Shadow Soldier (The Shadow Saga)

by J. L. Lyon

  “Then why does Silent Thunder fight?” 301 asked. “If you are content with your lives in the Wilderness, why draw attention to yourselves by declaring war on the Great Army?”

  “For many reasons,” she answered. “But here is one I know you will understand: this land does not belong to Napoleon Alexander, or to the World System. It belongs to the people from whom it was stolen, the people who have a right to recreate their government if they so desire.”

  “You mean the United States of America,” 301 said. “The government that ruled in this region before the invasion of the Persian Empire.”

  “That one,” she said. “Or, if the people so desire, another similar to it that will exist to protect and serve them, not rule and enslave them. Napoleon Alexander is a tyrant.”

  “And your God,” 301 said. “Is he not a tyrant? An all-powerful being who is the ultimate authority on right and wrong and has the ability to rightfully condemn anyone who does not follow him to an eternity of torment? Isn’t that what the Elect believe?”

  She balked, “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “Well then, maybe you should make it clearer.”

  Grace went silent for a moment and gathered her thoughts. 301 took that time to watch her face, noticing the lines of her complexion and the thinness of her lips as she concentrated hard on the explanation. He could tell even before she opened her mouth that this subject was deeply important to her.

  “Would you say you are a good man, 301?”

  301 hesitated, not sure how to answer, “I would say I’m a good soldier. A good swordsman…a good thinker, perhaps. Is that what you’re asking?”

  She shook her head, “Those are all things that you do. I’m asking about who you are. Are the majority of your actions and motivations noble? Are they honorable, valorous, heroic?”

  It was the first time someone had asked him that question so point-blank. When it came right down to it, most of his actions and motivations were quite the opposite of those words: they were cruel, calculating, and selfish.

  “Are you a good man?” she repeated.

  In an instant he saw a flash of faces: men he had killed in the service of the World System, whether under orders or in the heat of a firefight—some of whom he might have spared but didn’t out of spite. He averted his eyes and said through teeth gritted with the pain of regret, “No. I am not a good man.”

  “Do you believe you should be punished for the things you have done…evils you have committed?”

  He met her gaze, and was struck again by the strange power at work within those eyes: a power that seemed to uncover him, to lay his true self bare and force him to face his own darkness. He took a deep breath, “Yes, I suppose I do. In a way, I guess I’m just waiting on that punishment to come.”

  “And what force do you believe will exact this punishment?”

  “Fate,” he replied. “Fate will bring my life back into balance, and will make me atone for my past crimes.”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed, “And if someone else atoned for those crimes in your place, what would you say to that?”

  “I would wonder what that person wanted in return.”

  She leaned forward, obviously getting more excited as her thoughts came together, “Okay, let’s say—hypothetically—that there is a king.”

  “A king,” 301 said dryly. “What kind of king?”

  “A good king,” she said. “And let’s say this good king built his kingdom up from nothing with his bare hands. When he was finished, he invited peasants who lived in squalor from all around to come and enjoy the fruits of his labor. He gave them gifts and comforts the likes of which they could never imagine themselves, and in return he asked that they follow two laws: love and remain loyal to the king, and love and protect the fellow members of the kingdom. In upholding these laws they would ensure that the kingdom remained good for all those who lived there, both in the present and in the many years to come.

  “But some time after that, a man who had once loved the king more than any of the others grew to resent him. He became jealous of all the attention and loyalty the king received, and of knowing that no matter what, he would never be greater than the king. And so he rebelled, and tried to take the kingdom for himself. Many others joined him in his resentment and his rebellion, and together they brought war and darkness to the once peaceful kingdom. Death and suffering entered in, and everyone knew nothing would ever be the same. The kingdom, as the good king had intended it to be, was no more.

  “So tell me, 301: what should the king do about all these rebels?”

  “Hunt them all down,” he replied. “He should find every person who defied him and put them to death. They broke their vow and committed treason.”

  “But they were just deceived,” she argued. “The first rebel played on their fears and desires, using that to turn their minds to anger and hate. Perhaps if he had never come along, they would have gone along with the peace of the kingdom forever.”

  “Perhaps,” 301 said. “But they didn’t, did they? We have to be judged according to the things we actually do, not what we might have done if things were different.”

  “You’re right to believe there had to be judgment,” she went on. “These people committed a very serious crime against the king, and he could not just let that pass. You’re right also, to believe that it was deserving of death. But there were a good amount of people who rebelled against the king who desired to be restored to him…to serve him loyally once again. So what should the king do about that?”

  “Uphold justice,” 301 said. “Even if some of them were truly repentant, they committed a very serious crime. If the king allowed them to get away with it he would be opening a door to create even deeper suffering in his kingdom.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “But say the son of the king, who was completely innocent with regard to the rebellion, came forward and offered his life in exchange for the lives of the repentant rebels. What then?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” 301 shook his head, confused. “How could the king’s son, who had done nothing wrong, give up his own life to save traitors to his kingdom? What use would it be?”

  “Let’s just think for a moment that you were one of those rebels, 301. The king’s son surrenders his life for yours, spills his blood to bring you back into right-standing with the king. What would you feel for this man?”

  301 paused for a moment and then replied, “Gratitude. Immense gratitude. And regret, I suppose. Regret that my actions had cost such a noble life.”

  “And what would you do if the king’s son returned?”

  A second of silence passed while 301 tried to digest Grace’s question. Then he realized he couldn’t, because he didn’t understand it. “Returned? What do you mean?”

  “I mean what I said: returned...returned from the dead.”

  “But people don’t—”

  “What if they did?” she cut across him. “What if he did? What if he came to you then and asked you to help him restore the kingdom of his father, and to help others who did not yet recognize the king see that he was good, honorable, and just? Would you do it?”

  “Yes,” 301 answered. “I believe I would.”

  Grace nodded and gave a half smile, “I believe you would, too.” A seriousness fell over her as she moved forward to the edge of the chair, her hands clasped together and elbows on her knees. Her eyes held him in place, and the power that drew him into them seemed to grow even stronger. “Listen to me carefully, 301. There is a God who is above all things, who created this world and everything in it. He built his kingdom here on Earth, and made Mankind to uphold that kingdom. To do that he gave us a piece of himself, that we might be like him…creatures made in his image. But we screwed up—all of us chose a way that was contrary to upholding that kingdom, and that made us traitors. Traitors to the very one that made us. But God’s son came to earth in the form of a man, and offered up hi
s life in exchange for us. He restored us to God, and then God restored him to life. And now we wait for him to return, as he promised to do, to set everything right again and restore the kingdom that we in our rebellion destroyed. And you’re right: when I think of this I feel gratitude…immense gratitude. But it also gives me hope that our struggles in this life are never in vain…that there is light at the end of this darkness…light so powerful and amazing that we might just forget the darkness ever existed.

  “Understand this story, 301-14-A, and the implications it would have on the lives of those who believe it, and you will have gained great insight into the motivations of the Elect.”

  301 was silent. He didn’t know what to say. As a story it was undoubtedly moving, and he had been touched by the honor and self-sacrifice of the king’s son. But to say the event had actually happened? He wasn’t convinced. And as for the implications if it were true…that was a place he wasn’t ready to go.

  Grace sat back in her chair, not discouraged by his lack of a response, “Let’s end it there tonight. Perhaps we can pick this up again some other time.”

  He nodded, and—feeling that something should be said—spoke quietly, “It was a great story, Grace. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  She smiled, “You should probably get some rest. Another long day tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” he rose from the chair and made for the bedroom, but paused in the doorway. “Good night, Grace.”

  “Good night, Specter Captain,” she rose from the chair and walked over to the couch where she slept, and he disappeared behind the door to his room.

  -X-

  Visions continued to haunt 301’s sleep through the duration of his Specter training, to the point where he thought he might prefer being haunted by the boy in broad daylight—at least then he would be able to get some sleep. They were mostly the same, with little added detail: fires burning, familiar eyes staring, and a little girl standing before him with a bright smile on her face. And then there were the dreams he had always suffered: obscure shadows of rain and fire.

  Many nights he would lie awake for hours in deep thought, but for what reason he didn’t know. Part of him wanted to believe it was to avoid seeing the visions, but that wasn’t true. It was because his mind reeled at the end of every day with some indiscernible feeling, a pleasant pain in his chest and stomach that he couldn’t quite diagnose. He tried to focus on the tasks of the day, on his training and the expansion of his abilities as a Specter. But no matter what he thought about, his mind always returned to Grace.

  Her presence had become intoxicating. In their time together, he found himself totally enraptured by her beauty, by her words, by the very sound of her voice. She washed away the trials of each day with one glance from her eyes, one smile from her lips. The more he knew about her, the more he desired to know.

  Weeks passed with no more word of the God she had spoken of in her story, but 301 had not forgotten. She didn’t have to refer to him specifically for 301 to realize that this God of hers was an underlying and ever-present part of each story she told about her life—a life that sounded to him like something from another time…distant and primitive, yet beautiful and free.

  She had spent the majority of her life in the Wilderness far from Division One, where the security was more relaxed and they didn’t have to worry as much about Great Army raids. Since they didn’t have the Systemic designations necessary to buy and sell food, they had to find sustenance in other ways: farming, hunting, and black market operations run by people with unpredictable motives. But staying in one place for too long proved unwise, as the Great Army would always roll in eventually to kill or enslave them.

  She admitted to have feared slavery above death, knowing from a very young age what would be expected of her if she were ever owned by a man in the World System. To combat this fear, she convinced her father to train her with the Spectral Gladius. She excelled in the art of swordplay throughout her teenage years, but did so as a loner. She spoke briefly to 301 about the death of her best friend at the War of Dominion’s close, and of how she had never gotten over the grief of losing him. This and other tragedies in her early life led her to guard her heart closely and keep others at an arm’s length. Ironically it also earned her the nickname Shadow Heart, one she had hated as a teenager but grew to appreciate over time.

  301 felt guilty knowing she had fallen victim to the one fate she feared most: slavery. She finally removed the bandages on her arm for good about halfway through his training, and he thought it became more real to her once she had to see the brand of his designation on her arm every day. He walked in on her crying several times, but said nothing. She tried hard to hide her pain and he didn’t want to draw it back to the surface.

  Hearing her sadness pierced him deeper than any blade, to the point where at times he felt himself on the verge of tears as well. He withdrew from her during those moments, even though what he really wanted was to reach for her—to pull her close and promise that he would never let anything happen to her…that everything was going to be alright.

  When they trained with the Spectral Gladius she did not let him down. She taught him advanced techniques that skyrocketed him back above Blaine in their sparring and made him a better fighter overall. But he grew to enjoy the sessions for more reasons than the superior skill it gave him. The reason he learned so much with Grace was because she was a very attentive teacher. Often she would place 301’s hands in the proper position on the Gladius for whatever technique he was trying to master, and she would stand either beside or behind him, guiding him through the motions with soft touches on his elbows, waist, and arms. Each time her skin brushed his that pleasant pain in his chest and stomach flared, sometimes so powerfully that he had to remember to breathe.

  There were even times when he would ask for her help long after he had mastered the technique, just to experience her touch once more.

  As time went by, they smiled more, laughed more, and talked more openly than they had with anyone in their entire lives. 301 soon realized that he was living for his evenings with Grace, that he rose from sleep with her on his mind and drifted into it the same. Sometimes he would imagine her there on the pillow beside him, wondering what it would be like to wake up next to a woman so beautiful and unique. But there was an unspoken wall between them where physical affection was concerned—one that he dared not cross just yet, not if it risked her doubting his motives and closing off to him once again.

  In many ways the life that had once seemed unfamiliar to him was now the one he most enjoyed, and the life in which he spent the majority of his time was the one he dreaded.

  Derek Blaine could always be counted upon for that.

  21

  SIX WEEKS INTO SPECTER training there had been no more sign of Silent Thunder. McCall, who had predicted the next rebel attack would come within the first week of Sawyer’s ambush, was not shy in mentioning how perturbed the delay made him. Whatever the reason, it was lucky. Specter had not yet reached a point where they could respond effectively to a Silent Thunder offensive, especially without the aid of the Spectral Gladius.

  But they had not been idle. 301 and Derek Blaine spent their off hours investigating the activity of the rebel benefactors, using Blaine’s contacts within the nobility as a springboard to root out the traitors. Thus far they hadn’t found enough evidence for a takedown, though in one case they were coming close.

  301 never felt the difference between himself and Derek Blaine more clearly than when he stood in the shadow of the Blaine mansion. Though second to the palace in the luxury of its interior, the subtle elegance of its exterior design far outstripped the palace’s fearsome structure. It was a building made for royalty, and he noticed that Blaine took on a more regal air every time they stepped through the gates.

  Having grown up in an orphanage and not yet used to the lavishness of life in the hierarchy, 301 couldn’t imagine what Derek’s childhood must have been like.
In a way it helped him to understand his partner a little more. The arrogance and haughtiness were by-products of his upbringing, and perhaps—like the perfect world this mansion seemed to be—provided an illusion with which the darker parts of the House of Blaine might be hidden.

  Nevertheless, 301 couldn’t help but be in awe even on this, their third visit to the mansion in so many weeks. He also couldn’t help but wonder why, in all those times, Derek’s father Walter Blaine had been conspicuously absent. Derek rarely made mention of the man, and 301 doubted that was by accident. Blaine was more regal within those walls, yes—but also more tense. The profiler in 301 guessed that father and son had fallen out of favor with one another at some point, but he had no desire to question Derek about the truth.

  The four guards at the door nodded at their approach, “Sir Derek Blaine. Welcome home.”

  Derek pushed past them without pause and without a word, and the soldier who addressed him followed close on their heels. As the three of them entered 301 was again struck by the silence that rushed upon them when they stepped into the foyer. It reminded him of the feeling he got when visiting the Capital Orphanage some months ago after it had been shut down: melancholy, as though the building were a treasure trove of memories kept secret because of the nostalgia they might bring to the living.

  “My father is out?” Blaine asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. “He left this morning on pressing matters of business with a contingent of the household servants.”

  “Good,” Blaine said. “Does he know of our arrangement?”

  “No, sir,” the soldier said. “You asked me to keep this confidential, and I assure you, I am a man of my word.”

  They reached an empty room and Blaine turned to face the man with his arms crossed, “Alright then. Tell me what you’ve found.”

  “Well, sir, the last time you came here you asked me to watch Sir Wayne Collins closely, to see if his actions could be construed as odd,” the soldier said. “And I found something.”