He pulled pieces of iron from the life forms in the room, and the streams of iron ripped through the stomachs of some of the people around him. Many of the people used their stones to subdue him, and the place turned into a ball of lightning and fire. Gardiv grabbed one man by the throat and pulled all of the oxygen from the molecules in his body. The man writhed on the ground and died of suffocation.
Gardiv sprang to his feet and tightened his fists, waiting for more to come. Several Materialists charged in at his waist. He braced himself as he sprawled his legs backwards to balance his weight. He forged a metallic clamp that enclosed itself around the man’s torso. The clamp closed and crushed the man within it.
Gardiv fell to his knees and ignited the life forms on the ground. Flames burst out across the wooden floor and scattered about the room, killing several other Materialists. The entire courtroom was burning. Scorching yellow, wooden cinders fell from the ceiling. The Materialists forged chains that entangled Gardiv in them. He fought out of them, but the more he struggled the more the chain links formed. One of the Materialist guards formed a metallic vice that rose from the ground and wrenched Gardiv’s emblem from his chest. Gardiv passed out on the floor, unconscious and trembling. The Materialists removed his body from the burning building and the commotion died down.
They put him in prison, but after several months, he stole the keys from one of the guards, killed the old man, and escaped. He left Bahoil once he gathered a few things that he needed. He didn’t want anyone to see him and wonder how he had broken out of jail. His plan was to stay off the main roads and travel south to Shalar.
He could possibly start a new life there, but the betrayal of his sister was still fresh within him, even after all the time that he spent in prison. How could Natasha have done that to him for a man who loved her with his fists? Gardiv was only looking out for her, but she didn’t see it like that. Now he wasn’t sure if he would ever see her again since she had betrayed him so easily. He didn’t want to take that chance and risk being imprisoned again, so he stuck with his plan to stay in Shalar for a few days. Maybe he could find another life in another province. Living in Narwine was too dangerous.
Upon arriving at the mountain city of Shalar, he decided not to go inside, refusing to give up his newfound freedom. He set up camp outside of the town on the sharp ridged terrain that cut into the backs of his thighs as he sat watching Shalar from a nearby ledge, but the ridged rocks were not more cumbersome than the metal bars that he had hidden behind for the past few months. Nothing could compare with The Poison.
The vomiting sensation had since subsided ever since he left the prison. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t eating anything or if his body had finally been able to adjust to the lack of the emblem. Either way, it was a relief not to have to fear puking again.
Traveling all day had exhausted him in his emaciated state. As much as he tried to fight it, the hunger pangs set in after a few hours, but he didn’t have any money. He would have to figure out a way to get some food, even if it was doing it the way that he had become accustomed to — stealing.
The blanket of the night covered over the day, leaving dark shadows on the stony road from the trees that climbed out of the ground near the street. Wind gusts howled, drowning out the crunching sound of Gardiv's footsteps over the rocks.
Kneeling near the edge of the tree line that dared not intrude onto the road, Gardiv scanned the streets. Who would be his first victim? This scraggly old man heading into Shalar, he thought, locking his gaze on the man. The old man was wearing a hooded cloak. Gardiv could creep in under the moonlight. Surely this man had to have had a few pieces of silver to spare, and if he didn’t, that cloak would have been a welcomed asset to ward of the transmontane wind gusts.
He crept in slowly to the cloaked figure. The old man’s pace was slow and unsteady, not really lifting his knees to walk but scurrying his feet one over the other. There was nothing to hide behind once Gardiv reached the road, so he was careful not to expose himself or the man might call for help. He closed in on the man, grabbed the hem of his cloak, and slung the man on the ground. Dirt tossed into the air, shimmering with an eerie translucence as the blue light of the moon cut through the dusty haze.
The man’s eyes shot opened widely, and Gardiv pounced on top of him. “Give up the silver, old man.”
The man didn’t struggle, but he peered into the shadowy silhouette that was Gardiv’s face. “I would, but you’ve got my arms pinned down. I can hardly breathe.”
Gardiv raised his fist to crush in the man's face. “You’d better get rid of that sly tongue.”
“There’s nothing sly about my tongue. You truly have my arms pinned to my side, so either raise off me a bit, or take the silver for yourself,” said the man with a more vexation in his tone, though his words were cut off at the ends from the difficulty that he was having breathing.
“You’re not in a position to make demands.”
“I’m not in a position to do much of anything. You’ve completely rendered me powerless...just like your people did to you.”
“What are you talking about!” Gardiv yelled. In a flash, he had forgotten about the silver, and now he was focused on the old man’s insult.
“Your emblem. I see its gone, so you’re probably out here scrounging for food. You can have my silver if you’d like. But it will be to your chagrin to discover that I only have three pieces with me. No, two. I got hungry on the way. So you’ll do me in for a couple of pieces of silver, but in a few days, you’ll have to sabotage another old man for another two or three coins. Soon, you’ll be enjoying your life as a Wanderer until someone arrests you. So please, get off me so that I can give you my money. The good news is that you won’t get arrested for robbing me, because the two pieces of silver in my satchel, I’m giving them to you. You don’t have to take them.”
Dark shadows from the night spilled onto the man’s face disguising his expressions, but there was a genuine sound of concern in the old man’s voice. Gardiv dropped his fist and got off the man. The man rose to his feet, dusted himself off, reached into his satchel, and handed Gardiv the two coins as promised.
“How do I know that you don’t have more?” asked Gardiv.
The old man emptied his bag over the ground and a few supplies fell out onto the rocks. “If you see anything you like, please feel free to take it.”
Gardiv kicked through the contents on the ground, keeping his eyes on the old man, but he didn’t find anything useful. “I’ll just take the money.” Gardiv reached down and stuffed the man’s things back into the satchel.
“A tidy thief,” said the old man as he grabbed his bag from Gardiv. The old man threw the satchel over his shoulder and continued on towards Shalar, still churning his feet as quickly as before, unfazed from the assault.
Gardiv watched the man stumbling on the crumbling rocks as the man walked away. Gardiv looked at the coins in his hand and he rattled them around. Then he sighed and chased after the man.
“Coming to rob me again?” asked the old man without looking at Gardiv as Gardiv ran up beside him.
“No, I just have a question for you.”
“Why don’t you beat the answer out of me like you planned to do with the money?” he asked. He stopped walking and he shook his finger at Gardiv. “Or is it that the money was worth more to you than the answer to your question?”
Gardiv didn’t know how to respond, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “I guess the money was more important.”
“Great. Then I don’t have to answer your question.” The old man turned and kept walking.
“Wait,” Gardiv called, shuffling after the man.
“I take it that you would like to reconsider? Perhaps the answer to your question was more important than the money?” The man looked at Gardiv out the corner of his eye, darkened by the shadow of the man's hooded cloak.
“Maybe.”
“Then pay me two silver, and I’ll
answer you. Otherwise, you’ll have to beat the responses out of me,” said the old man with a cough. “But be gentle, I’m not as strong as I used to be. I tend to pass out a lot easier than I did when I was your age, and you couldn't be more than twenty-five.”
“I’m not going to hurt you old man. But I’m not going to pay you either.”
“Fine. Then off I go,” the man said.
Gardiv sighed and grabbed the old man by the shoulder. “Here, old man.” He gave the old man the silver coins back.
“Thank you, sir. Now what was it that you were willing to pay two silver for?”
“Who are you? I mean, you seem so different than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“My name is Arthur Grant, and I’m on my way to Shalar looking for people just like you.”
“Like me? What do you mean like me? Thieves?”
“Not exactly. Men and women who have learned to do anything to survive in a world that hates them. Even assault and steal from a decrepit old man like me.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”
The man stopped walking and took hold of Gardiv’s wrist. Gardiv tried to pull away, but the man was stronger than he first thought. “I mean people who would do anything to survive. Even to the point of living like a real man instead of robbing people and begging for bread like some sort of scoundrel.”
Gardiv pulled his wrist away without taking his eyes off the man. The man's decrepitness seemed to have transformed into a steadfastness. “What exactly are you saying?”
The man exposed his chest, and all that was left of the emblem were squiggly wrinkle lines, tangled up in loose skin. “I’m looking to take Wanderers and turn them into Pioneers.”
“What’s a Pioneer?”
“That answer is not so clear unless you understand what a Wanderer is. A Wanderer is a person like you,” said the old man, as he poked Gardiv in the chest. Gardiv stepped back and massaged his scar. “You have no purpose and no aim. You are useless. You would rather take two pieces of silver from an old man than to figure out an innovative way to make something of yourself. A Wanderer is a name that the people of Clydenholm have given to you, one that you never chose to decline or chose to accept. You are a disgrace, not because you are a Wanderer, but because you have let your emblem and Clydenholm define you. I can’t respect a man who has refused to choose manhood.”
“I am a man!” Gardiv yelled.
Arthur laughed. “Are you? Maybe you thought you were. But once your emblem was taken from you, you did exactly what was in your heart, something that a man never results to. You chose to demean me so that you could benefit. Sounds like a boy to me.”
“Who do you think you are!” Gardiv yelled.
“That’ll cost you another two pieces of silver,” said Arthur as he headed towards Shalar.
Gardiv stood on the side of the road. Should he follow the man or not?
The man kept walking and called back to Gardiv. “Fight the pride that keeps you back there, and follow me.”
Gardiv shook his head and chased after man again. “What exactly are you proposing, old man?”
“I want you to come with me to help people like you become people like me.”
“And just who might you be?” asked Gardiv.
“I am The Examiner Pioneer Arthur Grant.”
Gardiv chuckled at the title. “Did you give yourself that name, old man?”
Arthur stopped abruptly. “No, but I accepted it. That’s the difference. You’re a Wanderer by definition even though you don’t want to be, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Become a Pioneer or stay here and make a living off robbing old men.”
Gardiv sighed, and he massaged his scar. Living as Wanderer had robbed him of any dignity that he had left. He was a wanted man in Narwine, and he knew that soon he would be captured again. He dragged his eyes up to meet the man's clean-shaven gaze. “What must I do?”
Arthur pulled back his thick hood, revealing his discolored gray hair and wrinkle-lined face. “What’s your name?”
“Gardiv Baroq from Narwine.”
Arthur put his hand on Gardiv’s shoulder and stared at him face-to-face. “Your first step will be the hardest. You have to change who you are. You will now be Pioneer Gardiv Baroq. Say it and believe it. Now who are you?”
Gardiv sighed and massaged his scar. “I am Pioneer Gardiv Baroq.”
THE PRESENT: TWO YEARS POST EXTRACTION
“Did you kill those people in the courtroom on purpose?” Caleb asked.
Gardiv squeezed the letter from his sister in his hand. “Of course not. What else was I going to do? They were tearing into me, and there I was, just one person amongst the mob.”
“Are you upset that your sister testified against you?”
Gardiv looked at the ground, crinkling his brow. “I can let that all go. I miss her that much, and just knowing that she is out there thinking of me really does a lot for my morale.” Gardiv stuffed the letter in his pocket and shifted his lower jaw. “We have other priorities, and unfortunately right now, Natasha is not one of them.”
CHAPTER 8
THE SUBDUED
Shauna wasn’t sure if it was light or dark outside. The Hellstate had become more difficult to control, and the Darkened Temptation beckoned her into its wickedness. She strived against it in whatever way she could. She hated that she had given into so much evil, but the thrill felt good. Her body tingled with power mixed with rage. She knew that she couldn’t keep feeding the corruption, but something in her soul longed for it. Once she first tasted the Hellstate, it seemed to have come alive in her — like a separate soul, a separate person — speaking to her and guiding her, or trying to, though she rarely listened.
Shauna could still feel Polarist Amanda’s filth in her spirit, the woman whom she subdued at the cave. At night, Wex’s voice whispered to her and so did the savage murmurs of the Void that she took control of during the Battle of Bachenlaw. These voices were different from the spirits within the region. They weren’t external, but the voices were clamors from within her own soul. How could Wex have wanted this for her, but more importantly, how could she have let it happen?
Arthur told her that her Hellstate came from her desire to want to connect with those around her. She adored people, even though her sassy attitude told a different story. Yet, it seemed that with the Hellstate, her connections were impure. It felt like her soul was tied to the souls of the people she controlled during the Hellstate. She had difficulty figuring out which voice in her head was her own. It was confusing, and she spent days navigating herself back to her own personality.
There was one constant, though. It was the voice that had kept her sane. It was one that she followed in her heart that snapped her back to her senses. A moment of weakness to rescue the life of another had brought with it her own salvation. That voice was Caleb’s.
She didn’t know his thoughts, but she could always hear his emotions, and if he lingered on an emotion for an extended time, she could read his feelings. It was the one spiritual connection that she made with a person that was not a result of her Hellstate. The connection was pure. She always knew where he was, and the connection that she had with him kept her centered. It was the one voice in her head that was not vying for her attention. It was the voice that helped her to find herself whenever she was lost amongst the others.
She knew about his love for Sarai, and she didn’t care. She didn’t mind it. She was glad for it. It was the most overwhelming emotion from him, and it made his voice even louder in her thoughts – one that she could distinguish from all the others.
Shauna knew that Caleb was looking for her, that he wanted to find her, not wanting her to be captured by the Polarists from the beginning. She smiled to herself. Then a cold thought shivered through her bones. How could he ever find her?
The connection with a living person’s spirit was different than the connection with a dead person’s spirit. A dead person’s spirit thought
with its emotions, so Shauna could communicate with them and tell them what to do and where to go. A living spirit submitted itself to the person’s will. She could tell Caleb where she was, but he probably wouldn’t listen to it. He would brush it off like a fleeting thought that came and went as if the thought were some random idea fighting its way for attention in his mind amongst the thousands of other thoughts that he had every moment. But she tried anyway. In fact, she had been trying ever since she was captured by the Polarists.
In her cell, the stone walls were bare, and there was one grated window to her left. The metal door to her cell was solid with thick metal bars lining the window. She sat in a wooden chair, thinking of a way to escape, scoffing to herself at the sound of the two guards in the hallway. The temperature in the room dropped below freezing, and she couldn’t use her Hellstate, Dominated by the Polarists.
“There she is,” said one of the guards.
She crossed her legs and kicked her foot, pretending that the cold was bearable, though she couldn’t keep herself from shivering and stuttering over her frozen words. “W-why don’t you just let me g-go? I told you I don’t know where they are.”
“You’re going to tell us sooner or later. Those Wanderers have the power of the emblems, and Raylen wants to know how,” he said. His heavy coat extended down past his knees, and the Perene fur on the trim reached up beneath his blocked chin.
“What are you going to do? Beat me again? I’ve managed this long. I think you should know by now that you can’t break me. Besides, I told you, I don’t know anything,” she said slyly, head down, looking at the guards from the top of her eyes.
The guard leaned in towards her. His nose touched hers. His breath was clean, but his eyes were icy blue, and his azure emblem pulsed beneath his heavy coat. “Then you will rot,” he said.
A flash of adrenaline shot through her body. She head-butted the guard, curled her arm around his chin, and dropped to the floor, twisting as she fell. His neck snapped, and he stared motionlessly at the ceiling as his life slipped away from him.
Infused (Book 2 of The Pioneers Saga) Page 12