Spiral of Silence (The Unearthed Series Book 3)

by Marc Mulero

  “See our guests out,” Jason suggested. “My senses tell me something is amiss.”

  “That jet is not flying under my directive,” Mulderan defended.

  The scarlet gods exchanged a look before rushing to the center of the fourth step to watch the aircraft make its landing.

  Chapter 14

  Volaina stared at the ceiling with unblinking, bloodshot eyes. Her regret was heavy because she could see them, always, whether awake or asleep. Tessna, Al, the Templos Rogues, Sabin. She’d betrayed them all. And now there was nothing left of her but a shell. A drained, scrawny, spiny shell of the woman she once was. Her chest felt caved in by this invisible demon stepping its hoof down, harder with each passing second. She could even hear a crunch of bone in her head.

  There was no getting used to this.

  Mounting pressure within her lungs shortened each breath. It came again. A heart attack? Who knew? Hopefully, this time. But probably just another anxiety attack.

  Not so easy to discern in the real, though. Every gasp was a reminder of death itself, taunting her wasteful existence.

  Don’t succumb to this, Volaina. Not again. It’s all in your mind.

  Her usual misery fled in these times when she felt life leaving her, when she was so sure that this was the end. Flailing panic took its place – her body on auto-pilot. Boney hands clenched either side of the bed in desperation. An attached heart rate monitor beeped faster with each passing second, compounding the terror. She could hear the demon laughing, could feel her body betraying her yet again. Every ounce of energy syphoning through her veins was vile, constricting. Every thought was of failure. It was an endless cycle of despair working to paralyze her mind.

  What else was there to do?

  Nothing but brace.

  “Sabin, I’m sorry,” she mouthed, no voice left.

  Her toes curled, vision murky, body convulsing. It was as if she was on a plummeting plane, that’s how real this episode was. She just sat in quivering silence, hoping and praying that it would end. Tears and mucus worked to drown her.

  “Make it stop. Mother, father, if you’re out there, please, make it stop,” her voice was low and begging.

  The finale did eventually come though, in the form of a gunshot.

  Not a real one, but the one that so often replayed. The one that accompanied a nightmarish image of Tes’ head slumping to the ground. So vivid. All of the emotion that she held in on that day filled her up once again - a balloon about to burst.

  And then it came.

  A scream scratched its was up from her throat. A sound that screeched through the room as she shot up in bed. Heavy breaths. Hand clutching her chest, praying her heart would calm.

  “Breathe. Just breathe. J-” she choked on upcoming bile and swallowed it. “Like before, just breathe.”

  It had cycled enough. She was through with it all, using whatever fleeting energy was left to fling the covers off and convince herself that she’d been useless for long enough.

  “Ugh.” She sat hunched over at the side of her hospital bed, her insides still aching from the stab wound suffered by General Trillus – from the day she’d given up not long ago. In truth though, she should’ve been healed by now. Her, a Sin commander, a symbol of strength. But no. She had grown weak, her inactivity and depression kept it so. When she tried to flex her frail arms, it felt as if they weren’t attached. Every joint twinged from atrophy. A sensation of fever, of feebleness.

  Pathetic.

  She inched her bottom closer to the edge of the bed, wincing with each movement, itching from the unfamiliar feeling of hair tickling her face. It was never that long, was it?

  Then it hit her. How much time had passed, really?

  Thank heavens for the caring nurses that fed her and exercised her limbs. She would’ve withered into a scrawny bedsore ridden corpse otherwise. But here she was with sustenance, life, granted by the kindness of those around her.

  And so she swung her legs down and touched bare feet to the cold floor. Daggers of frost shot up her limbs to remind her what sensation was, then her unsteady weight reminded her of what balance was. A few hobbled steps forward were taken before she pressed a pale hand onto the wooden furniture. Clunk. She missed the drawer once – even her depth perception was off - but eventually yanked it open in search of clothing.

  There it was - her tailored commander’s outfit. Just the sight of it brought tears to her eyes.

  No, I’m not worthy of wearing it anymore. She swiped it away. I forfeited that privilege when I put Tes in her grave. Hah, and again when I caved to Trillus. When I surrendered. What a coward I have become.

  She scoffed and limped on to her right, to the next draw to rummage through until she found plain clothes that would somewhat fit her frail frame. “Hm, what would a failure wear… this? What would a deserter wear?”

  You are not a deserter.

  “A betrayer then!” She was so out of it she startled herself.

  Her focus had to stay on the mundane tasks at hand, to distract herself from the same demons that restricted her for months. And when she pulled her garb up overhead, she could feel a slightly protruding line of skin on the way past her belly. Blague, she remembered. Her eyes immediately went to it - the scar on her abdomen, the electrical burn – a scattered mess of blue and red that shined on her ivory skin.

  “A memory of the worst kind.” She slid a finger over it before putting a white shirt on.

  And off she went into the mansion’s halls. The tingling feeling in her arms and legs were finally beginning to subside.

  The others have probably made great strides in our war, while I lay idle under their protection.

  Her hand trembled while reaching for the railing overlooking the main floor. Even the sight of civilians at work evoked anxiety in her heart. She felt so behind on all of her duties, so ashamed that she fell by the wayside.

  My unit... I hope my spies are alive and active.

  Volaina took one step at a time, slowly rounding each of the four floors until she reached the bottom. A woman gave her hand to offer the commander assistance, but Volaina shook her head in shame. Medium length hair unevenly waved over her face on her walk toward a familiar wagon.

  Cherris pulled a shirt tightly over a boy’s head, who was giggling with his arms up. “Off you go, Jiyo,” she smiled and patted his back.

  She then rose from her knees, and for the first time ever, felt taller than a Sin Commander. It was worse than she thought… this new decrepit version of the spy. For some reason, in the hospital bed her sickly state seemed appropriate. But here, out in the open, amongst such life… not so much. Volaina was a buried ghoul who finally decided to rise from her slumber. But Cherris tried her hardest not to show the shock. She wanted to commend her for getting up, though that wouldn’t be a good idea either. Volaina’s pride was hurt. So she reserved her warm grin out of respect, and instead offered a nod of approval.

  Volaina’s mouth pulled into a frown. She wasn’t born yesterday… she knew what the matriarch thought of her, and so she closed her eyes to avoid having to watch Cherris wrestle to hide her pity.

  “Facing the public was a mistake,” she said quietly to herself while looking for something to distract her, to get her out of this terribly awkward situation. Eyes darting – there, a broom in the corner near the wagon. She yanked the splintery stick and was already on her way.

  Swish, swish. She swept the floor, evading any more contact, hoping these moments would just spin away with the dust.

  And before she knew it, an hour had passed. Her muscles ached as she recalled coordination and purpose, however little of either she may have possessed.

  This was good, she decided. Very good. For the most part, everyone around left her to her own devices. Apparently keeping her head to the floor allowed her to disappear into the background, to become a fly on the wall, to just listen.

  Casually, she eavesdropped on civilians dropping in to pay the matriarch a v
isit - community gossip, petty squabbling, and the likes. But it wasn’t until she heard the sound of Maze’s voice that she froze in her tracks.

  Not him.

  How could she let a spy that reports to her see his boss in such a languished state? It was mortifying.

  Shit.

  She tried to pick back up where she left off on her self-proclaimed cleaning duties, but the sudden halt in movement caught his eyes almost immediately, stopping the struck-up conversation with Cherris dead.

  His eyebrows rose with a mix of surprise and sorrow.

  “Commander?” She could hear him say.

  Volaina tilted the broomstick in a lame attempt to hide, crippling guilt harnessing her as if her ribcage was suddenly contracting.

  There is no shame in civilian work, she told herself, trying desperately to straighten. But the dishonor that comes with abandoning my post… that cross is mine to bear.

  The former spy felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder, which worked to spin her around.

  Maze fervently slammed a fist onto his chest and kept his chin held high. “Commander.”

  Volaina rested her weak arms over the broomstick and stared back at him through tired eyes. She gave a curt nod to put him at ease.

  “The Templos Rogues are gaining ground and are fully in-line with the Sin objective. Your work as Caova was brilliant, making this all possible. I said this at your bedside, but it’s good that I can remit it to awakened eyes,” he commended.

  Volaina was silent. Half of her heart filled with hope, and the other, despair. To know that her execution brought about some progress for the Sins was all she could ask for, but excusing it was never an option. “Spasibo, Maze,” she thanked in Russian.

  He smiled, recalling the few phrases he’d learned in her native tongue. “I wish you a safe and speedy recovery, commander.” He turned away and thanked Cherris for her input on his way back to spy headquarters.

  Volaina gripped the broom with a little bit more strength than before. With each stroke, her muscles burned, but she continued on.

  The look in his eyes was no different than before that mission. Maybe the only person who looks at me differently… is me…

  Biljin flipped through a file listing the statistics of a past battle. Papers flapped as he forcefully pushed past each one. Sin after Sin, Templos after Templos, all perished, with no count of deceased Hiezers to boot. Laughable, he thought, repulsed by these findings and the sloppiness of execution.

  All of these logs are afflicted with imprudence.

  And so he cycled over to the next file. Meaningless. Next.

  Finally, decorated hands stumbled onto something useful – footage of a familiar deranged murderer in action.

  Hm. Fascinating how fast he moves. Maybe...

  He studied possibilities and angles that few could otherwise see, concocting abstract ideas and testing them in his head to see how they would unfold in reality. The physics of it, always considering the physics along the way. His mind was a web of creative ingenuity after all. Gears churned until they locked in place with answers. But it wasn’t inward that ever caused problems for him. It was always how his thoughts translated to those around him. Diplomacy was where his problems lay.

  Melissa and Drino sat across from him, mapping out logistics for their next play in militaristic fashion, until Biljin decided to speak.

  “Twelve files now… all detailing the massacre at the Dome. Such chaos. Such risk. And for what? We came out of it with nothing.

  “Hmph,” he went on, “I can almost hear your thoughts, or Blague’s rather, even though he’s thousands of miles away. ‘The Sin militia in Old Naples was desperate. We couldn’t leave them. It’s against our code.’ Blah, blah.” He tossed a file away in annoyance, and pointed a finger down on the table. “Pride lost us that battle; the records make it abundantly clear.”

  “You… piece of-” Drino began.

  “No, no, now let me finish. Our commanders’ desire to do the ‘right’ thing, to save the hopeless souls who ran in blindly – that is why we suffered death by cannon. I’ll tell you this, Drino: such an illogical decision would never be made on my watch. A leader must persevere for the many and know when to abandon the few.”

  Drino stared with a clenched jaw, looking to pummel the flamboyant physicist where he sat. The dreadful events that took place that day were still fresh in his mind. To be judged by a man dressed in jewels instead of armor was the last thing he needed.

  Melissa decided to speak up to avoid another massacre within the room. “Their decisions were of bravery, you pompous prick. A trait that this rebellion is built on. Had we all died in Horace, those decisions would be deemed illogical, too. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Now get off your high horse and speak to us when your choices on the field can carry your troop out of battle alive.”

  Biljin sighed of boredom. “Bravery, pride, stubbornness. You’re fluent in the same language as the commanders who ran their teams into certain death.”

  Drino was a bull finally broken free from his cage, kneeing the marble table away from him, and standing abruptly with teeth bared. He would crush Biljin like the ant that he was. Right there, he would die. Melissa’s calming hand did nothing. He swiped it away.

  “You would sit here and deface the best of us, you fairy of a man?” Drino spat. “Volaina and Lesh are invaluable soldiers, proven time and time again! What are you but a sniveling rat hiding in the sewers? You remind me of the pigs I used to serve… blind and delicate thinkers. Why Blague left you in charge is beyond me, but he can’t return soon enough.”

  Biljin tapped his temple in response, teasing the bull as to why he was chosen as interim commander.

  And just before Drino could charge him, the Champion yanked him back and stepped between them. “Business, gentlemen. Can we stick to business?” She looked back and forth. “Curb that forked tongue, Biljin, and you, your bloodied fists.”

  Drino gritted his teeth, scars creasing on his face.

  Biljin stared forward for a moment, unamused, considering whether to prod further, but eventually decided against it. “Fine, Melissa,” he sat back comfortably in his chair, adjusting his tone for the sake of progress, not respect, “if you insist.”

  He stared at an enlarged photo of the Dome and the ornate fortress stationed within it. A ship in a bottle. “It’s true, no one knew that those massive columns were cannons.” He pointed to the long poles that decorated the fortress. “Yet it is our responsibility to learn from history and adapt accordingly. That bastion is full of heavy firepower meant to topple grand invasions. To the intelligent strategists, that leaves only one option.”

  Melissa rolled her eyes and clanked her armored elbows onto the table. “Infiltration,” she said, playing along with his haughtiness.

  Biljin flashed a look of annoyance. “Obviously.”

  “If you’re done rattling off every thought that enters your brain, perhaps it’s time you listen.” Her face hardened, the crinkles revealing a few years of age and experience. “I knew of the cannons, and I still know of the fortress. The Terras designed segments of each Hiezer base within the exiled lands, but oversight was tasked by Dactuars and Hiezers. There are weak spots, Biljin, you just need to pay attention.”

  “Hmph,” he motioned for her to continue.

  “Unfortunately, there’s only one way in and out of the Dome, which is through the metal corridor leading into it. But once inside,” she grabbed the oversized photo, “there are paths that are unseen to snipers and cameras.” She pointed to shaded areas where an infiltrator would be able to advance in secret, and then went on to explain her reasoning.

  Biljin nodded as Melissa shared her thoughts.

  “Our spy unit is in disarray without their commander, though. Regrettably, this effort would lead to another failed mission.” She sat back, thinking through the options. “Volaina’s track record sets her apart as the only capable mask to succeed at such a feat.”

  “Why not
reach out to our turncoat to give us an opportunity to storm again? My covert squadrons are effective,” Drino offered.

  Melissa rejected. “It seems the defecting Hiezer has bigger plans than to find us shelter. A path is being cleared for our inevitable march into Nepsys, and the Dome is far out of the way. Besides, we can’t contact this traitor. This person only contacts us.”

  “This file presents another option, subject to the vote of certain Sin residents,” Biljin said, holding up the murderer’s portfolio. “To release our prisoner, the Mentis Shade, and drop him as a nuclear bomb onto the base.”

  Melissa let out a startled chuckle. “You would elevate risk to incalculable odds by doing that, and I don’t mean to this mission, but to the safety of our people. That man is infamous for being unpredictable and unstoppable.”

  Biljin sniffed conceitedly. “He also gets results.” He pushed his chair back from the table and turned away from the files. “We have him as a prisoner, only because he willed it so. He came back to us after taking the lives of our fighters. He could have wreaked havoc again, but he chose not to.”

  Melissa tried to set aside all of the stories she was told of Dendrid over the years, and attempted to follow Biljin in inserting logic into an illogical situation. “He surely isn’t the type the Hiezers would send to infiltrate us and gain information. He has only existed with one purpose in the past.”

  “Yes, to take life. His file exclaims that fact,” Biljin added, reading her next words. “These coming months will present great opportunities for the exiled, but this can only happen if we take the risks.”

  The Champion concurred with the Sin commander, even if annoyed by his attitude. “Just be aware, Biljin, we are unleashing a monster that is meant to be caged.”

  “I’ve already taken the necessary precautions. Rodest has intercepted the Hiezer device that is lodged in the prisoner’s body, which could incapacitate him at any moment with the push of a button. The point may be moot, though, if the vote doesn’t pass. And it is currently tied. Let’s go demand the verdict so we can move on, one way or the other.”