by A. C. Ellas
Gilly looked at the motionless golden blotch. “She’s hunting? She appears to be doing nothing at all.”
“She’s an ambush hunter,” Nick said in explanation. “She’d rather drop down on her prey from above than chase it down. We aren’t the only ones to use this path, so she might get lucky.”
“You’d put other people at risk so casually?” Gilly asked sharply.
Nick blinked down at her with an expression of surprise. “Other people? There aren’t any other people out here, Mom. I meant that this is primarily a game trail. Mountain goats made this trail, not I.”
“Oh,” Gilly said sheepishly. “I feel silly now.”
Nick carefully climbed down to the trail they were on, making it look easy, though Gilly knew it was anything but. It was a nearly vertical descent, in fact. Once he was down, he plucked the water bottle from Evie’s hand and took a quick drink. “The higher trail’s blocked by a rockslide,” he told her, eyes dark. “So with her on the lower trail, I’d say our effort to reach the valley is well thwarted.”
“Is there any other route?” Evie looked up the trail.
Nick shook his head. “Not unless you want to scale the rocks and rappel into the valley.”
“No thanks,” Gilly interjected, “I’ll pass on the mountaineering. Besides, we only came up here to look for you, Nick.”
“Too bad. I wanted to see the unicorns again.” Evie sighed and smiled sadly at Gilly. “You’d have liked it, Mom. The unicorn valley’s always been well worth the hike.”
Nick handed Evie’s water bottle back without a word, heading back down the trail. After a moment, the women followed him. He led the way back down and helped them both over the rough spots. They had a much easier time of it, both due to his assistance and the general downhilledness of the trail.
But Nick led them off at a tangent once they were off the mountain proper, clearly not heading back to the house and waiting hovercar. Gilly refrained from groaning, her legs were really sore now, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit that to Nick.
* * * *
Nick led them through the trees for quite some distance until they reached a place where water came tumbling out of the rocks and gurgled down to a small pond lined with ferns and the drooping limbs of willow trees. It was a shady, green place of life and water, pristine and lovely and peaceful. Nick settled down on a fallen log, stretching his legs out in front of him as he stared off into the trees. This was his second choice for a peaceful place to visit, one he admittedly used more often than the unicorn valley.
Evie looked around, smiling in delight. She sat down on the log, too, next to him. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Nick shrugged. “What’s done is done, Evie. I understand, okay?” Inside, he felt like crying, but he didn’t allow himself to show that. Instead, he stared at the gurgling water as it rolled off the rocks and into the pond. For the first time in his life, he began to seriously consider suicide. After all, what did he have to live for? Evie was safe now; Gilly was a good woman and would take care of her. And he was a freak—Evie’s honest reaction to the sight of him had proven that.
Evie put her hand on Nick’s thigh. “No, you don’t,” she contradicted him. “You don’t understand, Nicky. When I saw that bag, I ran because it’s my fault. I’m the reason you have it, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I can ever make something like that up to you.”
“Evie, it’s not your fault,” Nick said patiently. “I’ve told you that you’re not to blame for any of it.”
“It’s my fault,” Evie insisted stubbornly, shaking her head for emphasis. “I nagged you because we were out of yeast, because I didn’t like bread without it. That’s why you went to that guy so early, during the day. If I hadn’t nagged, you wouldn’t have taken such a risk and Father wouldn’t have caught you.”
Nick sighed softly. “I made that arrangement to meet that guy because he was offering more than twice the going rate for an early time, not because you nagged me, you silly goose. I fell for the lure of more credits. It really wasn’t your fault but mine. I should have gone and checked the snares instead, but I didn’t get a chance.”
Evie leaned against him like she did when she wanted comfort. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings this morning. I just couldn’t bear the thought that it was my fault that you have to poop into a bag. Why couldn’t they just clone you a new intestine?”
Nick put an arm around her at last. “They are. Six months, they said.”
“That’s nearly an eternity,” Evie said, only half humorously.
For answer, Nick kissed the top of her head.
She smiled like everything was right with her world again. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the unicorns.”
“Maybe next time, if Mom will let us come out here again.” By saying that, he was admitting to himself that suicide wasn’t really an option after all. He glanced up at the tree canopy, judging the time by the amount and angle of sunlight. “Time to go, I think. It’s going to get dark soon.” He spoke loudly enough for Gilly to hear, so the woman came back around the pond to join them.
As they walked through the woods toward the hovercar, Evie asked Gilly, “Do you think we can come out here again? We’d really like to show you the valley sometime.”
“Children, you can come out here as often as you’d like. I guess I forgot to tell you, but your father owned this land. He owned several square miles of it, in fact, and it’s all legally yours now. But, Nick, next time you want to go climb a mountain, please leave us a note.”
“Yes, Mom. I’m sorry I took off this morning. I should have told you where I was going.”
Chapter Eight: Cai
Chris had been home for less than an hour when the teacher called. It was, unsurprisingly, about Jason. This time, the teacher was concerned over Jason’s social ostracizing following the arrest and detention of the other students. Also, of minor note, was the fact that the school administration was trying to determine what punishment should be meted out to Jason for his intellectual dishonesty in doing other students’ work. The fact that he’d been coerced under the threat of physical violence might sway the board, but it might not, and the teacher wanted to keep Chris updated.
He thanked her, closed the connection and sat brooding in his darkening office for well over an hour as he thought long and hard. The boy needed to shape up, that much was clear. Mind made up, he summoned Jason.
The lanky teen responded in a decent amount of time, at least he had the courtesy not to keep Chris waiting. Chris looked him over. Too thin, too pale, his huge blue eyes were too large for his face, his platinum hair was unkempt, his clothes baggy hand-me-downs more suitable for a common laborer than an elite student. And he was bruised. Spectacularly so, Chris noted sourly. “Well, Jason,” he began, trying to keep his tone civil. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing, sir,” Jason mumbled, fidgeting like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“You let yourself get bullied, did other kids’ schoolwork for them, let yourself get beaten up by those very same kids, and you have nothing to say for yourself?” Despite his resolve, Chris could feel his temper heating up.
“No, sir,” said Jason sullenly. The boy was studying the carpet now, but his hands were clenched into fists. “I didn’t let myself anything.”
Chris shook his head. “Not good enough. Not nearly good enough. You’re a Hunter for god’s sake, not some peasant from the projects. You stand to inherit millions…if you don’t get yourself killed first. You’ve got to shape up, Jason. You’ve got to. I’m pulling you out of the local school. On Monday, you’re starting at Patton Academy.”
“What?” Jason looked up, outraged. “You can’t do that! It’s not fair. I’m a half term away from completing primary and you want to send me to a military school?”
“You need toughening up. I’ve already made up my mind on this. It’s happening.”
>
“No, it’s not. I won’t go and you can’t force me.” Jason came off the wall like he’d been electrified. “I don’t care what you think of me. I’m not going and that’s final. Disinherit me; I don’t care. But I’m not going.” Jason spun on a heel and stalked out.
Chris stared at the space where Jason had been standing for a minute. Then he summoned Sammie. His son arrived promptly and flopped into a chair. “I passed Jason on the way up. He looks furious. Did you fight?”
“I want to send him to Patton. It’s a good school and he needs toughening up. He’s not happy about it.”
“Uhm, Father…you know I don’t like to disagree with you, but…”
“But what?” Chris sighed. “Spit it out, Sammie.”
“Jason’s almost done with primary ed. He’s already applying to universities.”
“What?” Chris had thought Jason was just being boastful, but now Sammie was confirming the wild tale. “He’s not even sixteen!”
“I know, but he’ll be done with primary in a matter of weeks. Even Patton can’t hold him past then, so why make him change at all?” Sammie cleared his throat then added, “And he’s still hearing voices. It’s getting worse, not better.”
“This isn’t good, Sammie. If he’s still hearing voices, now that the concussion’s healed…” Chris sighed, closing his eyes. “My brother, Theodore, spent most of his life in a mental ward for the same problem. It was hoped that since he never had children, whatever it was that he had wouldn’t continue to haunt our family.”
Sammie offered hesitantly. “Maybe it’s psi after all. We don’t know the results of the test, remember.”
Chris shook his head. “There’s no history of psionic ability in our family line. And if he did have psi, the Guild would have claimed him right then and there in the testing center.”
“The Guild said otherwise. That the analysis took a day or two and the results would be mailed to us. Thus far, we’ve heard nothing.”
Chris frowned, glancing down at his screen. “Your grandfather once told me that when he was Jason’s age, he thought he could hear the same voices Theo heard, but the problem passed, once he was out of puberty. If it’s really psi…why wasn’t Theo claimed?” He sighed, his fingers drumming on the desktop. “Very well, I won’t put him in Patton. But…just in case it is psi…he will finish out primary from home. We’ll wait to see what the Guild has to say before making any further decisions.”
Sammie finally nodded. “Okay. That sounds like a workable plan. I know Jason’ll be thrilled that he doesn’t have to actually go to that school again.”
Jason’s hermit tendencies were well known to both men. Chris chuckled softly. “Why don’t you give him the good news? I’ll make the changes official while you’re doing that.”
* * * *
Half blinded by tears, Jason ran down the dirt path away from the house. He ran until his muscles burned, until his breath rasped in his lungs, his heart pounding so hard and fast it felt as if it were trying to burst free from his chest. He staggered and half sat, half fell on the verge of the path. The scurry of the bugs was unbearable—why won’t this come clean?—I’m tired of him putting me off—where did I put the salt?—if she thinks I’m gonna roll over and take this, she’s in for a biiig surprise—and the pinballs were pinging off the inside of his skull relentlessly, and there were at least three of them now, maybe more, and he couldn’t stand the pain any longer.
Where’d he go? Sammie’s voice whispered through his mind on the wings of a dragonfly, and he scrambled to his feet and ran. He ran to outdistance the voices, to outdistance the pain. Maybe if he ran far enough, he could outdistance himself. I’m going mad, he thought, just like Uncle Theo. The Guild doesn’t want me. I must be flawed somehow. Broken. Worthless. Father doesn’t want me anymore. He knows. He knows I’m like Uncle Theo.
Jason finally understood his crazy uncle. Understood him because he was obviously heading down the same path. How can anyone remain sane while listening to this? The voices were relentless, continuous, waking and sleeping, they were always there whispering, scurrying, demanding his attention, trying to drown him in their multitude until he could hardly tell his own thoughts from their thoughts.
So he ran, harder and faster, on the desperate hope that distance would give him the relief he sought. His muscles were screaming for air, the stitch in his side almost as unbearable as the scurry of thoughts in his head. His breathing was ragged, rasping in and out ever more rapidly and to less and less effect. He was almost at the pond now. He’d never in his life covered the three-mile distance from house to pond so swiftly.
As he started down the last hill between him and his goal, the voices faded. The pinballs clattered down to the base of his skull and stayed there, quiescent except for the throbbing reminder of their continued existence. Jason slowed to a walk then stopped, bent over his knees and gasped for air. He couldn’t suck in the oxygen fast enough to suit his starving muscles.
The light feet of a single bug pattered across his cerebrum and Jason jerked upright in sudden alarm. Actinic white lights flared all around him, flooding his eyes with their glare. He squinted, barely able to make out the silhouettes of figures—men—moving toward him. He turned to his right, sprinting off the path, aiming for a random gap between two lights, and at the same time, he tried to trigger his data port to send a warning, to let his family know there was a problem, but the circuitry in his head didn’t respond. It was as if the data port wasn’t even there. It was totally dead.
Several small, metal canisters appeared around him, falling through the air emitting smoke. A sickly sweet scent filled his nostrils before he’d run two paces. He inhaled almost before he knew it was there, so swiftly did the devices work. The world spun about him most alarmingly and he felt himself falling, but it didn’t hurt. He was limp and relaxed and the colors were so pretty and the smoke was so sweet, and best of all, there was a numb silence in his head for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long. Smiling, happy, he let the smoke carry him into a realm of pleasant dreams.
* * * *
When Sammie discovered that Jason wasn’t in his room, he was surprised but not alarmed. He did a quick sweep of the house—the library was empty, the kitchen staff hadn’t seen Jason, so the next thing he did was link to the house security system and check the recordings. It didn’t take long. Jason had left Chris’ study, stormed down the stairs and out the side door, slamming it behind him.
The pond, Sammie decided. He’ll want the seclusion of the pond. It was Jason’s favorite place on the grounds, despite the three-mile hike to get there. Or maybe because of the hike. With Jason, one never knew. But the boy had a fanatical need for privacy, that much was certain. Sammie broke the connection and headed out to collect his wayward brother.
He didn’t run, but he didn’t dawdle, either. It usually took him just over half an hour to reach the pond. Plenty of time for Jason to get over it, Sammie thought as he crested the last hill and took sight of the tree line. The pond was just inside a pocket grove of old-growth trees left in place to provide additional privacy as well as stabilize the soil. The entire estate was mostly forested and left that way. Their family believed in ecological preservation.
Sammie pushed between two enormous old oaks and called out, “Hey, Jason!” to give the young man some warning. But Jason didn’t respond. He broke into the clearing a moment later and looked around.
The surface of the pond was smooth as silvered glass, with nary a ripple to disturb it. Of Jason, there was no sign. His clothes weren’t piled on the rock they always used for that. His body wasn’t visible in the water. He clearly wasn’t here. Sammie triggered his data port. First, he called Chris, and then, he called the police.
Hours later, Sammie was flopped in one of Chris’ overstuffed chairs, a half-filled tumbler of brandy in hand, staring morosely at the empty fireplace. The search had turned up nothing. Jason wasn’t on the ground
s. But the security system didn’t show him leaving the grounds and his data port wasn’t working. When the trace had been attempted, a negative result had come back, as if the data port had died. And that was impossible. Even if Jason himself had died, the data port should have remained active. It was designed that way. If the brain it was attached to failed, the data port was supposed to transmit a distress signal and location to the nearest authorities.
The police had a sobering theory—they believed that Jason, faced with the prospect of military school, had simply run away. Jason was smart enough to have manually overridden the security barrier on the estate perimeter and gotten out undetected. He could have also sent shutdown commands to the data port. Unless the hardwired routines like the emergency beacon were activated, the data port would remain dormant until Jason chose to reactivate it.
Chris had admitted to the argument, but neither he nor Sammie had told the police about Jason hearing voices. There was still a stigma associated with mental illness, and they didn’t want the authorities to stop looking because Jason was just another head case.
“I can’t believe he ran away,” said Sammie at length. “It’s just not like him. He’s not a coward.”
Chris sighed, equally tired and heartbroken. “I don’t understand it either, Sammie. I just don’t know. Maybe the voices drove him to it.”
Sammie moaned. “That’s even worse. It’s bad enough to think that he ran away, but how can he even hope to survive if he’s hearing voices?”
Chapter Nine: Nick
Nick looked up from his weeding as Evie walked into the front yard. For the first time in years, she wasn’t alone. There were three other girls with her, all quietly talking and giggling. He smiled to himself as he pulled another weed out of his basil, happy to see that Evie was making friends.