Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising

by Tessa Van Wade

  “They’re all there,” the kind man named Ushi tells us. “I’ve never seen so many gather for one hearing.” After several minutes, Ushi pulls up to some steps and quickly ties the boat. “I wish you good luck,” he says in Japanese.

  A temple just fifty feet away gives the impression of a quiet Buddhist monastery tucked away behind the city. We hurry across cement pavers, past an extending growth of woodland and fountains, and under a tall sign written in Japanese saying, “Peace Long Lasting.” If I wasn’t desperately aware of what might come next, this would have been one of the most beautiful places in my memory. Several people, strewn about the property, are kneeling on pads while others are writing in journals only to look up as we rush by.

  Farther and farther we go without stopping—beyond the open prayer room, through several halls, and then down many flights of stairs while Arek never releases his weapon hiding inside his shirt. Sassi, Kilon, Arek, and I are somehow winding through the back halls where others can’t go and find our way to a large open breezeway with a golden door at the end. Statues of several hybrid animals are standing between guards. These guards have earpieces and suits, and they are large like Kilon and Arek. The first one turns when we come down and reaches for his weapon before he sees us. The concern turns friendly when he recognizes Arek.

  “Sir,” he says, stepping to Arek with his hand out.

  Arek smiles and shakes his hand. “Good to see you, Bryce.”

  “You too, sir. Everyone’s here and waiting.” Then he looks at me as though a new revelation is upon him and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it myself. Good to see you again, Mrs. Rykor. I’m sorry they’re making you do this.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I shake his hand.

  “This way,” Bryce says as he leads us through the hall, past the guards, and to the golden door. “They’ve done checks, but there is no guarantee for the crowd. We’ve been ordered to surround her.”

  “On all sides.” Arek motions that he knows each one of the guards and they carefully position themselves around me. Kilon and Sassi to my left and right, while Arek walks ahead.

  When Bryce opens the door, hundreds of voices swiftly fill the hall; they only grow louder upon entering. A room the size of my high school’s gymnasium, yet looking more like a museum, erupts into a firestorm of chatter when we walk in. There is not an inch about me to move or practically breathe and the sweat glides down my forehead, yet the air conditioner in the room feels wonderful.

  Roped off areas keep all the press collected in a corner, and I wonder suddenly why press would even exist in a world of Velieri, until I notice familiar faces from the mainstream news, such as Good Morning America and the Today show. The reality sinks in that people all over the world, whom I’ve been watching for years, are Velieri. A little person standing no more than three foot five, his face kind and handsome, winks at me as we pass. “Andrew Vincent,” I whisper, recognizing him from CNN.

  “Welcome back, my friend,” Andrew responds. I don’t know anything more than his name and a subtle fondness for him.

  “Why are they here?” I whisper to Sassi, regarding the media.

  “We have our own channels. However, the original decree said that whistleblowers risk certain death, so we keep Velieri and Epheme media separate. Most of these Velieri reporters are under strict law forbidding them to report anything that isn’t sanctioned by the Velieri government.” Sassi never looks at me or stops scoping the crowd.

  We step up two stairs onto a platform that overlooks one very long table with the ability to fit more than twenty. There we wait. At the other end of the room is a crowd of people who have no mention, so I’m not sure who they are. Many of them are dressed in dark clothing, their heads shaved with body piercings and tattoos. When they see me, they make a fist and pound their chests three times.

  Kilon leans near my ear, “They’re showing their support for you.” One of the main girls with red hair, brown eyes, pierced eyebrows, and a scar through her lip nods at me, so I nod back.

  Two large doors ahead of us open, letting men and women file in to take their place at the table. Leigh, Arek’s father, is one, as is Briston. Behind them, the five Prophets enter, dressed in white robes, and I recognize them from my memory.

  They, too, sit about the table. Soon a bell rings and the room quiets.

  “Where is Ms. Landolin?” one of the Prophets asks, his white mustache hanging just past his lip.

  The guards surrounding me split in two, leaving just Arek at the helm, yet he doesn’t move . . . not at first.

  “Commander Rykor?” the mustached man asks as if expecting this from Arek.

  Arek speaks first, “We don’t have the time to be here. Navin has caused chaos for our entire community, yet here we are communing over her.” He steps aside, so that they can see me. “Her name is Willow, Prophet Covey. This is not my wife. Not yet.”

  The mustached man is the “Covey” Sassi spoke of—the one who is against me. “Thank you, Arek, but we’ll decide that.” Covey looks straight at me, giving my heart a jolt of fear. He is not to be trusted. This radiates deep within my chest. “Come forward, Ms. Landolin.”

  I move slowly, my toes finally stopping just inches from the edge.

  Covey pushes papers around on the table until he finally reaches one he likes. A pen sticks out between his thumb and forefinger. “Ms. Landolin, you have remembered Mak Oto and his father. Is that correct?”

  “I . . .” I hesitate until he interrupts.

  “Yes or no, Mrs. Rykor.”

  I look at Arek behind me and he gently nods his head, telling me to be honest. “Yes, sir.”

  Covey looks at the men beside him before he continues. “And is it correct that you have remembered your father, Briston Landolin?”

  Briston sits at the table with them, but his discomfort is apparent as his foot taps the ground.

  I nod, “Yes, sir.”

  Covey hardly lets me finish before he’s on to the next question. “And this is you . . .” On the wall behind him, a picture is suddenly displayed. There’s no obvious projector or laser, so this makes me look around. Several pictures from the last few days—seeming to display our normalcy.

  Arek steps forward angrily, “This proves nothing. She is not Remy. I can promise you that.”

  “It proves everything, Arek,” Covey says.

  “I know my wife.”

  My tired eyes look up at Arek. The reminder of who I am not is always here.

  “Step back, Arek,” Leigh calls out. “Watch yourself, son.”

  Yet Arek refuses. “You know better than anyone, if she goes to the Cellar as she is, she has no chance. It is within our rights to demand that we have time.”

  “Time?” Covey laughs. “Time, son? What you have done is run out of time. This woman has earned no kindness. She killed her own mother with plans to turn with the Rebellion—”

  My heart drops. What is he saying? “My mother?” I whisper. I look at Arek and then Sassi in terror. Sassi shakes her head when she notices me.

  “Covey, come out and show people who you are.” Arek turns to the rest of the table, “You all stay quiet, yet I know many of you knew she wasn’t guilty. Yet you all sit idly afraid. If you can give me time, I will prove to you that Navin and Japha spent years orchestrating this.”

  “Your same old arguments won’t change the combined decision of the Powers and Prophets.” Covey raises his voice, while still indifferent.

  Arek turns to the crowd and media standing chest to chest all the way to the back wall, “Many of you don’t believe in Remy’s ability to do this. Many of you stood by her through it all and declared war when she was executed. Where are you now?”

  “They have no relevance,” Covey calls out. However, he quickly regrets what he has just said.

  Arek swiftly capitalizes on the mistake. “You all heard it. Covey says your opinion has no relevance. Are you irrelevant?” The crowd begins to murm
ur. “Isn’t it strange that after the truth comes to light that Remy is the One—the One we’d heard about since we were children, who would bring peace to this world; after the world finds out about the edict over her, she is dead? Remy’s fight was always to liberate us while Navin’s ill-guided attempts for Genocide of the Ephemes . . .” He quietly turns to the Prophets and the few Powers there, “Yes, Remy stood against your control, Covey, over the Velieri. Was it you, Covey? Did you decide she’d become too powerful and so you told everyone that she was the one? Knowing the danger that would cause her? We spent many years of her life before her execution looking over our shoulders.”

  The room erupts as Covey jumps to his feet. “That is contempt, Mr. Rykor.”

  “Did you?” Arek yells.

  “Take him. Now,” Covey orders the guards.

  “No.” Arek’s hands tell the guards to stop moving toward him. “I will stop if you let me have her. This is not Remona, no matter how much we want to tell ourselves that she is.”

  Covey is growing agitated. “She murdered Lyneva Landolin, a prominent figure of Velieri Electi, because Lyneva found out valuable information. There is proof that Remy was working with Japha and Navin for this Genocide, as you call it.”

  Arek glares at him. “Prove it. And give us time to prove otherwise. There is obviously a reason that she has come back to us.”

  Covey is finished with Arek and looks at me. “Mrs. Rykor, is this you? Fighting with Mak and Arek?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Arek continues to fight, “Mannon, Jenner, Hawking . . . give us time. It is you who put the target on her back when you allowed the prophecy to be released. You owe us the time.”

  Covey places his hand over the microphone and turns with red cheeks and a heated tone. For several minutes they speak, until two of the Prophets angrily stand and walk away. Covey continues, “Mrs. Rykor, you are hereby detained and must remain in the Cellar until further notice.”

  “Hawking!” Arek calls out one of the Prophets by name. She is a woman with red hair braided down her shoulders and her eyes are as callous as Covey’s. “She will be killed within those walls and you know it.”

  Hawking leans over to her microphone, “If we do not send her, what will people think of our justice system, Commander Rykor? What will they think of our ability to keep control? The safety of our people is most important.” She turns to Covey, who waves his men forward with an obvious command to take me. They have their weapons drawn.

  “Navin and Japha won’t let up until they have her,” Arek calls out.

  Covey grins even more, “Then what better place to keep her than the Cellar?”

  The guards push me through the crowd. It’s hard to hear anything through the chaos.

  “Are you irrelevant?” Arek yells at the crowd. “Is everything Remy did for you irrelevant? She fought for your freedom . . .”

  The crowd starts to erupt, angry and fierce, making the guards work harder.

  “Commander Rykor, stand down!” Covey yells.

  They quickly pull their weapons and grab Arek and the others. It is obvious the guards are torn. Many love Arek but are bound.

  Nearly five guards push me through the crowd, away from Arek, toward the entrance of this strange underground arena.

  “Arek?” I call out, not knowing what to do, as my head still feels like it is underwater from Gyre’s digging.

  The men tie my hands behind my back and lead me through the doors, saying nothing. We pass those who cry out for my freedom and those who cry for my imprisonment, but I can see in Covey and Hawking’s eyes that my release is not an option.

  Suddenly someone breaks through the crowd, running straight toward me. The guards try to stop him, but he is faster and smarter. He slides on the ground beneath their arms, taking out my feet so that I crash to the floor. Then another man punctures the line, then another, then another, until the Prophet’s guards are outnumbered. The yells through the hall are deafening, as I feel the pressure of several people ripping, hitting, and pulling at me.

  I am in darkness. I can hear Briston, then Kilon and Arek yelling—desperate for someone to handle the situation. Finally, several bodies pile over me, breaking me from the attack. Arek, Kilon, and Briston have thrown themselves through the crowd and lie there.

  “Is this what you want, sirs?” Briston yells. The room quiets down as he cries out. “If she is Remona wouldn’t she have been able to help herself?”

  The opposing sides of the crowd begin to chant. Hearing the chaos, the other Prophets, Mannon and Jenner, return and are now standing in the doorway. They watch the scene with bitterness, then turn to Covey and Hawking with Prophet Zelner just beside them.

  “Arek, take her to the conference room,” Leigh calls out.

  It takes Kilon and Arek several minutes to push their way through the crowd, and we enter a smaller room with a large table and chairs; several Japanese paintings line the walls. Soon the Prophets arrive, looking quite a bit older up close. Mannon and Jenner smile at me. Jenner is a woman with soft African features. Her skin is deep brown with freckles speckled along her nose and breathtaking eyes that expose clear intuition. She appears to be in her sixties, however that means so little in the Velieri world. Mannon is a kind looking man with pink cheeks and a round nose. He looks just a bit like Santa Claus, which is dynamically different from the cautious almost cold stares of Covey and Hawking. Zelner is the only Prophet that I am completely unable to read. He seems the youngest, with a straight face and silver rimmed glasses.

  “That was a mess,” Arek bitterly reprimands his father.

  It is obvious that Arek’s liberty infuriates Leigh, but before he can speak, Mannon takes center stage. “I refuse to allow this woman to enter the walls of the Cellar. She is not Remona, no matter the illusion that you are under, Covey.” Mannon’s belly moves in and out as he takes deep breaths due to his size.

  Briston steps forward, “Send her with us. One week, sirs, and we will be better prepared. She will be better prepared. One week isn’t too long. And meanwhile, we have your word that your investigation into the whereabouts of Navin and Japha will continue.”

  “Wherever she is, they won’t be far behind.” Kilon can’t help himself as he speaks under his breath.

  “We’ve not asked you, Mr. Pierne,” Covey says to Kilon.

  This only infuriates Kilon, so he continues. “They came for her. Are we supposed to believe they weren’t a part of the original attack?” Kilon’s confidence takes over the room. “The attack that left her for dead. If we hadn’t been watching her, we all know this would have ended very differently.”

  “You’re this close, Pierne,” Hawking warns with long fingers. “You know what it means to question us. You are on dangerous ground.” Her eyes glare directly into his.

  Kilon grins at Arek, “That’s a place I’ve never been before.” Arek can’t help but smirk.

  “We take a vote,” Jenner says, her eyes stealing the attention. Everyone nods. “One week under Arek and Kilon’s care. What say you?”

  Mannon declares, “Aye.”

  “Aye,” Jenner says.

  Covey begins again with a shake of his head. “There is only one answer and that is the Cellar. When the people hear—”

  “Zelner?” Jenner interrupts Covey.

  Zelner takes what feels like an hour. “One week. We can’t send her now.”

  Jenner doesn’t need Covey and Hawking’s approval. “There you have it. Three have agreed. But one week and Briston . . .” She waits for his eyes to fall on her. “Only one week. She is still a criminal.” She turns to Arek and Leigh. “Leigh, it is your job to put out the fires this creates. Talk to the Reds and the CTA. I don’t envy you in this day and age.”

  Leigh grunts.

  Before long, Kilon, Sassi, Arek, and Briston lead me swiftly through descending tunnels and into a waiting car that I have never seen. The others—Beckah, Peter, and Geo—keep watch.

  Bri
ston looks at us. “I’ve got to go. Someone has to do something about Navin and Japha. If the government won’t, I will.”

  He hugs me then hurries away.

  Only minutes later, Arek sighs as we pull out of the Velieri headquarters in Tokyo. “Well, we bought time.”

  Nearly in unison everyone’s shoulders droop, and diaphragms expand even though the atmosphere outside is a night life challenging only the best of casinos in the world. I stare at Arek’s profile for just a moment, the words he shared within those walls reveal more than I want to accept. I may share a face with Remy, but that is all.

  Sassi peers into the rearview mirror, her eyes expressing immediate concern. Her foot on the pedal tells a story as she zips around two cars so Arek and Kilon quickly glance out the window. Arek pulls out guns because of what he sees. Carefully keeping my nose below the back seat, I peek out. Three cars swerve in and out of traffic, the first kissing our bumper just slightly before Sassi bolts.

  “There’s never time,” Sassi says calmly.

  My fingernails clutch the tan leather of the interior as the car fishtails from the main street, where lights never cease, to a side street that just may provide amorphous shadows when needed. Late night—all levels of drunkenness—partiers scurry in panic to get out of the way of Sassi’s strategic driving, then find safety in corners just as four more cars squeal by. They leave fragmented streaks on the pavement.

  Sassi’s perfectly polished four door Aston Martin is clearly made for speed and cutting tight corners, and if I didn’t know better, Sassi is smiling. She shifts gears like she belongs on the speedway and zips around cars with little care about the proximity of metal to metal. Even the trailing cars that look as sleek as this one don’t seem to handle as nicely without her ease.

  “No, you don’t,” Sassi says slyly as a car tries to sneak by us on the left, but her quick strategy cuts him off without a problem.

  The sound of tinging metal fills the air and several of the windows shatter, as Arek reaches out and presses my head down. “Get down!” Then he pats Kilon’s shoulder in the front seat. “The Uzi?” Arek yells, to which Kilon turns around holding a very large and very unexpected gun. Where in the world has that been hiding? Somewhere off in the distance I can hear the music from a festival, but every time bullets fly, hitting cars, homes, or apartment buildings, terrified screams fill the air from the populated street, covering up the drum of the festival.