by J. C. Staudt
“What did you do to your hands?”
Merrick didn’t answer. He risked too much by speaking with this prisoner while there were other comrades around. The man’s handcuffs jangled as he lifted his arms. Merrick flinched, but the big man only smiled and spread his fingers so Merrick could see them.
“Don’t be afraid. Don’t you see? My hands are just like yours.”
“Hey, keep your mouth shut,” said one of the guards. He took the big man by his bonds and yanked him around to face the cell.
Merrick became aware that the other guards had been watching the exchange. He felt their eyes on him, imagining what would happen if someone deemed him worthy of punishment for fraternizing with the prisoners. He heard the cell door clank shut behind him. The guards made the rounds, securing each new prisoner in a cell of his own.
When they were gone, the big man spoke again. “My name is Raithur.”
Merrick glanced from one end of the cell block to the other. The comrades at either end were far enough away that if he whispered, they might not overhear. He ignored Raithur for a few moments, then turned and came toward him. Raithur was standing with his arms through the bars, resting his forehead on the cinder block above the door. The size of his hands made the painted steel bars look like toothpicks. Stranger still, he was looking at Merrick as if he recognized him.
“Okay, I’m listening. I’m Merrick. I’m not supposed to talk to prisoners. What do you want?”
“Have you ever heard of Decylum?”
That sounded vaguely familiar. Merrick said so.
“It’s a research facility. Well, it used to be. A secret project set up by the Ministry.”
Merrick thought for a moment, frowning. “I have heard of that, come to think of it. It’s a big hoax. Fodder for old conspiracy theorists who were alive before the Heat and who think the Ministry still exists.”
Raithur shook his head. “The Ministry is dead and gone. It collapsed a few years after the Heat. There are remnants of its existence strewn about the Inner East, and Decylum is one of them. That’s where we’re from.”
Merrick laughed, but not too loud. “No way. Nobody even knows where Decylum is. If it did exist, it got shut down when the Ministry failed. They say the power went out and everybody who worked there was trapped inside. It’s been a tomb ever since.”
Raithur smiled. “That isn’t so. Decylum was constructed to last through just about anything. When the Ministry sent word of its collapse and of the havoc Infernal was wreaking outside, the people of Decylum sealed themselves in by choice. Some decided to get out before the doors were sealed, but I doubt they made it very far. The starwinds came even more frequently in those days than they do now. Nobody else left for decades. I should know; I was born a few years later. My parents and the other former employees of the Ministry were all too afraid leave. We had plenty of resources to survive on. The only thing we’d lost was our stream of communication. We had no way of knowing what condition the above-world was in, so for years we hunkered down and stayed alive. By the time I was in my twenties, some of us had worked up the nerve to venture out and leave the confines of the facility. I don’t know how far any of them got, though. There’s a friend of mine who’s about the only person I know to leave Decylum and come back to tell about it. We’ve had some trade with the nomads, and we’ve hunted wild animals for the past few years to supplement our diets. Otherwise, we’ve been on our own.”
Merrick was astonished. “I can’t believe it. You’ve been out there this whole time and nobody has found you?”
“Some have. Decylum is far removed from the common routes people take through the desert from one settlement to another. It’s hard to get there, from what I understand. Even harder to stumble across it by chance, and harder still to know you’re there by sight alone. It was certainly a difficult trek getting to Belmond. But we do see visitors from time to time. It happens so rarely that it’s never been cause for concern.”
“Unbelievable. This is a hard thing to wrap my mind around.”
Raithur narrowed his eyes, but his face softened. “Take your time. You don’t have to believe everything at once. I asked you about your hands before. Let’s start there.”
“I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I said I’m just really bad at closing doors.”
The rifle clacked as Merrick laid it against the concrete pillar next to him and flattened his palms to let Raithur see. All the hesitancy he’d felt about revealing the details of his condition seemed to flit away under the big man’s gaze. He had to know if there was any connection between himself and these people. He had to know if there was a way to stop what was happening to him.
Raithur leaned over to get a better look through the bars. When he grabbed Merrick’s hand, his skin was as cold as iron, as rough and hard as stone. “This happened recently. There’s fresh blood on the bandages. Tell me about what happened. How did it feel?”
“It was two days ago. I was at the bar, and some dway was pissing me off. I remember getting really angry, and I looked down, and my fingers were glowing. Melting.”
“And this is the first time anything like this has ever happened to you.”
Merrick nodded.
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-four tomorrow. Oh, no. Shit. I forgot. Today. It’s my birthday.”
Raithur smiled. “Twenty-four. The gift never ceases to amaze.”
“The gift,” Merrick repeated, biting his lip. “You call this bullshit a gift? My coffing hands are gonna burst into flames every time I get pissed at somebody? That’s supposed to be a good thing?”
“It takes its toll. It has its limits. If you don’t know how to handle it, it will kill you. We’ve seen it happen in Decylum more times than I can count. If the woman your face reminds me of is who I think she is, your gift may be very special indeed. Of the rarest kind. Did you ever know your mother?”
“I knew my father. He was an asshole.”
Raithur smiled again, a warm, nostalgic smile. “Was he, now? This is sounding more like her all the time. It’s uncommon for a child to have more of his mother’s features than his father’s. And yet, you look so much like her.”
That must be why dad liked hitting me so much, Merrick thought with disdain. “You’re saying this woman you know could be my mom? She’s from Decylum, I’m guessing. Next you’re gonna tell me you’re my real dad, right?”
Another smile. “Don’t you think you’d be taller if I were your father? No, I’m sorry. I’ve never had a family. I’m a dangerous man—and I don’t mean that in a boastful way. It took me a long time to understand what this gift was all about. I’ve spent most of my life learning to harness its power. It was never worth it to me to expose loved ones to that kind of danger, the way I would if I had a family. But I do think this woman could have been your mother. She was one of the ones who left Decylum. It would make sense, since that was twenty-five years ago now. You have no recollection of her at all?”
“Bits and pieces, but not really. Dad always used to say mom left him before I took my first step. He never forgot her. He spent the rest of his life hating himself, and hating me, and it was because of her. I don’t think I’d want to meet her, even if she was still alive. I’d probably get angry again and do something unintentionally nice.” Merrick looked at his hands in contempt. “Tell me there’s a cure for this shit. I don’t want it. It coffing hurts and it’s interfering with my job. I’d love it if this could be temporary so I could get rid of it.”
Raithur’s deep blue eyes were reflective, thoughtful. “Your mother was quite a strong personality. If you are her son, then it sounds like she passed on more than her looks to you. There is no cure, so far as we know. The gift can be a good thing for someone who knows its intricacies. It will take time, but you must always think of it as a talent, not a curse. A person may have talents he never uses, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. You have it, whether you want it or not.”
&nb
sp; “No cure. So I have to hide this now, like some kind of mutie freak? I’ll get tossed out of the service on my ass, or banished to the city south.”
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I want you to come back to Decylum with us. I can teach you everything. You’ll learn all there is to know about your gift.”
Merrick scoffed. “Back to Decylum? How do you expect to get back to Decylum? Wax isn’t about to let you all walk out of here like a group of lost tourists. You’ll all be dead by tomorrow, guaranteed. I’ll buy you a round of drinks if you’re not.”
Raithur stared at him for a moment. Then his face lit up in an open-mouthed grin, and he gave a gruff chuckle.
“Being dead isn’t funny, last I checked.”
“I suppose it’s worth mentioning that putting us in cages is likely to be about as effective as plugging a gun with a loaf of bread.”
“You sound pretty confident. You think you can take on the entire Scarred army and escape the city north alive?”
“It’s not such a bleak hope as you seem to think,” Raithur said. “Especially if you’re helping us.”
Merrick backed up a few paces and felt around for his rifle to make sure it was still where he’d left it. “Whoa, wait a minute. You guys didn’t do so well against the Fourth last night. You wouldn’t be here if you had. If we’re taking sides, I’d rather be on the one that wins.”
“I have no memory of what happened last night,” Raithur said. “I was… out.”
Merrick shrugged. This Raithur was beginning to irritate him. “What does ‘out’ mean?”
“The sleep of the gifted, we call it. Using the gift requires a great deal of strength, and it causes fatigue. Not using the gift for a time can be just as taxing. Sickness, exhaustion… even death.”
Merrick nodded. Suddenly, it all clicked. “I slept so long after this happened, I missed an entire shift the next day.”
“You already know of the sleep, then. And of course, you haven’t yet learned to control it.”
“Tell me how it works.”
“All in due time. First, I need to know what happened last night.”
“You and your men were seen coming over the horizon near dusk,” Merrick said.
He went on to tell Raithur about the mustering of the Fourth, how the battle had appeared to play out from his vantage point, and about the rumors and chatter he’d heard so far today. He told Raithur everything. Everything, that is, except that he’d been the one to raise the alarm.
CHAPTER 29
Audience
As Raith listened to Merrick’s tale of the previous night’s events, he found himself overcome with grief. The details of the slaughter were reason enough to incite his rage, but the charges the Scarred had levied against his people for actions they’d taken in self-defense were all the more maddening. He’d briefly considered dismantling his cell door and freeing his people, but he was convinced they needed this young man on their side if they were to have any real chance of finding their lost companions. So Raith had begun to teach Merrick about the gift—the same way he would’ve taught any youngling back in Decylum. There was promise in this misguided young soldier, Raith knew. And it was no coincidence that he looked so much like her.
“Every time you drag your feet across a carpeted floor. Every time you do any physical exercise at all. Every time you fire that rifle of yours, you’re coming into contact with some form of energy. I won’t give you a physics lesson, but suffice it to say that energy is being created all around you, most of the time. Even the heat of daylight on your skin is a form of energy. That’s a fact we failed to heed fully on our way here. When a normal body comes into contact with energy, it looks for a means of discharge; it transfers that energy to something else. But our bodies don’t transfer energy like normal people do. Our bodies can store it, whether it’s created within us or outside us. We’re like power cells. Do you know what a power cell is?”
“Sure,” Merrick said.
“Well, you’re like a human power cell. We have hundreds of them in Decylum. Some of us can recharge them. That’s a big part of how we’ve managed to survive all these long years.”
Merrick’s face lit up in astonishment. “Are you kidding? They used to use them for everything in the old days. You’d make a killing around here selling working power cells.”
“And while we grew fat and rich, Decylum’s people would be starving in the dark. That’s not even taking into account the whims of your Commissar. As if he would have any qualms about running us ragged to provide this defunct city with all the power he could ever want.”
“Coff it, I can’t believe this,” Merrick said, his mouth hanging open. He glanced furtively down the long room. “I have to say, this is starting to sound better, the more you talk about it. I was dreading them finding out, but now that I know what I can do…”
Raith sighed. His words were having the opposite effect he’d been hoping for. Instead of wanting to flee somewhere safe, Merrick spoke as if he wanted to put himself at the mercy of this Commissar. Raith hadn’t met the man yet, but he’d already begun to despise him based on reputation alone.
“So if this whole thing is about storing energy,” Merrick was saying, “what would happen if I got struck by lightning?”
“If you didn’t have the gift, you could die,” Raith said, “but because you do, all that electrical energy would have a restorative effect. If you’re ever caught in a bad rainstorm, you can rest easy knowing that if you’re struck, the lightning will restore you.”
Merrick scratched his head, then winced in pain and scowled at the offending fingers. “I don’t understand. I’ve been exercising, shooting guns, and being put in stressful situations my entire adult life. Why haven’t I seen any signs of this before? And more importantly, if the gift is so dangerous, how am I not dead?”
Raith paused and cleared his throat. This next bit would be either the nail in the coffin or the wind in the sails of his escape plan. The former seemed more likely. “There are a few possible explanations. Maybe you’ve found some way to relieve the tension in your body, and that’s been serving as a ‘valve,’ so to speak. Or maybe you have an incredibly high tolerance—you’re a power cell who takes a lot of energy to charge to full capacity.”
“My tolerance must be really high, if that’s all it is,” Merrick said.
Raith’s knuckles cracked as he gripped the bars tighter. “There is one other thing it could be.”
Merrick had been inching closer and closer to the cell, and further away from the rifle he’d lain against the pillar below the catwalk. When Raith glanced at the weapon, Merrick frowned and took a step back. Raith felt like a poacher trying to coax an animal into a trap, though there was nothing here for Merrick to be so wary of.
“It could be that you’re a healer. Like your mother.”
Merrick’s breath was bated. “Okay. What does that mean?”
“If you’re a healer, it means your gift goes one step further than most. Further, even, than mine. If normal bodies transfer energy, and the bodies of the gifted store it, then being a healer means that your body… absorbs it. Think back to your childhood. How many times were you sick? How many times have you been seriously hurt? Have you ever broken a bone? How quickly did it heal?”
“Coffing Infernal,” Merrick said, his face as blank as the concrete floor. “I’ve never been sick for more than a day or two in my life. I could go on raids when I was in Mobile Ops and get all kinds of banged up. Bumps and bruises and scratches and places where I should’ve been cut bad. I was always fine the next day, or the one after. That’s all because of this?”
“It very well might be.”
Merrick’s sense of revelation was palpable. “It is. There’s something I haven’t told you about the other night, when this happened. I touched someone. He had something wrong with his eye. A battle wound or something. After I touched him… he told me he could see again.”
My suspicions were rig
ht, Raith told himself. Merrick is Myriad’s flesh and blood; there’s no other explanation. She’s the only one. The great savior of Decylum, and its deserter. The only healer who’s ever lived since the gift’s inception.
“Take off your bandages,” Raith said.
“They still hurt a whole coffing lot,” said Merrick.
“Of course they do. You’re going to ignite every time you externalize your gift, just like the rest of us do. But when you’re not using the gift, your body is absorbing that power and using it for its own purposes. This happened two days ago, you said? Take off your bandages and look at your hands now.”
Merrick unwrapped the first bandage to reveal the nailless finger underneath. It was no longer red and blistered, but creamy and supple, like a newborn baby’s flesh.
“It all makes so much sense,” said Merrick, still dumbfounded. He stared at his hands with a vacant look. “So much sense… that I still don’t believe it. My whole life, I’ve been able to cure myself from the inside, without ever knowing it was happening.”
“Come with us,” Raith said. “Come back to Decylum. I told you I would teach you. Belmond isn’t where you belong. Decylum is your true home.”
That seemed to bring Merrick back to his senses. “What… I can’t do that. I can’t help you. I’ll lose my job.”
The young man is headstrong, but he’ll come around now that he knows the truth, Raith told himself. He tried not to yell, though he felt his passion boiling up to the surface. “Your life until today doesn’t matter anymore. You have a new destiny. Why should this place be of any importance to you now?”