by T. C. Edge
“But surely you have a protocol for this? You’ve had years, Cornelia, to plan.”
“Leyton, there’s only so much we can do with the resources we have. We considered the threat of a coordinated attack but not to this scale. Our forces are spread thin in order to deal with it, and now we have little choice but to send for outside help.”
Her eyes flash on Zander’s.
“Outside help?” questions Burns.
“Yes. I’ll spare you the details for now. I will talk to you again soon, Leyton.”
“OK, I understand…”
His voice is taken by some strange static, a sound I’ve always found unpleasant. It seems as though the line has been cut. But just as Lady Orlando prepares to click off, I’m sure I hear a single breath down the line.
So does she.
“Leyton?” she asks.
And the communicator shuts off.
16
A short silence passes through the room like a gust of wind. As it goes on its way, the gentle din from the main hall of the church behind begins to re-gather its momentum.
Then, scooping up a glass of half drunk whiskey, Lady Orlando smashes the silence to bits.
“You can see the problem we’re having,” she blurts out, shaking her head.
She stands to up on her old legs and begins to pace, creaking joints taking her from one side of the room to the other.
I haven’t yet seen her this animated.
“We’ve got the tunnels under siege,” she continues. “If one is breached, everyone in the underlands is at threat. All these people we’ve promised to protect and give sanctuary to. But, if we send them out there,” she says pointing to the north wall of her room, “we can’t give them the protection they deserve either. Zander, you know that people will die on that trip. You’ve travelled it several times before…”
“I do,” he says, moving to the table and pouring his own glass.
He pours one for me too without asking. I take it hungrily.
Then he continues.
“But what choice to we have?” he says. “Thousands are dying in the city anyway, and they’ll all follow in the underlands before too long. If even a hundred die on the road, then it’s still nothing compared…”
“But it’s not the same, my boy,” croaks Lady Orlando. “We’ve spent years protecting these people, giving them the assurance that they won’t come to harm. I never wanted to send them to the mines without a proper escort, without you and your best hybrids. Even if we give up each of our soldiers in this church, which we can’t, they’ll still be woefully under-defended.” She shakes her head again. “It’s my fault. I should have sent them out there before. I should have removed them from the equation before all of this happened…”
She arrives at the window and looks at the hazy, multi-coloured mist in the distance. And as she does, I hear her whisper: “Damn you, Artemis.”
She takes a moment to herself. Another brief lull consumes the room as I consume a portion of my whiskey.
It feels good after the day I’ve had.
Then the leader of the Nameless turns once more and moves towards Zander.
“I didn’t want to ask this of you, but I suppose I must. I require a task of you, Zander. One only you can perform. It’s…a gamble. And it will be dangerous. But I don’t see that we have any other option right now.”
“Anything, Lady Orlando. Anything at all.”
She purses her lips, as if reluctant to say what she’s about to say.
“Your recent contact with Rhoth got me thinking,” she starts. “A few bridges were built between you. I wonder if they might take some significant weight.”
Zander nods.
“I understand,” he says, quick to know what she’s asking. “You want me to find him, ask him to help. To provide an escort for our people to the mines.”
Lady Orlando smiles. Her withered old hand reaches from her sleeve and cups his cheek.
“Zander, my dear boy, what would I do without you?”
His fingers grip hers and draw them down.
“We’ll never have to find out,” he says. “You want me to leave tonight?”
“I do. As soon as you can.”
I step forward.
“I’m going too,” I say.
Zander’s head is already shaking before he turns to look at me.
“No, no, absolutely not. You’ll only slow me down, sis.”
“But…you can’t go alone! It’s too dangerous out there.”
“I can handle myself,” he asserts. “I know these woods and can travel at speed. With any luck, Rhoth will have returned to the hunting lodge he kept us in. If not, I know of several others where I might find him.”
“But…”
“No buts, Brie,” storms his voice. “I have no time to debate this.”
He moves towards me and kisses my forehead. He does the same thing to Lady Orlando.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Sit tight.”
And gulping down the last of his whiskey, he marches right for the door and disappears. Through the church, out into the streets, and into the dark night.
It all happens so abruptly. So fast it leaves a ringing in my ears as the room once again goes quiet.
Staring at my glass, I see the top of the whiskey bottle appear, filling it back up.
“Don’t worry about him, child,” whispers Lady Orlando, clutching at the flask as she pours. “He has a knack for keeping himself safe. And others too…”
I nod weakly as the scent of whiskey drifts up my nose. It reminds me of my guardian. It reminds me of Tess.
I hate that I have to worry about so many people. When one person seems to be safe, another finds themselves in mortal peril.
“Do you think it’s safe in the western quarter?” I ask softly, turning to the window.
Lady Orlando does too, and together we look out at the colourful haze and the shadow of the city behind.
“I’d say so,” she says. “There’s no reason for the fighting to spread from the north. The west should be perfectly safe for now.”
I take some solace from her words. I know I can’t waste energy worrying about something I can’t control. They’re in the academy. They have supplies. They should be fine for now at least.
“Come, sit down. You’ve had a long day.”
I follow Lady Orlando over to the table beside the fire. It crackles and spits, but in a soothing way. Placing down my glass, I feel an exhaustion clawing through my limbs, my eyelids growing heavy.
And to think I wanted to go with my brother. I’d barely have made it a mile before passing out…
We sit for a little while without speaking. I feel no need for words right now, listening only to the distant sounds of war that offer a terrible backdrop to my peace.
It’s a guilty peace, really. Knowing that there are thousands out there fighting right now. And I’m here, sitting at the top table, relaxing over a nice glass of whiskey.
I don’t feel worthy of this position.
I think of those plotting the fall of the High Tower, huddled in that room, readying their explosives, making their final plans.
I think of my brother rushing through the woods, his lungs burning as he’s hunted by the many beasts that will inevitably pursue him.
I think of Sophie, down in the underlands, clutching at her baby and trying to keep him calm. Praying that the order is given for the underlands to be evacuated, if only to escape the relentless roar of exploding bombs and rattling guns up above.
She won’t know, can’t know, how dangerous it will be when she gets out here. But that won’t matter to her now. Right now, all she’ll want is to break free from those claustrophobic tunnels, take her life, and the life of her son, into her own hands.
Down there, all the people will be thinking the same. The soldiers will be keeping them in, blocking the tunnels out. Some will be impassable now because of the explosives that triggered their collapse. Only when t
hey have their best chance of survival will they be set free.
There are others I think of too. Those like Mary and Lucy, watching the terrible war unfold from the supposed safety of the High Tower. Sitting there as the northern quarter flashes and burns. Wondering whether their own friends and relatives across Outer Haven are safe.
My mind churns and draws up a hundred faces as I sit there. Only when I actively work to silence it does my heart-rate begin to relax, and the etched lines across my face recede.
And sitting there, I turn my mind to Cromwell, and the old woman sitting across from me, watching with those greying eyes.
And as I think of him, and as I think of her, the words drift from my lips.
“You knew him well, didn’t you?” I ask.
She continues to look at me. She has no powers like I do, no way to read my mind. But she seems to know whom I’m speaking about.
“Artemis?” she says. “Yes, I knew him well.”
“What happened?” My voice is soft. Slowly, my gaze drifts to hers as the fire begins to flicker and fade.
It needs another log. But I don’t want to move. I want to hear what she has to say.
Her eyes glance on mine and I find myself being drawn in. Looking for the answers in her mind and not those spouted by her lips. Seeking the truth that she cannot conceal.
But she doesn’t allow the connection. She turns away as she feels me enter, shutting off the link to her consciousness.
“I don’t like that,” she whispers. “I never did. I taught your brother from an early age not to try to read my mind.”
“I’m…sorry,” I whisper. “It’s instinct. I still can’t control it properly.”
Her eyes re-open fully and turn back to me. The orange firelight dances on their surface. A weak smile settles on her lips.
“I marvel at you, Brie,” she sighs. “So gifted. There’s a fire burning bright inside you. It warms me to see you here.”
She reaches out and places her hand on mine. Her smile grows a little stronger. Then her hand withdraws.
I don’t know if she’s delaying, or avoiding the topic. I don’t know if I’m prying, overstepping the mark.
I let her choose. I wait for her to continue, to tell me of her past. I refuse to draw out more than she’ll allow.
With a shallow breath, the smile fades. An expression that speaks of a thousand memories replaces it.
“I haven’t spoken of what happened to me for a long time. I wished for years to forget. I may be a Savant, but I feel that pain. It’s deep and constant. It will never leave me.”
Her eyes flicker and she takes her whiskey glass in hand. She doesn’t drink it, but merely swirls it around, watching and thinking.
“I had a child,” she says, still swirling. “You know the laws of the High Tower. You know what happens to our children there…”
“They’re taken,” I whisper, nodding. “Raised by others, never to be yours.”
“Never to be mine,” she breathes.
Her eyes shut. It’s as though deep pools of sunken memory are being drawn back to the surface.
Watching her, I feel her pain. I don’t need to read her mind to do so. It exudes from her every fibre, filling the room with a sombre energy.
“Director Cromwell,” I whisper. “He was the father?”
Her eyes stay shut, but her chin drops into a single nod.
“I was given the name Cornelia Orlando at my birth,” she tells me. “When I got older, I met Artemis. We were…a good fit. I didn’t love him, and he certainly didn’t love me. But we got married, and we had a child. I became Cornelia Cromwell.”
Gradually, as she speaks, her eyes start to open again, and her words begin flowing with their usual smoothness. She turns back to me, and the lines of pain start to fade once more, replaced by the anger she harbours towards him.
“But how did that happen? How did you end up out here, leading the Nameless?”
The weak smile returns to her face. She looks at me closely, reading me.
“You think it’s my past with Artemis that fuels me?” she questions. She nods. “You’d be partially right. It set me on this path, out here. For a long time, I accepted losing my child. I had no choice in the matter, really. But, eventually, it took its toll. I rebelled, and became a liability. Artemis was rising through the ranks of the City Guard then. When he took charge, you can imagine where he sent me…”
“To the REEF,” I breathe.
“I found out,” she says quickly. “I knew I had no choice if I wanted to survive. So I came out here, ran away, started my life over. Ever since, I’ve fought against him from the shadows. I will always fight against him.”
It makes so much sense now, her desire to see him dead. Yet, there’s more behind it. This isn’t just a grudge match, some vendetta. Her personal links to Cromwell do nothing to weaken or destabilise her position.
Perhaps once, the cynic in me might have questioned such a thing. But no longer. This is far, far, bigger than her desire for revenge, even though I feel that now. That is merely a bonus, a smiling side-effect of seeing our people freed from his clutches.
“Who else knows about this?” I ask. “Does Zander?”
She shakes her head.
“I never wanted him to know. He never needed to know. My past with Artemis is my own to bear. I didn’t want to burden your brother with such a thing.”
“And that’s why you don’t like him reading your mind,” I say, thinking out loud. “In case he saw the truth?”
“You’re perceptive,” she smiles. “But the mind is the most personal space we have. I don’t condone the use of such powers among friends, among family. They might only lead to heartache…and to misunderstandings.”
Her wisdom chastises me. I’ve been guilty of overusing my powers. Creeping into people’s minds uninvited, always trying to seek the truth whether by permission or not.
I know I need to learn to stop doing that. To stop trespassing in the sanctity of the mind, the only place where someone is completely alone. I have no right to enter such a personal space.
I have no right at all.
“I won’t tell him, if you don’t want me to,” I say. “But I don’t see why you’d hide it.”
“I have my reasons,” she whispers. “Perhaps soon you’ll understand fully.”
Her legs creak, and her withered frame rises. Around to me she comes, taking my hand and gently pulling me to my feet. She looks into my eyes with a smile in hers.
“Now, dear girl, I need to sleep. Please, tell Adryan to wake me with any news. Anything at all…”
“Adryan?” I ask.
“Yes, he’s been coordinating with the intelligence team during Alfred’s absence. He really is very fond of you, you know…”
“I…”
“You think too much, Brie,” continues Lady Orlando. “You have a powerful brain, but it can take you down paths that you don’t need to go. Adryan loves you. I know he does. Don’t doubt it, my darling. Don’t doubt the past.”
“The past? I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do. Of course you do. You think he only sees Amelia when he looks at you. That isn’t true. The day she was taken, the day his life changed, it scarred him deeply. It changed him forever. But it changed him for the better. He’s a different man now to what he was then. The man who loved Amelia is gone. This man, this Adryan, loves you.”
I frown.
“You spoke with him? About…us?”
“Only very briefly. But I wouldn’t need to. The mere mention of your name causes a change in him. When the fighting started, and he knew you were in the city, I saw his face morph. He wanted to go and try to find you, bring you back safe. He’d do anything for you, Brie. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. And I’m a Savant,” she finishes with a tired and knowing grin.
I look to the door, and imagine Adryan beyond it, rushing around and doing what he can. It must be tough for him, losing his purpos
e. Such a thing is ingrained within all Savants. They’re given a role and expected to excel. His role as a spy in Inner Haven is over. And here, his worth is limited.
But I smile as I imagine him. I smile because he’s brave, and loyal, and willing to do anything to save the people of this city. To save me.
That he’d pick up a gun and go into the city to try to find me, knowing he has no gifts, no powers to defend himself against the servants of Cromwell.
And it’s to the door that I go, walking with the rebel leader. She stops me at the exit and looks into my eyes, inspecting the exhaustion written within them.
“You need to rest,” she says. “There’s nothing more you can do tonight. You can have the same room as last night.”
I don’t argue. I feel ready to drop.
And my bed is very much calling.
17
My final task before getting some shut-eye is to find and speak with Adryan. I wander down the corridor like a zombie, still caked in blood and soot and ash, and enter into the hectic hall once more.
After being in Lady Orlando’s quiet quarters, it’s enough to quickly enliven me, the sight of so many rushing bodies, and the sound of so many chatting voices, helping to give me a second wind.
It makes me realise, too, that tired as I am, everyone else here is probably feeling just the same. But there’s a war to fight. There are people to protect and manage. Few of them will let the pathetic pull of sleep draw them away.
Wandering through the crowd, I know I have nothing to contribute, though. I’m not a leader. I’m not an intelligence officer. I’m barely even a soldier.
Unless I go back down into the underlands to help, or into the city to fight, I’m pretty much worthless around here. In the end, my powers make me a weapon. And unless there’s someone to aim it at, there’s little I can do.
I reach the front end of the hall, dodging people as I go, and turn into the security room with its bank of monitors and screens and surveillance equipment. Inside, I find who I’m looking for: Adryan stands beside a technician, bending down to converse with the seated man and get updates on the latest batch of fighting somewhere in the middle districts of the north.