by T. C. Edge
I try to struggle to my feet, feeling suddenly weak, grabbing the opened door of a car to haul myself up. I hear the commotion ahead, and see the world swirling in a gigantic whirlpool of smoke, the dust dancing and making it impossible for me to see what’s going on.
I try to press forward, reaching down and grabbing my pulse rifle from the turf, a warm trail of blood now creeping down the back of my neck. I lift the gun weakly and aim, but there’s nothing to aim at, nothing to see but the churning vortex.
The street roars with the wind, and I hear voices crying out too. Kira’s. My brother’s. They roar for each other, and roar for me, lost in the squall. And then, suddenly, one of them goes out, my brother’s words cut off.
My heart thunders, and I step again, moving towards the tornado, and through the haze of smoke and grit see a shadow within. A figure, his arms circling like he’s launching a lasso, manipulates the wind, obscuring the world, tearing the streets apart.
I try to move on, but the world continues to blur and deaden before my eyes. I collapse to my knees again, waves of debris rushing past as its drawn up by the gale.
I lift my rifle once more, trying to aim it at the man with his rotating arms, but am too weak, the gun too large and unsteady as its battered by the relentless breeze. I withdraw my pistol instead - lighter, easier to aim in this furious, man-made storm - and begin firing. The bullets enter the twister, rushing straight at the man, but seem to do nothing but bounce off his armour or get caught in the maelstrom.
He barely appears to notice, his arms now beginning to slow, the tornado weakening. Another round of detritus comes swirling right at me, peppering my face, stabbing at the side of my head. I shut my eyes tight, my visor insufficient to fully stop the flow, cracking as its so violently assaulted.
I hunch to the ground, shielding myself, praying for it all to end. And then, with the blackness starting to creep around from the corners of my vision, all goes suddenly calm and quiet.
I lift my eyes once final time, and see the four strange soldiers standing over the bodies of Kira and Zander, the sky raining with the final bits of debris now left to fall as the wind subsides.
I watch in horror as a few large objects – cars, massive slabs of battered building – come tumbling, right towards where my friends lie. One of the soldiers sees them coming, lifting his arms and slowing their descent. The slabs of stone and crumpled vehicles are caught in mid-air, slowing to a stop. I see him flick his arms to the left, tossing the objects aside as they crash into the streets with loud, quaking booms.
Then, from the alley, another man walks, young and dressed slightly differently to the rest; less armour and more finery, his magnificent maroon and silver outfit lighting up in the dank streets.
He looks at my downed friends, and straightens a cool finger at Kira.
“Her,” I hear him say, his voice carrying over to me in the sudden silence. It sounds odd, his accent unlike any I’ve ever heard.
“Not him?” asks one of the guards, his voice similarly strange, glancing at my brother.
The leader shakes his head.
“Just her.”
And then, he spins, his cape flowing, and begins moving off once more down the alley, disappearing into the darkness. Three of his soldiers go with him. The fourth bends down, scoops Kira up into his arms, and marches straight after.
And as I watch her get taken off, and then switch my eyes back to my brother, my own vision fades away.
And the blackness closes in.
25
The light slowly creeps back from the corners of my eyes, my lids creaking open.
My limbs feel weak, my head a pulsing throb. The glow around me is artificial, unnatural. I’m no longer out on the darkening streets.
A word rushes to my aching head and croaks out from my lips.
“Zander…”
I try to sit up, pushing myself up from a soft mattress, and guide my eyes around the room. It’s small, boring, metallic. I must be back in Inner Haven.
I’m not alone.
As I press myself weakly from the bed, I see a figure rushing over, the haze in my head beginning to disperse.
“Brie!”
My eyes soak up the form of my best friend, Tess hurrying towards me from a little chair set up against the opposite wall. She reaches out and helps me sit up, and I realise that the mattress I’m on is laid out on top of a desk, the same sort you get in many of the offices at the City Guard HQ.
“How are you? Are you feeling OK?” her voices rushes.
I wince and my hand stretches to the back of my head, feeling the little cut at the base of my skull, patched up and covered in a dressing.
“What happened?” I ask, looking around the room. “Are we at the HQ…”
“Yeah,” she says quickly. “You and your brother were found by one of the squads. They brought you back…”
“Zander…” The name rattles off my tongue again. “Is he OK?!”
“He’s fine, already up and running. There’s a meeting going on right now…I was brought here to look after you.”
I sit right up, despite the ache in my skull, and turn my eyes to the door.
“Meeting,” I say. “Where?”
“Um, at the top of the building I think. Lady Orlando’s office…”
I stand on shaky legs, dropping my feet to the floor.
“Brie, you need to rest. You had a bad knock to the head…”
“It’s nothing,” I say, stumbling a little as I try to stand up straight. “I’ve…had worse before.”
I have, that’s for sure. And I’ve had this exact same thing too, back when I passed out during the bachelor ball as my powers began to first manifest. I hit the deck hard that night, and woke up with a similar thud in my head. I definitely know the drill…
I begin moving towards the door.
“Brie! What are you doing?!” calls Tess, hurrying behind.
“I need to know what the hell’s going on,” I say. “Kira…she was taken.”
“Taken? By who?”
I shake my head as I reach for the handle, and pull open the door.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
My legs remain shaky as I find my bearings, moving down the corridor and searching for the nearest lifts. Tess comes with me, acting chaperone in case I should fall.
A few feeble attempts at persuading me to go back and lie down fail. Then she decides that coming along with me is more exciting and so leads me right where I need to go. Within minutes, we’re in the lift and hurtling towards level 15, stepping out into the corridor and makings straight for Lady Orlando’s office.
My mind continues to swim, threatening to knock me off my stride. I press straight on, though, moving as quickly as I can go without falling as the sounds of voices begin to rise up from beyond the door ahead.
I don’t knock when I reach it. I march right inside, Tess hovering slightly sheepishly behind me, as all eyes immediately turn straight to me.
I take the room in.
It’s full, not just with people, but with a new allocation of tech too, presumably to ensure that Lady Orlando can effectively run things from up here. I see a station set up in one corner that looks familiar to the security and comms room back at the church, and note that Alfred, the Nameless’ main intelligence agent, is sat in front of it.
There are others in the room too. Beckett, Freya, Rycard, a couple of the older advisors that Lady Orlando likes to keep around. She’s at her desk, of course, sitting in her usual spot. But it’s to Zander that my eyes quickly go, his face bruised but little more. He looks fine, like he came out of the battle with the mystery men with little more than a black eye and swollen cheek.
It’s him I’m looking at when I first speak, my words seizing the attention of the room as soon as I enter.
“Who the hell were those people?!” I ask.
A series of looks are passed around the various occupants of the room. Every single one o
f them suggests that they’re discussing exactly that.
“I don’t know,” says my brother plainly. “They weren’t like any soldiers I’ve ever seen.”
I take another step in. Tess stays behind me, sinking a little closer to the wall, probably just hoping not to be noticed or chucked out.
“Cromwell,” I say. “They have to be Cromwell’s men.”
No one seems to agree or disagree. Other than me, only Zander was there. No one else can really have an opinion on this until they’ve got the full picture.
“Zander says they wore strange armour, dark red cloaks,” says Lady Orlando. “And had strange weapons with them too.”
The tone of her voices poses it as a question. I guess she’s asking for my testimony and version of events.
I oblige.
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I’m not experienced like you all here, but they were weird for sure. One of them at least was a Mind-Mover. But I think there were two, actually. One was tossing around cars and rubble like it was nothing, just using his mind…”
“And the other created a tornado,” adds Zander. “Yes, they were different people,” he says to me. “Clearly proficient at manipulating different elements. Earth, wind, etcetera.”
“We have had some experience with Mind-Movers before,” says Lady Orlando. “But nothing like that. Not with those sort of powers.”
“Well, like I say, it has to be Cromwell, right?” I argue. “What about these experiments he’s doing in the REEF. I’ve heard the rumours. Maybe this is the result.”
“Maybe,” says Lady Orlando quickly. “What else can you tell us?”
I think back, to the young man who seemed to be in command. By the time he came out, Zander was already unconscious. He won’t have seen him.
“There were four soldiers,” I say, “who attacked us. But they…they clearly didn’t want to kill.” I look to my brother. “I saw you knocked out, when the tornado stopped. I saw…I don’t know, a young man come out. He pointed at Kira and told the men to take her. Then he just left you behind.”
“He ordered for Zander to be left and Kira taken?” questions Rycard. “Then it can’t be Cromwell’s people. He’d have taken all three of you, or just killed you right there and then.”
Heads nod. Mumbles of agreement rise.
“He’s right,” grunts Beckett. “I’ve never heard of soldiers as you and your brother describe. And I’ve never known of Mind-Movers with those sorts of powers. But if Cromwell cooked them up, none of you would be here now. You’d either be captured or dead, most likely the latter.”
“But why Kira?” I ask. “Why would they just take her? Who else could they be?”
My question draws a blank. No one can offer a single explanation.
Then, another thought comes to me, another memory.
“They sounded odd too,” I say, thinking back. “I only heard a few words, but their accents were strange, not like anyone around here, not even Rhoth and the tribes. And Kira, she caught their scent, and didn’t recognise it. She’d never sensed anyone like that.”
Again, the occupants of the room share confused and slightly alarmed looks.
“Did you see which way they went?” asks Lady Orlando.
“Yeah, north,” I say. “They came from there and left the same way. It all happened so fast…that’s all I know.”
“Well, none of our other teams have reported seeing anything like what you describe,” says Beckett. “But one thing is clear to me…”
He seems to pause for dramatic effect, swaying his eyes over the assembly.
Then his voice croaks out ominously: “They’re not from around here…”
A fresh silence hangs in the air. I lift my wrist and pull up my sleeve, my body armour now discarded, and see that it’s a little past 10 PM. I must have been out for a few hours.
Finally, Lady Orlando breaks the silence. She lifts her eyes to Alfred, over at his station in the corner.
“Alfred, get the church on the line,” she says. “Right now.”
He does so immediately, nimble fingers working feverishly to make contact with our old HQ. Within a few moments, a brief period of static has given over to silence, and then a voice rises.
“Yes, this is Adryan.”
My heart flutters a little at hearing him. I turn straight for the communicator, wishing to pick it up and speak with him. Instead, it’s Beckett who marches over at Lady Orlando’s behest.
He picks it up and begins walking to her desk, speaking as he goes.
“Adryan, this is Beckett. I have Lady Orlando on the line for you.”
“Yes, Beckett. Go ahead.”
The military commander hands the rebel leader the radio. She sets it down on the desk and begins speaking.
“Adryan, I’d like you to fetch Rhoth for me. There’s something I need to ask him.”
“Right away, Lady Orlando.”
I hear some shuffling in the background, followed by a period of silence. A minute later, more movement, and then the gruff, growling voice of Rhoth filters down the line.
“Please tell me, Lady Orlando, that this is about my war. You made promises. I will see them kept.”
“I did, and I will keep them all. But in good time, Rhoth. We are assembling some men to come and aid you soon, I assure you. However, right now I merely have a question.”
“Hmmmm, OK,” he grunts. “What is it you want to know?”
“A few hours ago, Zander and Brie encountered some strange soldiers in the streets of Outer Haven,” Lady Orlando explains. “I’ll let Zander describe them to you.”
My brother steps forward and leans over the communicator, setting his hands to the table. He sets about giving a brief description of the men and the various powers they employed. I listen carefully, nodding along.
Then, finishing, Lady Orlando speaks again.
“Does that ring a bell for you, Rhoth. You’ve met many people from far and wide. Anything like what Zander described.”
Everyone listens silently, the line heavy with the sound of Rhoth’s pensive breathing.
Then, he says: “I’ve met and heard of many people, as you say. But…nothing like that. The powers, I know of such powers. We call them Elementals, people who can use the elements like that. But, what they wore, no. I don’t know anything like that.”
“And do you have any opinion on why they might take Kira, and leave Zander and Brie?”
“This is not for me to say,” he mutters. “I do not know this Kira.”
A feel a frustration building in the room. No one seems to have any answers, beyond the fact that this doesn’t sound like the doing of Director Cromwell. But if not him, then who?
“Fine. Thank you, Rhoth, for you help,” says Lady Orlando courteously. “We will update you soon on the promises we made. Please, hold the fort at the church for now.”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere until I get what I want. I have heard whisperings from my people in the western woods, though, that may interest you.”
“Oh?”
All our ears prick up.
“Yes, a scout of mine came to us a couple of hours ago. Maybe you know this already, maybe not, but these men of your Director Cromwell are flooding the woodlands around this, um, facility of his…what do you people call it?”
“The REEF,” says Zander.
“Yes, that’s it, boy. The stink of death is spreading from that place. And gunshots have been heard in the area.”
“Our scouts,” suggests Zander, looking to Lady Orlando and Beckett. “Cromwell’s Stalkers are taking them out before they can get too close.”
“Then he’s definitely there,” says Beckett. “It’s as we thought.”
“He remains alive, does he?” comes Rhoth’s voice on the line again. “It sounds like you’ve merely cornered and enraged the beast. I know just what happens next…”
“Yes, thank you for your input, Rhoth,” says Lady Orlando. “If you hear anything else from your hunt
ers, please do let us know.”
She shuts off the line, severing the link to the church.
There’s another short lull, before I myself break it.
“So, what do we do about Kira then?” I ask.
“There’s nothing we can do,” says Beckett, shaking his head. “We don’t know who took her, why, or where. She’s gone.”
He answers in his typically curt and unsympathetic way, yet behind his eyes I know that he’s hurting. My brother, even more so, seems slightly broken by it all, the toll of losing so many soldiers and friends beginning to weigh heavy on his youthful soldiers.
I still look at him and wonder sometimes how we’re twins. He seems so much older than his callow years, a natural leader of men, a warrior to inspire those who fight under and alongside him. But I saw it when Burton was killed by the trickery of Agent Woolf, saw the fury on his face, the hatred in his eyes.
Burton was clearly a good friend, more than just a soldier. And now, I’m seeing it once more, that pain beginning to bubble up and burst on his face, the loss of Kira more keenly felt to him than any.
He cares about her deeply, whether as a friend or more I don’t know. He’s trained with her, fought with her, bled with her. They’ve been key cogs in the rebel machine for years, and now, like many others, she’s been taken away.
And the more that happens, the more the machine will begin to break down and falter.
26
The meeting goes on for a little while longer, the focus turning once more to Cromwell.
Kira’s fate, it seems, is out of our hands, and until we hear something, anything, on her whereabouts or those who took her, there seems little point in further speculation.
Nevertheless, the loss will be keenly felt. Even over the last couple of days, I’ve quickly taken to her, not only for her powers and gifts as a soldier and spy, but her jovial spirit and the smile she takes with her into every battle.
For others, the loss will be far worse. Zander, perhaps most of all, will feel that particular sting, while Beckett, Lady Orlando, and any other high profile leader among the rebel cause, will miss her greatly as an asset, as well as a friend.