by S. S. Segran
Ashack returned his attention to Nageau when the older man spoke; he sounded drained. “I do not wish to give up on them. They ran away during their rehabilitation, yes, but they have returned and we must look out for them. With our treatments, they are nearly back to full health. All they need now is more nourishment and they will be strong again, and we can then restart their rehabilitation.”
“They will indeed be strong,” Ashack growled, “but once again, we must ask, is that a good thing? Especially in Hutar’s case. His lineage is one to question—”
“We do not, and will not, judge anyone based on their bloodlines,” Nageau said sharply.
Ashack noted the agony in the other Elder’s eyes but refused to look away. “We cannot ignore it. What I suggest—”
“What you suggest is far too extreme. It will forever alter their personality.”
“It will help them and keep everyone safe!”
“We ought to find out what happened to them after they fled,” Saiyu interjected, gazing at Ashack; her expression forced him to settle down. How his mate could give such a pointed yet loving and understanding look was outside his realm of comprehension.
Tayoka swept his hands through his hair. “Does it really matter? We know what they are capable of. What happened to them outside of Dema-Ki is of little consequence, in my opinion.”
Ashack nodded. Tayoka seemed to be the only one who was ready to side with him. Saiyu and Tikina were not indicating their preference, but he was certain that they would eventually agree with Nageau. Sighing, he tilted his head back to stare at the pointed ceiling of the neyra.
His recommendation to use kah’dloc was extreme, there was no denying that. The ancient method of resetting an individual’s personality required excruciating techniques that would burn away a person’s corrupted characteristics and tendencies. Hutar had always been an unpredictable force, but after his attempt to murder the Elders and their apprentices in one night, Ashack could not ease his distrust of the youth. Aesròn, strong, quiet, and manipulative, followed Hutar closely as if he were second-in-command. Kah’dloc would be required for him as well.
“Perhaps we could simply suppress their memories,” Tikina said. “It is far less intrusive and they will not recall the horrible things they have done.”
Ashack crossed his muscled arms over his chest. “That will merely conceal the problem. We need to get to the root of this curse if we hope to eliminate the threat. It needs to go deeper than suppressing memories.”
“What you are demanding will affect the core of a person, the soul,” Nageau said wearily.
“I hope you understand that this is not an easy thing for me to propose.”
“I do. And I also understand what is behind your thinking.”
“There is a reason we have kah’dloc, Nageau. It may have only been employed a handful of times in our history, but it is useful.”
“That is a handful of times in nearly three millennia,” Nageau pointed out. “And there is another reason for that. Do I need to remind you of the records that prove it was not always successful? Hutar and Aesròn are young, they can still change. We merely need patience.”
“There is a time for patience,” Ashack snapped. “We are past that. We have seen what they are willing to do. I saw no remorse during their nearly year-long period of rehabilitation with us.” He stared at Nageau, the flickering fire between them reflected in his eyes. “I know you look for the goodness in everyone. I know you believe in second and third chances. I know you want to forgive and help, but we are past that with these two. You—we—need to realize that. If they remain as a threat hanging over our people’s heads, you know the village will not take well to that. As it is, their mere presence here has sparked disagreements among our kin. These two will not be treated the same as before. And unfortunately, our brethren are right to do so for their safety and the safety of their families. We cannot endanger them, nor can we forget Hutar’s hatred for the Chosen Ones!”
Nageau lowered his head, mouth working as he searched for words. Ashack waited impatiently for a response but then felt Saiyu’s hand on his arm.
“We have been here all morning,” she said. “I think we should take some time to reflect, then return in a bit and continue to search for a solution. Come, Ashack. Some fresh air will do us good.”
He followed his mate out into the cool midday sun, then turned to her. “We have a solution,” he said through his teeth. “Nageau is too stubborn, too attached to the idea that everyone can be reformed. As much as I wish that were true, it is clear that this is not the case with Hutar and Aesròn.”
Saiyu placed her hands on either side of his face. At her touch, he felt the storm ebb out of him. He exhaled his frustration and slowly closed his eyes, feeling her fingers slide through his hair.
“I see how upset you are,” she said softly. “This is a difficult thing to consider, and it is also an option we cannot ignore. You are right, Nageau is a hopeful man who sees the best in everyone. But that is his gift. He feels he made a mistake with Reyor’s banishment and wishes to avoid a rash decision with Hutar and Aesròn.”
“His gift will be his downfall.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Let us hope not, my love.”
He hugged her, taking in her strength. They remained together in silence until he murmured, “If Hutar and Aesròn remain here and all that we focus on is their rehabilitation, I fear for everyone’s safety. They were not above murder before, why would they be any different now? Think of the people, the children, the youth. What will we say to their families should the worst happen?”
Saiyu stiffened. “I know. A parent should never have to bury their child.” She placed her cheek on his shoulder. In a quiet voice, she said, “I miss him, Ashack.”
He felt her tears slide down his bare arm and held her closer. “I miss him, too. It does not get easier with time.”
A hunting accident had taken the life of their sole child nearly two decades prior; he was only fifteen. They were heartbroken parents and still now it hurt. Saiyu had wept every night for a long time after that, the sound of which filled Ashack with so much pain. They’d eventually tried to have another child but could not conceive. Ever since, they’d dedicated their lives to serving their people and were, in time, admitted as Elders after the passing of the previous ones.
Saiyu pulled back and dried her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Ashack kissed her cheeks a few times, and together they entered the neyra and took their place around the fire. He returned to his usual gruff self as he acknowledged the others.
Nageau held up a hand. “I hear hurried footsteps heading this way . . .”
A knock sounded on the door moments later. Saiyu went to open it and a tall girl with straight raven hair tumbling over her slender shoulders stepped in. She smoothed her buckskin tunic, then dipped her head to the Elders.
“Is something the matter, Huyani?” Nageau asked.
“You asked to be informed when Hutar and Aesròn are fully awake. They are now, Grandfather.”
The Elders glanced at one another, then rose to their feet in unison. They left the neyra with Huyani and strode quickly toward the convalescence center near the riverbank. Outside the door of the large wooden building, they took a moment to compose themselves before entering. Akol straddled a chair at the far corner of the ward, arms folded on the backrest, looking irritated. Huyani joined her brother.
The Elders passed two rows of empty beds lined against the windowed walls. Upon reaching the young men sitting upright in their cots, they spread out and stood by the beds; Tayoka, Saiyu and Ashack facing Hutar, and Nageau and Tikina by Aesròn. The youths placed a fist over their heart and bowed their heads at the Elders. Ashack eyed the pair with mistrust.
“How are you feeling?” Nageau asked.
“Much better, Elder Nageau,” Hutar answered, avoiding the older man’s gaze. “Thank you.”
“You ought to give your thanks to Huyani, as it w
as her skill that has healed you.”
“Yes, Elder Nageau. We are very grateful to her.”
“You realize that we have much to discuss.”
“We know. We also wish to ask for forgiveness for running off.”
Ashack noted that Aesròn was quiet and withdrawn. His hand twitched under his blanket as if Hutar’s chastened words were giving him spasms.
“Why did you do it?” Saiyu asked. “You were being cared for. We did all we could to help you rather than punish you.”
“Being here was humiliating,” Hutar said, glaring at the foot of his bed. “Everyone looked at us like we would turn around and . . . and hurt them. We were not welcome. We felt that we would never be.”
Ashack’s nostrils flared. “And yet you returned. What you tried to do was beyond pardonable. There are consequences to your actions. Did you really think all would be easily forgiven?”
“We returned because the outside world was too foreign for us,” Aesròn retorted. Ashack shot him an acidic look.
“That is another issue,” Tayoka said flatly. “We scoured the novasphere for your presence and could not find you. Clearly, you were not dead and yet you were hidden. How did you do that? And why did you go to the outside world to begin with?”
“And,” Tikina added, ‘why did you not reach out to us when you learned the outside world was not for you?”
“It is a technique that we practiced and perfected for ourselves,” Aesròn answered. His hand twitched again under the blanket.
“We did not reach out to you because we . . .” Hutar’s face flushed. “. . . we were too proud. We were too proud, and—”
Aesròn suddenly threw off his blanket. Something sharp and metallic glinted in his left hand as he lunged toward Nageau.
“Aesròn!” Hutar roared. “No!”
None of the Elders moved fast enough, not even Tayoka. As the knife arced down, Hutar hurtled out of his bed and leapt in front of the Elder. The weapon sank into his chest. He screamed and buckled, falling to the floor, a scarlet stain growing on his shirt. A look of horror shadowed Aesròn’s face and he stumbled away from his friend.
Tayoka dove at Aesròn, slamming him to the ground. The youth swore and fought against the Elder, clawing and biting and kicking. Ashack shot forward to help, even though Tayoka could have managed just fine on his own, and they kept Aesròn pinned in place. It was as if time had slowed to a crawl and Ashack was seeing everything around him move agonizingly slowly. He looked over his shoulder where the others were leaning over Hutar, working to staunch the bleeding.
Then sharp pain clamped around his wrist. Aesròn had dug his teeth into his skin, madly rocking his head to and fro. The Elder tried to wrench his arm free but the younger man gnawed harder. Ashack felt his skin tear and warm blood trickled out. Agony flared white-hot in his arm.
Tayoka seized a fistful of Aesròn’s hair and forcefully yanked his head back. The youth, his mouth stained red, bared his teeth at the Elders. Ashack glanced down at his open wound to assess the damage. In that moment, Aesròn, who had worked one of his arms free, tore off the incisor he wore around his neck and thrust it deep into Tayoka’s side.
The Elder bellowed and his hand immediately flew to the injury. Aesròn jammed his knuckles into Tayoka’s face before kicking loose. Ashack made a grab for him but the youth knocked him down, stomped on his wounded wrist, and took off running. Akol let out a shout as he gave chase, and they disappeared out the door.
Ashack gasped, holding his limp wrist. Tayoka had pulled the incisor out of his rib and flung it aside. He got to his feet but couldn’t get more than a few steps before doubling over, blood spilling past his hands as he held his wound.
Ashack’s mind was in a whirl. He tried to process everything through the blazing pain, unaware that Saiyu and Tikina had hastened over and were tending to him and Tayoka.
What just happened?
4
The sky overhead in Swansea, Wales, was bright blue with scattered clouds. People milled about the Maritime Quarter, several making their way to the beaches to stroll with their children on the shoreline despite the bite in the air. The adults were taut-faced while their little ones padded along happily, oblivious to the blight afflicting the world. A man reading a newspaper on a park bench glowered at the headline: ‘UN SECURITY COUNCIL CONVENES 5TH EMERGENCY MEETING.’
Two younger men passed him, one enjoying a cone of ice cream. He raised a disapproving eyebrow at their breezy attitudes, wondering how anyone could act carefree at such a time, before burying his nose back in his paper.
Gareth Vaughn chomped down on the last bit of his waffle cone. Though it was mid-autumn, the cold, creamy delight was his favorite dessert at any given time of the year. His only grievance was the inflated price he had to pay for it. Beside him, his identical twin brother held an enormous bouquet of colorful flowers, sneezing and complaining about the strong perfume. Both men were tall with brown hair and had cheeky glints in their chestnut eyes. But behind the impish gazes were brilliant minds that few could hope to match.
The brothers were similar in many ways, but their tastes in music and clothing differed greatly; Gareth was into rock ’n’ roll and leather jackets while Deverell’s wardrobe consisted of blazers, and his go-to playlist was filled with blues and jazz.
As the pair strolled toward the small hospital ahead, they engaged in an animated discussion about the state of their city’s football club. It was a common topic the two could go on about for hours, a lifelong passion that now doubled as a diversion to get their minds off the troubling condition of the world.
“I’m telling you, Dev,” Gareth said, shaking his hair away from his face, “the Swans need to bring back the Monk.”
“That would just be like patching a hole, not finding a solution,” his brother replied. “We need to get us a coach like Ranieri. Build us up from zero.”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “Come on, mate. Finding a coach like him is just blind luck and that’s not something we can count on.”
“I says they should build around Ayew and start from there.” Deverell opened the door and walked into the hospital. “One day . . . one day we shall attain the realms of Swancelona.”
“Swaaaancelona,” Gareth chanted in reverence. The women behind the reception desk looked up at them, frowning.
Deverell whacked his brother on the shoulder. “Shh, there’re sick people around!”
“Then they need cheering up, don’t they? I mean, we all do.” In a whisper, Gareth continued, “Swaaaancelona.”
Stifling a laugh, Deverell approached the desk. “Bore da,” he greeted. “We’re here to see our uncle, Owen Vaughn.”
After signing the visitor sheet, the pair took an elevator up and tromped down the long corridor to a room marked A14. Gareth knocked on the door before they stepped in.
An older man with thick gray hair and long sideburns opened his eyes from where he lay on the bed. He beamed when he saw his guests. “Deverell! Gareth!” He sat up and held his arms wide open. “Gimme a cwtch, the both of you!”
They hugged him warmly in response, then presented him with the bouquet.
“They’re proper lush,” he said, taking it. “Are these for your aunt?”
Gareth rolled his eyes again and smiled. “We thought these would add some color to this dull room. We picked the best for the only person who would dare babysit us when we were tykes.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a box of chocolates. “We also got these for you, just in case.”
“Now, that’s more like it.” Their uncle took the box approvingly and opened it. “How long has it been since I last took care of you two? You were, what—four, five years old?”
“Around that, yeah.”
“Nearly thirty years . . .” The old man’s lips twitched wistfully. “Tempus fugit.” He pointed at Gareth. “You need to get rid o’ that mop on your head. Look at your brother. That’s a right proper short cut, that.”
“I�
��m quite happy with it, actually,” Gareth replied, feigning annoyance. “In any case, how are you, Uncle?”
“Better. I should be out within a couple days, I think. It’s nothing major, but the doctors want to keep an eye on me anyway.”
“Has Dad come to visit you yet?” Deverell asked.
“Hah. That no-good brother o’ mine said he may drop by tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I love the old butt, I do. He just tends to put work ahead of everything and everyone else, including himself. How he ended up with a gem like your mother is beyond me.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Her love and patience is truly a testament to her character. And the way you two were raised, well, that speaks volumes about her, too. There’s something very special about that woman. Quite the enigma, she is.”
The brothers gave each other secretive smiles. They were incredibly proud of their mother, and she was indeed a special woman of a distinct lineage with a significant obligation—an obligation that had been passed on to her two sons.
“So, what of you both?” their uncle asked. “Still freelancing?”
Deverell shared another quick smile with Gareth. “Aye.”
“Good to hear it. And you’re still travelling often?”
“Wherever the job is, that’s where we go, Uncle.”
“I never get to hear what these jobs are,” the old man mused.
Gareth patted his hand. “We’re not always at liberty to talk about it, but they’re important, I promise you that.”
Their uncle snorted. “’Not at liberty’, my arse. For all I know, you could be running around for MI6 or the CIA.” He grew wide-eyed. “Oh, no.”
Deverell and Gareth leaned in, worried. “What is it?”
“Don’t you dare go James Bond on me. He’s not even Welsh!”
The twins chuckled. They sat together, munching on the chocolates and sharing stories for nearly an hour, when a shrill voice from the hallway interrupted their conversation.