Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising

by Tessa Van Wade

  “I understand the war between Velieri and Ephemes.”

  Navin looks at me with a sideways glance, “You didn’t know about Velieri just a few months ago.”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Then might it be possible that it doesn’t just stop with two—Velieri and Ephemes? People convince themselves that what they know is the only truth because they’re afraid of living without boundaries. The earth was flat for a time, or people thought sicknesses were curses, and a few months ago, you believed no one could live longer than an Epheme’s life. Could there be more people or things out there that don’t fit into our molds? Perhaps we are fighting for more than just ourselves. Maybe there are more than just Velieri and Ephemes?”

  “I don’t . . .” yet I don’t know what to say.

  “How can one person bring peace? That’s a lot of weight on your shoulders.” It is obvious that Navin is testing how much has been said, so I keep quiet and he continues, “One of the Prophets took me aside when I was sixteen and he told me that I would be the father of this prophetic child.”

  Suddenly I am confused—a bit broken and very confused. He grins at the look on my face. There is pride and arrogance in his voice, “If you are the one, then that can’t be true. Briston is your father clearly. But what if you are just the beginning of that Prophecy? The mother of that Prophecy.”

  “What it sounds like is that someone told you what you wanted to hear. Not one person seems to know what the true Prophecy is. But isn’t that just the way of it? We like to build context where there is none. Or we write our own truth to fit our desires. None of you know that’s what I’m starting to figure out. Lyneva thought it was her because she married my father. It’s amazing how many people like to speak for God.” I shake my head with irritation.

  “You and Arek were never able to have a child, so we never knew.”

  There is nothing in my memory of this. Nothing.

  “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen,” he whispers.

  The awareness of his sudden control of my mind reminds me that my guard is down. The pain starts in my temples, then the pulse grows, and I cannot fight. He pulls a knife from his pocket and presses the cold blade to my throat.

  “You need me,” I remind him.

  “I do, but am I going to get what I want without this? You can make your life easy or you can make it hard.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether I have your child or not. I will never be on your side, so it won’t work.”

  “That’s why you don’t need to keep any of your memories. Your life can start here. With me. Japha and I will eventually block you from every bit of propaganda that you have been fed your entire life.”

  He pushes me and my body falls heavily on the bed. Slowly he climbs over me, the bed dipping from his weight, and the heat of his body is overwhelming.

  “Navin—look at me, look at me.” He finally looks me in the eyes. “How can you know if any of this is true?”

  “I guess we’ll find out.” He is more in control than I expect. My arms and legs become unnaturally heavy.

  “Navin,” I plead.

  A knock sounds on the door.

  “What?!” Navin exclaims, his face contorting with irritation.

  “They’re here,” one of his men yells.

  “Who?”

  “Arek and Kilon! They’re here, sir!” the man insists.

  Navin races to the door, unlocking it with a fast twist, but before he can open it the door bursts open, sending Navin across the floor. The throw rug is now beneath the bed.

  Arek rushes in.

  Navin is on his feet in seconds. Instantly their arms move faster than I can follow. Brothers in blood, yet enemies at their core, while each movement seems implausible and confident. It is unbelievable, really, how they strike each other in perfect synchronization. Arek grabs a pair of scissors nearby and uses them to slice Navin’s hand, cheek, and thigh just above the knee. Navin fights back with his knife catching Arek above the brow. Yet soon it is clear that although they are similar in size and strength, it is Arek’s skill that overwhelms Navin’s.

  It isn’t until one of Navin’s men emerges from a separate door just beside the bed and holds a gun to my head that Arek backs off—left with no choice.

  Arek drops the scissors.

  “Take her!” Navin yells.

  The guard takes me from the room, and we come upon a winding set of stairs that continues for longer than the eye can see. Nearly three flights down with an iron railing of floral design.

  Something about the salty air and the view out the windows makes it feel tropical. The guard doesn’t seem to know what to do as he leads me to the edge.

  Security bars are on every window. How will I get out? Yet, I don’t need to worry. Arek’s here, somewhere.

  “I’ve got her,” an old man’s voice seems to surf the stairs all the way down. “Go help Navin, I’ll take her,” Japha says to the guard from behind me. His white sweaty hair and gray eyes dig into mine, telling me of the long history that I have yet to remember between us. Then the flash happens, faster than lightning, a tempestuous vision.

  I am a child sitting in a cavernous room, beguiled with books and a large fireplace that reminds me of a face, with the heavy aroma of musky wood that fills my nose. Japha stands across from me. His hair is a salt and pepper instead of white, and his fingers, although still arthritic, are straighter than the present.

  “Just remember what the Ephemes have taken from us,” he says, coming closer with each slow word. Even then, at only eight years old, there is an awareness that when I am with Japha I am not alone within my thoughts and feel an obsessive need to protect myself. Japha—a representative of the Powers at the time—is revered and loved for his power and his longevity, yet even then he scares me. The man is conniving and powerful, which makes it nearly impossible to figure out his next move. It is no different than the snakes in the field that make no sound until the bite sends poisonous venom up your leg.

  Instantly as the visions quickly progress, the truth is alive between us, the memories passing back and forth, and he sees my sudden understanding.

  I whisper, “You forced me to be alone with you for hours to convince me Ephemes deserve to die and fed me lies for so long. Did my father know what you were doing all those years?”

  “Nothing helps you own the future more than controlling a child. Your father had no idea. He was blind to Lyneva’s intent.” His grizzled and shaky voice gives no indication of care.

  His words hit me harder than a bullet, infiltrating my memory with years of his torment. Even in my Epheme life, Japha had made his imprint on me enough to breach my sleep.

  Japha chuckles, “You were so convinced that the night Lyneva was killed was part of the Prophesy. If I had more time before Briston hired Kilon and Sassi to protect you day and night . . .” He then turns serious with irritation, “but I had done enough. Your subconscious was formed. And you died because you so blindly believed your mother wouldn’t hurt you. Even when she spent years hating you.”

  Then something occurs to me, “Yet, you never knew I would come back?” I watch his eyes for his tell at our poker table. A grin spreads across my face, “You hoped I wouldn’t come back, but I ruined it for you and Lyneva. You had hoped the Prophecy to die with me.”

  “Navin is convinced that your child would bring everyone to their knees and give him power, but Lyneva and I both knew the Prophecy was declared by men. There’s no truth to it.”

  He forces me to walk down the stairs with a nudge to my back.

  I continue, “How many of your loyal rebels did you lose because I came back? Suddenly there’s the possibility again that there might just be some truth to the One?”

  Again, he says nothing, yet his teeth crack together from tension.

  “What do you tell them now?”

  With fast hands he pushes me forward. Instinctively my arms reach for him, but he pulls away. The first strike a
gainst the floor is the worst, my body wrenches together like an accordion from my neck to my feet. Then the beating continues as my bones crack all the way down the winding staircase. He hopes to render me useless.

  In only moments, Japha meets me at the cement footing at the bottom of the stairs and begins to drag my body across the tile floor, until I am finally able to claw my way to standing. The house appears to be under combat as dust still hangs in the air and men lie lifeless all around.

  His eyes cast about trying to figure out the next step and where we will go when clearly there isn’t safety within this house.

  Two large double doors at the end of the hall call to him. He throws them open and pulls me inside. Instantly he freezes.

  Kilon, Sassi, Kenichi, and Briston stand with their guns pointed in our direction. I let out a shaky breath. Each one of them is dressed in heavy SWAT gear, sweaty and bloody.

  Japha yanks me in front of him.

  Sassi’s eyes meet mine and nods just slightly while Kilon’s never look away from Japha. His hate is resounding even in silence. Their guns are chambered and ready. The smell of gun powder is already pungent and now so is Japha’s sweat and heavy breath.

  We back away as they take small steps forward.

  “Japha,” Kilon firmly states.

  Japha turns, but his path is quickly obstructed when Arek, Mak, Geo, and Beckah appear on the other side of him with readied weapons.

  Kilon’s eyes bulge, and the crease between his eyebrows deepens until the anger contorts his face. I think of what he has been through at the hand of the man holding me so tightly that my arm is turning numb. Kilon keeps one eye closed as his gun directs its assault straight at Japha’s head.

  “Kilon,” Arek directs, “not yet.” Arek’s hand is steady as he steps toward us. “Japha . . .”

  “Arek there is nothing for you to say,” Japha suggests with a chilling scoff. “Navin and I have put into motion events that you will never be able to control. And for what? For your good? No . . . for the good of everyone in this room. Yet none of it can be stopped. It will happen whether I die today or not.”

  Kilon shakes his head and squeezes his hands until I think I can hear his skin rub the metal. “He has no intention of letting her go Arek.”

  “My intentions? You know them so well,” Japha growls.

  This only enrages Kilon more. Sweat curls down the creases of his face and his lip tightens. The tension in the room builds until the walls seem to bend and Arek directs Kilon again. “Kilon . . . hold back.”

  “Remy was yours to protect, Kilon? You never were worth anything—you or your family, or your wife,” Japha spews. Kilon charges forward, but Japha jams the gun behind my ear, forcing Kilon’s feet to screech across the tile floor and stop. “Do you think she can come back to life again? Is she that lucky?” Japha asks. This man rivals the greatest Velieri who have ever lived—the most powerful and the most learned. It is possible that each of us feel him Tracing, his desperation only igniting his power. “I made sure she died once . . .” Japha starts to press the weapon harder against my head. The click of the gun makes me jump and cry out. Yet nothing happens. I groan, my heart trying to tear a hole in my chest. His gun clicks again and again, but it does nothing. Japha swiftly grabs his knife.

  Kilon and Arek shoot Japha in the body from both sides. Instantly, Japha’s body turns to stone, and his fingers finally release my skin.

  Arek grabs me before I fall with the old man.

  While Japha sputters and groans, Kilon stands over him. “Enjoy hell,” he growls. Kilon’s pulsing veins show as he reaches out, confidently places the gun behind Japha’s ear, and takes one shot at a time, calling out his dead family. “For my mom,” he shoots, “for my dad,” again, “for my sister,” and again. He remains bent at the waist, his wavering breath telling us of hundreds of years of suppressed rage, as Sassi comes to his side and touches his face. She pulls him by the chin until he grabs her in an embrace.

  “You okay?” Arek whispers to me, as the others immediately load up more weapons.

  I nod.

  Suddenly Kilon releases Sassi and doesn’t wait before he runs to the door. “Where’s Navin?”

  In a flash, we are on the hunt and climb the blood-marred and winding stairs. My wounds have already healed, so I’m able to keep up. We reach the room where I last saw Ian. By the time I walk through the door, Kilon is kneeling over his quiet body. I run to his side, dropping to my knees.

  Kilon puts a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry.”

  Navin is nowhere to be found, so the others have quietly gathered. “He saved me,” I whisper.

  “We’ll get him back home.”

  Arek puts a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. Let them take him.”

  I stand up to take the space within Arek’s arms. Together, he and I walk away, leaving Ian behind for the others to tend to. After a few moments, we step outside of the house. For the first time in days, the sun warms my skin.

  Colorful rooftops jut out in the distance, looking like Santorini, Greece. Yet, where we are is a sprawling two-story villa with two miles of beach between it and all other inhabitants.

  Black tactical SUVs line the circle drive. Kilon, Geo, Peter, and others eventually exit with Ian, his face covered in a blanket. I watch, guilty that it was because of me that he died.

  “I’m sorry, Willow,” Arek whispers in my ear.

  “He was my last connection to who I was.”

  Arek looks at me carefully, “But he died for who you are now.”

  Diem and the entire army of vigilantes begin to emerge from the villa, showing the battle that has just taken place by their torn skin, bruising, and fatigue. Yet they smile at one another with a job well done.

  One by one, from the front door and side doors of the villa, come twelve men and women with their hands on their heads, as officers follow with drawn weapons. Navin is nowhere amid his rebels.

  “What about Navin?” I ask Arek.

  Arek places his hand on my neck. “I’ll find him. I promise.”

  “So, he gets away?”

  “No. I will find him,” he promises.

  Just then, Briston’s voice grows loud as several Protectors hold him back from attacking Leigh under the shade of palm trees nearby. Arek races to his side as Leigh pushes his way through with determination.

  “What are you doing?” There is no hiding Arek’s distrust of his own father and his love for mine.

  “I’m doing what I’ve been told to do,” Leigh states, without so much as a glimmer of remorse.

  Peter is the first to step in front of Leigh, then Sassi behind him; Beckah and Geo finish blocking the thin man’s path to me. Mak and Kenichi are close and observe with care.

  “I will arrest every single one of you. Do you understand? You make this choice. Peter . . . get out of the way, son.”

  “No,” is all that the sixteen-year-old will say to his father.

  Leigh raises his hand in the air and instantly his Protectors jump to his side, drawing the front line. When one of the Protectors reaches out and grabs Peter’s shoulder, everyone attacks. Yet I foresee how this will be with Leigh and all his power.

  “Stop,” I yell. At first no one hears me. So I yell louder, “Stop!” The commotion dies down. Leigh’s surprised eyes connect with mine. “Take me, Leigh.”

  “No!” Peter says defensively.

  Slowly and gently I push my way through the wall of people there to protect me. My eyes lock with every person I pass: Geo, Peter, Beckah, Sassi, Kilon, and Arek, who stands by his father with concern. My shoes crunch the gravel in the circle drive. “I’ll go with you.” My voice shakes.

  “Leigh . . . no,” Briston barks from behind the men who detain him.

  Arek is still quiet.

  “Trust me,” I say.

  “We’ll fix this, Willow,” Briston states.

  “I’m counting on that.”

  I extend my hands to Leigh for him to put cuffs arou
nd my wrists, but he shakes his head. “No. Come with me of your own volition.”

  “Can I have a moment with Arek?”

  Leigh nods.

  Arek comes close to hear my voice. “Lyneva is alive.” He looks at me with surprise. “She’s with Navin.”

  He presses his palm gently to my cheek. “I will figure it all out. I promise.” Then he kisses me.

  “We need to go,” Leigh warns.

  He leads me through the crowd, past the sedans, and across the gravel.

  “Remy!” the large voice erupts. Kilon has climbed onto the hood of a nearby car so that he can see me above the crowd. “Remy!” His voice booms within my chest and pulls my scared eyes up to meet his. The world around us is quiet as all watch him. “I swear my allegiance to you. I swear to serve you, to protect you, to die for you!” Kilon bows on one knee, then lifts his large hand to his chest and pounds three times—slow and passionate. My tears fall as his protective eyes stare into mine. Diem and the rest of the men then follow his lead, including my friends who have carried me safely this far. Together they pound their fists against their chest three times in declaration. The tears that have pooled in my bottom lashes finally release.

  In Leigh’s irritation, he pushes me toward the waiting SUV. “Get up!” he yells at one of the Protectors who should be helping him but instead kneels with the others. Reluctantly, this Protector stands, but not before he nods at me. Yet as they push my head under the doorway, I can’t. My body fights.

  “Arek!” I yell. My cheeks burn and my eyes swell, as I search for him. “Arek!” I can’t find him while Leigh’s hands keep a tight grasp on my arm. Finally, I see Arek. He jumps to his feet and runs to me, instantly wrapping his palms around my terrified face and his thumbs brush tears away. “I can’t . . . I’m not her. I can’t do this!” For the first time since my mom passed, the raw emotion cannot be squelched and my body shakes. “I’m not Remy!”