Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising

by Tessa Van Wade

  Navin slaps me across the cheek just as the door opens and several guards enter. They carry a man with a brown burlap sack over his head. The prisoner is no longer trying to walk, and his clothes are marbled with blood, so his legs drag on the floor. They drop him to the ground. Ian’s body is undeniable.

  “What are you doing?” I ask Navin. Instantly, I answer my own question when I feel my emotions climb again.

  Navin remains quiet as he heads to Ian. When Navin lifts his head and pulls the covering from Ian’s face, I’m not sure whether he is alive or dead. There is no fight coming from the man I know to be a fighter. Navin pulls a small knife from his pocket, flipping it open with his thumb. Slowly he digs the blade into Ian’s cheek, immediately sending blood down his face. A small groan escapes from Ian’s lips, but not to the level of what it should be.

  “Stop, Navin!” I call out.

  Yet his blade continues up the side of Ian’s cheek, ripping through to his teeth.

  “Navin!” I yell.

  He releases Ian without care and rushes back to me, instantly staring me down. He digs deep, using my emotion as the host. He was like a bug in my mind, crawling, scratching, and penetrating areas that are best left behind. The memories are stolen aggressively, passing faster so that I have no recollection of them.

  This time I sink deeper into the nothingness, consumed with what I can only describe as an absence of joy. The loneliness penetrates my bones and soul, branching out wide and removing all remnants of familiarity. I don’t know whether this is because of Navin and Japha, or the nature of Tracing itself, but I feel nothing but a sense of complete loss.

  When my grandmother was suffering from Alzheimer’s, she would wander through the house rubbing her hands together, letting out an empty cry as she desperately searched for familiarity. Now I understand. To have no one and to have no place defies all humanity.

  There is no hope. And no hope, means no peace.

  My thoughts are not my own. I am losing the battle to save who I am in this life and the one before.

  Through the darkness one of the stars begins to flicker, then grow. Still the memories pass faster and faster. I will lose them all if I do nothing, yet fighting them is fighting Goliath.

  I lie here, weightless, watching the flash of light. There is nothing holding me, but there is also nothing moving me. My eyes open and close like a baby before sleep. A voice caresses the void, tantalizing the tiny remnants of hope that once lived here. This voice, even at the lowest decibel, covers a deep grating hum that has continued for quite some time.

  The light ahead grows so large that I look away.

  “Remy.” The rich voice is calm. A tear falls from my eye. “Remy. Listen. Come out of it. Tell yourself to come out of it.” In the darkness, I try to extend a hand—to what, I’m not sure. The only thing that seems viable is that the voice comes from the light.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Even though there is nothing but light, my extended fingertips brush against something solid, back and forth, hoping to grab on to anything that can steal me back.

  I hear Geo’s words, “When you realize how much fear enslaves you . . . if you break free of it, you’ll be able to do anything.”

  Warmth rushes my skin as the hum plays. The hum is quieter than a new rhythm that I can hear. This new rhythm is louder and less obstructed. For a moment I look around the star-filled chasm and recognize the severe beat of my heart.

  I stand to my feet on seemingly nothing. This darkness and stars don’t exist. Navin is creating the emptiness. The warm voice echoes once again, as if bouncing off the stars.

  From out of the Void comes a woman. Her long hair near white and her skin smooth; her fingers extended and slender. She calls me to her in a swift motion. As the light swirls around me, my heart pounds. Even until she is within inches of me, she is unrecognizable because of the blinding light. Then, the crease of her cheek at just the right moment, and the ice blue from her eyes, tucked away behind flowing hair that is strangely familiar—more so than any other living soul that I have known.

  She is me. Yet in many ways not me.

  She is a mirror image of myself so when my hand lifts, hers does as well. When my head falls to the side in question, hers follows. Yet despite the same movements, one thing stands out as her own. Her chest rises and falls differently than mine. I envy her control and ease.

  “Help,” I whisper.

  She speaks, her voice no different than mine. “You’re not Willow. You may think it, you may feel it . . . but there’s every bit of Remy in there. You, Willow, have the ability. All it takes is the understanding to change the outcome. Geo taught you . . . it’s there.”

  “I don’t think it is.”

  “Listen to Remy. Do as she says.” She nods. “You need to wake.” She places her hand on my heart, and instantly the memories disappearing into the mist began to slow along with my heartbeat.

  Then a jolt rocks my body and I wake—back in the dark room with Navin only inches from me.

  Navin and Japha’s eyes fly open. Japha stands straight, his head cocked to the side while his crooked fingers squeeze open and closed. Navin grabs my hair, “I’m going to get in there.”

  They speak in a language I don’t know—not Velierian, but they are clearly confused. I know this due to the vein in the middle of Navin’s forehead.

  “Again,” Japha tells him. “I’ll get her.” Japha leaves the room again in such a hurry the door slams behind him.

  Navin’s eyes glare into mine and I can see his pupils grow and shrink as the light fades in and out. He is so close that the sweat glistens from his pores. Why are his cheeks so red? Something is different. An awareness kicks in that I can only describe as crystalline—the magnification through a looking glass, or the cast of light against falling particles in the air. The earth’s kaleidoscope suddenly shifts to create a clearer picture of the colors and shapes around me.

  Geo spoke of this. The Void, or the Awakening—something that Ephemes haven’t enough years to experience. The particles in the air come to life, bouncing in front of my eyes. Had they been there before? Every detail regenerates my senses. I notice everything: a lightbulb flicker, two doors—one ahead and one behind, and that it will take me thirteen seconds to free my hands. My brain effortlessly calculates the distance between Navin and Ian.

  “The Void,” Geo said, “is where the mind finally releases control over how much one sees, or how much one feels in order to protect them from excess. The Void of our own trenches where we lie in wait for the next tragedy or the shackles of our own fear.”

  Where has that uncomfortable oppression that tells me I have no control over the next moment gone? My hands are calm, and my heart keeps a normal rhythm. Yet something tells me this isn’t half of what Velieri know, or even a quarter of the Awakening. Somewhere, between this realm and that, there are voices I can hear. They make no sense and seem so quiet even God will have to listen carefully—every cadence unique. Or perhaps these voices are God?

  The boundaries of a forty-foot room disappear in the same manner that my human boundaries flee, revealing an interworking where spirit collides with the flesh—one that I’ve never experienced. It was once a mystery how Navin snuck into the recesses of my brain, but at this moment, his strategy seems almost . . . obvious.

  Navin shakes his head, filling the already dank room with misted sweat. A gun appears at my temple before I even know his hand has moved. The barrel eats so hard at my skin, my head battles to stay upright. Yet beyond the distance between us, or the weapon cutting into my skull, the corruption in his eyes tells me of the child he’d once been, the false and misguided intentions turning to hate of Ephemes instead of a solution for the many.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” I say quietly, my heart a steady beat. He doesn’t say anything, yet there is a flicker in his brow that tells me more. “You were good once.”

  “Remy, I’m goo
d still. I just want what everyone else wants. Every day we live in shackles.”

  “We can change that, but not like this. Not like this.”

  “Even after death, you’re still the same. Lyneva was right about you.”

  Then as visceral as blinking, I use his breath and his eyes to dig deeper and before I can understand what I have done, his mania instantly overwhelms me. Somehow, I’m reading him. Wait, is this what it is to Trace someone else? Navin’s soul is troubled; his ability to discern truth is almost impossible.

  “It’s so hollow . . . so empty. You’ve told yourself so many lies, for so long, that you believe them.”

  He presses the gun harder until I groan and my neck strains. Navin shakes his head with confusion.

  “What are you doing?” he growls.

  “Getting in,” I whisper.

  He looks around in strategy or panic, I’m not sure. Finally, he turns to Ian’s lifeless and bloody body—looking more corpse than human. Something must flicker in my eyes, which is my biggest mistake. My weakness. He flies to Ian and presses the gun into his mouth. There is no need to perfectly place the weapon, Ephemes will die with nearly any shot to the brain. For the first time Ian’s eyes half open, revealing how little fight he has left.

  “Navin,” I say quietly.

  “He’s dead, Willow!” he yells. A white knuckled finger trembles against the trigger as I watch the ashy color of rage paint Navin’s skin.

  “Navin!” I yell. “Don’t!” I can feel the Void leaving me, and the loss of freedom.

  The look on his face tells me how aware he is of this and how ready he is to get what he wants.

  I close my eyes, remembering the woman with my face, the woman reminding me who I am. Like an entity, the Awakening returns, my hands relaxing again.

  “Navin,” I whisper.

  Navin looks up but just as he does, Ian comes to life, kicking Navin’s leg out and sweeping his feet from under him. Ian grabs the gun and shoots Navin till there are no bullets left. He doesn’t know how to kill Navin and I have no time to tell him before the gun is empty. Ian groans and cries out as he stands to his feet. Navin twitches, but I know it will take some time before he returns.

  “Willow,” Ian’s voice is hoarse, and his face doesn’t look the same. He hobbles to me, his legs barely working.

  “Undo this, Ian. Hurry!”

  His body is so weak, he struggles to even lift his arms to release mine. I didn’t expect how hard it would be to see him like this. “I’m sorry, Ian.”

  He stops for a moment, resting his forehead on his own bicep. “It’s okay,” his barely audible voice breaks.

  “We need to go,” I warn him.

  Ian starts again, just as Navin’s body begins to flinch. The seconds pass slowly. Finally, my wrist moves within the strap and I pull it out with my other hand.

  Navin tries to sit up.

  “Come on!” I grab Ian’s hand and we run past Navin. He reaches out, barely missing Ian’s dragging foot, but grabs mine. I fall. Instantly Ian drops and pries Navin’s fingers open.

  “Go!” Ian yells when I am free.

  “Ian . . . let’s go!” Yet I can see that he can’t let go of Navin, or risk losing the upper hand.

  “Go!” Ian says again. His body is weak beyond repair.

  My muscles burn as I scramble away and the determination on Ian’s face builds. When I hesitate, he yells out again, “Go!” Without another second, I run to the hall. The crack of a gun stops me. Paralyzed. I have no time to save Ian, and I hear another gun shot. He has no chance. Do I turn back? The tears run down my face.

  “Remy!” Navin yells from somewhere behind me, snapping me back into reality.

  Through the halls and down a flight of stairs, my body fights fatigue. The halls lead off to a large main room where I can hear Navin’s men. From every angle, people are scrambling.

  The kitchen is just to the left and I peer in. It is empty. Someone is tearing through the house not too far away. Any fear that I have Navin can feed on, so I breathe just as Geo taught me to do. There are only seconds.

  A loud crash splinters the silence and forces me to jump, coming from somewhere beyond the kitchen door. My feet shift away from the sound and take flight toward the dining room.

  “Remy!” he yells from somewhere and it instantly makes my head pound.

  So, I run.

  Dark halls are useful since I can hide within the shadows. I avoid the rooms at the end of these halls with men’s voices or the pattering of feet. This strange bohemian house is winding and confusing, yet somehow it makes sense that Navin and Japha chose a maze.

  Yet, where am I going? I don’t even know where I am.

  The hopelessness starts to set in. I peek in rooms. Some are filled with people and others empty. Mostly they provide me with nothing to protect myself. A resonating sound that seems to penetrate the walls is men on a mission. Navin has told them to find me. Nothing else can explain the constant yelling and pounding of feet on the tile floors, upstairs and below and around me in the winding cascades of this large house.

  Unexpectedly, men pass by ahead and my back hits the wall so hard that my lumbar spine clashes with the chair rail. I slink into the darkness. The pounding of my heart in my ears is deafening.

  About thirty feet in front of me is a room, and on the other side of it peeks a door. Just beside it is a large window where the sway of palm trees catches my eye. Freedom is just beyond.

  With hesitant feet, I sneak through the blue framed doorway only to feel the nakedness of being in a bigger room. Had I lived here or been a cordial visitor I might have spent a moment admiring the large framed paintings, but for now, they are suffocating.

  Quietly and carefully I walk, while every squeak of the floorboards makes me cringe. My hand reaches out for the door, but a creak behind me makes me halt. I turn, hoping and praying that no one is here.

  Yet there he is, a behemoth of a man. His unfamiliar face glares at me and one hand reaches out while the other brandishes a gun. The man’s head is near the ceiling if he stands up straight, while my hip seems to be parallel to his thighs.

  A click in my head, almost like the switch of an old rusty clock, turns on. There is no need to think. My reflexes send my arm up to block his bicep and wrap his forearm under my armpit until I wrist lock him. He drops to his knees in pain and my other straight hand juts into his Adam’s apple, instantly making him gag.

  Something is heavy in my left hand. I look. A black gun that isn’t mine sits comfortably between my fingers. Where did it come from? It doesn’t matter now as I ram it into his jaw, sending him to the ground in an unconscious lump of bones and muscle. Yet swiftly several more men run in, probably under the impression I am unarmed and helpless. The gun in my hand shoots fast. It sprays the drywall before any of the men drop to the ground in agony.

  I reach down to grab the extra bullet cartridges from the unconscious man and quickly reload the gun. I press it to his head. There is a comfortable ridge where the barrel sits on his skull like I have been taught the proper placement. His body jumps, but I’m gone before it lands.

  More men come. Three bodies fall by bullets before one knocks the weapon from my hand. I drop to my knees and grab his foot as he kicks out. My hand twists his boot at an unnatural angle, till the patella snaps and he cries out.

  From the other end of the hall, so many more of Navin’s men rush toward me and my time in the winning circle is done—even my instincts tell me that. There are too many. I jump to my feet and run, as bullets hit the walls around me.

  I don’t see the stick until it hits me across the throat. It comes out of nowhere, cracking my windpipe. Pain explodes from my neck to my chest, as blood sputters from my mouth and my feet come out from under me.

  The instant misery steals my strength when even my breath is too painful to travel from my lungs to my mouth. There is no fight left in me as Navin throws me over his shoulder. The woman, again, stands beside Navin.
This time I am able to see her clearly, so every nuance and line of her face tells me that I was right. Lyneva has returned, just as I have. Confusion swirls in my head almost as much as the pain in my throat... Mother and daughter, only now we are the same age.

  She stands next to Navin with watchful eyes bouncing between us. In my memory, they turned on each other, but it is obvious, she doesn’t remember it all . . . just like me. So here we are, repeating what we once thought was finished.

  I moan and writhe in pain, yet she is more interested in Navin.

  “You have to finish it now,” Lyneva says.

  Halfway down the hall the pain begins to let up and my sight returns. My blood covers the back of Navin’s shirt.

  She continues, “You will not do this to me again.”

  “Lyneva,” I say, my voice is raspy and broken.

  Navin sets me down with a growling command to her. “Close the door and get out!”

  “Why are you here?” I whisper.

  “You kill her . . . you kill the Prophecy,” Lyneva says quickly. “Do it.”

  Navin touches my face.

  “Now!” Lyneva yells at him.

  “Leave!” Navin demands. “I don’t need you here.”

  She flinches from the sting of his dismissal, her eyes narrow, yet she remains—frozen. He repeats the same explosive rejection, “I don’t need you, Lyneva.” She hesitantly leaves the unfamiliar room while Navin runs his hand down my face. The throw rug beneath my feet has bunched up. A king-size platform bed with gray sheets against a charcoal wall is not far away. For a moment after the door closes and we are left in silence, Navin stares at me with his hand on his hip, as he wipes sweat from his forehead. He takes a moment to breathe, when suddenly seeing the blood on his shirt reminds him of Ian.

  “He gave a valiant effort,” Navin says as he pulls his shirt off. Along his body are the red and healing reminders of Ian’s bullets. Someone must have helped pull them out, or he wouldn’t be so healthy. I can smell his sweat when he comes close. “How much have you been told about the Prophecy?” There’s nothing for me to say, so he continues, “When I was a kid,” he casually begins and for the first time I don’t feel him digging about in my mind, “I was told about this prophecy that sounded too good to be true. Someday there would be a child who, when grown, would bring peace between the Ephemes and Velieri.”