to take away the Monarch’s ability to communicate. I don’t want him to be able to call for fucking dinner, but Whyle doesn’t want to create visible dissention. He wants me to keep doing a merry Thromian dance until we have a three-fourths majority. Then we can vote the Monarch out of his seat over the Red and appoint whomever we like in his place. I cannot fight without Whyle’s support and he steadfastly stands with Shihlo.”

  “If there were a war, if the Monarch managed to find a way to build up his army and strike out, Whyle would support you, of course. So why worry?” Amber asked.

  “I know that. I want his word that he won’t stop me and Staede if we strike first.”

  “You really can’t do this without his support, can you?”

  “No.” Wrexel frowned. “Which is another concern. Whyle’s Comms stronghold is always under threat. A lunar cycle has not passed without an attempt from the Monarch to gain entry. I am worried that the Monarch will one day find a way to take it over. Leaving the Monarch with his current freedom is a time bomb waiting to explode.”

  “But democratically, if more of Throm wants Gilroth, you should accept that.”

  * * *

  Wrexel did not rise to the bait. Instead, he looked sad. “The civilians are unknowing and the Reds in positions of power are anything but democratic, Amber. They lie, cheat, steal, and murder to make their popularity rise. They are archaic in their thinking and would destroy the new Thromian culture that my brothers and I have cultivated in the five years during which we have had partial rule. I am not fighting to rule Throm autocratically like he is; I want what is best for my people, even if it means hurting them initially to get it. Normal unranked Red civilian supporters are none the wiser; they are supporters because that is the house of historical placement of civilians. However, they do not know the truth of the party they accept without question.”

  “But Shihlo’s popularity grows steadily,” Amber said. “He told me that more and more young civilians are choosing his house if they are not going into the army or air force. Maybe just a little more time will see Shihlo’s dreams come to fruition.”

  Wrexel pursed his lips.

  “Any solution is better than civil war.”

  Civil war.

  Amber took a moment to consider this. Her fear of this idea showed on her face.

  “Should we resort to war, you will be safe.” He saw her concern. “Unless you’re worried about me being hurt.”

  “Why would I, if it meant I would be free?” she sassed, for he was particularly surly that morning. He flinched but his usual domina
ting persona returned instantly.

  “You will not be free before I am ready, Amber, for I intend to go nowhere, and I certainly have no plans to be killed. Besides, my body wouldn’t be cold before Staede would step in.”

  “He would never keep me a prisoner.”

  “Maybe,” Wrexel said, “but I wouldn’t put it past him. Don’t think you will be better off with Staede. He has fewer scruples than I have. So, you are here to stay.”

  “Until you tire of me,” she added, but he did not respond.

  * * *

  Whyle was not happy with the path he took after his talk with Wrexel. However, if his cousin had not sent Rix off on a mission to keep her out of his hair, Whyle had run out of options. Her personal logs showed nothing unusual.

  He was granted immediate entry to the Monarch’s quarters. The look upon the king’s face was that of bliss.

  The king made no secret of the fact that he desired Whyle’s full and uncompromising allegiance. The son of his late brother, and royal, Whyle and his loyalty would be a victory that could help the Monarch capture the younger generation’s attention, drawing them away from Shihlo. It would also give him a monopoly over all Comms and technology, which would cripple Staede and Wrexel.

  As he entered the king’s dining room that night, Whyle knew the conversation would steer toward this cause again, but he had to seek the king’s council for Rix. He had decided to tolerate the Monarch’s manipulations.

  Whyle felt distinctly uncomfortable in the king’s quarters. All his guards wore their blood-red jackets emblazoned with the symbol of the hissing, black Sanbara beasts. They surveyed him with animosity.

  The Monarch needed the youth vote and Whyle was the answer. However, Whyle would never voluntarily change affiliations. The Monarch watched as they searched Whyle – a waste of time, for Whyle bore the curse of bondage upon his arm.