by Rowan Rook
Startling, he looked up to see Jeriko staring down at him. A soft smile spread across the other man's face. "Asking for forgiveness?"
Anson didn't say anything for a while. In truth, that was why he'd come to the cathedral, but he hadn't been able to conjure up any words to say. Apologizing wouldn't change anything. ...And did he really deserve to be forgiven?
He recalled last night's dream, and his gaze sunk back to the floor.
What entity would grant mercy to a monster like him?
He shook his head and managed to put on a small smile. "Wouldn't asking for forgiveness now, when we're about to try our hand at regicide, be more than a bit presumptuous?"
"I suppose that's true." Jeriko mirrored his smile but took the seat beside him. A few minutes passed quietly before he spoke again, "We're doing the right thing, you know."
Anson also waited a moment before answering, "Are we really?"
The Butterfly nodded. "This world went to Hell a long time ago."
Silence settled over them like butterflies landing on their shoulders whenever they were still.
"What was Rita about to say before you fired that shot?" Anson finally disturbed the hush.
Jeriko looked at him, blinking.
"He started on about what would happen if the Editor started the Draft. What did he mean by that? Why did you stop him from finishing?"
"Ah." Jeriko took his time with his answer. "Because what he was going to say isn't true."
Anson eyed the other man with cautious curiosity. "...What isn't true?"
Jeriko sighed. "Among those who know of the Inkwells, it's often said the Editor must never be allowed to use them, lest it erase Auratessa itself. An Editor could wreak impossible havoc." He smirked at Anson. "But you aren't like that, are you?"
Anson answered with a slow, bewildered blink. "No." The word came with a strange flash of relief—even if he was a monster, he wasn't as awful as that. He wanted to make the world better; he certainly didn't want to end it. "But what is this I keep hearing about a Draft? I already have two Inkwells and haven't noticed anything unusual so far."
All this talk almost made him sound like some form of nefarious machine—a weapon under construction and waiting to be unleashed. But that was impossible. He'd used his own body as a specimen during his more private projects at the Academy. Physically, there was nothing unusual about him. He was—he sighed—nothing more than an average Lyrum.
"Nothing will happen until we take you to the Source."
Anson frowned. "...The Source?"
"The very first seed of Auratessa that came into creation, according to Riksharre's old texts. Everything else spread from there, and any changes need to start from the same place. It's on the Rinvale Islands outside Lusanthine."
Anson gave him another blink, only half understanding. How vague did these people have to be? "We're going there once we collect all five Inkwells?"
"That's right. Hell, we could head there and begin the so-called Draft now, if we wanted to, but with only two Inkwells, you wouldn't be able to do much. The more you have, the greater your ability to edit Auratessa will be. It'd be fantastic if we could obtain all five, but truth be told, I bet four would suffice enough. You may even be able to tinker around with three." Jeriko's eyes met the Editor's. "Of course, before any of that, all of us will need to have a discussion about exactly what it is you'll do—what you'll change. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"
Anson shook his head. "Not as long as I get to make my own choices in the end."
Each Butterfly surely had their own definition of an ideal Auratessa. They were placing a lot of trust in him. What was to say he wouldn't agree to their demands only to ignore them once the process began? Still, what other choice did the Butterflies have?
"Fair enough," Jeriko agreed.
With that, the Butterfly seemed content to let the conversation end, his eyes drifting, but Anson wasn't going to let him escape it so easily.
"But the process itself... How am I going to do this? What do I need to know?" Anson searched for Jeriko's gaze. "And what...what will happen to me?"
Jeriko wetted dry lips with an anxious lick. "Honestly...I'm not entirely sure how the process will play out. I'm not sure if anyone is really, but your best bet would be asking Rickard. I suspect you'll be figuring a lot of it out as it happens. It's not like anyone's ever done this before." He hesitated, his voice tightening. "But I do know that our bodies—Human and Lyrum alike—aren't made to sustain that level of power. Once the Draft starts, I imagine you'll have a short time to do whatever you want to do with it, and then..."
"I'll die," Anson finished. His heart panged, but he forced another small smile.
"I'm sorry." Guilt washed over Jeriko's features.
"Don't be," Anson dismissed, straightening in his seat. "I suspected so a long time ago."
A scared, selfish part of him had hoped otherwise. Had hoped he'd be able to save himself, to edit his own body, to live on. A bigger part of him, however, had known that such a wish was too great. That wasn't the way the world worked. Everything came at a cost. He could defy death, but he'd never be able to cheat his own.
He tried to widen his smile. "It hardly matters anymore. I'm already at the end of my life, so I may as well go all out for the finale."
The haze of remorse lingered on Jeriko's face. His eyes were somewhere else.
Anson's painted grin wilted away. "What is it?"
"Ms. Johanne..." Jeriko let out a long sigh. "She asked me what would happen to you when everything was said and done. I lied. I told her I didn't know. And I think she actually believed me."
The soldier's name sapped Anson's courage away and summoned back the silence. He breathed a sigh of his own. "When everything's over, she won't remember me, anyway."
Jeriko lifted his chin. "Are you sure that's for the best?"
Anson nodded. "She'll be happier, that way. She doesn't need to be haunted by any of this madness."
Jeriko nodded listlessly in turn.
The silence stretched on.
Dissatisfied, Anson hung his head and restlessly twined his fingers together. "But I still don't understand. What is it that's so special about me?" He'd asked the same thing before, several times and in several ways, and had yet to receive a full answer. "I'm nothing more than an everyday Lyrum. Why am I the only one who can use these Inkwells? How did you know that I was this...this Editor?"
Jeriko chewed on unspoken words. He met Anson's gaze, as if considering an answer, and then looked away. "I'm afraid I'll have to direct you to Rickard, once again. No matter how many times you ask, there are things even I'm forbidden to talk about."
What on Auratessa was it that was so confidential? What was this well-guarded secret about himself that he didn't know? More curious and anxious than ever, Anson stared at the floor, frustrated.
The two men traveled their own thoughts for a while, wordlessly passing time as the tinted light saturated with the rise of the sun.
From the edge of his gaze, Anson noticed that Jeriko seemed uneasy. He fiddled where he sat, his head low. He repeatedly flexed his jaw—as if about to speak—only to close it again. He groaned in defeat before he finally spoke, "What made you want to become a scientist? Where did you learn to treat your sister's illness?"
Anson exhaled. "That's...quite a long story."
"I'd like to hear it."
Anson arched a brow. "Why?"
"I'm only curious," Jeriko insisted. "I'll tell you one thing: If you had never broken tradition to begin with, your fate may have been different...for better or for worse."
Anson held the long stare.
"It's unusual, is all," Jeriko tried a different approach. "A Lyrum wanting to enter the world of Humans, and as a scientist, no less." He smiled. "You're odd, in more ways than one."
Anson couldn't help a smile of his own, this one more genuine. That much was true. Whether hiding heresy inside Lyrum society
or struggling to blend in with Human culture, he'd never belonged anywhere. He'd never had a place in the world, not one that accepted all of him. And yet, while there were many things he regretted, he couldn't bring himself to regret who he was.
"Did you know that the Academy actually did reach Riksharre, once?" Why not tell his story? At least then, it would live on, inside someone else's head. Perhaps something so strange deserved to linger on Auratessa for a while longer. "Not soldiers—scientists. An unfortunate research group stumbled upon the colony years ago. I met them, then. If I hadn't, I may never have learned about the Academy, at all."
Jeriko eyed him with interest, but didn't respond, waiting.
Anson sucked in a deep breath and let his mind and tongue return to an incident nearly sixteen years ago.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Editor, part II
"You'll never catch me, Sis!"
The eight-year old Anson Anwell raced through the wheat and flowers just beyond the shelter of Riksharre's borders. He stole a glance back at his sister as her rapid footsteps creeped up on him.
"We'll see about that." Aydel was just a few feet away from him now, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Ahlyn was ill again. Her fever had taken another turn for the worse last week, and she'd been bedridden since. The siblings spent a great deal of time at her bedside, telling stories and playing games as her health permitted. But that morning, their father had suggested they get some fresh air and fetch more herbs for Ahlyn's fever.
They weren't supposed to venture past the colony's thorny barrier, but the meadow was one of their favorite places to play and perfect for a game of tag. If no one tattled, how could their parents possibly learn of their misbehavior? It was close enough for them to easily make it home before dark.
Aydel leaped forward with a growl. Anson let out an exaggerated yelp and a joyful laugh as he narrowly evaded her fingers. His sister was gaining on him. She'd catch him soon if he didn't find a way to regain ground. He looked at the forest surrounding the field, its silhouettes stretching into the shadows. Maybe if...
He changed course and headed for the trees.
"Anny? We're not supposed to go that deep into the woods!" Aydel's pursuit didn't waver.
"We weren't supposed to come to the field, either!" Anson grinned mischievously. "Afraid you won't be able to catch me?"
Aydel put on an indignant, determined scowl, keeping pace as the two of them entered the far side of the woods.
It worked. His sister trailed farther and farther behind him as he ducked under branches and zigzagged around trunks. The bag tied at his belt, filled with the herbs they had picked and the cookies his mother had packed for them, bobbed behind him with each step. When he glanced over his shoulder with a smirk, something snagged his leg and sent him face-first into the dirt.
Anson tried to push himself up on his palms, eager to keep running before Aydel reached him, but he couldn't. He hadn't tripped—something was wrapped around his ankle.
"Eh?" He jerked his foot, but the strange metal string wouldn't budge. Fangs of fear sunk into him. He let out a shout, pulling at the string with shaking fingers and flailing his leg as the panic spread. It hurt, now. The more he fought, the tighter the thing squeezed his ankle. His foot was losing circulation and scarlet welled up where it dug into his skin.
"Anny!" Aydel kneeled next to him when she caught up, her face pale. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"M-my leg's stuck...!" Anson gasped, his tight chest barely letting in the air to speak.
Footsteps disturbed the brush, drawing his sister's gaze away.
An unfamiliar man emerged from the forest's shadows. Blue eyes widened on a pale, blond-haired face. The sunlight reflected too brightly on his white coat.
Anson stared up at him. He tried to squirm away, but the string wouldn't let him. Aydel's gaze darted back and forth, as if she were torn between wanting to flee and not wanting to abandon her brother.
"Crap! It's a kid!" the man called over his shoulder. "A kid got caught in the snares!"
"Way out here? But we haven't seen another person in days!" A woman approached behind him, her face creased with worry.
The man stepped closer and kneeled beside Anson. "It's all right," he assured, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down—the more you struggle, the more it will tighten. We'll get you out."
Anson gaped up at the stranger. The man was too tall, with thick, strong limbs and strange clothes. An unfamiliar scent, tangy and sharp, lingered in his breath.
The man pulled a pair of wire cutters from his pocket and reached toward the trap.
Aydel shrieked when she saw the device in the stranger's hand. "Don't touch my brother!" She raised a wrist and icy arrows formed in the air.
"Lyrum!" the woman shouted. "They're Lyrum!" She charged at the girl so quickly her words slurred. "Stop them!"
Aydel screamed as the woman grabbed her shoulders and shoved her to the ground. Her arrows crumbled. "Human! Don't touch me! Don't you touch me!"
Anson couldn't find enough air to cry out, his pounding heart taking up all the space in his chest. The man pulled him close and pinned him against his chest. Anson tried to fight, tried to move his arms in the way that drew fire from the air, but he couldn't, the man's own arms squeezing him as tightly as the snare. The Human reached into the bag at his belt and emerged with yet another frightful device. He positioned it just below Anson's neck and pulled a trigger.
Anson shrieked as pain shot into the shallow flesh. Hot. Cold. Intense. The wave spread through his body and left a numb chill in its wake. He flailed, no longer feeling the snare as it squeezed blood from his ankle. The only sensation left was a vibration in his bones, shaking and stinging as if they were about to crumble. Tears blurred his vision.
"Anny!" Aydel cried, her eyes big with horror. Her second of distraction was all her captor needed. The Human drew an identical device from her bag, jammed it into the girl's chest, and pulled the trigger in a single motion. Aydel writhed in a heap of shrieks and sobs.
Anson had no strength left to fight as the man cut the snare and slung him over his shoulder, as easily as if his body was made of feathers.
What happened after that was a blur. Through flickers of consciousness, Anson watched the dirt and leaves pass by below him.
Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ
Anson huddled in the corner of the cage. His breath came in whimpers and he held his knees to his chest. It was all he could do to spare a nervous glance around.
Aydel was behind him. He didn't even have to look her way to know that much—she was still screaming, her voice hoarse with frightened, furious defiance.
They were in some kind of carriage, far larger than the one his parents' owned and filled with strange supplies: shelves packed with books, tables cluttered with unfamiliar devices, scattered papers crammed with long numbers and words, empty cages stacked nearby.
"It's not everyday you encounter juvenile Lyrum." The woman leaned in close to Anson, as if admiring him. He squirmed tighter against the bars on the opposite side of the cage. "Does this mean we're close?"
The man seemed to think for a moment. "Yes. We have to be," he answered with a note of pride. "They look healthy. That likely means they lived with a family nearby, and that itself means..." He smiled. "I'd say it brings us to an obvious conclusion."
The two Humans exchanged a jovial laugh and a satisfied embrace. They whispered and hollered among themselves for a while, leaving the two Lyrum alone.
"Anny! Anny!" The voice was Aydel's, low and hushed as she leaned as close as the cages allowed. "It won't work!"
Anson managed to turn in her direction, but his frozen tongue refused to form an answer.
"It won't work! It won't work! I wanted to freeze the lock and break it. I tried but it wouldn't work!"
"W-won't work?" he echoed. His mind was spinning so quickly her words were barely more than meaningless noise.
"My Translation! Nothing happened!" The gir
l's small fingers wrapped around the bars of her prison, slick with sweat. "It won't work...!"
Anson jolted when he realized what she was saying. He opened his palm and glanced down, sculpting a flame there in his mind like he'd done countless times before.
Nothing happened. The spark that should've created his fire wouldn't ignite.
A gasp escaped his tight chest. It must've caught the Humans' attention, because when he looked up, the man was glowering down at him.
"We can take your voices away next." The Human's tone dripped with syrup.
Anson only stared, as though his voice had already been stolen away.
"Where do you live? Where's your home?" the man pressed. The woman leaned in beside him, her eyes bright and eager. "Tell us, and we'll let you go."
"Don't tell them, Anny! They're lying! They won't let us go! They're going to take us to their labs! They're going to kill us! If we tell them where they are they'll kill Lyn and everyone else, too!"
Tears dripped down Anson's chin as he stayed silent. The Humans stared back at him and his sister with tight, dissatisfied frowns.
The curtains at the carriage's entrance fluttered open.
A portly man brushed them aside and stepped inside, carrying empty snares. "Nothing," he complained, his voice loud and frustrated as he plopped the traps down on a table. "Please tell me you had better luck."
The woman turned toward him with a smirk. "We didn't catch dinner, but we caught something better."
The man's gaze stretched wide when he saw the cages. "Children? What are Auratessa are you—"
"They're juvenile Lyrum, Gabe," she corrected tersely. "You do know what this means, don't you? We're close! We have to be close!"
Gabe said nothing. He gawked at the captives with skeptical, uncertain eyes.
"If only our receivers still worked out here. I can hardly imagine what the others will think when we get back to the Academy!" the woman beamed. "We leave on a generic wildlife survey and come back with the Lyrum colony's coordinates! We've found ourselves a place in the history books."
Gabe said nothing.
"In any case, Esterline and I should reset the snares." The first man turned away from the cages and picked up the empty traps. "Even if it's too late for dinner, we should try for a midnight meal. We'll need our strength with us when we search for the colony tomorrow."