by EF Joyce
Chapter 24
I
The dirty, gray walls pressed in on him, the king of Arcadia himself staring him down with cold green eyes, the commander in one corner and the sorcerer in the other, none of them happy that he'd just cost them the lives of a hundred elite soldiers. Tell me everything you know about the rebellion, the king had just asked him.
To lie or not to lie? Giving up the information he possessed, like Damien's identity and powers, would cost the rebellion everything. He would never do such a thing willingly, but if Adrian could really read his mind, it didn't matter. If he lied, the sorcerer would know it, but that didn't necessarily mean he would be able to pull the truth from Drexel's mind, did it? His life or the rebellion's; a simple choice.
"They took me after I sneaked out," he said. "I go out at night sometime, to get outta the barracks. Got back and the whole place was boarded up. All the guards dead. I was barely standing there a minute and they shot me up with some needle. Woke up in a cell. Was dark. They tortured me to see if I was working for Arcadia. Then they tested my magic. Made me enchant stuff all day long.
"I never left the cell. They brung my meals and I shit in a bucket. The night I got out, they came in super drunk-like. Partying all of 'em. I could hear it from my room. One guy came in an' I told him I had to show him somethin'. He came close and I touched him with my magic. Made him think I was his friend. Told him to lead me out an' he did. Then I ran right here cuz everyone knows Brigade 34 is the best, close to Arcadia."
Drexel paused staring down at the table, not daring to meet the king's eyes. The whole story had been neatly provided by Damien, who'd also encouraged him to drop into his Unders' slang to make it more believable. But it didn't matter how convincing he was if the sorcerer announced that he was lying and then they tortured him and asked him again. Repeat until they liked his story. Damien had promised his magic would be worth too much to waste, but surely the king hated the rebellion more than he wanted one magic user, no matter how powerful. To any god that's listening, please let me be strong enough to keep my mouth shut.
"He's telling the truth," the robed sorcerer said. Drexel's head snapped up in surprise, then as he realized he was being obvious, he lowered his gaze just as quickly. Why would the sorcerer lie for him? Wait, he was a member of the syndicate, wasn't he? Drexel had never tried to follow Arcadian politics, but he was pretty sure of the sorcerer's position. Was he one of the rebellion's men? He had to be.
"So you're just a hopeless fool rather than a suicidal agent," the king pondered aloud. "I'm not sure which is worse, but we can probably use you. Explain your magic to me again. Do you control thoughts? Actions? Did you compel that rebel to let you go?"
"No, it don't work that way," Drexel replied, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. "It's more like...illusions. I make myself look like other people, steal the faces of other soldiers. They can say no, but they're thinking I'm this other guy, so they do what I ask. And I can make people think they don't see me. I can make them think they see shit that's not there, but they still decide what they gonna do about what they're seeing, and if they try to touch it the illusion breaks."
"Interesting. I have never the seen the like," the king said, eying him like a shiny new weapon. Perhaps that's exactly what he was. "Well, you will make an excellent addition to our magic division. Almost worth the death of all those soldiers, but not quite. Hale, wrap this up, and then come see me in my apartments. We're not done discussing this disaster you've created."
"Yes, your Majesty," the commander said, boldly meeting the king's gaze, not shaken in the slightest. His uniform was dirty and spattered with blood, grime smeared on his face and in his dark hair, yet he so sure of himself, confident even in his errors. Compared to the well-dressed, trim and elegant king, Drexel already knew which was the stronger man, no matter how much he despised him.
The king left and the sorcerer followed, closing the door behind him. Drexel swore he heard a lock click and then he was alone in a windowless room with the commander himself. The man he'd led into a trap and cost him the lives of a hundred men, along with the king's good graces and maybe even his job. He wished he could go unnoticed right now, but the commander was too focused on him. Drexel glanced up at the tall and intimidating older man, preparing for the worst. Contrary to his every expectation, the commander broke into a wide smile.
"Damn, Drexel GHQ357889" he said. "Damien was right about you. You're a fantastic asset to the rebellion. Willing to put your life on the line, to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. You're even better than I'd expected."
"Um...what?" Drexel sputtered, feeling the floor had just dropped out from under him. The commander of the entire Arcadian Army was a member of the rebellion?
"I'm not just a mere member of the rebellion. I'm the Monarch," he smiled again, clearly relishing in Drexel's shock. "Although I pretend for the king that I'm furious, I'm damn thrilled we got all those soldiers killed. And now you, the perfect asset, delivered right into my hands."
"But...I don't understand. You're the commander. And what about the sorcerer? Why didn't he tell the king I was lying? Is he with the rebellion too?" Drexel's head was spinning. Had every official in Arcadia turned their coats outside the royal family? And if so, why were they still in power?
"Adrian? No, Adrian is a loyal Arcadian. He's actually not even a sorcerer. He's got no magic at all, and once you've honed your craft a little, you'll be able to sense that. I can teach you."
"You're a magic user?" he said, shocked all over again. How many secrets was the commander going to drop on him in one sitting?
"Like you, I was born here in The Unders. Arcadia took me for my magic, but I told the king I wanted to join the military. I wanted to be a warrior, not a coward hiding behind magic. He respected that. I proposed an idea, and knowing what an asset I was, the king agreed. Adrian is my cover. Whenever the king needs my magic, he brings in both of us. We've worked out a nonverbal system so that I can let Adrian know what I'm seeing. For the last twenty years, it's worked beautifully."
"So, you started the rebellion because you're an Underling? And you it's bad so you want to fix it? Why? You could have had the perfect life up there. Why bother with us?"
"You would rather I walked away? Joined Arcadia and never looked back? I created this rebellion to change the world. Arcadia is a dream filled with lies. They use us until we drop dead and then replace us with our children and theirs, forever, until we stop it. I did this so that no one would suffer as I have. When Arcadia took me, they wouldn't allow me to bring my three-old-son. Just a baby, helpless and with only me to look after him, but did Arcadia give a shit? No.
"With their system of population control, allowing my child would be denying a citizen a child of their own. So I left him down here and I hated myself and the royals and Arcadia more every day until it burned so hot I had to do something, anything. So I developed this plan and twenty years later, I've nearly finished." Drexel blinked, thinking fast.
"Damien," he said, realizing suddenly. "He's your son, isn't he? That's why you trust him to lead the rebellion." How had he not noticed before now? In looks, Damien was the very image of the man standing in front of him, only younger. But why would the commander confide all these things in Drexel? It made no sense, especially after Damien had just told him he couldn't take that risk.
"Damien told you exactly what I instructed him to. He's made me proud, and soon he will join me in Arcadia. To answer your question, I trust you because I can see your thoughts, your feelings, your allegiances. Damien said the same thing to you, I'm sure. But in magic, I am a step above my son. I can also push thoughts into people's minds, as surely as if they were their own.
"Not even the king knows I can do this, it would make me far too dangerous," he smiled darkly, the look of a man who had absolute power over you and knew it. "I will never allow you to betray the rebellion. Even if you were captured and tortured I would take control of your thoughts and h
old your silence for you." In that moment Drexel understood his mistake. Faifax Hale owned him, all the way down to his very thoughts. Freedom was an illusion. But wouldn't he give up that freedom to take down Arcadia?
"Now, let's get you settled into your new life as a citizen, and then I'll have a job for you."
"I'll do anything you ask. Anything. But you gotta take care of Haydi. And before I go up there I wanna to see her," he glared at the commander, hoping he looked stronger and braver than he felt. Sure, Hale could push his thoughts and make him do what he wanted, but Drexel could make it hard. He could resist with all his might, force the commander push him through every last step. Or he could take care of Haydi and Drexel wouldn't protest at all.
Your choice, commander.
"Very well, but make it quick. I don't want to keep the king waiting."
II
Together they left Brigade 34 and walked out into the early morning light, reflecting pale yellow through the toxic haze. The commander led Drexel through the winding, rubble strewn alleys to a living stack close the city's center. Growing up, Haydi and Drexel had lived in the Orange Zone, in a stack that had had a hole blown in the side from one of the many Arcadian bomb drops. Each time they had left their own one room apartment, they'd had to don their gas masks for fear of the leak. At age twelve, Haydi fourteen, Drexel had lost his mother to an overdose and they'd been left to fend for themselves.
Both of them had gotten jobs at a factory and relocated to a nicer stack on the outskirts of the Yellow; one tiny room with two mats, a bucket for the necessary business and a sealed barrel for water. The whole complex was air locked and they'd also had well access - for scrubby Underling factory workers they had been practically wealthy. On the day everything fell apart, Drexel had been thirteen, Haydi fifteen. The factory two blocks – if you could call the ruined streets such things – from their complex had been on strike. One of the child workers had been killed by faulty machinery and they were protesting working conditions, demanding regular maintenance.
Arcadian soldiers had been everywhere, firing on the protesters and attempting to break up the riot. Dozens died but the workers would not be moved. Given advanced warning of a bomb drop on the area, the soldiers had hid wherever cover could be found – including Haydi and Drexel's living stack. After the bombs went off, some of the men lingered, waiting for the dust to clear. They went from room to room, knocking down doors and harassing whomever they pleased. Arcadians had no rules, not in The Unders, and the Underlings had no protection from Arcadia. When they broke into their rooms and saw Haydi, who had been a beautiful girl at the time; long curling brown hair and hazel eyes, similar to Drexel but with a feminine softness, and without his crooked, badly healed nose, they had rushed in and barred the door.
Five soldiers had entered their room and each had done what they wanted with her, two of them holding Drexel, who had struggled and yelled usually against their strength. Haydi's piercing screams had echoed through the complex and they hadn't tried to silence her. They had wanted the whole building to hear: this is the might of Arcadia. Listen to the sound of your helplessness. You cannot stop us. You are nothing.
They'd left Haydi a bleeding, sobbing mess, crumpled on the cement floor. The second they'd released Drexel, he'd snatched a gun from a belt and pointed it menacingly at the leader's face. They'd laughed at him. Laughed!
"Go ahead, coward," the soldier had said, staring Drexel down. "Give the gun back if you aren't man enough to pull the trigger," he'd teased, but still hadn't made a move for his gun, the other guards warily glancing at the weapon in his hand. Arcadia had pushed and pushed – they had driven his mother to drugs with their cruelty and killed her. They had forced them into a poor factory life, working eighteen hours a day for one tiny room and two meager daily servings of protein packs and water. Now they had viciously raped his sister, in their own room, with him right there, unable to help, unable to stop them or do anything but scream and struggle futilely. It was too much. Drexel had pulled the trigger.
Click.
The Arcadians had laughed again, the leader taking the gun from Drexel's limp, unbelieving hands, and they'd walked out as if nothing had happened. Haydi never spoke again, and barely moved other than mechanically eating food and drinking water. She obviously couldn't hold her job, and without both their incomes they couldn't afford the room they had. Drexel worked double shifts at the factory to keep them housed, and he'd spent every one of his free hours searching for the rebellion.
He'd show up at every riot, disabling guards with magic, stealing their weapons and dropping them in abandoned buildings with rumored rebel activity, hoping every day that they would notice him. It had taken two years, but they had. One day Drexel found himself in the midst of a riot, harassing the Guard as usual, to later discover a note in his pocket with instructions for a job, signed with the Monarch Rebellion's symbol. He'd done it immediately, and that carried on for two more years, until he'd finally met Damien and moved into the base. The rebellion had been caring for Haydi ever since.
The rebellion had kept Haydi in their old living stack, the one she'd been in for the past five years, but apparently the commander had moved her. Hale led him to a newer complex, only a five minute walk from Arcadia's base. The airlock doors were so new the metal gleamed, the cement walls untouched by bombs or gunshots, the only mar on the new structure a bright array of graffiti. He noticed the rebellion's symbol, a butterfly rising from the pieces of a shattered crown, over the door as they entered. Did that mean the rebellion owned this place, or had someone just painted that in the night?
Hale led Drexel to a room at the end of the hall on the top floor, decidedly the best room in the complex. The door was metal reinforced, not that crappy particle wood they'd had in the old place, and required a keycard entry. The commander slid his card in the slot and a tiny light flashed green before the door clicked open.
He entered into a room at least three times the size of their old one, the floor also cement but brushed into a delicate pattern and clean – no spots or stains. The moment she saw him enter, Haydi ran toward him, embracing him in a fierce hug. He returned it, looking over her shoulder at the mattress on the floor, a real mattress with bedding. She even had a tiny toilet room. There was no plumbing in The Unders of course, but she had a chute that dropped the waste outside. Compared to every other place he'd ever seen in The Unders, other than the rebel base, this was a palace.
"Haydi," he said, letting her go. "I'm so glad you're safe. Do you like your new room?" she nodded enthusiastically, pulling him across the space to show him her sheets and blanket. "Are you getting food?" he asked. She nodded again, holding up three fingers.
"Three times a day?" he asked, surprised the rebels would be so generous to his sister. Haydi nodded and smiled, lighting up the room. Then she ran back to the bed and pulled something out from under the blankets – a handheld screen the Arcadians used to access the A-Net. She turned it on and showed him the video she'd been watching, obviously thrilled at his shocked expression.
"Are you satisfied?" the commander asked, and air of boredom in his voice. Drexel barely glanced at him.
"I have go now, Haydi. I might not be back to visit you for a while but I promise you'll be taken care of. I have a new job now, that's how you have this room. Stay here and you'll be fine. I'll come back for you soon, and when I do I'll take you to Arcadia." Her eyes went wide at his words. He hugged her again and then tore himself away, the commander reminding him of their waning hours.
"Thank you, commander. For everything you are doing for her," Drexel said on their way down the stairs. He'd never felt more grateful for anything in his life.
"I'm the commander of the Arcadian Army and the leader of the rebellion. I didn't do it out of kindness. This is payment, not pity. Don't confuse the two."
"Payment. For what?" Drexel asked. So far, the rebellion had kept Haydi in their old apartment as payment for his work. If her upgraded quarters equa
led his pay raise, then whatever they were going to use him for had to be ten times more dangerous than anything else they'd asked of him. "The job you want me to do?"
"Yes, and future jobs. I wanted to remind you, every time I ask you to do something, what is at stake if you refuse. You can obey me and you will live in Arcadia like a prince, your sister will retain her living conditions here and you will never have to worry. Fight me and I will still force you with my magic and you will not be paid. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, pulling his gas mask over his face before they left the complex. So the commander truly owned him now. Even if he'd wanted to fight, he would use magic against him and throw Haydi into the street.
"Time to go home then," he said, and Drexel followed him all the way up to the city in the sky, to his impossible dreams, to the paradise he would tear to the ground.
Chapter 25
"Emeriya," Stellan suggested, sipping gras from a mug while staring at the fire, stretched across the winged chair in his purple silk robe.
"Too girly," Anaka replied from the sofa where she lay, head propped up against the plush arm. The window shuddered from the force of the rain outside, rattling with the never ending icy deluge, the edges of the clouds only beginning to lighten with the new day. The Handmaiden traced the tattoo winding around her wrist, the ancient script her husband's promise to her, and around his wrist her promise. That she would never betray him again, never lie again. Unless of course, the lie was to cover her previous betrayal.
"She will be a girl, you're aware?" he teased. They'd been married a mere three weeks, but everything felt different. Better. Their new quarters built for a family, reminding Anaka of all she did not deserve yet had received anyway. I am a new woman, reborn into a dream.