“Good,” he repeated, standing from her. He walked to the cell door —broken! It looked torn off, bars bent and misshapen. “Glen better not bust my ass because of this,” he whispered. He broke it? Such strength. No, that had to be a blessing, but which god granted that? Which one was the one she was exposed to? Araa wished she had read more about them. Seven or was it eight?
He picked up a chair and carried it inside before sitting down. He looked long at her before asking. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what,” she asked, looking away. Had she said anything incriminating while dreaming? Ed didn’t seem angry or suspicious, but he was a military career man; he’d make hiding his emotions a point of pride.
“Your dream,” he said. “Your symptoms have begun.”
She narrowed her eyes, remembering less of it, but she knew what it was. Her first mark. She grimaced. Failed. “It was so real. I…was there.”
“Yes, I know. And it was a tragic one for you, wasn’t it? You were crying.”
She dashed her eyelids, just then noticing tears rolling off her temples. “What did you hear,” she said cautiously.
Ed’s expression surprisingly softened. “I gathered you were playing a game with another girl. A boy was involved, and he was hurt.”
She let out a slow breath. “Yea, that was my brother and sister,” she lied. “We were playing, and he was hurt. It was stupid. I was stupid.” At least that part was true. “I learned a lot that night.”
“You grew,” he said. “Tragedies just happen, Araa. This one’s no different.”
“But he survived,” she uttered bitterly, remembering her own prognosis. “He’s alive and well.” And thanks to her, he fell right into the sympathies of the One-King, and his vendetta against the Shadows had made their lives all the more difficult. He wants to avenge his mother? Get in line.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“He hates me,” she explained. “He hates us.”
“Ah. I’m sorry.”
She shut her eyes tightly. “I…I just want to go home.”
Ed stood from his chair, appearing as though he was leaving. As much as his initial presence irritated her, she found herself sad he was going. He seemed more compassionate than she expected. She could have used that earlier in her mission, but not now. It was far too late to cultivate that kind of trust from him. He wasn’t going to let her leave because he felt sorry for her. And even if he did, she could barely move her toes.
She opened her eyes back onto the rocky roof. Her mission was a success, but that didn’t matter if no one found out.
“If given a choice,” Ed said slowly. “Where would you prefer to die?”
“Home,” she replied. “Not on a table.” Ed stared back at her, his expression returning to steel. “But, ‘tragedies just happen,’ right?”
After a brief pause, he added, “I’ll come back tonight. I’ll bring some stimulants for your muscles. You’ll regain some of your strength. It’ll be excruciating, but if you’d rather die at home, …I can let you try to get there.”
Araa turned to him, hope surging inside her. “You’d be court-martialed, or worse—” She stopped herself. What was she thinking! Since when did she care about anything but the mission? Because she was hurt, dying? Is this the sort of woman she’d become at the end? Ed was just a means to a larger goal: saving her country. If he was going to let her go at his own cost, fine by her. The shore rendezvous was two weeks away; she’d do it in less. She had to. The Shadows must have those runic suits.
With his cold expression, he added, “you can’t tell anyone what you saw.”
She hesitated. Just say it. “I won’t,” she lied.
“The doctor told me your body will start recovering soon. But without treatment, you’re likely to go insane in a couple of weeks. More of those dreams will blend into your waking day. If you don’t make it home, you’ll likely die alone, exposed to nature’s elements completely lost within your own mind. If you do make it to your home, everyone will presume you’re infected with the Chills, and they’ll end your life. Your loved ones. Are you prepared for either of those ends?”
“I…I understand,” she replied. A couple of weeks…. She could do it. Get to the rendezvous, set sail, reach the island. Two weeks was plenty, she argued to convince herself. Maybe Siga’s cure would still work? Maybe not, but what other choice did she have?
Ed nodded, his eyes furrowed together, and lips drawn to a line. My Goddess, he actually cared about her —Araa, he cares about her. Ed walked away, and she relaxed into her cot. Tonight, she thought as she closed her eyes and hoped for some sleep. She just had to stay sane for two weeks. What a strange objective, stay sane. I will make it at all costs.
13
Edgard Omen: Ed and the Islander
“…Prince Landrie, Prince Advin and Prince Makim bestow the greatest honor upon those who have given their lives for the preservation of our land. Unfortunately, the war preparation and demilitarization have drained the military treasury and so we are currently extending the benefits of travel and burial only to Ladress-born. We regret that we cannot extend these benefits to Ninn. His personal record, as a matter of honor, will be kept secret until next of kin comes forward. Brothers’ Alliance Office of Military Inquiry, General Artemis Sune.”
-Correspondence between Colonel Edgar Omen and the Office of Military Inquiry in the Red Rock
Ed frowned down at a small bottle of clear liquid in his hand, stimulants from the Doctor to help him function after sleepless nights caused by his terrors. Now, hopefully they would reverse the relaxants given to Araa, and allow her the futile attempt to reach her home before she died instead on the Doctor’s table —something he couldn’t do for Ninn. Back then, four months after the armistice was signed, Ed, Glen, Gene and Alecka, cremated Ninn’s body and spread the ashes out at sea. Why didn’t those bureaucrat bastards have his information right? After all the stonewalling, excuses of familial honor and processing delays to keep his personal information secret, the island on his document didn’t even exist! Ninn was a good solider; he deserved to be sent home, not scattered out at sea because of some damn clerical error.
Something startled Ed, the sound of breaking glass. He growled softly, realizing he had fractured the bottle in his hand with the liquid dripping to the floor. He shook his head, throwing the bottled into the trash bin before cleaning up the mess.
Since his visit with Araa, he spent his time restlessly reading old tactic manuals in his small library, waiting till it was late enough to ensure most of the town had fallen asleep. Some would still be awake, but they wouldn’t question him headed to the jails. Still, what did Ed have to fear? He wasn’t going to do anything illegal. She wasn’t a criminal; he could let her out. But he knew how important that Islander had become. She would be missed until…
She’s likely to be dead or insane soon anyway so what did it matter? Now that she saw the truth of the mines, there was nothing that could save her. General Order One. The doctor would kill her tomorrow morning. No liabilities: the secret had to be kept safe. She would have already been killed if it wasn’t for her popularity. Maybe if Glen knew, he’d understand why he was so difficult during the hearing. No, letting her go and die on her own was the best way. The Doctor wouldn’t have to kill his patient. Ed wouldn’t have to lie to Glen. And, Ninn’s mistake wouldn’t be repeated. If she was to die, let her at least try for home.
Ed marched back over to his medicine cabinet. He hadn’t closed it, so he quickly grabbed another stimulant. His last. Below were untouched bottles of a variety of alcohol he had saved for when Glen visited. Glen always brought he’s own numbing agent, but for Ed, drinking seemed to make everything worse. Make him…more destructive, misjudge his strength.
He slammed the cabinet door, breaking the top hinge. But the mirror on the door didn’t break, and he starred into his own eyes. They didn’t appear bloodshot, swollen or fatigued. They looked healthy as though he we
re a strong well-adjusted man with no hint of the conflict inside him.
“Are you sure about this,” Ed said to himself. “She’s right. If someone finds out you let her go, you’ll lose your career. What would you do then?” He glanced at the bottle before placing it into his pocket. “Decide Edgar D. Omen,” he said, mimicking his father’s tone and mannerism. “What will you do? Let Araa go home. Or, let her die on the table. You could lose your chance to confront Sera.” He chuckled at the last sentence, seemingly out of nowhere. But he admitted to himself: he’ll never have a chance to know why she left him for the Empire.
None of that mattered now. He stood straight, chest out, chin down, staring at his reflection with that practiced military disinterestedness that had become instinct. He was wearing his off-duty uniform, an all dark gray attire with crimson trimmings. Three crimson ropes looped around his right shoulder signified his rank. He appeared a man of discipline, a warrior as much fearless and affective as loyal and honorable. What did that say about letting her go? The hour was getting late; if he was going, it had to be soon.
He thought about Ninn. How he languished for weeks after Sosh’r fell, riddled with burns and infections, practically begging Ed to let him die. The city healer and surgeons had done their best and Ninn had refused the imperial doctors.
Ed almost punched the mirror at the thought of their hubris. Destroy an entire city, murdering civilians, and then land their monstrosity to offer aid. What cold hearted animals.
“I’m not like you, Sera,” he growled. “I’ll let her try for home.”
And with that, he marched to the door of his barrack, opened the door and stepped outside.
A chill in the air greeted him along with the unnerving silence of the barracks around him. A cloudless night, the crescent moon rose high but waning. At least Araa will have some light.
There should be three groups of two night soldiers making rounds inside the yard, but Ed didn’t see any of them. Not that it mattered, he didn’t intend to sneak around. That was for thieves and cutthroats; he was doing nothing illegal.
He marched out into the main pathway, hugging the right side of the drill area. Following it led him passed more quiet barracks and within moments, Ed reached the gate where a manned tower stood, and two soldiers manned the gate, Jory and Brid Tarz, brothers. And the man up on the tower was Leyek Woods. Ed made it a point to know their names just in case…in case of what? He told himself again he wasn’t doing anything illegal.
“Going for another walk, sir, or going into town this time,” Jory asked with what Ed thought was a suspicious tone as he gave a signal to his brother to open the gate. “I can call a horse for you. The stage-couch is already put away.”
“A walk, corporal,” Ed replied, scanning up at the sky and taking note of Leyek’s nod. He nodded in return.
“A beautiful night for it,” he answered as the gate opened.
“Yes, it is,” Ed said before walking through.
“Have a nice walk, sir.”
But Ed didn’t reply. He thought of taking a horse but decided against it. The jails weren’t too far away and maybe the walk would calm his mind. Still, he found himself quickening his pace with a sense of urgency down the road, which was short and spilled out into Zana Street. The yellow lantern lights of the town were already showing through the sparse trees.
Quiet often, Ed would make this same walk when he couldn’t sleep, except he’d cut into the woods and take a path that led up to an outcrop, the Seer’s Mound, that held an expansive view of the town and surrounding hills. That walk pined for him now; it always put him at ease. Once on the mound, he would find great peace overlooking the view, not a hint of his terrors; it was almost as good as a night’s sleep. The view and isolation gave him a sense of control, of prediction. What in Almighty’s name did that mean, he thought. Uncertainty, he answered himself. Ever since he’d been exposed, few things seemed whole anymore.
He grinned wryly. “You see, Glen. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I can sort out my own problems.”
When he reached Zana Street, he veered left. The jails weren’t too far away from the barracks, a concession the city planners made. It took some wrangling from them to put the jails so close. The magistrates wanted them close to the Central Office instead. Reason? Why else? Laziness. They wanted the jails close when they pronounced sentencing, but how was the military —he— going to keep those prisoners under lock and key from across an entire city. It wasn’t his fault the bureaucracy side of the government viewed the military with suspicion.
Ed snickered. It’s a wonder Glen became one of them. No, not a wonder, Ed thought. There, with his nose in books and ledgers, he’d never have to commit another man’s death to his perfect memory. He’d seen as much as Ed had, but for him, the clarity of it never faded. Sight, smell, touch, even his own thoughts at the time. Glen described it like reliving the event twice —and sometimes unbidden. Even if it meant being as smart as Glen, Ed didn’t envy his friend’s perfect memory.
“I shouldn’t have been so hard on him,” he whispered to himself as he quickly found the road leading up the jails and took it, a gentle breeze picking up as he neared the piedmont of the Three Ridged Mountains. There always seemed to be a breeze here with a hint of dust and foliage that reminded him of home.
Up ahead, he could see a lantern light illuminating the jail entry gate, a large iron gate that had to be cranked by hand to rise. A smaller regular-sized door was embedded into it with a small slot that opened from the inside for guards to see out. Far passed the last watch, Predt should be there along with some of Captain Olsen’s men in case someone tried to sneak in to see Araa.
“I am not sneaking,” he told himself. “I don’t need an excuse to see her.” She had become popular in the several months she’s been here. Islanders tended to do that. Something about their simple view of life, their clear sense of right and wrong, or maybe it was their perceived pure motives that made them more…agreeable. No, that was it, Ed decided. Agreeableness. People like being around agreeable people and Islanders weren’t known to argue much, living comfortably, if not primitively, on their island towns. More like island nations, Ed was told
But Araa was from a northern island. With threat from the Glacial Barbarians, her people must have learned to be more prudent. That showed in her, an anxious restlessness he understood too well. She appeared as a caged animal, desperate to strike anything if it meant being released.
When Ed reached the door, he knocked three times.
The slot slid open, revealing Predt, a veteran injured in the war. One eye missing, twisted nose, and his mouth badly disfigured, he talked in garbled words. “Eh M’jor. Her’ t’ see her? ‘Ny change?”
“No, no change,” Ed replied. “Tomorrow morning, she will go into surgery. I want to have a last word with her,” he hadn’t, consciously deciding on using the word ‘last.’ He wouldn’t lie, not to Predt, not to a veteran.
Predt opened the door, allowing Ed to walk in before closing it behind him again.
“Srry, can’t g, go with you. Ver’one’s out—”
Ed raised his hand. “It’s fine, Predt. I’ll see myself in,” he said, scanning the orange-light bathed jail yard and seeing no one but a military medic by Araa’s assigned jail hall. “Weren’t Captain Olsen’s men supposed to be here?”
Predt shook his head. “Scuffle ‘n t’wn. Was Called t’ he’p.” A scuffle in town? Unusual. The week had just started, and besides his soldiers knew not to blow off their stresses here. Faf’r and Sat’r were within days travel and they had ample opportunities to take short leaves. Ed knew strained soldiers —soldiers who would rather be fighting— led to mistakes, mistakes that couldn’t happen here on this city project.
“Know anything about it,” Ed asked, frowning
The old veteran shook his head again. “W’nt tak’ long, I think.”
Ed nodded, making a mental note of asking Captain Olsen who was involved before leavi
ng Predt at his post and walking toward a set of fifteen jail doors carved into the rock face, each housing twenty or so cells. There, seated under an oil lamp above the first door was a military medic. Ed didn’t recognize him, but he should have. Medics in the military were under his command, but as Ed neared, he could see the man wore a lighter hued civilian uniform —not military. The Doctor was risking quite a bit asking a civilian medic to help out, but maybe it couldn’t be helped. So many people were clamoring at Central Office, the Doctor probably had no choice.
The man rose his head from an apparent slumber, revealing a burned scar across his neck. Had someone sliced his throat and then cauterized the wound? Or was he hung?
He slowly stood as though his muscles were stiff, yawning all the while. “Hello there,” he said, glancing at Ed’s crimson roped shoulder. “Ah, you must be Major Edgar Omen.” Ed reached into his pocket and pulled out his set of jail keys. “Here to see our captive?” His voice had a merry tone that put Ed off.
“Yes,” he said curtly. Ed reached the door, juggling for the right key.
The medic yawned again. “Should you be waking her? She has quite a day tomorrow.”
“I’ll only take a moment of her time.”
“I see. I see. She got herself some unusual injuries, wouldn’t you say so,” he said, his voice turning hard.
Ed slide the key in. “What are you implying?" An image of Araa laying in her cell suddenly popped to his mind. He blinked a few times, refocusing his attention.
The medic shrugged. “Not implying anything. Just thought wounds from a collapsed mine tunnel would be different. Bruises, concussions, broken bones.”
“You weren’t there,” Ed replied, turning the key as the lock made a soft click sound. Again, an image of Araa rushed to his mind’s eye, unbidden; then, he saw himself carrying her out by the back-jail exit, what he had planned to do.
“Major? You alright?”
Ed blinked again. That was odd. Was it guilt that prompted that image? Guilt for what? Ed tightened his jaw. General Order One would have her killed anyway. He’s doing this for her, for the Doctor, for Ninn. He wasn’t doing this for himself.
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 35