by Ann Bakshis
As I walk around the bed, the floorboard under my left foot creaks loudly as it bends, causing a section of the wall in front of me to pop slightly out of place.
I take hold of the piece to shove it back into place when I notice it has hinges. Swinging it wide, I see a small room. There aren’t any windows, so I grope in the dark looking for a light source. I find a small knob on the wall next to the door and turn it. Lights come on over my head, illuminating a workbench against the wall to the right, a few shelves covered with odd trinkets, and a large drawing hanging on the wall to the left. I go in further to examine the illustration. A rough sketch of Nuceira takes up most of the top half of the page. The small house we’re in isn’t present, but there are a lot of little squares with initials lining practically the entire bottom half of the page.
“Meg, where are you?” I hear Tobin call from somewhere in the house.
“I’m in here.”
He joins me a few minutes later, squeezing himself carefully through the tiny opening. He looks over the picture, noticing the markings at the bottom. I change my focus to the workbench as he moves behind me to get a better look at the sketch. Lined against the back wall on top of the bench are clay pots stained in blood, but the markings are old and brown. Their contents empty. Small stains cover the workbench, outlining whatever containers the blood had been poured into.
From outside the room we hear Gage, another lieutenant, call out. “Tobin, come out here.”
We exit the room, turning the light off, and closing the door behind us. As we leave the bedroom and enter the front room, I see Jagger standing in the entrance to the house, soaking wet, a sack flung over his shoulder. His face and arms are gouged with blast marks, and there’s a deep cut on his forehead. Keller and Gage remove the sack of clothing from Jagger’s shoulder and place it on the couch.
“You said you wouldn’t leave without him so I came up with my own plan,” Jagger says to me. He gives me a wan smile, then collapses onto the floor. Meg is disappointed Jagger did this on his own – for me – while Trea applauds his spirit.
Gage goes outside while Tobin and another guard named Rey help Jagger back onto his feet, half dragging him into the bedroom. I walk over to the couch, staring at the mound of rags. Keller goes into the kitchen and brings back a cup of water. The lump begins to shift, slowly pulling itself into a sitting position. The man brushes the hair from his eyes and accepts the cup in shaky dirty hands. His cheeks are shallow, his torn filthy clothes sagging off of his bony frame. Is the brown color of his hair natural, or dirt? I’m not sure if Lehen is exactly what I expected, or the opposite.
Chapter 22
Lehen takes slow methodical sips, a few drops running down his parched, cracked lips. Keller leaves us as Tobin calls for him.
“How long have you been here, Lehen?” I ask, after bringing him a fresh cup of water.
“I think almost a year, but I’m not sure.” He stares at me, seemingly puzzled by what he sees. “Who are you?”
“Trea.”
He struggles to smile.
I go into the kitchen and locate a bowl, an old worn towel, and a mangled bar of soap. I fill the bowl with warm water and carry my items back to the front room. I soak the towel in the water then scrub the soap bar, trying to get a lather.
“Tell me what happened,” I whisper, as I begin to wash the grime from his face.
“My protector told me if anything were ever to happen to him that I should try and make my way back to the Dormitories. He made me memorize the location, as well as a way to get there.” He winces slightly as I touch a tender spot on his forehead.
“Why did he tell you to go back to the Dormitories?”
“He said the protectors had made a pact that the Antaeans would return to the place where it all started once we had turned eighteen. He told me the Antaeans were designed to have reached their full abilities at that age. That is how Dr. Hersher designed us.”
“Devlan never mentioned any of this to me. He never divulged my true self until after his death.” I walk into the kitchen to refill the bowl with fresh water. I look up at the window above the sink and catch a glimpse of Lehen in the reflection, an evasive look upon his face.
I kneel back down in front of him, lathering the towel once again.
“What went wrong?” I ask, as I begin working the damp cloth on his hands.
“My protector was killed during a raid on one of the storage areas Acheron uses for their medical supplies. I barely escaped with my life.”
I stop midway up his arm as Jagger begins to scream. I close my eyes, trying to block out the world around me, as he howls in agony.
Fear of his pain and the possibility of losing him again, this time for real, freezes me.
I feel Lehen take my hand, removing the cloth from my clenched fingers. He squeezes as the volume intensifies inside my head.
“Tell me how you got here,” I inquire through gritted teeth, my eyes still clamped shut.
“I found the Dormitories. It took me several months to get there, and I wasn’t the first one to come home.” I open my eyes and look into Lehen’s pink scrubbed face.
“Quin.”
He nods his head.
“It was almost like he was expecting me. I came up a ridge that flanks the south side of the complex and there he was, standing under a lone oak tree. He was leaning against the trunk, bending a blade of grass in his fingers. He told me I was the second one to come home, that the others hadn’t shown up yet. I looked past him, spying the remains of the Dormitories, which appeared to be about a mile north and below the ridge. I swore I could still see smoke rising from the blackened granite. Screams seemed to drift along the breeze as it floated past.” He gets a distant look in his eyes
I shake his hand, trying to get him to focus back on the present. “Is that when they took you?”
“No,” he says faintly. “They came the night Vier arrived.”
The screaming stops. Keller walks out of the bedroom, his hands covered in blood. He goes to the kitchen sink and tries to scrub it off. Gage enters, with Braxton following. Slung over Braxton’s shoulder is a large burlap sack, which he sets gently down onto an armchair by the couch.
“What’s going on here?” he asks, after he removes the Morrigan head armor from his face.
“It’s Jagger, sir,” Keller begins, as he dries his hands on his clothes. “He’s more injured than we thought. He may not make it through the night.”
Braxton tells Keller and Gage to take turns keeping watch, while he goes into the bedroom.
“Tell me about Vier.” I want Lehen to continue talking, as it’s a distraction for me.
“Quin and I’d spent most of our time scavenging through the old buildings looking for whatever we could find. We camped out at night in the woods to the east, never wanting to be near the Dormitories when it was dark. One day, two months after my arrival, Quin left the camp. It had to have been during the night because he was gone by the time I woke up. We were almost out of firewood, so after a quick meal of canned fruit that we had taken from a transport who was delivering supplies to a hatchery, I headed deeper into the woods, making several trips back to the campsite with heavy bundles.”
He sighs deeply, almost as if trying to catch his breath.
“My fourth trip back, I found Vier sitting next to a freshly made fire. Winter was starting to approach, but Quin and I only built a fire at night to keep warm.”
Lehen shivers, pulling his feet up under him on the couch. I leave my perch on the floor and sit next to him.
“He asked me if I knew where Quintus was. I said I didn’t, but he wouldn’t accept that, even though that’s all I could tell him. I asked him how long he’d been in the area…did he just arrive…if he knew where the others were. He simply told me it would be best if I left the place. I asked him why, but he only repeated that I should leave. As he got up to go, I noticed he was carrying one of the satchels of food that we had stolen, along with
a Pugio blade slung over his back. But what made the biggest impression was when he pulled off the hood that had been covering his face. When he was sitting down I only saw the left side of his face. After he removed the hood, he brought his full face into view.”
Lehen closes his eyes, either trying to focus on the image or block it out.
“A bright blue, jagged scar snaked down from his right eye, across his cheek, and around his neck, ending at his collar bone. Pieces of brown flesh poked out in spots along the scar. His right eye appeared to be dead with the exception of the iris, which was bright blue.” Lehen reopens his eyes, and looks down.
He strokes my arm, following the path of the Quantum Stream shining under my shirt.
I feel sickened by his touch. I carefully remove his hand, placing it back down at his side.
“Did Vier ever tell you how he got the scar?”
“No, he just turned around and walked away. The Morrigan came that night.”
“Trea!”
My name echoes through the house.
I get up from the couch and rush back towards the bedroom. Braxton meets me at the door, blocking my view into the room.
“Trea!”
At first I thought it was Braxton who summoned me, but it’s Jagger. I know this is going to be bad, as he’s never called me by my real name before.
“Let me pass,” I say to Braxton, who continues to block my way.
“You don’t want to go in there,” he replies, stepping closer.
Jagger lets out another howl. Braxton sees I’m not backing down, so he steps aside to let me by.
The sheets of the bed that were once white are now deep crimson. Jagger’s many wounds continue to bleed no matter how much pressure is placed upon them. He thrashes as pain spasms seize his body. Tobin steps aside, allowing me to pass so I can be by Jagger’s side. I brush the blonde tresses that keeping falling into his face. He turns his head towards me, tears welling in his eyes.
“Trea,” he whispers, a small smile forming on his tight face.
I feel my shoulder being bumped and look over to see Tobin tapping the handle of a Levin gun against my back.
“Jagger wants you to do it,” he says to me, voice cracking with emotion.
“No. I won’t.” I turn my head away.
“Please,” Jagger gasps, gripping my arm, leaving behind bloody impressions.
“He’s dying, Trea.” Braxton states in a matter of fact manner. “This is the only way to ease his suffering.”
“I won’t do it,” I protest, tears welling in my eyes.
I try to move away, but Jagger is in the middle of a seizure causing his muscles to contract, tightening his grip on my arm.
“Trea, I’m ordering you to do this,” Braxton shouts at me. “As a soldier you have an obligation to follow orders.”
Anger begins to build inside.
My right arm is on fire with delight.
I take the gun from Tobin and aim it at Jagger’s chest while the others begin to recede to the other end of the room.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him, as my finger begins to tighten on the trigger.
I begin to sweat as the air around me dramatically increases in temperature.
“No, wait,” I hear Lehen shout from the doorway.
I barely hear him through the pulse of blood coursing through my veins. His sudden appearance causes me to hesitate, as if I’m waiting for an absolution.
“There’s another way,” Lehen says, as his hand guides the gun down to my side.
He removes the gun from my hand, giving it back to Tobin.
“Keep him comfortable. Trea, come with me,” Lehen says, as he takes my hand, escorting me out of the room.
Braxton follows the two of us out.
“We’re going to need that,” Lehen says, as he points to the Morrigan uniform Braxton is still wearing.
“What for?” he asks, walking closer to Lehen, whose energy has surged.
“To get into the city. Specifically, the healer’s den.”
“You’re not going back in there, and neither is she,” Braxton shouts, pointing at me. “Now let’s calm down and discuss this.”
“No. The longer we wait the less time we have to save Jagger.”
“What’s in the healer’s den?” I ask, trying to get Lehen and Braxton to back off from each other.
“You were taken down to the chamber, like me, correct? They drained you too, right?”
“If you mean the room with the stone table and the bloodletting, then yes.”
“The doctor who collected your blood has refined a process to remove the Quarum and synthesize it. Anyone who injects the substance, Antaean or not, will experience our advanced healing ability…the body will self-repair.”
Realization dawns on me. The hypocritical coward! “That’s the real reason the Parson wants the Antaeans, isn’t it? So he can save himself from ever dying?”
“Yes. The supply they harvested from me only lasted a few months each time, and then the Parson’s body started to break down, so he had to keep injecting himself. However with your blood, he won’t have to replenish every couple of months. The supply he took from you will last years. It will work the same on Jagger.”
“Braxton, give Lehen the uniform,” I say forcefully.
“Trea, let’s think about this.” Braxton walks over to me, placing himself between Lehen and I. “I know you care for Jagger, but you don’t know what that stuff will do to him…if it will even work at all.”
“It works on Parson Mathan. And anyway, I have to try.”
“Then I’m going with you. But Lehen is staying here.”
“Why?” he protests.
“Because you’re not well enough. You’ll only slow us down.”
“Captain,” Keller calls from the doorway. “What if we all go? I don’t relish the idea of staying here, and we should all stick together.”
“Carrying Jagger will only slow us down,” Braxton retorts. “Besides, moving him might kill him. No, we’ll stick with just the two of us going in. If you run into any trouble while you are out here, head for the woods.”
“You’ll only be able to go two miles into the forest before a trap is set off,” Lehen chimes in. “No one has ever reached the boundary.”
The group agrees not to venture far from the house even if they are forced to leave. Braxton makes sure the weapons he has confiscated are fully functional. I’m outfitted with a Morrigan uniform that he brought back with him in the sack.
Lehen gives us directions on finding the healer’s den. Before leaving I secure my knife into a hilt attached to my belt, along with a Levin gun. I say a silent goodbye to Jagger, who has passed out from the pain. Braxton and I leave the small house then enter the tunnel just as the sun is rising.
The battered body of a Morrigan lies between the caskets as we enter the tomb. His body is clothed only in an undershirt and shorts.
“You’re wearing his uniform,” Braxton says to me, as we step over the corpse’s outstretched legs.
I’m a little uncomfortable with the thought, but Trea just shrugs.
We retreat down the stairs, reach the hidden door, and listen for sounds on the other side. Feet run past, then there’s silence. Braxton begins to lean on the door to open it, but I stop him. My hearing is better than his and I hear someone else approaching. Another set of pounding feet hurry by, then I nod that it’s safe. We quickly step inside, carefully closing the door behind us. Braxton picks up the pace as we head north.
We enter the portion of the tunnel that runs under the prison in about ten minutes. Several Morrigan pass us as we go, but don’t stop us as they believe we’re on patrol. I catch my breath as one asks Braxton if he’s seen any more disturbances, but Braxton answers no and the other man leaves down another hallway.
We continue our way past the prison, still heading north. The tunnel divides into three branches and we take the path on the far left, as Lehen instructed. It curves in accor
dance with the circular structure of the chapel above. We enter into an anteroom that has a set of stone steps leading up to the surface, along with a door on our right. We try the door, but it’s locked. Braxton uses his shoulder against the door, and after some effort, the door finally gives way.
Braxton closes the door behind us and we proceed with caution down the narrow hall. I remove my gun from its holster, side-stepping my way through the dim light of the flickering sconces on the walls. Faint music begins to permeate the air, a haunting melody that grows louder the closer we get to its source. A wooden door stands slightly ajar at the end of the hall, bright light pulsating through the opening. The music is now almost deafening.
We peek through and see the doctor hunched over his workstation, hands floating in the air as if he were conducting the music himself. The room is a small round chamber. Flasks line most of the shelves along the wall on my right; chemicals perfuming the air. I spot the clay pots that had been used to collect my blood sitting empty on a table against the far wall. I draw my gun as we approach, removing my mask for better visibility. Braxton on my left draws his as well, but leaves his mask on.
The doctor begins to pour a clear liquid from one large beaker into smaller vials. Braxton and I remain standing behind him, not saying a word until he’s finished.
“How does that work?” I ask once I’m sure he won’t drop the vial.
He turns around on his stool, face pale with fright.
“One shout from me and security will be here in moments,” he stammers.
“Not with that racket playing,” Braxton says with a smirk.
“It’s not racket, it’s a classic,” the doctor hisses, sounding offended. “Beethoven’s Symphony Number Seven is not a racket.”
My memory drifts back to my time at the Dormitories. I remember myself as a toddler watching war films with this song playing in the background. Then I realize where I know this man from.
“Dr. Baccus.”
“Hello Trea…I was wondering when you would remember me. Music has a profound impact on the memory. It can help us recall the minutest details,” he begins, climbing down from his stool and walking over to the device that is blasting the noise. “Obviously you remember this from battle conditioning.” He goes to turn down the music, but Braxton points his weapon, stopping him.