Jaxon Prayer (Jaxon Prayer Trilogy Book 1)

by Rachel West

  “It was nothing,” he says and his words are a lie I let him keep because sometimes the lies are all that hold us together.

  He drops his hand to his side and with fingers clenched it’s like he pulls a mask over himself. His eyes narrow and sharpen, his face relaxes into a neutral expression, and his shoulders go back, not with anger but arrogance. And just like that, as easy as changing clothes, he’s switched off.

  “We must finish with the burial. We have made too much noise, soon the automatons may come investigate,” he says and his words are dripping with heat like he’s trying to make up for the weakness he’s shown.

  I sigh and kick at a branch on the ground. I don’t understand him. I don’t know how he can so quickly change from one person to another. I don’t understand how when I see him there are a thousand different things he makes me feel and I can’t seem to get them sorted.

  I pick up my shovel off the ground and continue digging. Jaxon rolls the body of a Praetor into one of the open graves. I recognize the body as the Praetor Jaxon killed to save me. A face I will never forget. Jaxon drops into the grave with the Praetor, balancing over him. Jaxon’s shoulders slump, and his eyes dart to mine before turning back to the body. With one hand, he closes the eyes of the dead Praetor; his lips move, as he mumbles something too softly for me to hear, a prayer or hymn perhaps.

  Red’s footsteps come up behind me. I lean back, feeling the familiar comfort of Red’s hand on my shoulder. “Almost done?” he asks.

  “Almost,” I say.

  CHAPTER 17

  We cross over a hill and when we reach the top we are looking down on A239. Or, at least part of it. In the distance the work-prison stretches on so far I can’t see where the fence ends. Trees peep over the top of the fence, like bushy-haired children staring impatiently out a window. Despite the lateness of the season, A239 is full of green.

  In the distance are giant flat structures. Warehouses perhaps or greenhouses more like. Closest to us is a large, three story building that looks like no house I’ve ever seen before. Giant pillars spiral up at the entrance, textured with carvings too intricate to make out from our perch.

  “The Lenards live within,” Jaxon says, noticing where I look.

  “The Lenards?”

  “One of the more recent Millennial families,” Jaxon explains. He looks confused, like this is information I should know.

  “I don’t exactly keep up with the Millennials.” I pull at a strand of hair, twirling it around my finger. “Who are they?”

  “Butch Lenard,” Red explains, “He used to fight in the Coliseum. Then became a Praetor. Guess he must have done pretty well for himself,” Red finishes bitterly. “Got the greatest promotion of them all.”

  “He goes by Botley now,” Jaxon shrugs, “But that about sums it up.”

  “I always thought that was a lie,” I say. “Praetors becoming Millenials.”

  “Why do you think they’re so damn bloodthirsty?” Red says.

  “Only the best get promoted,” Jaxon says at the same time.

  The two turn to look at me with expressions of surprise. Red’s face darkens and he slowly clenches his fist, one finger at a time.

  Jaxon’s head cants to one side and he scratches absently at his chin. “My father promotes only one or two each decade. There’s a lot of competition for the spot. Only the very best. And you have to prove your loyalty. If you get promoted you spend twenty years working on one of the farms before you’re allowed to move to Crescent City.”

  “Yeah,” Red cuts in, “Prove your loyalty by killing as many innocents as possible. They’re the worst of them.” Pointing at Jaxon, Red continues, “At least the ones who are born into it are just too stupid to know any better. But the ones who started where we are? Who make their way to the top by killing their friends, neighbors? They are scum.”

  Jaxon stands quiet before Red’s anger. He opens his mouth once, ready to fight back, but closes it again with a snap. He looks out over the farm, his expression going slack. I can’t tell if he’s being the bigger man by not fighting, or if he has no counter-argument to what Red said and is too proud to admit it.

  Awkwardness fills the air. I pull uncomfortably at my jacket. I wish someone would say something. Anything. “So,” I draw the word out then clamp my mouth shut with embarrassment. That’s not helping anything.

  “Let’s go,” Red says, “we need to find a less open place. We need to figure out how we are going to get in,” his mouth twists, “and out.”

  We go back down the hill the way we came up. The sun is just starting its downward crawl when we stop at the bottom of the hill. Jaxon lays his computer on the ground and we all settle around it. On the screen is an outline of the compound. The entire farm is shaped like a giant octagon. Most of the buildings are centralized in the area closest to us, except for a few, smaller ones, scattered amongst the trees.

  “I bet this is where everyone sleeps,” Jaxon points to a single story building pressed against one of the walls.

  “How do you know?” Red asks.

  “Look,” he traces his finger along the outside of the building, “this is another fence. A smaller one. An extra layer of protection.”

  “Protection,” Red snorts.

  “How are we going to get in?” I ask.

  For a moment Jaxon looks helpless, then he says, “The wall circling A239 is like the one around Haven. Smaller, of course. It will have electrified currents in it. The top has barbed wire - I don’t think it’s powered like a synthblade, but it could be.”

  My heart drops and I want to be sick. That sounds impossible. The only reason we were able to escape Haven is because there was already a path out. We merely made use of it. But this? I doubt we’re going to find any convenient sewer leading in.

  Jaxon pulls his backpack into his lap. Leaning over he digs through it. “Darren thought of that, he said-- Where is it?--“ I can’t tell if Jaxon is talking to us or himself so I wait patiently.

  With a grin of triumph he pulls out a dozen metal tubes. They are near the length of my forearm and come to a point at one end like a sharpened pencil. I lean my head in closer - a very sharp point.

  “These tether large amounts of electricity. Darren thought we could use them to black out part of the wall.”

  “Thought?” I echo weakly.

  “It will work” Jaxon says. “Darren’s parents are scientists. He grew up playing with toys like these.”

  “So we,” my tongue stumbles over the word, “tether electricity, and then what? Climb over?”

  “Through,” Jaxon says with a grin, “we go through.” He pulls out a tube of what looks like toothpaste. “Darren and I used to get in so much trouble with this. We once cut a hole through the street because we wanted to find out what kept the Crescent City floating.” His eyes grow distant with the memory. “Wires. Lots and lots of wires.”

  “What is it?”

  “It is a corrosive paste.”

  I raise my brows, waiting for him to continue.

  “You can put it on almost any dry surface, and it will eat away at it. Like acid. Or when you spill water on sugar.” He looks to me, waiting to see if I understand. I nod, not truly understanding, but accepting his explanation.

  “So that’s it then? That’s our plan? Break through the wall and find my sister? What about the guards? Cameras?” I’ve planned for this day what feels like my entire life. Waiting for the moment I could have my sister back at my side. I’d always imagined it being a little more-- I don’t know. Big.

  What Jaxon is suggesting sounds simple. Too simple. Cut a hole through the wall. Sneak around. Find my sister.

  “The simplest plans are usually the best,” Red says grudgingly. “It sounds like it could work. As long as we avoid any Praetors. We should wait until tonight though - It will be easier to find Annie if she’s already in bed.”

  I want to plan more. I want a back-up plan. A plan for every contingency. This is the one chance I have
to save Annie. If we mess it up -- I don’t even want to think about that. I can’t think about that. But Red and Jaxon are satisfied with what we have. For once they actually appear to be in agreement. I run my hand through my hair. I don’t know if I can wait until tonight. The sun hasn’t even begun to set yet. We have hours. Of sitting. Doing nothing.

  “I can’t--“ I start to voice my thoughts but I am interrupted. Red holds up his hand, gesturing for me to stop talking. “…What?”

  “Shh,” Red looks behind us. I strain my ears but I don’t hear anything. I open my mouth again, but Red makes a sharp motion with his hand. The meaning is clear.

  I reach for my synthblade. The weight is a comfort in my hand. Whatever is out there has Red reaching for his blade as well.

  Voices, distant, but moving closer intrude upon the forest’s silence. I try to make out what they are saying. At least two people are talking, but as their footsteps move closer, I think I hear more. A flash catches my eye - the sun reflecting off something metallic.

  “Take this,” Jaxon whispers urgently and shoves the corrosive paste into my hands. “Hide it.”

  I stare down at the tube, not sure where to hide it. Shrugging and figuring it’s best to do as suggested, I shove it into my bra. The cold tube cups the underside of my breast uncomfortably - but it’s well hidden. I smooth down my shirt, not even a bump.

  “I swear to ya I saw someone standing on the hill,” the voices moving through the forest are finally clear. A small pack of Praetors is coming towards us. Six of them - dressed in full regalia with crimson edged black jackets reaching to the tops of their leather boots. It’s only as they draw closer I see they aren’t quite as well appointed as city Praetors. Their boots bear old scuff marks. Their hair longer than regulation allows.

  I take two slow steps backward until I am standing in the shadows of a tree. “What do we do?” I whisper so softly my lips barely move.

  “If we fight them, we’re dead,” Red whispers back.

  “Help!” Jaxon steps out of the shadows. He’s not speaking to me, his voice is loud, desperate, and designed to carry. A chill crawls across my skin. My stomach drops and goes hollow. “My name is Jaxon Prayer and I have been kidnapped. Help me!”

  CHAPTER 18

  The Praetors jump immediately into action. Weapons are pulled and aimed at all three of us. Jaxon steps out of the way, giving them a clear shot with their guns. Red is right, we can’t fight them. Three have pulled out expensive, modern guns. My fingers loosen around my synthblade and it slips to the ground.

  I reach my hand to Red, who entwines his fingers in mine, and face my death.

  I am empty inside.

  I finally understand what they mean by pain of betrayal. It’s like a gaping wound, right in my chest, all of my insides have leaked out and there is nothing left. Nothing but hate and sorrow and fear.

  “Do not shoot them,” Jaxon says with an air of command “I will have them hanged in front of all their friends when we return to Haven.”

  For a moment my heart beats again. Could Jaxon be playing them? Is this all some plan of his? I try to catch his eye, to get a wink, a smile, anything that tells me he’s still on our side. That he’s still on my side. I see nothing. His eyes are cold. Empty. I have never seen something so inhuman. This is not the man who has shared an apartment with me for weeks. Not the man who made me climb mountains to see the stars.

  This is a Millennial. This is who he is. I clench my fists until my fingers bite into flesh. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I shouldn’t have forced him to join in the attack against the Praetors. What man could kill those he calls his own and come out the same on the other side? And he did it for me. I can’t even hate him when I see the empty way he looks at me.

  The Praetors approach slowly. As they near, they spread out to each side until Red and I are surrounded. My hands are jerked roughly behind my back. My shoulder aches as its stretched too far. Cold flexible metal is woven between my wrists, locking them together. The metal goes stiff and already I can feel my fingers numbing. I wiggle my hands, trying to loosen the cuffs but all it earns me is a blow to the back of my head.

  Red undergoes the same treatment. His face is violent with rage; his lips pulled back in an animal like snarl. But he doesn’t resist. He doesn’t fight back. Always the practical one.

  The Praetor at my back is built like a bull. His jaw is thick and his brow hangs heavy. If I could just distract them for a moment I could run. I am certain I could outrun my guard. But I can’t leave Red behind. Not after I was the one who got him into this.

  We are led to the front gates of the farm. Large, ornately-carved stone that seems too flamboyant for a prison. I pause to stare too long at the carvings and I get another shove in the back. I stumble forward into the guard leading the way. The Praetor turns around and backhands me with all his strength. The blow lifts me off my feet and sends me flying into the ground. I land roughly on my side. I can’t bring myself to stand, I can’t even bring myself to move. So I lay there, blood trickling down one cheek and mixing with dirt. An ant crawls in front of my nose and I wonder if it knows how close it came to being crushed by me.

  “Get up,” big-jaw says roughly. He pulls me to my feet by gripping the metal that holds my wrists together. “Get moving.”

  Jaxon has his arms crossed across his chest and watches with a blank expression. I look away. The Praetors lead us into a small courtyard. A large, bright apple tree stands tall in the center. Two white marble benches rest beneath the leaves. It’s beautiful.

  The head Praetor leads Jaxon off to the right, towards the large manor house. I can’t pull my eyes away from his retreating back. Blood still marks his jacket from when he protected me.

  The Praetors lead Red and I away from the manor house. One of the guards opens the door to a large, grey-stoned building. The entryway swells out into a room full of Praetors. A dozen? Two? I interlace my fingers behind my back, but sweat makes my grip weak.

  A low hum fills the room, the sound of light chatter and busy work. A few of the Praetors look curiously at us. Do they know we are the supposed kidnappers of the Great Uniter’s son? Do they see us and wonder how we could possibly have done it? Criminals. Slum-rats. Who’d imagine we’d be capable of such an act? But in their eyes I see no anger, no confusion. All I see is dismissal. We are nothing to them. Inconsequential.

  The guard behind me shoves me forward, down a short flight of stairs. A low-slung ceiling nearly brushes the top of Red’s head. Dank, grey walls press in from both sides. The long hallway is filled on both sides with small cells. Metal bars that offer no privacy give a glimpse of the prisoners who have lived here before. Old, molding blankets. A bowl cracked down one side.

  They shove Red into the cell closest to the door. He grunts with pain as the Praetor kicks the back of his knees, forcing him to the ground. I don’t see what they do next; my guard urges me further down the hallway and into a cell about halfway down. The Praetor grunts and it takes me a moment to understand he is speaking. “Arms up,” he repeats.

  I stare blankly - his words processing but the meaning not clear. I can’t put my arms up. They are locked in place behind my back. The Praetor gets tired of waiting, and grabs my wrists, pulling my arms high into the air and something out of the socket. I scream. My vision blackens and little flecks of light dance in my eyes. Pain burns down my arms, down my back, even down into my legs. I shudder and struggle to stay on my feet.

  With one hand holding my arms up, the Praetor uses the other to pat me down. Grubby hands feel along my body, making me sick to my stomach. His fingers linger too long in places they shouldn’t. It takes everything I have not to attack. A blush heats my cheek - but not from embarrassment - rage instead. Pure, endless rage.

  I snarl a curse at him and my voice has lost all sense of humanity. The Praetor drops my arms and steps back. He shuts the cell door with a clang behind him. “Be good.” He leers once more before turning his back to me.r />
  I stumble back against the one solid wall, heavy plaster painted grey. There is a small window, letting in a hint of light that paints the ground with black shadows. My legs tremble and I drop to the ground before they can collapse out beneath me. I pull my knees up, resting my chest against them. I feel tears forming but I will them away. I will not cry. Not for me. Not because of Jaxon. What I need to do is find a way out of here.

  “Red,” I whisper. I wait for a moment but he doesn’t respond. “Red?” I repeat again, louder this time. Panic burns like acid in my throat. “Are you okay?” I ask frantically. “Red!” I hear a moan from his cell. I breathe a sigh of relief. If he’s in pain it means he’s alive.

  I wait quietly. The guards don’t bother us. One of them, a tall, lanky man with a mustache curling all the way around his mouth stays for a bit. He walks up and down the narrow hallway banging his baton against the bars. I want to rip the baton from his hands and bash his head in with it. I want to break free and kill all of them. Rend the Praetors limb from limb. I blanch, sickened by my own rage.

  Soon the rhythmic clanging of the Praetors baton overtakes me. Everything fades away as I stare blankly at the ground beneath my feet. Little divots speckle the floor. I scuff my toe over one, pushing in dust and dirt and filling in the small hole.

  “Evie?” The sound of my name breaks me out of the half doze I’ve fallen into. I blink slowly. The Praetor guard is gone.

  “Red,” I mumble back. I try to stretch but my arms don’t work. A moment passes before I remember the situation I am in. The prison. The Praetors. Jaxon. “He betrayed me,” I say. I hear weakness in my voice and I hate myself for it.

  “I’m sorry,” Red says.

  I smile at him but I doubt he can see it. I’m glad he doesn’t say anything more. I don’t think I could handle an “I told you so.” Red was right all along, I should never have trusted Jaxon. Everything inside me aches. I don’t understand it. I don’t know why. I barely know Jaxon. He barely knows me - how could I expect him to fight his own kind for me? Despite that, despite everything the feeling of betrayal is so real, so physical, like there’s fire in my veins, killing me from the inside until there will be nothing left but ash. Jaxon gave me hope - hope I hadn’t seen or felt in so long. Then he took it away from me. A cruel trick.