“Of course not,” I smile. I am hardly in any position to be taking care of Alex right now, either physically or emotionally.
“I still can’t believe it was Kenneth who did this to you,” he murmurs. “He was always so caring, so honourable.”
“He’s neither of those things. He’s a monster.”
“It’s just hard to believe.” I recall that Aidan and Kenneth had become close when Aidan was living in the Rebeldom. In fact, it had been Kenneth who had comforted me when Aidan was kidnapped by Eric.
“What were you thinking about?” Momentarily distracted, I don’t understand his question.
“What?”
“You said you needed to think. What were you thinking about?”
“My abilities,” I admit. There is no point in denying it any longer.
“You’re worried they might not come back?” he asks, and I nod. “Would that be such a bad thing?” His voice is so low I have to strain to hear him. “You almost died,” he continues, his voice stronger now. “These Gifts . . . they’ve brought you nothing but pain and heartache. Without them you would never have been taken, never been tortured. You would never have left us . . .”
I know now that he is talking about a lot more than just my recent ordeal. Aidan is bringing up what happened four years ago when I left him and Alex to infiltrate Eric Dane’s organisation, and everything in between.
“If your father had never found you we could have stayed in Michigan,” he continues, powerless to stop himself, like a train that has been derailed. “We would never have been any the wiser, and we could have grown old together.”
“What are you saying?” I am frowning now.
“That ignorance is bliss.” He lifts his head and a lifetime of regret passes between us.
“We can’t change the past.”
“But if your abilities don’t come back,” he persists, “you’ll have to accept that your part in this war is over.”
“I am the leader of the Legion!” My voice rises in outrage. “My part in this war will not be over until NUSA is defeated. Gifts or no Gifts, Aidan, I will fight!”
“Then you will die!”
“So be it!”
At this, he gets to his feet angrily and stalks over to stand before me. “I lost my father to this war, Rebecca. I will not lose you too.”
“Oh Aidan,” I bite my tongue as my resolve weakens, and I force myself to think only of Kenneth Williams, “I’m not yours to lose.”
A myriad of emotions passes over his face – shock, hurt and embarrassment among them. His hands ball into fists and he takes a deep breath through gritted teeth.
“I guess I already knew that,” he murmurs. “I’m too late. I pushed you right into his arms, didn’t I?” He gives a harsh, scornful laugh. It was true. When Aidan’s memory was lost, he had told me categorically that I meant nothing to him – he had even gone so far as to encourage my relationship with Reed. By the time he had started to feel something for me, I had made my decision.
“This has got nothing to do with him.” I don’t know what makes me say it, but I cannot let him think I have chosen Reed over him. I am sick of their petty fighting, their constant power struggle. “I don’t want to be with either of you,” I add coldly.
Aidan considers this. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Doesn’t it?”
“If you think that, you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” He turns around and walks the short distance to the door. Swinging it open, he turns back to stare at me, his hand resting on the doorknob. “What happened to you?” he whispers, and the next moment he is gone. The door slams shut and I am left alone in the semi-darkness, pondering the meaning of his question.
I cannot get back to sleep. Guilt is tugging at my conscience. In my self-absorption, I had forgotten that Aidan did not know that his father Jonathan had been killed protecting our son Alex. I had kept it from him when he was suffering from amnesia, but someone must have told him when he got his memory back. I had wanted to be the one to tell him. Thinking about Jonathan – the only father I had known for nineteen years – threatens to break my resolve and, unbidden, a memory of a time long past sweeps me away from my lonely room.
“They’ll kill us if they catch us,” I whispered, casting terrified glances over my shoulder.
“They won’t catch us,” Aidan murmured, with all the confidence of a twelve-year-old boy.
“What if they do?”
“They won’t! Just take this.” He shoved a torch into my outstretched hand and got to his feet, a coil of rope looped over his arms.
Under the cover of darkness, we made our way two blocks downtown to the construction site. I eyed the warning signs warily.
“Aidan, I don’t think we should . . .”
“Bex, stop worrying. You sound like my dad,” he whined. We were standing beneath the scaffolding, and I had to crane my neck to see the top of it.
“Are you sure I won’t fall?”
“Are you scared, scaredy cat?” he taunted. “You can stay here if you want – it’s not your fault I’m braver than you!”
“Am not!” As if to prove it, I reached up and grabbed the horizontal bar, pulling myself up. Aidan started to climb too, and he passed me easily.
“Slowcoach!” he called, goading me, and I picked up my pace, snatching at the next bar. Suddenly, my foot slipped off the beam below and I gave a shriek of terror. I was hanging by my arms, my feet scissoring below me, trying to find my footing. I could see Aidan streaking down towards me, and I could hear him urging me to hang on, but I couldn’t, my arms were burning with the effort of holding my weight and my hands were already slipping. I knew I was not going to be able to hold on even as his face appeared above me.
“Aidan!” I yelled as I fell, hitting the bar below me painfully, and then I collided with the ground, landing hard on my left arm.
It took him only a minute to get back down, landing like a cat beside me in the dirt.
“Bex! Are you okay?”
I didn’t answer, my elbow hurt too badly to speak. Crying and clutching my arm, I let him help me to my feet and we shuffled all the way home.
“Do you think you’ll be able to hide it?” he asked as we neared the house, and I shook my head pitifully, doubling over with renewed sobbing. “Okay, wait here.” Gathering himself together, he released me, opened the swing door and disappeared into the dark house.
Through my tears, I saw Jonathan emerge a minute or two later, bending low to avoid hitting his head on the door frame. I knew I should be frightened, but instead all I felt was relief. Jonathan would fix everything, he always did. He had always made me feel safe, for as long as I could remember. His giant hands were warm as he gently lifted my arm. I gave a cry of pain, and he scooped me up into his arms and carried me into the house, Aidan following silently behind us.
The next afternoon Jonathan took us for a walk. My mother had barely spoken a word since we left the doctor’s room that morning. Nervously, I picked at the plaster cast on my left arm. Aidan couldn’t seem to bear the sight of it and he studiously avoided looking at me. I thought it was because I had got him into trouble. When we reached the orchards, Jonathan bent down, placing one knee on the grass so that he was able to look Aidan in the eye. I expected the dressing-down of a lifetime, but instead his voice remained calm as he took me gently by the shoulders and drew me forward so that Aidan could see me clearly. He grimaced as Jonathan lifted my plaster cast up and under his nose.
“Do you want to see Becca get hurt?” Jonathan asked, and Aidan shook his head. “She looks up to you, Aidan. You are older, and you should set an example. You’re not doing that.”
“It’s not my fault she fell off – it’s her tiny twig arms! She’s too little to try stuff, she should just have stayed at home.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” I snapped in petulant outrage.
“Is that what you really want?” Jonathan asked his son. “Have you outgrown Becca? Because if you have, you should play with the other kids your age, and let her play with girls her own age.”
“No,” Aidan answered before Jonathan had even finished. “They’re mean to her.”
“Then she is your responsibility,” Jonathan continued in his deep melodic voice and I flushed in embarrassment. I hated it when they talked about me like this – as if I was an incompetent child. “You need to look out for her – keep her safe. Can I trust you to do that?”
Aidan looked at me then, as though seeing me for the first time. Then he nodded slowly.
The day my cast came off, I raced to the orchard to find Aidan.
“When are we going to try again?” I whispered, keeping a close eye on our parents.
“We’re not,” he answered firmly.
“But . . .”
“But nothing, Bex. We’re not doing it again. It was a stupid idea.” He stalked off, and I sat down on the soft grass, scratching my arm and sulking. I was so caught up in my dour mood that I didn’t notice Jonathan’s small satisfied smile.
My room has fallen dark and I push the memories away. I had forgotten Aidan’s recklessness. He had been the trouble-seeker, the daredevil, until that night. After that, he had steered us clear of danger, keeping me out of mischief. I goaded him incessantly, missing our adventures, but eventually I had simply let it be and followed his lead.
The evening is balmy, and a sheen of sweat covers my body. I lift my dark hair off my shoulders and then I tug on my pants and my shoes and head outside, desperate to escape the hot, stifling quiet. I don’t want to think. I make my way to the dining hall. Only Veronica and Jethro are there, Veronica tidying up in that quiet, contented way of hers. Jethro is sitting with his feet up on one of the tables, chatting amiably to her. He is so like Mason with his olive skin and his dark hair. It is only the birthmark on the left side of Mason’s face that sets them apart.
“Rebecca,” Veronica smiles shyly when she catches sight of me. “Are you hungry?”
“A bit,” I admit, taking a seat opposite Jethro. He doesn’t look at me at first, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. I refuse to apologise for what I said earlier about Mason. It is the truth – Mason did those terrible things to me and he is going to be punished.
Veronica returns with a bowl of steaming stew and I eat quickly, desperate to be gone. The scalding liquid burns my mouth as I scoop up spoonful after spoonful. Veronica tries to make conversation but gives up after only a few moments, sensing the tension in the air.
“Thank you.” Picking up my bowl, I get to my feet but she waves me away.
“I’ll get that,” she offers kindly. I hesitate, wondering if I should speak now, if I should explain to Jethro exactly what happened back at the prison, but I don’t.
I creep into the gymnasium, making as little noise as possible. I need to be away from prying eyes to do this. There are only a few lights on at the far end of the room and I make my way to the shelf where Kwan keeps his weapons. Ignoring my beloved Bo staff, I select a Hanbo. The Hanbo is only half the length of the Bo and is much lighter, making it easier to manoeuvre. Confident of my decision, I move away from the shelves into the centre of the gymnasium. Taking a deep breath, I lift the Hanbo and test the weight in my hand, bouncing it up and down. The smooth wood feels at once both strange and familiar. I take hold of it in both hands, gripping it firmly, and I jab it forward, throwing all my weight onto my front leg. The movement is fluid enough, but it lacks the strength behind it to be effective if I were actually attacking someone. I try again, and again, feeling more frustrated at each weak attempt. I lift it above my head and start to spin it, one hand crossing the other. I have trained extensively with these weapons and, again, my technique is flawless but the movements are slow and unimpressive. Disgusted with myself, I drop the staff in a loud clatter to the floor.
“You need to train your primary weapon before you move on to others,” Kwan’s voice emanates from the darkness near the door. I can just make him out, a tall shadow breaking apart from the others and advancing towards me. “Your body,” he explains when he gets nearer, “your body is your primary weapon. Focus on that. The rest will come.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Training,” he replies simply. “Tomorrow I want you on the track field at 6.30.”
I return the Hanbo to the corner and run my hand longingly down the Bo staff.
“It will come back to you, Rebecca.” Kwan is right beside me. “Give it time.”
“I don’t have time! Kenneth Williams wants our community gone, he won’t stop until he destroys us all and eliminates the opposition.”
“He won’t find us here any time soon,” he reassures me. “But I don’t believe that is the real reason you are in such a hurry.”
“I want him gone.”
“Because of what he did to you?”
“Yes!”
“Revenge is no way to win a war.”
“I’m not in the mood for your ancient philosophies right now, old friend.” I turn back to the Bo staff.
“You are in a dark place, Rebecca. I can see it. I hear you told Jethro you intend to kill his brother.”
“His brother almost killed me. It’s nothing less than he deserves.”
“That may be true,” he concedes, “but did you consider the fact that Jethro may need some time to come to terms with it?”
“You’re saying I should have softened the blow? Been more sensitive to his feelings?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not listening to me. I don’t have time to tiptoe around everybody’s feelings.”
“That includes Reed and Aidan, I’m guessing.”
“I don’t want to talk about them.”
“Of course you don’t. But tell me, Rebecca, how do you propose to win this war without Reed?”
“Reed will fight. He believes in the cause.”
“He believes in you,” he corrects. “As we all do. Without you, the Legion would fall apart. How can you expect them to follow you when they don’t even like you?”
“Who’s being insensitive now?” I raise my eyebrows.
“You need to let go of your fear, only then will you make peace with what has happened. There is a darkness in you, Rebecca. It will fester and grow and, if you allow it to, it will consume you. Stop holding on to it or it will destroy everything you have worked for.”
“I’m not afraid. Are you going to help me or not?”
“Tomorrow,” he sighs. “At 6.30.”
chapter 6
The following morning I am waiting on the outdoor track field when Kwan arrives. Michael is with him.
“Hi, Rebecca!” Michael calls, cheerful as ever. He is completely impervious to my grey mood.
“Hey,” I raise my brows in question at Kwan.
“Michael trains track,” he replies nonchalantly. “And I’m needed in the dojo. You’re in good hands.”
“So, shall we get to it?” Michael rubs his hands together to ward off the cold.
Twenty minutes later I want to scream with frustration. Michael is running circles around me, all the while keeping up a running commentary of encouragement. I am slow, far too slow. I could probably still outrun Jenna, and my natural fitness is resurfacing, but my abilities are nowhere to be seen. Michael has always challenged me, determined to best me in a race, but even he seems disappointed by the lack of competition.
“So, you really took a knock, huh?” He runs his hands through his tousled blond hair and gives me the kind of look you reserve for someone’s deathbed. I scowl, and he quickly rearranges his features into a carefree, goofy grin. “It’ll come back, of course. I bet I’ll be eating your dus
t in no time. And you did really well, considering,” he adds graciously.
I avert my eyes from the sympathy of his kind gaze, and a movement on the other side of the track catches my attention. I shield my eyes and discern five grubby looking men crouched on the stands, watching us intently.
“Who are they?” I ask, and Michael swings around to look.
“The Lakeside Five,” he answers. “They were here when we arrived, put up a bit of a fuss when they realised we were staying. Adam and Kwan usually deal with them.”
“I can’t see that they would pose much of a threat.”
“They were armed when we arrived. I doubt they have much ammo – they were probably hoping to intimidate us into leaving.”
“What happened?”
“Kwan took their guns off them before they even knew what was happening. He gave them back though, shortly afterwards. Once they had seen what the Legion was capable of they backed off, but they stick to themselves. You’d think they would be grateful, considering how much food the town is supplying us now. Adam’s been explaining things to them – he seems to think he’s making progress, but I don’t see it.”
I stare up at the five men thoughtfully. As far as I can tell they are unarmed. “Do they still carry their guns?”
“Nah. I think they keep them down in the marksmanship centre.”
“I’d better go. I’ll see you later, Michael.” I jog back towards the dining hall, my muscles aching in protest. My father is engaged in conversation near the east wall, but I head straight for the serving centre. I am ravenous but as I reach for a plate I spot Jenna and Chase sitting a few tables away with their heads together. Dropping my plate with a loud clatter, I march over to my father. Surprisingly, he looks weary as he notices my approach.
“I want him out of here,” I point across at Chase.
“Forget your manners, Tiny?” I turn to find Reed glaring at me, his eyes bright with annoyance. “We were in the middle of a conversation,” he continues, gesturing between my father and himself.
The Legend Page 4