Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising
Page 11
“Come on,” she says as she pulls my arm.
Unexpectedly, a man grabs Sassi. “Go!” Sassi yells.
Because of the three-foot-high snow, my steps are clumsy as I weave in and out of the cars along the road. Suddenly a door opens. It is so close I cannot stop. My face and body smash against the metal, instantly bloodying my nose as I fall into the wet, and now red, snow. Japha steps out from behind the door with a smile on his face. His arthritic hands are stronger than I expect as he pulls me to my knees.
Everything burns from the cold and the taste of rust is on my tongue. His knife slices through a piece of hair as it comes to my head and his hand grasps my chin.
A bullet shoots through the crowd, hitting Japha in the mouth and splattering blood across the car and my shoulder. I fall against the car door with no ability to brace myself, so my ribs crack and ache instantly. Japha is a short distance away now, covering his bloody face with his hands and searching for his weapon in the snow.
“Get up!” Arek is suddenly above me, pulling me to my feet.
Yet Navin crashes into Arek, sending them barreling down the slanted road. Japha is still steps away, so I quickly turn to run, but my feet fall over each other when pain hits near my spine. It feels like fire entering my blood stream and instantly the muscles in my legs stove up. Once again, the ground becomes an icy landing pad. Flakes freeze on my cheeks as the searing pain continues down my back and leg. I groan. Get it out!
I roll over onto my shoulder just hoping any movement might make the pain disappear. Japha—his face still bloody, pieces of his skin still hanging grotesquely around his lips—slowly makes his way through the snow toward me. Until Kilon is there. Japha shuffles back with shocking hesitation and then disappears behind one of the cars.
I drop my forehead in the snow, unable to hold it up anymore, and breathe in and out. Kilon is only steps away. A hand drops on to my arm from behind me.
“It’ll hurt for a second,” Briston’s voice surprises me.
“What is it?” My throat constricts.
“Just a second,” he says. Instantly, the searing pain in my back lights up brighter, but only for a second. He lifts a bloodied knife, then throws it just feet away as he presses his hand against the wound. “Just give it a moment. It’ll pass.”
Arek rushes back, “We have to go.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to my feet.
“Get her to the car,” Briston says. Then he runs away to help Elizabeth.
“Where did Navin go?” I ask.
“Briston brought reinforcements.”
“Navin got away?”
“Yes.” I can hear the irritation in Arek’s voice.
Kilon, who is wiping blood from his knife while standing over a man he has just killed, is still breathing heavily.
“Where’s Sassi?” I take a quick look around.
“She’s a tough woman. I’m sure she’s fine. I wouldn’t want to fight her,” Arek says.
Kilon agrees, “Believe me . . . you don’t.”
Beckah and Sassi soon appear, bloody and sweaty, but ready to go.
“Let’s go,” Arek says, as he climbs in the car next to me.
“Briston?” Kilon asks from the front seat.
“Give him a moment,” Arek suggests.
In front of the car, Briston speaks intimately with Elizabeth. She touches his cheek with her fingertips, and he smiles sweetly.
Sassi starts the car.
Soon Elizabeth comes to my open window. Her hand touches my arm. “Be careful. I won’t see you for a while . . . but just promise me you’ll be careful.” Then she looks across the seat at Arek. “Keep her safe.”
“I will,” he says quietly.
Then, even in the thigh high snow, she gracefully ducks into the car and they drive away. Briston watches the car until it is out of sight then he sits in the back seat across from us.
I pull my shirt up and wipe the blood from my face, checking my nose to make sure it isn’t broken.
Arek touches my back as I lean forward and then he carefully checks the wound where Japha’s knife was only minutes before.
“It should be gone, right?” I ask.
“Not yet. You’re at your weakest right now. You’ll heal faster in time.”
The cars roar along the slick roads and soon we pass signs with the names of several towns. Not once has Sassi ever asked a question or needed help in where to go. Her confidence is intriguing.
“Have you heard from the Powers?” Arek asks Briston.
“Not all of them. I’m pressing for next week.”
“That’s too long,” Arek states.
“I understand. There’s not much choice. With everything going on we haven’t a choice.”
“Let’s just hope Navin lays off.” Arek puts on his sunglasses.
“Why is Navin able to do all of this?” I ask. “If you are one of the leaders of the Protectors—why not just arrest him?”
“He has been arrested many times,” Briston begins, “but he’s got people working for him everywhere and these people somehow manage to slip him out from under our noses every time.”
“He has people in the Cellar?” I ask.
“Yes. But even if we arrest Navin, there’s an entire community of rebels that we have to fight.”
“One at a time seems better than nothing,” I say under my breath.
Every person in the car smiles. “What?” I ask, confused.
Arek shakes his head. “That’s just something Remy said every day.”
I have never seen a private jet before. I stare at it for a moment, before Briston leads us up the ramp. Peter comes to my side. “It’s the best. One of the largest private Boeing 747s.” He’s young and impressed.
“So this is just normal in this world?” I ask him.
He smiles, “For some. For the Elite.”
As we walk on the plane, I notice “Landolin Enterprises” inscribed on the tailfin. Our clothes, even though most of us are still wet from snow, aggressively blow to the right from the wind. To keep my dry eyes from tearing, I block them with my shirt.
More moments of déjà vu hit me when we enter the belly and the stewardess is waiting with a smile.
“I’m glad you are all okay, sir,” she says to Briston.
“I wouldn’t say that.” He smiles as he passes her. “Make sure the pilots are ready as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, and hurries to the flight deck to knock.
Briston is intimidating. They have yet to tell me why he is of so much power and importance, but the ability he has to direct a room states clearly that he is used to being treated with reverence. Nothing seems important enough to say, so I find myself quiet around him.
We had driven nearly an hour to reach this airport and now the afternoon sun is falling as fast as my energy. The plane is extraordinary—tan leather seats and deep blue carpet with a large emblem of the letters L and E: Landolin Enterprises.
When I don’t know where to sit, Arek takes my arm. “Are you okay?”
I nod.
“Follow me.” He takes my hand and leads me through a hallway then up a set of stairs. There are no doors, but a wall sections off each room. We pass several, then he and I are standing in front of a large bed in a small room. It is beautifully presented with deep blue—almost black—blankets and large over-stuffed pillows in white cases.
“What is this?”
“This is what they call a bed,” he says sarcastically.
“Yes, I see that. But I didn’t know that they could have these on an airplane.”
“They can and do . . .” He runs his hand down my arm, sending shivers through my body. “We have a long flight.”
“I could sleep anywhere right now.”
“Good, then do.”
Without more prodding I crawl into the bed and sigh when I feel the softness beneath me. The moment my head hits the feather pillow, I find it hard to keep my eyes open. “Would you sit
down for a moment?”
He seems hesitant, yet I don’t want him to leave; the longer he stands there, the more chance that he will say good-bye—even if only for a few hours. After a moment, Arek sits down on the bed next to me.
“I want to trust you,” I say.
“Good.” His serious eyes are tired.
“Why didn’t Elizabeth come with us?”
“Briston doesn’t want her involved. Besides, she’s not trained for this.”
“You all seem trained for everything.” When he doesn’t say anything, I continue, “Who is Briston? I can tell he is someone of importance, but you haven’t said what.”
“And I won’t. Not until it’s time.”
“Why is he here?” I ask.
This time Arek hesitates for so long I’m not sure that he is going to answer my question. He runs his hand along his jaw and looks away before turning to me.
“He’s here for the same reason I am . . . to make sure we do this right.”
Arek begins to reach toward my stomach and I feel the pounding of my heart in my throat. His hand touches my shirt gently.
“I think you might need to change.”
Suddenly I am concerned. “The flight attendants saw me looking like this with blood everywhere.”
“They’ve seen worse, believe me.” He stands up. “Just a minute.” He leaves the room only to return a couple of moments later with a white T-shirt in his hand. “It’s mine and clean.”
I climb to my knees. When I reach out and take it, his lingering touch is enough to remind me that Arek is my drug. For a moment his finger curls around mine, and it’s almost as though he might come closer. My heart falls when he seems to remember the rules he has created, and reluctantly withdraws.
Today, I don’t feel like letting him off so easy. An unexplainable confidence moves me just a bit closer, perhaps just to see what he might do, and I am pleasantly surprised when—although he looks elsewhere—he doesn’t retreat. The 747 rolls and climbs, yet he stands as though nothing can move him or his thumbs tucked in his pockets. During the silence, I take note of the small room, the clock ticking even though I have been convinced that time doesn’t exist in this new world. And in a way . . . it doesn’t. Not for them. And I guess not for me.
My skin presses against his arm just at the heartbeat of my chest. Finally, he looks at me and I can feel his breath on my cheek. His searching eyes ignite my heart like nothing ever before. It paralyzes me when he reaches down and kisses just to the left of my lips.
“Sleep,” he lightly commands. It is still several seconds more before he dims the lights and walks away. With sudden silence, it is painful to be awake.
At first my sleep is as deep as hibernation, but then I begin to dream.
I wake up at dawn staring through the glass ceiling above. Just beside me is a radiating warmth. Arek is there and rolls away, so I wrap my arm around his back. The smell of his skin fills my nose as I press my cheek to his bare shoulders.
Arek entwines his fingers through mine as I drift into sleep, but suddenly there is a large crash. The two of us are on our feet in seconds, my reflexes better than I’ve ever known.
Nearly twenty men rush into the room with their guns drawn, followed by Leigh.
“What’s going on?” Arek asks.
“Remy has to come with us,” Leigh answers.
“Why?” Arek growls.
Leigh rolls his eyes at his son’s question. “She has a date with the Powers.” Leigh nods to send his men into action. “Take her.”
“No!” Arek yells. In seconds he has stolen one of the officer’s guns and it takes three men to recover it, but only after several are hurt.
“Arek stop,” I yell.
But Arek doesn’t stop and Leigh’s soldiers come after him. There are never this many Protectors in one room, but today Leigh made sure he was prepared. The rough metal of handcuffs scrapes my skin, then sinks squarely around my bones as I struggle to keep my footing. They pull me from the room.
A small whirring sound when I wake reminds me that we are in the air on the Landolin plane. I lift the shade just slightly as my heart calms from my dream, but there is nothing but a dark sky beyond.
This time, the dream doesn’t seem so foreign. In fact, was it a memory? The white shirt I wear smells like Arek, so I press it to my nose.
Looking around the small room, it is obvious that something within me has changed. The plane seems more familiar. Quietly, my feet pad the carpeted hallway when I leave the room. The plane sways just a bit, yet my hand on the compartments keep me stable.
In each room someone is sleeping.
But it is the door at the end of the hall, slightly different than the others, that feeds my curiosity. From where I stand, my memory sees a vintage airplane, yet still very similar. The key code in my mind looks grossly dated, and the one here is new and high-tech with fingerprint pads. “Whoa.” I study it, then find a way to press four fingertips on the pad. The pocket door swiftly opens. How or why would my fingerprints work?
A long conference table with chairs sits in the middle of the room, and lining the walls are several hanging televisions. The table is empty, yet like an alternate universe, I envision an older table full of women and men turning to see me. Kilon, Sassi, Leigh, Briston, and Arek are all there, among others that are not familiar.
Without thought, I swipe my hand to the right, expecting good old-fashioned light switches; instead, sensors immediately turn lights on. Across one entire wall are several cork boards and white boards, one rolling and one hanging, next to monitors plastered with maps, pictures, and x-rays. My feet are hugged by the plush carpet, and it doesn’t take long to get close enough to see the maps of San Francisco with different colored pins, pictures of unfamiliar people, and many more cities mapped out. Yet it is the bookshelf near the table that catches my eye.
Remona Landolin is printed along the edge of a file. Remona Landolin? As in Briston Landolin or Landolin Enterprises? It is an instinct to check the room and make sure it is still empty, so once I do, it takes only seconds to pull the file. At least two inches thick, a couple of pictures fall out when transferring it to the table—one picture is of my mother from San Francisco.
Several more papers slide quietly along the smooth table when I open the file. School report cards, vaccination records, emails from people that I’ve never heard of, yet they are discussing Willow—or Remy. Even a copy of my, Willow’s, birth certificate is in the pile. The most interesting thing, however, is MRI pictures of the head of what seems to be a baby labeled Willow Union at the right-hand corner.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
But the voice that answers back startles me. “I should have known you’d search. How did you get in here?” Arek looks tired, as though he’s just woken up.
I shrug, “It seems my fingerprints are in your computers. Why?”
His eyebrows raise as he shakes his head. “I didn’t have the heart to ever take them out of the system. You seem to be hell bent on not believing that you are Remy. If anything can make it clear . . .”
I lift the MRI pictures. “Remona Landolin? Landolin as in Briston Landolin?”
Arek hesitates, but then realizes this discovery changes everything. With surrender he walks to the table and takes the MRI out of my hand. “After years of searching, we found you.” He set the MRI down on the table and then points with his forefinger to a small round spot. “Do you see this?”
“That small circle?”
“That small circle next to the hypothalamus is the only thing that makes us different. You kill that, then you kill us. This mark on your neck,” he runs his fingers along a birth mark on the back of my neck that I have been aware of since I was a young child, “told the Velieri department in the hospital that you needed testing just to make sure. One blood test and one MRI told them who you were . . . so your father called me.” He sits down knowing perhaps that this will catch my attention.
&nbs
p; “My father?”
“I don’t think I need to tell you.” He stares into my eyes.
After a moment, it becomes clear. “Briston.”
He nods, “You are the heiress to Landolin Enterprises.”
My fingertips push papers this way and that trying to find the meaty information, something that will tell me everything I want to know, yet part of me realizes there is no such thing. My heart has picked up speed, sending blood to my cheeks and making the cool airplane feel stuffy.
“This,” he points to maps, pictures, and everything else within the file, “is everything that I have saved over the years.”
“That’s why Briston is so familiar,” I whisper. Yet when I push a couple of printed emails aside, I reveal a death certificate for Remona Landolin. I drop my forehead on to one hand, digging my elbow into the hard table, as the fight to ask everything all at once rages within me. It takes an immense amount of discipline to hold back. “You’ve made it clear what I can’t know—”
“You’ve made it clear there is no way I can stop it,” he relents.
“Who is Briston? What is he?”
Arek stretches his neck before replying. “He’s the Monarch of the Electi.”
“What does that mean?”
“His lineage is the longest lasting. That means that everyone from his bloodline lives the longest and is considered the most Elite of all Velieri. The Landolins have always been Electi.”
“And he is my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why this?” I lift my death certificate.
“You were charged with a crime and sentenced to death.”
His words never falter, but I can’t say the same for my heart. It is too much. However, I can’t stop my curiosity. “What crime?”
“Don’t ask me that. You can’t ask me that.” But after a moment he breathes out, “I never believed them.”
“Who?”
“Anyone who said you were guilty.”
He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest as a small whirring sound creates white noise to fill the silence. My toe taps the soft floor.
“If this . . .” I run my fingers along the death certificate. “. . . then why am I here?”