Secrets of Silverwind

by Sanders, Richard L.

  She came closer and he could smell her, something she wore tickled his nose but it was pleasant and the nausea lessened. She bent down, facing him. Her warm hands grabbed his and pulled them away gently from his face. Her stunning, vibrant eyes were right in front of him, piercing him, covered only by one rich lock of hair that fell over her beautiful face. Her lips curled into a slight smile, followed by an expression of genuine compassion.

  He didn’t resist, simply looked into her eyes. It was like staring at the sun after a long darkness.

  “Hmm,” she said, stepping back a bit. “Are you having any trouble hearing?”

  “No,” he croaked. His voice was sore.

  “What are your symptoms? Don’t talk if it hurts, just nod or shake your head. Are you tired?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you dizzy?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you nauseous?”

  He nodded.

  Kira asked a dozen similar questions, and he nodded to most of them.

  “I’ll have some water bottles sent in. It’s important that you take those antibiotics and try to get as much rest as you can,” she gave him a wan smile.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Something to read would be nice too.”

  “Of course.”

  When she left, he laid on the couch and closed his eyes.

  ***

  He was in the sanctuary of elements, sitting on the stone mat with his head buried in his hands. Around him, the firelight refracted through the walls of ice in an arc of color. The chilly wind brushed his ears and sang. As if a cryptic message was buried inside the moaning and whistling. He tried to separate it from the crackling fire but only part of the message was clear.

  “What is it you fear most?” The wind whispered in his ears. It had a seductive, breathy quality to it, like a siren’s song. He held his guard. Forcing his mind to focus. But he lacked the discipline and other concerns came to mind, shattering his concentration. The winds shifted and the message was lost forever.

  ***

  The gray ceiling made it easy for Caythis to get reoriented. He felt numb all over and his mouth was dry. He looked down at himself and saw a bandage on each of his arms, the lump of another was on his chest under his shirt.

  He tried to sit up, but felt too dizzy, so he stopped. He could hear somebody moving around, putting things away. And then footsteps. He sat up enough to see that Dr. Erikson and Dr. Ferguson were both there.

  “Take it easy, Caythis,” said Dr. Erikson.

  Caythis made to stand up but Dr. Erikson stopped him.

  “I’m feeling better.” It was partially true, he was much less nauseous.

  “You need to relax and let your body heal. It’ll do all the work but you have to give it time.”

  “Why all the bandages?” he looked down at himself. It was as if he’d been anesthetized and they’d done some kind of minor operation. He couldn’t imagine that was part of the treatment for radiation poisoning.

  “Don’t worry, just relax. There you go,” Dr. Erikson said as Caythis lied back down.

  “At least tell me what’s going on up there. Has there been an uprising?”

  “I’m afraid so. After the men-at-arms put the fires out, the Rigilians and other dissidents took over the whole borough. The city’s locked down tight.”

  “Sounds like you need me up there.”

  “It’s all right. Emon-Zed and his enforcers have agreed to help us. The military is also fully cooperating.”

  “And the king? Was he punished for helping us?”

  “No. Because our attack was so successful, he was praised. A few wanted to remove him but that idea didn’t get much traction. He wasn’t even censured and now they’re voting whether or not to give him emergency powers.”

  “Emergency powers?” Caythis tried to sit up again. “What for?”

  Dr. Erikson didn’t stop him this time. “The whole south of the city is in chaos. Homes and businesses have been smashed open, looting is rampant, and most everything is on fire. The men-at-arms had to withdraw completely from the south—but I am sure it’s only a temporary retreat. There are still thousands of people we can’t access; barricades bar the roads—it’s a standoff. The Rigilians and other rebels are disorganized but they have more numbers than anyone thought. And more weapons. Most of the stockpile we found in the Elite Quarter—but were unable to retrieve—must have been recovered from the rubble.”

  “I see,” said Caythis. “And the situation in the north?”

  “Riots are spreading and small uprisings are appearing in every borough except Manors. So far they’ve all been contained but there is concern that the problem will escalate. Unless it’s forcefully dealt with.”

  “I think if the king fed his people, and redistributed some of the wealth locked away in Manors Borough, force would not be necessary,” said Caythis.

  “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. The battle lines have been drawn, and the religiosity that feeds the Rigilian movement is not about socioeconomic inequality, it’s about fear. It’s about indoctrination, a warped sense of reality, a total commitment to fight and die for a cause that they cling to without question. These people can’t be reasoned with, and a little more food won’t lessen their hate, or their resolve to destroy our society and clear the path for their god Antares. So he can ‘come again.’ There is no peaceful solution.”

  Caythis sighed. “At this point, that may be so. It’s unfortunate. But I’ll try to recover quickly so I can help.”

  “I’m sure you will,” said Dr. Erikson. “For now though you have to rest and your armor must be mended. So try to put it out of your mind. Jaden and Emon can handle it.”

  “Can I at least wander outside?”

  “No, you’ll have to stay here for a while.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m not sure how long you were irradiated. But long enough to kill off many of your white blood cells. Hence the antibiotics. You’ll have to stay in this environment because it’s mostly sterile. When your immune system has recovered more, you’ll be free to go.”

  “How long?”

  “You’ll begin to recover within a day or two, but you’ll still have seven to ten days of general illness and fatigue. Complete convalescence may take a few more weeks still.”

  “Sounds like hell.”

  “Sounds like paradise to me. I’d love to have some time off. Think of it as a vacation.”

  “Doc, you can’t do this to me. You need me out there.”

  “Exactly,” said Dr. Erikson. “We do need you. That’s why you have to stay here. Because we need you in the future. So get better, that’s the best way you can help us now.”

  “Great...”

  “Kira suggested I have some books sent in to keep you company. Anything you’d like to read in particular?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, thinking about how dismal the next week or so would be. “I’m sure I’ll recover faster than you think.”

  Dr. Erikson smiled, “I hope you’re right. But don’t push yourself, know your limits. After all, you’re only mortal.”

  14

  There she was—trapped. He did not know her, but the water was rising quickly. It would soon cover her face. He could not tell if she was alive, she was ghost white and she didn’t struggle against the ropes that cinched her wrists and legs. But there was the tiniest movement. Was she breathing? Or was it just the tide splashing against her?

  He could save her. If he wanted to.

  He looked down into the black depths far below, sharp rocks stabbed through the water in jagged, intimidating peaks. Others were hidden under the black surface. He could dive in, fall thirty feet into the sea, and swim to her. Free her from her ropes and guide her to the small beach. She could be safe there. She could live.

  Unless she was dead already. If he missed the rocks and swam to her, he might find only a rotting corpse. And if he didn’t miss the stone spears and boulders, he'd be the one
rotting.

  He bit his lip, thinking it over. From the cliff’s edge, it was completely impossible to see all the rocks. It would be a leap of faith. A blind jump. Would icy-depths catch him? Or would he die a painful death trying to save a woman he only hoped was alive?

  The wind brushed him, tousling his hair and stinging his ears. It was bitter cold. He thought of the frigid depths below, wondering if the temperature alone would end him. A watery grave of pure agony. He bowed his head. Could he do it? Could he let go of everything? Accept fate to choose whether he’d live or die? He closed his eyes.

  And walked away.

  ***

  Caythis sat in complete silence. The machines around him hummed, a drone he’d learned to ignore over the past several days. His thoughts turned inward and here, in this lonely place, he’d spent many hours in speculation. Wondering who he’d been. What he’d wanted in life. Who he’d known. Friends and family, if he had them, where they were. And if they were still alive.

  He saw vague images, places mostly. The academy at Skyhaven—a great white tower, and simple places: an old store, an old schoolhouse, a home. Childhood faces smiled at him, friends and bullies alike he barely remembered. The images were faint, and seemed to conflict at times, but he knew them, felt the spark of recognition. The fat kid who'd always been kind to him, what was his name? And the girl with freckles who always smiled, and passed him scribbled notes in class. This had been his first year at the academy, before it crushed the joy out life—as it always did.

  His memories were disjointed, but emotional. Childhood was something precious, something he missed. He remembered wanting to grow up so bad. To have the liberty adults had, to stay up as late as he wanted, to eat nothing but candy, to not study if he didn’t want to. How naïve he'd been, children had the true freedom. Life had been carefree. Who could ask for more than that?

  That first year at the academy had been blissful, and he wished he could go back and do it over. But this longing, which stung like a needle, faded into other thoughts. Other memories.

  A warm feeling in a dance hall, the face of a close friend giving him a discrete look of approval as he guided a beautiful young woman to the dance floor. He remembered green and blue banners in a large corridor. It was bittersweet. Something wonderful had happened there. And something terrible. He remembered only the flavor, not the events. Just the sensation. The echo.

  Less happy images came to his mind. He shivered as he saw someone about to drown in a black pool of water, in an underground cave. She was tied in place. He remembered the sharp rocks stabbing up at him, the fear he felt. It wasn’t scary now but it had paralyzed him then. He pushed it from his mind.

  He was making rapid progress with his recovery, they told him, and indeed he felt stronger. But he wasn’t yet allowed to leave the “mostly sterile” environment.

  To pass the time, he relied on three activities: a lot of soul-searching, sleeping, and trying to read. Dr. Erikson had brought him two books and the promise of more, but Caythis found this third activity usually resulted in the second.

  On his lap was “The Science of War” which he’d had trouble getting into. It was some sort of essay written by a strategist on the basics of command. Dr. Erikson had really wanted Caythis to read it, but it bored him. It was wordy, stale, and outdated. It was also from a top-down perspective, as if Caythis were to be a general leading an attack of a thousand men, rather than the front-line soldier he knew himself to be. If he had to fight, he preferred his boots on the ground and his hands dirty. He wasn’t the type to sit in the back and watch.

  He tossed the book to the floor. It landed near the other book, “Skytechnology.” Which was a sort of historical encyclopedia. A survey of ancient technology, the kind that existed before The End of The World, over a hundred years ago. It focused on flying machines, and bombs that could be sent skyborn to crash down on cities thousands of miles away. The helicopter was like a bird with a spinning top, but even scarier were steel eagles whose wings barely moved yet they tore through the sky, and could cross the entire planet in less than a day.

  All of it was illegal now, of course, because “Skytechnology” had destroyed the world and this continent was all that remained. “Humanity’s last chance,” the Founders had written.

  Caythis didn’t care. He found many of these outlawed technologies hard to believe anyway. The very idea that a man could be propelled thousands of miles into space, or satellites could orbit the planet and not fall from the sky, or that great buses used to ferry passengers high in the air from one part of the world to another—it seemed ridiculous.

  But he’d read it cover to cover and now was trying to force his way through “The Science of War,” with limited success. It made him feel apathetic and lazy, and he daydreamed. Scouring the depths of his mind to better discover who he was, trying to solve mysteries he couldn’t solve, and unearth information that still eluded him.

  As he stared at the room around him, the solitary confinement, the white walls, it reminded him keenly of his experience with the enforcers just after Raven’s death. Locked up, barely aware of what was happening outside his tiny white world. Unable to choose his meals... he stirred the bowl on the stand next to him. It was cold and half-eaten, some kind of bitter stew Dr. Ferguson had brought him. “Hot soup,” she’d called it, gruel would have been more accurate. Still, he’d been hungry so he ate it... well, half of it. And now he felt his stomach growling but he refused to finish off the stone-cold gruel.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall, it was 7:37. His next meal was late by seventeen minutes. He glared at the door. It didn’t budge.

  He yawned and stared up at the ceiling, counting tiles. When he’d reached one-hundred and seventeen the door creaked open. He was surprised to see Kira carrying a food tray. She wore dark clothes that nicely hugged her physique. Her brown eyes met his and he felt happy to see her. The smell of a sandwich and vegetables wafted his way, real food this time.

  “You’re late,” he announced, sitting up.

  She stopped midstride, looking surprised. Her eyes narrowed. “Oh is that right?”

  “Yes, extremely late, it’s pretty rude actually. A poor victim suffers all day long and you leave him to starve. That's just cold.”

  “Victim?”

  “Well, maybe 'hero' is more accurate. A hero who asks for nothing but a hot meal, and you’re not even compassionate enough to bring it to him on time.”

  “Well, maybe the hero would like to heroically eat off the floor,” she said, a flash of competitiveness in her eyes as she tilted the tray.

  “Nooo,” Caythis lurched forward to stop it. Realizing only then that she’d won. It had been a bluff.

  "I was just... playing along," he said.

  "Uh huh," she smiled and handed him the tray.

  He scooped up the sandwich and took a monster-sized bite. “This is good,” he said swallowing a mouthful of food. “You should tell Dr. Ferguson she’s not welcome anymore. Your food is much better.”

  “I didn’t make it,” she said, “So, thank the cafeteria.” Her eyes laughed even though she didn't. She turned and walked away, reaching the door in only a few seconds. She turned around just as she touched the handle.

  “Get better, Caythis,” her voice was gentle and sweet. She opened the door.

  “Wait,” he said, choking down some food. He didn’t want to be alone again so fast.

  She looked back and closed the door. “What?” She looked amused.

  “Don’t go,” he said. “Stay. Visit.” He grasped for the right words. But even though he couldn’t find them, she smiled and took a seat on a metal stool. He offered his chair but she shook her head. She was small enough to sit cross-legged on it, leaning forward a bit.

  “So,” she said with a smile. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He looked at her wordlessly for a moment. There was so much more about her than she let on... or was it just his attraction to her? He realized he wa
s staring so he looked away. “Uh– I don’t know, tell me about Citadel. I don’t remember much. Tell me about us. We were friends, right?”

  She smiled weakly. “Citadel was a long time ago. And I was a lot younger, but yes, I always thought we were great friends. Even though I never saw you without your armor, it didn’t matter.” She paused and looked away, her face a little red. “This is going to sound stupid, but in a way it made things exciting. Like you were a mysterious friend, or something silly like that,” she laughed. He could tell she was embarrassed but it made him feel warm and more comfortable.

  “You’re embarrassed,” he said with a broad smile.

  “No I’m not,” she said, trying to fight her smile.

  “It’s okay,” said Caythis. “I like it. It means you’re being honest.”

  “Okay, well, while I’m being so honest, what about you? Why don’t you tell me something honest about yourself? Something embarrassing.”

  “I would,” he said. “But I've never done anything embarrassing."

  "Yeah right—"

  "That and I've lost all my memories, I know it's the damndest thing. So you'll have to have enough embarrassing stories for the both of us."

  “It’s funny. In my memories, I remember thinking you were so proper. And now that I see the real you, I realize it was all a façade. Under that hard bronze armor you were just a little boy.”

  “A little boy?” he asked. Before she could reply he spoke again. “Wait a minute. Proper? You must mean commanding and handsome.”

  She smiled. “No. Just proper.”

  “Now who’s the one with memory problems?”

  “Are you asking because you don't remember?” her smile showed off her white teeth.

  He nodded once. “You’re pretty good at this. If you keep practicing, someday you might even be a match for me.”

  “Funny, that’s what I used to tell you.”