Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising

by Tessa Van Wade

  The mood is somber as everyone casts their eyes upon it, while my heart races faster than my thoughts.

  Geo turns to Arek. “I’ll see how he wishes to see her.” In a few minutes he returns, calling for Kenichi and Mak.

  Beckah comes to stand by my side. “Geo’s been a student of Gyre’s for quite some time. When he was just a child, Gyre was looking for an apprentice. He went through thousands of men, women, and children . . . until he found Geo. Geo will one day be to the world what Gyre is.”

  “What can he do?”

  “He’s able to connect to systems of the brain, the body, the world, the spiritual realm—how all things bridge together. You know . . . all the stuff I can’t do.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs. “You had great discernment.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah. You all were annoying.” She winks at me. “Gyre saw it in you. You once loved and trusted him with your life. I still do.”

  A weathered woman, her skin puckered and creased from age and sun, her hair wildly white, peeks her head out of the stone and bamboo. “Briston,” her old voice croaks.

  Briston touches my arm as he passes, then disappears.

  Sassi and Kilon stand silently on two sides of the jungle, carefully keeping guard.

  “What did I do?” I quietly ask Beckah. “Please just tell me . . . maybe I’ll remember something to help us find out what happened.”

  “I can’t,” she whispers.

  “What if my memory can help us? If I do this, we’re taking away any chance. I may never become what Remy was.”

  “Willow,” Arek overhears us and comes to my side. “They’ve given us till tomorrow. The Cellar will eat you alive, do you understand me? All of this is to keep you from taking one step in a place that you will not be able to survive. We must buy time and the elders believe this is the only way.”

  “Do you believe that?” I look closely, but he says nothing.

  From the doorway the old woman peeks out, “Let’s go.”

  Arek pushes me forward, but my feet are planted against the gray earth. “Wait!” I say. “I had a dream about my mother.” This stops him cold and I continue. “I was a child, walking through town with Briston. My mother is there with her hood over her, afraid to be recognized. I call out to her, but she doesn’t turn to me until she is in a carriage . . . there is a man sitting next to her.” I look up at Arek to see if what I am saying to him makes any sense. He is listening with raw intensity. “It is Japha.”

  Even Sassi and Kilon overhear from where they stand, and everyone shares concerned glances. “Japha was sitting next to your mother?” Arek asks.

  “Yes. And my mother is afraid when she sees me. Briston was there . . . he saw what I saw.”

  The old lady calls out again, this time with irritation, “You don’t make him wait.”

  Arek squeezes my hand, “It’s time.”

  The door we enter is rusted off its hinges. The first room is dirty from ceiling to floor with dust and cobwebs. How has anyone lived here? A small lightbulb is screwed into the ceiling, yet the wires that hang around it force Kilon, Sassi, and Arek to duck. The light is so dim, my foot kicks several piles of things that to any normal man or woman is junk. Not an ounce of care has been given to this place.

  A few things are on the walls—plenty of mirrors and black outlined drawings with no color. We follow a dirty hallway, the walls lined vertically with knotted wood that I use to guide my path when the light disappears as we head farther into the cave. Arek places his hand on my trembling arm.

  A small room no bigger than a walk-in closet, where piles of oddments line the walls, is where we stop. One corner of the room sits in shadows so dark that my eyes can’t see anything within it. Beside me are a rusted broken boat anchor, dream catchers, dolls, weapons, and so much more. Hand-size crosses hang along the ceiling. The smell is a mixture of rust, mold, and incense.

  “Why does it look like this?”

  “I don’t claim to understand a man with his amount of power,” Arek whispers in my ear. “He treasures what others don’t. He could be the richest man in our world, but he’s chosen to live like a hermit. And he abhors technology . . . says it clouds the mind.”

  My body jumps when someone strikes a match, then a flicker of light illuminates the shadows. For the first time I see him . . . or her. An androgynous being, looking neither man nor woman, sits in the corner covered in blankets, its skin melting due to gravity, its head as smooth as rock, and its eyes gray from cataracts. Part of me wants to stare, but also look away.

  Arek’s large hand wraps around mine while Briston and Kenichi speak to Gyre for a moment. A quiet but terrifying voice drifts in and out, but soon they turn to leave. As Briston passes, I watch him.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “We can’t be here.” As any father, his face shows concern.

  I press myself against Arek, hoping that I might just disappear.

  Gyre speaks louder. “De at me venutan, hal caru mine ventiche.”

  Instantly, everyone nods. The old woman shuffles to me and roughly takes my hand. “Lay.” She points to a cot in the corner of the windowless room. Flickers of candlelight make shadows along the dark walls. My father touches my shoulder, then hesitantly leaves, so there is hope when Arek doesn’t let go of my hand.

  Yet when I look up, the answer is written on his face. “We’ll be outside.”

  “Why?”

  “He will use your memories and thoughts. Ours will get in the way.”

  Gyre’s call emerges like a banshee floating blindly in the dark. My skin rises in fear until I close my eyes, wanting desperately not to hear Gyre speak anymore. Arek drops his head until his temple touches mine and he whispers, “It’ll be okay.”

  “Please,” I beg.

  “It’ll be okay,” he whispers again, this time running his hand along my neck. Yet after a moment, I sense he decides to say no more, and then he is gone.

  However, Geo stands near the old Velieri as Gyre points its long bony finger to a stack of planks built up just two feet above the ground. Hundreds of tiny figurines sit on these planks like an army of miniature idols making me desperately uncomfortable.

  Geo leans over to whisper in the old being’s ear, as the saggy skinned woman grabs my hand and ushers me quickly forward. “Lay!” she demands with a broken voice that can’t inhale deeply. The boards creak and moan as I carefully lie on them. “Gyre knew you would come,” the old lady says as she wraps my wrists with fractured leather. “When you came to him. He knew death couldn’t stop your quest to bring life back to this world.” My heart rakes across my ribs as she tightly grips my wrists, pulling the straps about them with surprisingly strong, veiny hands. She continues, “Gyre says this is what needed to happen for your life to take the correct shape.”

  “I was here?”

  “Just days before your death. Your death had its purpose.” Her voice seems to give out on her, coming out in short defunct notes.

  “My death?”

  “Did it not?” she asks in such a way that I know her answer is already sure. Then she backs away.

  I take a breath. Something starts to stir within my chest like it is creating a home within the walls of my torso. “What’s happening?” It is so desperately uncomfortable that my hands reach out to rub my skin but stop at the short leash attached to them. “I need it to stop.” My voice is quiet, but forceful. The discomfort grows until my upper body rocks back and forth to try and alleviate it. “Geo,” I call out.

  He comes to my side, kneeling and placing his hand on my arm. “The more you can relax and accept what he’s doing, the better it will be.”

  My brain won’t stop running with thoughts and, in fact, the speed grows until I wonder if this is what it feels like to be crazy. My thoughts jump from thing to thing, never allowing time to ponder, but instead gathering too many moments at one time.

  “What’s happening?” I beg.

  “You do unders
tand that your life is not your own? Release control, Remy. If you understand this, you know that what will be, will be.”

  Would any answer satisfy this ancient idea?

  My breathing is erratic, and my body pulls against the cords holding me down. The sound of Gyre’s moaning and crying grows until turning into actual words, some that I can understand and others that I don’t. The room fades in and out, so I focus on the rusted crosses hanging from the ceiling. The fear overwhelms me as his voice takes a strange hold of my body and mind until I can’t tell one from the other.

  “You don’t have to be afraid.” I think Geo says this even though it doesn’t sound like him. Yet when I look to my right, where he was, he is no longer there. “Fear does not have to be yours . . . if you never claim it.” A voice that is not mine fills the space between my ears. The old androgynous being hobbles to me, yet his lips are still.

  “You are in my mind?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “But . . . how?”

  “That’s not for you to understand yet. Soon.”

  I look at the rail spikes hanging just above me and, for a moment, picture them falling one at a time and it makes me cringe. Splatters of liquid have been splashed across the wall near the right and a large spiderweb hangs from one spike to the next above me, intricately woven and large. It makes me despair at the thought of the spider that made such a thing, like the one that fell on my shoulder.

  “Spiders serve a purpose,” he says, his mouth never moving. Shaky and bony hands come over my eyes, forcing me to close them. “You will think of your mother who died of cancer. How you were born into the Ephemeral world where . . .” His voice begins to trail off as his questions continue. After a while my concentration fails on any one subject.

  Pleasantly, the memories of my life as an Epheme begin with my mother, my students, and Ian like flashes of film rolling through my head. All the while my body is restless and irritated. This lasts for quite a while until quietly, but fervently, the dreams turn away from the pleasant moments to the debilitating, such as the attacker in San Francisco—his image appearing repeatedly. Half the time, I’m not sure whether my eyes are open or closed, or whether the frightening images are revealing themselves to us in the room, or my mind. Splashes of color or heavy shapes follow every image; meanwhile my head begins to ache and my stomach rolls.

  “Stop.” It is possible that I spoke this, but there is no way to tell. It doesn’t matter, when Gyre continues to aggressively press on. Just the same as most dreams, my visions become distorted to the point of nightmarish, where any sense is lost with the complete suppression of my mind. “Stop,” this time I know I have said it, but it doesn’t sound like me.

  My body convulses with sickness and my muscles tense until they cramp. Beyond the pain I try to break the pulsating thoughts and think of things that have saved me before. Yet Gyre’s voice raises, seeming to come from different angles of the room, yet I must remind myself that he is right beside me. If only his voice would stop moving from one corner to the next, I might be able to end the nausea. The cultivation of memories aggravates every muscle, constricting my lungs until my suffocation feels eminent.

  All my thoughts stop. All my memories cease. I still feel sick and my head threatens to split in two, but the pictures end. A multitude of men’s voices grumble, rising, yet something is still happening within my thoughts. He is still digging. My eyelids are the weight of bricks and my temples pound; however, it is impossible to ignore the fight.

  One eye opens just a smidge, revealing that the room is still dark; several images stand above me and about the room, yet I can’t stay awake. It is Navin and Japha. They are there in the room. I can’t yell for help. My writhing stomach and clenched fists slowly release just as sleep comes heavily.

  When I wake, the ceiling above me is not Gyre’s. I squeeze my dry eyes open and shut until my sight becomes clearer and I notice a silver-rimmed light over my head the size of a matchbook. A gentle hum of an engine combined with the rock and sway tells me that we are in a vehicle. Suddenly my stomach lurches as the car veers left.

  I rip at the door handle even with the acceleration of the car until an arm reaches across my body and slams the door shut. Arek presses firmly on my fingers, “Willow . . . don’t!”

  “I can’t breathe.” My insides are boiling, but my skin is cold and sweaty. “Help me,” I beg, ripping at my suffocating jacket. Arek is stricken by the look on my face and hurriedly sets me free from the coat. Yet it still isn’t enough. “I’m going to be sick. Pull over.”

  “We can’t,” he warns me.

  “Please.”

  He gently presses the back of his hand to my forehead as my eyes roll with fatigue.

  “Fever?” Sassi, who must be driving, asks from the front seat.

  Arek nods.

  “Everything’s spinning,” I moan and for a moment try to extend my hands to my face, but they are too tired. “What did he do? Japha and Navin . . . they were there.” A tear from my fever forms at the corner of my eye. “How did that happen?”

  “That never happened. It was just your dreams. Don’t worry. I got you,” Arek says quietly.

  Opening my eyes to peer out the window immediately proves to be a mistake—the world spins faster and I moan. Arek pulls my shoulders until half my body lies in his lap, and as he runs his fingertips along my temples his touch releases the pressure. Finally, every ache and spasm begins to calm.

  “Did it work?” I whisper.

  “We don’t know. Just sleep, we’re taking you home.”

  Just then, Kilon gets off the phone from where he sits in the front seat. “Arek,” he says solemnly, “the Prophets have called everyone to the headquarters in Tokyo. Someone shared more pictures of Willow. It’s out.”

  There is a bit of silence, even though I can feel that Arek’s body has tensed. It continues to build until suddenly Arek’s fist slams against the car door as he lets out a growl.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “It means plans have changed,” Arek answers.

  Several hours later, when I finally begin to feel better, we pull into Tokyo. People walk shoulder to shoulder along the city sidewalks while we drive sluggishly beside them in traffic. Three minutes past midnight, Tokyo’s city lights are still blinding even as I watch behind tinted windows.

  “Does this city ever shut down?” I ask.

  Arek smiles with tired eyes, “No.”

  A large sign flashes to my right and when I look at it, I envision walking into the restaurant called Ureshii. “Happy,” I whisper.

  “What did you say?” Arek asks me quietly.

  Yet, I don’t need to say anything for Arek, Sassi, and Kilon to look at one another. I continue, “The waiter we loved was Nakati and you and I would head down that walkway beside it to meet friends.” When I look at Arek, his eyes are turned the other way. The silence casts an air of oppression. “Gyre didn’t work,” I say as I peer back outside.

  Kilon shook his head. “It can take a while.”

  “Why wouldn’t it work?” I ask.

  Sassi looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Gyre is good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean God’s willing. What happens is meant to happen.”

  Arek cocks his head to the side with aggravation after looking at his phone. “No one knows how to fight the Rebellion when they’re everywhere. That’s the trouble we face, the Velieri world is breaking down. It’s no longer safe with Kenichi and Mak’s men; they don’t know who they can trust.”

  “Why? What happened?” I’m curious about everything.

  “Someone from their staff shared a picture of you . . . that’s why we’ve been called in. We can’t fight this way,” Arek tells Kilon—to which Kilon nods. “Beyond the picture shared by Aita’s sister.”

  My eyes follow three teenage boys who are extremely interested in the beautiful black car that we are in, then several businessmen with briefcases at their sides check out some
women as they pass.

  Sassi speaks up. “The lines are drawn from the Prophets to Navin and Japha to us. We’re tired. Velieri people are tired of hiding. Tired of not being heard. Tired of believing lies for one man’s gain and another man’s oppression.” Sassi lets her guard down and her beautiful but sad eyes look out the window. “We are over risking our lives for a government that cares nothing about us, yet they win. They have the numbers, the money, the power, the ability to change the world’s perspective with one strategic lie. Yet if we fight, we lose everything. Navin may be misguided in his attempt for freedom, but he gathers people with the promise to someday live free. I, for one, am tired of shackles. So there are more people standing with Navin than ever before.”

  Kilon reaches out for her hand in the dark car. When he touches it, she turns her desperate eyes to him. His thumb runs up and down her skin.

  “People are beginning to wise up and it’s worrying to the Prophets and Powers.” Kilon shakes his head as he runs his hand down his neck. “The best dictators are the greatest magicians—they keep someone’s eye to the right, when the truth is on the left.”

  Sassi looks at me in the rearview mirror. “And that’s why people cling to this prophecy of peace. It gives us hope.”

  A few blocks off the main strip, behind several theaters, five food carts line a small alleyway just off the water. The smell of fried grease is so thick it coats my tongue. Sassi pulls to a stop and quickly we all exit the unfamiliar black car.

  They whisk me away between the food carts. We very carefully follow the skinny path of tiles just beside the water since one incorrect inch to the right, we might fall in. Arek places his phone to his ear. “One minute,” he says.

  Just ahead, a sweet looking local man with a kind smile waits with one foot on his boat and the other on the tile. When we reach him, he grabs my elbow and helps me just as everyone else follows. Within moments we are traveling quickly down the Sumida River.