Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising

by Tessa Van Wade

  “You have one minute before someone worse than me comes through that door. And you’re the reason we’ve already been here too long,” Arek explains.

  “If you think I’m going to let you leave . . .”

  “You have thirty seconds.” Suddenly, the sound of multiple people running up the hallway stairs is deafening, and my heart begins to race, but Arek isn’t surprised. Instead he stares at Ian. “I have to get her out of here. You can come with us or you can let us go.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Ian places his hand on his gun.

  “Get it ready,” Arek suggests about Ian’s weapon. “We head out the back.” We hurry through the hall and into my bedroom.

  “How are we getting out this way?” I ask as I quickly grab the bra hanging from my bed post before Arek notices it and I throw it in my bag.

  Arek begins to pry open the window next to my bed. Eventually the rusted hinges break, allowing the frame to open. He turns to me with his arm out. “Come on, Willow.”

  For just a moment he is quiet, allowing me to process the danger we seem to be in. There are two options: wait to see what is trampling my house, or run away with him. His green eyes are urgent but restrained.

  Finally, when I lay my shaking fingers on his palm, they are encased by his. I clumsily crawl beside him and out onto the fire escape just as a large crash fills my apartment. Ian and Arek speed up.

  Arek pulls the window closed as shadows run across the walls in my bedroom.

  “Move!” Arek yells.

  We run. In seconds my bedroom window shatters above us, raining shards of glass down to the street below. The silver cars have moved to the alleyway and are waiting. Men crawl through the shattered window, so we must hurry. My feet have never been the fastest or most nimble, but in an instant my legs become cement and the familiar headache and convulsions start. My hand flies to my head as my eyes roll back. Everything is such a blur that my hands stay at my side instead of trying to catch myself. As if in slow motion, the ground’s coming to meet me. But my body stops midair, unnaturally hovering as Arek grabs me and helps me down the last of the stairs.

  They throw me in the back of a car and then jump in. As the yelling continues, so does the pain. The car doors slam shut, and the windows roll up. We are in silence. Sassi, still in the driver’s seat, reaches for a button on the dashboard that causes a white noise to drown out all ambient sound. Even still, the pain lingers. Arek touches my skin and an intense sensation rushes over me. “Willow.” The moment he speaks, the throbbing in my head is extinguished, like water to an inferno. I finally open my eyes to Arek leaning over me with concern. My body has melted to the floor. “Willow? The pain should go away soon.” Again, the sound of his voice is like soothing aloe on a severe burn.

  “Okay, now do we get some answers?” Ian’s aggressive voice breaks through my serenity and brings me back to reality.

  “The only answer I can give you is that we will keep Willow safe,” Kilon assures him from the front seat. “But we must let you go.”

  “Let me go? Where? No, I’m not leaving Willow. You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says with an irritated chuckle.

  “They’re right,” I say quietly. At this point Ian only keeps me from answers. I can see the way they look at him and they’ll never tell him anything. Everyone turns to me in surprise, while Sassi peers through the mirror. “You have to let me go with them,” I say to Ian.

  “What?” he barks.

  “You heard me, Ian.”

  “You don’t even know these people. Willow look at what just happened to you,” he pleads.

  “I know. But I need to go with them.”

  “Go with them where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Where can we drop you?” Sassi asks as she turns the car onto a side street.

  “Drop me? No way. No, I—” but he can’t continue. Suddenly he begins to slur his words, “Noooo . . .” and his eyes get heavy.

  “Ian?” I ask. Yet within seconds he drops against the leather seat, unconscious.

  “Ian?” I ask.

  “You felt it necessary?” Sassi looks at Kilon in irritation with a raised eyebrow.

  “He was annoying me.” Kilon grins until he notices Sassi’s face. “We can’t let him go.”

  “Why not?” Sassi asks.

  “When Willow has gone missing, he’ll be the first to gather people to look for her. He knows too much now. It’s necessary that we just keep him quiet until we can figure things out.”

  Ian is snoring beside me—a sound that has irritated me for many years.

  Kilon looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I needed him quiet.”

  “You needed him quiet?” My question doesn’t bring answers, but my eyes grow heavy. Soon, I can see Kilon’s mouth moving, but I can’t hear it. In only seconds, I’m dreaming.

  My tired eyes flutter open to a glass ceiling. Floating casually above this are clouds of all shapes and a flock of birds flying steadily in formation. It is very apparent I am no longer in the city. The glass ceiling is framed with knotted wood, weathered and beaten from the elements, giving a contrast to the modern architecture of the very large room. Sheer material is pulled elegantly through rustic hooks to block a bit of light. Everything within the well thought out room is what I would have chosen if money was no option.

  The mattress beneath me is plush, and the comforter is an off-white feather down, which I pull up to protect me from the chill.

  Where am I?

  Large windows line the rustic walls, revealing tall, snow-capped mountains in the distance. The sun peeks through these towering masses with an afternoon light. Anything this grand has only lived in magazines on coffee tables for the rich and famous, never for the everyday-nobody. City girls like me are used to tight corners and fire escapes, not a crackling fireplace the size of the Taj Mahal and hand-carved furniture.

  Ancient architectural paintings hang here and there, but mostly windows dominate every wall. It might feel unfriendly with the stone colors, if it weren’t for the plush bed beneath me. My hands run along the smooth sheets—my favorite kind of T-shirt material. Perhaps sleeping well meant that I feel comfortable here, or maybe it has something to do with Kilon’s eerie ability to help people dream.

  Ian! Sitting up quickly, my hair flies in my face. Where is everyone? Pressure expands between my temples.

  “Your head should feel better within the hour.” The soothing voice floats from the corner of the room.

  Arek stands from a wide couch. He crosses his arms in front of his chest for protection from the chilly temperatures, as he walks closer. “Before you ask too many questions . . . I expect you to be curious about what’s happening, and I get that. Anyone would. But after talking with the others we feel comfortable telling you only pieces.” He is wearing a heavy black sweater with his hair messy and his eyes bright in the dark room. My icy fingers try to rub my frozen toes, so he grabs a sweater from a nearby chair and tosses it to me. “Here, put this on.”

  “Thank you.” Immediately the thick wool creates an intoxicating warmth. “So, you’ll answer some of my questions then?”

  “Some,” he says with a grin.

  “Where are we?”

  He walks to the window, so I follow. The sheer size of the mountains across the rolling meadows would make anyone aware of God. I imagine men and women standing on top of the peaks suddenly gaining true understanding since there is nothing more revealing of a greater power than her unending creation. I suddenly have a desire to stand at the top. The trees have only a spray of leaves after the heavy winter and it looks as though there has been snow for days. There are miles of visibility along the lowlands, since there are no other homes, which makes it a fresh winter wonderland. Yet he doesn’t pretend to be interested in the view.

  “You watch me.” The words tumble out with hope that they might unlock Pandora’s box; instead his cool unr
eadable expression never changes during a long pause.

  “Switzerland . . . we’re in Switzerland.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Arek Rykor,” he answers quickly.

  “I know that.”

  “Then you had better get smarter with your questions,” he quips.

  Together we laugh softly with a strange comfort, until the double doors to the large room burst open and a tall, older, brunette woman in a very expensive, deep blue suit hurries in. She is beautiful. Her cheek bones are pronounced, with strong blue eyes and pursed lips. Arek steps to her with his hand out.

  “Not now, Elizabeth.” There is a command to this man, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. As though the walls themselves might bow to him if requested.

  “Please, Arek . . . just a minute.” He reluctantly lets her pass and she stops when she sees me. “Remy.” Happiness comes over her pale face and thin smile. She is several inches taller than me, which already makes her seem matronly and powerful, but it is her gloved hands that she places on each of my cheeks while she stares that make me uncomfortable. It is painfully clear after a moment that my reaction does not meet her expectations. Her long, willowy, dancer-like arms wrap me in a hug, and it is hard to know whether to be frightened or reassured. After pulling away, her eyes dart back and forth over my face, like a scanner. “You don’t remember anything?”

  “No, she doesn’t.” Arek vocalizes what she already has discovered.

  Her eyes are apologetic, “I had only assumed since she was in the room with you that she had remembered.”

  “I would love for someone to tell me,” I urge.

  She pulls her black winter gloves off one finger at a time, then removes her scarf and throws everything on the bed. Even the way she moves is that of a seasoned dancer, which is quite breathtaking to watch.

  “Should you or I?” she asks Arek.

  “Nothing should be said . . . not yet,” Arek answers.

  “We have no choice, Arek. He knows what has happened. She will have to stand before them, and I think it best that she knows something. You don’t have to tell her anything of her past, just what and who we are. We can’t expect her to do anything for us unless we tell her why.”

  “Who?” I laugh. When both Arek and the woman look at me with straight faces, it stops me from asking again.

  “Arek, please tell her.” The woman urges him. But when he won’t continue, she does, “Remy, I’m Elizabeth . . . your aunt.”

  Immediately Arek growls in frustration, “Elizabeth!”

  Laughter nearly bubbles to the surface, but I chew my lip instead. Yet the longer her face is like stone, the more my stomach swirls and my skin creases between my eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? My mom didn’t have any sisters.”

  Elizabeth looks at Arek with disapproval. “You should have told her something by now. How dare you take her from her life and mention nothing of ours.”

  “Those are the orders,” he states.

  “Well if you don’t tell her right now, then I will.” Elizabeth crosses her arms.

  “Who is Remy?” I finally ask.

  Elizabeth gestures a hand toward me, ushering Arek onto his soapbox, but Arek crosses his arms in front of his chest obstinately. Elizabeth sighs, “You. It’s your name. Or at least it was in your past life.”

  Finally, I can’t help but chuckle, “My past life?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re crazy,” I say quietly.

  This frustrates Elizabeth, but she continues anyway. “We’ve been watching you your entire life.”

  “I just started seeing Arek a month ago.”

  “No, honey. He just let you know that he was there a few weeks ago.”

  Arek seems to be removed from this entire process—hoping to discourage her momentum. She lets me digest in silence, but it lasts so long that she grows uncomfortable.

  “You’re better at this.” Elizabeth places a hand on her head and rubs slightly.

  “We don’t know whether he has spoken to the Powers. No explanation is allowed, yet . . .” Arek explains.

  “The Powers want to own us, Arek, nothing more. Their Totalitarianism doesn’t scare me. I won’t be oppressed or exploited by anyone wrapped in patriotism. They want us to put our heads in the sand and act like robots . . . for what? Money from the Ephemes? Control? No. We have work to do. If you don’t tell her I will. Briston informed me already that he wants her to know. Leigh and Briston can battle it out later.”

  Arek’s eyes don’t hide his refusal.

  “Tell her, Arek!”

  He steps to her so heavily the floor shakes beneath his feet. His face is only inches from hers. “It is neither allowed nor my duty.”

  Her sunken chest finally has girth when she breathes in, “To Remy or to the Powers?”

  She draws a line, but I can see that he isn’t going to step over it.

  “I can handle it.” His words slip out quietly. Arek growls, placing his hands on top of his head while she taps her foot impatiently. He looks at me. “There is more to this world than you see and more to your life, but we cannot risk resurging your memory. Everything will be revealed, but not now . . .” He turns to Elizabeth, “Not now.”

  “We have an hour till she meets him. When will she be ready?” Elizabeth disagrees.

  Not knowing was worse than knowing, and my nerves made me sure of that. “Tell me,” I finally say. “As much as you can. Please . . .” I can see that he is torn the moment he hears my voice. “Arek,” I plead, “you took me from my home, from my life. Men who have haunted my dreams were suddenly real and at the school. You knew they were there, and you came to help me. I’m trusting you. That’s why I’m here. Please help me.”

  It takes a moment, but for the first time his guard melts. Elizabeth is unable to sway him, but my words do. He looks down for a moment, clenches his jaw—the war raging. Finally, he speaks quietly. “I want you to listen carefully.”

  In the bedroom full of windows, Arek walks to the double doors and places a hand on the edge. He turns to Elizabeth, “Give us a moment.”

  “Arek, we haven’t got any.” Elizabeth places her graceful hand on her hip.

  “Give us a moment.” He is unmovable.

  She hesitates. I try to avoid the crossfire between them. In the end, Arek wins. Elizabeth’s shoes clap the wooden tiles as she hurries to the door. Her long body accentuates her even longer stride, and with one last look she leaves the room.

  He locks the door, but before returning he stops in front of a large armoire. Deep within the aged wood, so far that his large upper body disappears, he reaches in for just a moment and reappears with a thick, worn, leather-bound book. Soon we sit eye to eye as he sets the pages on my lap.

  The cover has the embossed word Velieri on it and I run my fingers across the divots. His weathered skin thumbs the silver edged papers until he finds the place he’s searching for and opens it. It reveals an ancient picture not appropriate for children or the faint of heart. The harsh medieval gray and black ink depict men and women fighting to the death with fire and swords on paper that is so old it looks like it might turn to powder beneath Arek’s touch. The words at the bottom of the page are small, but impossible to ignore. “War of Methos and Ephemes: The hunting rapidly rose as the Methos line grew.”

  The next page has an equally disturbing picture with a man tied by his hands and feet lying on his side. Another man stands over him with a knife handle wedged between his white knuckled fingers and is just about to press the knife into the trapped man’s ear.

  Arek calmly begins, “To live a hundred years in your mind is a long life. Yet I know you’ve heard of immortality.”

  A nod from me is enough, and he continues.

  “Immortality is not real. There have never been immortals except in literature or entertainment. We must all see death. Yet what if some people had more time?”

  I read a portion of the book out loud. “The Ephemes preyed upon the Met
hos without warning.” Yet I stop, unable to continue. “Why are you showing me this?” I try to close the book and push it away.

  “What if humans existed who are genetically gifted, starting from the days of Methuselah, who are allowed more time on this earth than others?”

  “Are you telling me that you can live longer?”

  “Yes.” He gives a moment. “I age slower than others.”

  He opens the book to the same pictures again. “The Methos were given this gift—longer life but suffered at the hands of the Ephemes. This was the name given to the short lived . . . another word for ephemeral. Do you know what ephemeral means?”

  I think for a moment, “Lasting only a short time.”

  He nods then continues, “Ephemes were jealous of the Methos for having more time on earth, and sometimes old generations even believed God loved Methos more for what they had been given, and in the end, they hunted them.”

  He turns a couple more pages, “So after years of war that never led to any respite, the leaders of the Methos struck a deal with the Epheme government deciding every Methos would go into hiding. Only certain few Ephemes would know about the Methos world. They made a decree stating, from that moment on, no Methos could acknowledge who they were. Instead, they were mandated to blend in, create lives amongst the Ephemes, and in so doing they would end the constant war and hate. After many years, the history of the Methos died with the generations. And among us, we kept quiet, calling ourselves the Velieri. And that is what we have become, a dream, a rumor . . .”

  “You are Velieri?”

  “So are you. One in every one hundred humans are Velieri.” He waits a moment so that what he says might be absorbed, but I’m not sure that is possible. “You are one of us,” he says, “gifted with many years. There are rumors of our existence but that is how it has to stay—rumor.”

  Outside it has started to snow again. The ceiling above our heads begins to turn black as the ice covers every inch of the glass. Arek reaches out and flips a switch. Instantly a quiet whirring begins and just like a windshield wiper on a car, but much larger, a wiper slides across the ceiling—slowly pushing the built-up snow from above. This is, strangely, a pleasant distraction from our conversation.