by T. C. Edge
“It a long story.”
“You’re bleeding a lot,” he says.
He reaches down and wraps a giant hand around my left ankle, pulling the leg up onto his lap. I let him peel away the bandage, happy to distract him, if only momentarily, from his grief.
When the last of the tissue has been removed, his face curls up into a look of pain.
“Ouch,” he says, grimacing at the sight. “Does it hurt a lot?”
“It’s OK,” I lie. “Are the cuts deep?”
He peers closer.
“One is,” he says, using a clean bit of tissue to mop up the blood. “You should go to Mrs Carmichael. I’ll be alright.”
“Drum…are you sure?”
He stabilises his emotions and looks at me with a weak smile.
“I’m fine. I’ll…I’ll be fine.”
“OK,” I whisper.
I begin standing to my feet. The touch of my now exposed sole to the floor sends a sharp strike of pain through my foot and up my leg.
I’m unable to hide it.
“Right…you can’t walk,” says Drum, stiffening his voice and standing above me.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying my best to stop from grimacing.
“You’re not, Brie,” he tells me, taking charge in a rare twist.
With the ease of an adult scooping up a toddler, he lifts me into his arms and begins marching to the door. It’s an odd sensation, being carried so easily and swiftly, Drum’s heavy body swaying and pounding as he moves along the corridor, up the stairs, and right down towards Mrs Carmichael’s room on the second floor.
He knocks by way of his boot, and our guardian appears. Along with the customary cloud of smoke.
“Her foot, Mrs Carmichael,” says Drum.
Her eyes drop to my dripping sole.
“That looks nasty,” she says. “Thank you, Drum. Bring her in and set her down. I’ll take it from here.”
He does so, depositing me into a chair in front of her desk, and moving another into position for my leg to lay on. Then he leaves, marching off down the corridor and back to the fresh solitude of his room.
“Poor boy,” says Mrs Carmichael, watching him go as her door slowly draws itself shut. Her lingering stare moves to my foot, and she takes a closer look.
After a quick inspection, she moves to a corner of her office and begins searching around for her medical kit. Having had to deal with various cuts and scrapes and minor wounds over the years, she’s become a skilled practitioner at cleaning and even sewing up such gashes.
Unfortunately, she uses older methods, and not the medical staplers that the official medics and doctors of the city have access to. The wonky scars that some of the children here bear are testament to her proficient, if inaccurate, methods of stitching wounds.
The process also takes longer, drawing out the pain. I set myself up for an uncomfortable half hour.
And so she begins, wiping away the blood before working her magic. And as she does so, the questions come, and I finally provide an actual answer as to how I got myself into such a state.
I lay it all out, leaving nothing behind. I know that Lady Orlando wanted me to feed Mrs Carmichael only the bare minimum of details, but frankly, her advice no longer plays a part of my decisions.
She never told me that Adryan was a Savant. She never said I’d have to get married – although, admittedly, that one was partially assumed. But most of all, she never told me about my true purpose.
That I’m to become a killer.
That the responsibility to end a war before it escalates sits firmly on my shoulders. That my part in this isn’t to be a spy, but an assassin. And, most likely, that my mission carries with it the firm likelihood of capture and death.
She conveniently left all of that out, and so I no longer feel compelled to heed her words.
And tomorrow, when the sun rises on a new day, I’m going to continue my quest for answers.
19
Mrs Carmichael does a good job on my feet, the left in particular. I go to bed that night with the major cut sewn up and the rest covered in a healthy helping of healing lotion. Bandaged tight, they’re sore as I limp to my room, but feel far better the following morning.
As has become the recent custom, I find Tess’s bed empty. She’s been so keen to avoid me recently that she’s actually volunteered to go back to work, working all hours under the sun and many under the moon as well, if she can get them.
The brief respite of the previous night won’t last. I know that full well. Of course, there’s a deep affection between us, and that will never change. I saw it in her eyes, in the relief they showed when I walked down that corridor and pulled her into a hug.
She’s my sister, and I’m hers. And it’ll stay like that until the day we die.
Yet this rough patch looks set to continue. And for that I have no choice. Bringing Mrs Carmichael into the fold is bad enough. The more she knows, the more dangerous things might be.
I won’t put Tess in the same position, even though it’s killing me that I can’t tell her the truth.
Like with the previous few days, I wake with a dull headache that seems like it won’t ever go away. Perhaps this is a symptom of being a Mind-Manipulator. Perhaps it’s merely a burden I’m going to have to bear for the rest of my life.
I suppose I wouldn’t be surprised about that, or the fact that Zander never told me. If Lady Orlando is at fault for keeping me in the dark, then my dear brother is just as guilty.
Truth be told, the one person I trust on that side of the fence right now is actually Adryan. At least he had the guts to lay it all out to me, rather than drip-feeding me everything.
I never would have thought I’d say that about a Savant. But there you go. Times are changing.
My eyes are, mercifully, having less difficulty than my head. It only appears to be really bright lights that now cause much discomfort, especially if they come after spending a period of time in the dark.
That just leaves my muscles, which still ache and have yet to be properly tested. I feel like every single one of them, even ones I didn’t know I had, have gone through a rigorous exercise routine and are praying for mercy. Yet still, they feel better than they did the previous couple of days, so I’m heading in the right direction.
Most aggravating about all of this, however, isn’t the physical discomfort that comes with my changing body, but the fact that I’m stuck here waiting for my next assignment.
I’ve got Zander creeping about and having Abby send me secret messages. I’ve got Adryan sending postal drones to my door by way of the Council of Matrimony. All I can do is sit here and twiddle my thumbs and await further orders.
It’s infuriating.
However, I do have one possible avenue out of here.
The thought strikes that, maybe, I could go to the shelter in district 6 and fiddle around for the secret lock. I could then go down the tunnels and try to work my way north until I manage to get outside of the city. Right into the heart of the little town where Lady Orlando and the Nameless appear to have set up their secret headquarters.
Then again, if the Stalkers and the powers-that-be in Inner Haven have been unable to track down their secret routes, what chance do I have? I could get lost down there in that endless maze, end up wandering around for weeks trying to find them. And even then, my chances would be slim.
No, that won’t work at all.
But there is a better way…
In the quiet of my room, I shut my eyes and forget the dull ache in my head. I think of Zander, of his bright hazel eyes and wavy brown hair, and let my head fill with five words, running on repeat.
I need to see you.
I say the words over and over again until I lose track of time. I focus harder and picture Zander’s face more clearly, and refuse to stop until I get a response.
And then, it comes.
Far away, like a distant echo in my head, I hear him calling out.
T
he waterfall. Come to the waterfall. Wait for nightfall…
It’s all I need to hear. I draw back, moving outwards through the spiral of my mind, and emerge suddenly back into the room. For a few seconds I feel dizzy. Then a strange smile drips onto my lips.
And my fists begin to clench with a feeling of power.
Despite everything, I can’t help but enjoy these gifts I’ve been given. My telescopic vision. My supersonic speed. My ability to communicate through the depths of my mind.
I think of Abby and her ancient comic books. Fictional heroes with strange and wondrous powers, doing good and saving the world. Like so many young kids, she’s fascinated by it all, wishing she was capable of such feats herself.
I was never captivated like she is. And yet, now that I’ve begun to develop these strange abilities, I feel more alive than ever.
The evening can’t come quick enough. The afternoon ticks by with a plodding lack of pace.
I spend my time loitering around the academy, the atmosphere across each floor and in each room heavy with a sense of misery and grief. Talk of Fred and Ziggy’s funeral begins to form, their bodies taken to a local crematorium and waiting to be burnt.
Here, the custom is for such things to happen quickly. As with the last attack the bells will toll on a regular basis once more, ringing out over the city as it mourns the dead.
I speak with Mrs Carmichael, tasked with arranging such things. She tells me it’ll be a small affair – as all funerals are - and, if any of the kids at the academy want to come, they are welcome to do so.
“When will it be?” I ask her gently.
“Tomorrow,” she says. “At midday. The crematorium is full, and needs to clear some space.”
It sounds so callous, but it’s another fact of life here. The dead are quickly burned before they stink out the place. A few words are spoken, perhaps, some respects paid, and then it’s back on with your life you go.
I’m surprised to find that Drum isn’t in his room. I knock to no answer, and open up his door. His bed is neatly made, his side of the room still decorated. I turn to the other and see that it’s been stripped down, any memory of Fred and Ziggy already expunged.
I ask Mrs Carmichael whether she was responsible. With space at such a premium, the deaths of two transitioners, while tragic, immediately presents an opportunity for others.
Mrs Carmichael seems upset by the suggestion.
“I may run a tight ship here, Brie, but I’m not that heartless. Drum will be given his time to mourn alone before I fill those spots.”
“So you’re saying Drum took Fred and Ziggy’s stuff down himself?” I ask.
“He must have done. I guess it just hurts to look at it.”
“And do you know where he is. He wasn’t in his room.”
“He went to work,” she tells me. “I said he didn’t have to, but he insisted. Sometimes it’s easier to just keep busy.”
“Is that a good idea? The state he was in yesterday...he should be here, safe with us.”
She nods in agreement, pursing her lips.
“I’m afraid that’s his decision. I don’t disagree with you, Brie. But we all have our coping mechanisms. And this job he’s got…he’s been doing well recently. I don’t think he wants to take time off in case he loses it.”
I suppose I can understand that. Around here, the people often have to make hard choices. Even kids of 16.
I decide to leave the academy before the onset of darkness, working my way towards district 6. I take up a position in a quiet alley near to the shelter, watching the street from the shadows as it begins to clear.
Soon enough, curfew will begin, signalled by the alarms that rain down their screech across the city. Only those with special dispensation are allowed out after hours, such as those with jobs that finish later.
Still, though, the people are already being conditioned to seek the safety of their homes before they’re officially forced to. As darkness falls, the streets start to clear, and I take my opportunity to sneak down into the shelter without being seen by peering eyes.
I slip in, shut the door, and move into the darkness. My new night vision enables me to do so without flicking on the light. I go to the far wall, and begin working my fingers along the brick, just as Zander did the last time. Pressing in, I spend a few minutes discovering the secret lock.
When I do, the small brick clicks an inch or so inward, and the customary cough of dust spills out as the secret door falls open. With a final check behind me to see that no one’s there, I move into the dark tunnel and shut the door tight.
The journey to the waterfall takes less time than before. Not only do I know the way, but my eyes are now fully accustomed to the darkness, and capable of leading me through the pitch black without so much as a trip.
The only thing that does slow me down a little is the aching of my feet. For the most part, the healing cream has done its job, closing up the minor cuts and serving to block out the pain. The cut that needed stitches, however, remains a discomfort, and occasionally calls for me to take short breaks.
Before long, however, I’m out of the tight passages and into the larger caverns of this wild, untamed part of the underlands. The song of the waterfall begins to sound in my ears, and the dripping, verdant vines and foliage that scatter the walls give shape to a weird and wonderful underground garden.
I see it all more clearly than two nights ago, and take a moment to marvel. Up above, there’s so little greenery, almost every inch of land within the city limits taken up by concrete and brick and metal. To see trees or rivers or mountains, you have to look beyond the borders. To the world outside, covered with a coating of toxic mist and off-limits for most of us.
My natural curiosity has drawn my eyes to those distant lands so often, and with my new optical capabilities, that is only likely to continue.
Yet all the while, there’s been beauty down here, hidden in the darkness. A secret world that no one above us knows about. A place of calm where I can be alone, away from the pressures of the city above.
I move towards the waterfall, its rushing white water toppling through the opening in the rock wall, and scan the place for Zander. I don’t see him. I call his name, and get no reply.
Somehow, far from being annoyed, I’m actually happy that he isn’t here yet. It will give me a chance to enjoy this rare bout of solitude, something that I find myself craving more and more.
It also presents an opportunity for me to test out my powers without fear of scrutiny. Turning to the waterfall, I offer it a glare.
“We meet again,” I say, walking towards it.
I move through the gap in the rock wall and into the cave behind, before stepping right up to the gushing water. And, like before, I stare forward, waiting for an opportunity to shoot my arm in and out without getting drenched.
Without the watching eyes of Zander to put me off, I enter a state of meditation, my peripheral vision taking in the entire flow of water from top to bottom.
I take a deep breath, and the world seems to slow, time juddering to a halt as the furious speed of the cascade before me suddenly begins to mellow.
Upon the water’s face, the gaps appear, forming and shifting as they drop from above. Through them, the cave beyond grows clear, little windows within the distorted wall of water. It’s a new sensation, my vision and speed now working in tandem, shaping the world in a whole new light.
A large gap appears. It opens as it comes, frothing around the edges and with rogue droplets meandering through its midst. It comes right down before me, and a smile turns up on my face.
I send my arm through, and pull it right back. It seems so easy this time. Before, it was instinct, time passing by as normal, my arm shifting quickly but not quickly enough.
Now, my abilities have manifested further, lending me the ability to slow time to my eyes, if only for a brief period. Before I know it, my arm is back in front of me, barely a drop of water on it, and the waterfall has
begun to flow as normal once more.
I take a breath and feel a bout of dizziness coming, the use of my powers still serving to quickly drain my body of energy. Shutting my eyes, I steady my mind.
And as I open them, I hear a voice.
“You’re learning fast.”
I shift my position, spinning to the left. Zander stands, legs casually crossed, leaning against the wall.
“You did it, didn’t you?” he asks. “You saw time slowing?”
I don’t answer. Excited as I am by all of this, I’m just as pissed to come face to face with him.
He wanders towards me, nodding.
“I get it,” he says. “You’re angry with me. I don’t blame you, honestly sis…”
“Don’t call me sis.”
His palms draw up in surrender. It’s an obvious concession of guilt.
“OK, you’re in a bad mood. But you wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”
He waits for me to speak. I can’t find the right words, so stay quiet.
“I’ll start,” he says.
It’s obvious he knows what I’m angry about. No doubt Adryan has told him.
“So, I know all about what happened in Inner Haven,” he starts. “Honestly, Adryan was never meant to run his mouth like that. I’m not saying he’s to blame or anything, just that, well, we kinda knew what we were doing. And yeah, he screwed up.”
“Screwed up? By telling me the truth?!”
“No. Not by telling you the truth. By telling you the truth when he did. Look, we didn’t tell you before because it would have been way too much for you to handle. Think about it, and answer me honestly – if Lady Orlando told you, when I took you to the church, that she wanted you to kill the most powerful and dangerous man in the city, would you have agreed?”
Again, I refuse to answer. My silence is answer enough.
“That’s a no, if ever there was one. Of course you wouldn’t! You’d have gone straight home and forgotten about all of this. Anyone would…”
“OK, yeah, I see it now.”
“You do?” he asks, surprised.
“Yep. You’re basically saying that you wanted to lure me right in first, and only once I was in too deep, and had developed all these powers, and married a Savant, and was living in Inner Haven…only then would you tell me what I was in for. Is that about right?”