Shadow Fall (The Shadow Saga)

by J. L. Lyon

  “Yes,” Crenshaw came and stood beside her on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the city with disquiet. “He has targeted you in particular, hoping that the suffering of the city will convince you to turn yourself in.”

  “Perhaps I should.”

  “To what end?” Crenshaw asked. “You die, and then what? The city will never go back to how it used to be, not after this.”

  “So why do it?” she asked. “Why risk everything to smoke out one enemy?”

  “The Ruling Council’s betrayal has made him desperate,” the general answered. “A smart man knows it is better to fight one war at a time, and he wants to be rid of us before the Ruling Council strikes again.”

  “What was it all for, Crenshaw?” she asked. “All these battles and missions and deaths. Did we accomplish anything? Succeed in anything?”

  “We have paved the way for the next stage, and that is all we can do.”

  Grace sighed. The next stage, of which I remain in the dark. “I am considering the withdrawal of all Silent Thunder operatives from Alexandria. The loss of Center 3 places all of us at greater risk, and if the Right Hand is not going to give us support in striking more targets then there is little else for us to do here. I would keep as many of our people alive as possible, so that we can regroup and change course.”

  Crenshaw paused for a moment, rubbing his hands together against the cold, “I think withdrawal would be very wise. I had hoped to keep us here in a central location, but you’re right: the fate of Center 3 places us all in danger. Davian tells me they have had cameras and proximity alarms installed along the path from the center in case someone finds the burned landline. We will have little warning, but little is better than nothing.”

  “Any word on what happened?” she asked. “On how they were compromised?”

  A deep frown creased Crenshaw’s brow and he set his eyes on a place far in the distance. Clearly, he did not have comforting news. “You ordered that Elena Wilson be transferred to a camp in the Wilderness, and they needed to go through one of the bases on their way out. They went to Center 3.” An icy hand clenched around Grace’s heart as Crenshaw went on, “It would seem Elena escaped from the facility. They were lax with her while they had her children, because they didn’t think she would leave without them. But they were wrong. She returned to the World System and betrayed the center. Led them right to it.”

  Grace shut her eyes tightly. So it came down to that. Betrayal. Looking back, she should have known from Elena’s desperation that she was capable of something like this, but she always wanted to believe the best in people. Naïve, Crenshaw had called her. Well, no longer. If Grace Sawyer wasn’t hard enough—wasn’t cold enough—to keep this rebellion alive, then Shadow Heart would be.

  “I want you and Davian to oversee the withdrawal,” she said, not wishing to dwell on the subject of Elena Wilson any longer. “Set a rendezvous point for somewhere just outside the city borders, and send word to the other commanders that if they will continue to stand with us, we are not done.”

  “I can relay your orders to Davian and help with the evacuation,” Crenshaw stepped back from the balcony and looked down at his feet. “But I cannot go with you.”

  Grace couldn’t say she was surprised at the announcement. A part of her was just waiting for Crenshaw to leave, to go off on some personal crusade and leave her to hold the pieces together as he had done with her father years before. He had other plans, other goals, and they did not all include Silent Thunder. Still, she had gotten used to having him around. Over the last few days, she felt he was really the only one who truly understood her pain at losing her father. She would miss him, frustrations and all.

  “What will you do?” she asked. “Wait for the Right Hand’s call?”

  “Something like that,” he replied. “But before I go there is a place I think you should see. A place I go sometimes…for perspective.”

  “Crenshaw, I couldn’t possibly leave now.”

  “It won’t take long, and Davian can see to preparations until we return.”

  “What is it about?” she asked. “Eli?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “This is about you. Just trust me.”

  She sighed, “I don’t know…”

  “It will be worth it,” he said. “I promise. And I’ll also promise that if you come, we can finish that conversation we began earlier…about the reason I am here.”

  Her eyes widened. Wherever he wanted to take her, it must be extremely important for him to play that card. But would he actually tell her, or was this another of his games? Still, there was little for her to do after giving the order to evacuate. The exodus would be carried out in waves—hers being the very last to leave. She had a little time, and if it meant learning what Crenshaw had been up to—perhaps even the purpose behind Silent Thunder’s presence in Alexandria—she had to go.

  “Alright,” she said. “I’ll go just as soon as the withdrawal has begun.”

  “I’ll put Davian on it now,” Crenshaw said. “Meet me by the entry hatch in about ten minutes. And bring your father’s Spectral Gladius. Where we’re going, you’re going to need it.” The general turned to leave.

  “Crenshaw, wait,” she stopped him. “Just one more thing, before you go. Elena Wilson’s children…what happened to them?”

  “They were transferred to our contacts in the Wilderness successfully,” he replied. “Perhaps one day they will reunite with their mother, but for now they are safe and that’s all that matters.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, glad for at least some good news amongst the sea of tragedy. “Thank you.”

  Crenshaw smiled, and then left her alone again on the balcony to watch as the grand admiral’s fires consumed the city. She could put a stop to it, perhaps, if she turned herself in to the authorities. But then what? She would suffer and die for Napoleon Alexander’s pleasure, and he would go on ruling…terrorizing the people just as he always did.

  But the System works, Crenshaw’s voice argued in her mind. For 85% of people, it works.

  You see only what you want to see.

  Was it possible she had the same problem when it came to Eli? Had she wanted so badly to see a good man in him that she had twisted his true nature? Perhaps he was too far gone. Perhaps he would never come over to their side. If so, she feared much of what they had done—what countless men, including her father, had died for—would be in vain. She didn’t know much about Crenshaw’s endgame, but Eli seemed to be at the center of it. Without him, the entire thing might fall apart.

  As would Silent Thunder, should she decide to give up her life for the people of the city. Could the force survive the loss of a second leader so soon after the death of her father? And if Silent Thunder fell, how many generations would it be before someone else built up the courage to oppose Napoleon Alexander?

  I never wanted this…I never wanted to be a leader. But despite those feelings she had accepted the charge to command, and she had to accept all the responsibilities that went with it. First she would see her people to safety. Then, she would see to the welfare of the city—in whatever way she could.

  About an hour after her conversation with Crenshaw on the balcony, she strode with him though the underground of Alexandria. He led her along a path she did not recognize, though she had taken only a few routes away from the command center since her return from captivity. The best she could tell he led them northeast toward the outskirts of the city.

  “Where are we going, Crenshaw?” she asked finally, beginning to feel a subtle complaint in her muscles. “We can’t stay gone for too much longer.”

  “Davian has everything well in hand,” Crenshaw replied. “And we’ll be back before the first wave withdraws. Just be patient; we’ll be there soon.”

  They continued on in the dark, until Grace was certain they must have passed beyond the borders of the city, and the complaint in her legs gave way to numbness. Even her body had given up on the chance of taking a rest.
She tried not to think about all the bruises she had discovered earlier, but even as she did she started to feel them each time her boots hit the concrete. She gritted her teeth against the pain, convincing herself it couldn’t possibly be much farther.

  She focused on the ground a few feet in front of her to make sure she didn't stumble over anything in the darkness, and when General Crenshaw finally came to a stop she nearly ran right into him. She opened her mouth to ask if they had arrived when she looked up and was silenced by the sight before her. The underground tunnel opened up suddenly to the outside, bathing them in moonlight and exposing them to the biting wind. But the cold was the furthest thing from Grace’s mind as she came and stood beside Crenshaw to look upon the scene. The ground sloped off where the tunnel ended, leveling off several yards down below them. Nothing but debris filled the space, and Grace knew without asking that they were on top of a blast crater created by an incredibly powerful weapon. Across the crater she saw the remains of an impressive structure that had once been shaped like a dome. The side closest to them had taken a direct hit by the bomb, laying open the interior floors as though a fourth of it had just been sliced away.

  “Crenshaw,” she said, not taking her eyes off the structure. “Is this...?”

  “Come,” the general said as he started forward. “Soldiers do not come here often, but it is not wise to linger overlong.”

  26

  GRACE FOLLOWED CRENSHAW OUT of the tunnel and down into the crater, where it seemed as though the earth had been crushed beneath the force of a rounded object that then just disappeared. The materials of the dome cracked and crumbled beneath her feet, compacted into the ground and covered over by dirt and greenery as nature reclaimed the clearing for its own.

  Crenshaw continued on past the crater’s epicenter and up the opposite slope, where the remains of the old structure lingered amidst the destruction. Grace gazed up at the sky above the dome, and upon beholding the overcast haze she was reminded strongly of the Wilderness. During her teenage years she had always dreamed of escaping it—now she would give almost anything to go back and leave this craziness behind.

  They made it to the top of the slope and entered the gutted structure, where Grace beheld the signs of a violent battle. Old metal shell casings littered the floor along with what she strongly suspected were human remains, no longer recognizable from years of decomposition. Bullet holes decorated the walls that remained standing, along with gashes that could only have been made by a Spectral Gladius. She ran her fingers along one, imagining the desperation of the warrior who had made it. This likely became his final resting place.

  Beneath the gash Grace saw a symbol on the wall, and her fingers trailed from the gash to trace the image of the Spectral Gladius and the two rays of light that extended from the sides of the blade. It was the symbol all Silent Thunder operatives still wore: the Spectral Cross, the most forbidden of symbols in the World System. Beneath the hilt words had been inscribed, More Than Conquerors. This was where she had lived until that fateful day of defeat fifteen years before: the Silent Thunder Dome.

  She noticed Crenshaw watching her, and turned toward him, “So many memories.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “Even amidst the violence of war, this was a happy place. Hopeful. And then in a moment, everything changed.”

  Grace remembered the day. She was only a little girl then, but she had felt the weight of loss descend upon them as surely as anyone else. And then came the chaos of the evacuation, during which she and her father had been separated from Lauren and Eli... She swallowed hard to avoid shedding any tears. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Because every now and then it is essential to acknowledge what we have lost, so that we can remember what we're fighting for. Let’s go...it’s just a bit farther.”

  Grace followed Crenshaw deeper into the dome, and went against her better judgment to descend a decaying stairwell to the floors underground. Her sadness only increased as they walked past the horrible destruction. This had been her home...the last place she had truly felt safe. No, she caught herself. That’s no longer true. I felt safe in the palace. Safe with Eli.

  She saw hallways where they had played together as children, completely blown away. Ash and dust covered the floor, and every now and then she heard the clink of a shell casing beneath her boot. This was the first time she had been in the dome since their flight, and she felt as though she could hear the whispers of the dead calling to her from the scorched remains. What did they demand? Peace? Vengeance? Or perhaps they only spoke to be remembered.

  They came into a large open room with several tables. Those that had not been overturned were covered with the same dust and ash that littered the floor. A tattered and half-burned viewscreen hung lopsided at the front of the room, and it looked as though the tables had originally been set up to face toward it.

  “What room is this?” she asked.

  “This was the briefing room,” Crenshaw replied, gazing around with a sigh. “This is where we handed out assignments for our missions. Used to be a lively place. We were like family then, you know. Me, your father, Jonathan and Lauren. We had seen things, experienced loss and hardships none of us ever dreamed we might face...but we faced them together. Now,” he paused and looked down at the floor, “I am the last.”

  Grace walked over to the general and placed a hand on his shoulder, “I'm sorry, Crenshaw. I know you have lost so much...more than anyone should ever have to lose.”

  He gave her a fatherly smile, “Perhaps that is true. But I have only lost much because I was first blessed with much, and I would be a fool to say otherwise. Luckily we serve the God of reconciliation, who will set all things right in the end.” He motioned to a door in the corner of the room, “Follow me. What I want to show you is in here.” Crenshaw stepped up to the huge security door and pulled out an old-fashioned key. “Too bad there's no power left in this place. I used to just enter a code in that keypad over there and some machine did my work for me.” He turned the key to unlock the door, and the two of them worked together to pry it open.

  The general disappeared through the crack and Grace followed a moment later, only to find him standing in the glow of a light rod within a small, empty room. She looked around to make sure she wasn't missing anything and asked, “What happened, Crenshaw? Did someone take whatever was in here?”

  He smiled at her, “Understand, Grace, that several of the people I loved most in this life could never be buried in a cemetery. They perished in war, by heinous execution, and sometimes far outside my ability to claim their bodies for burial. But, I still wanted to give them a place of honor where I could come visit from time to time and pay my respects. So I set aside this place, in our old home.” He moved the rod to light the wall opposite her, and she saw names—many, many names, only a few of which she recognized—inscribed upon the walls. With only a cursory glance she saw Jonathan Charity, beloved husband, father, and friend; Lauren Charity, beloved wife, mother, sister, and friend; Gloria Sawyer, beloved wife, mother, and friend.

  Grace moved across the room, her feet leaving imprints in the soft ground, and ran her fingertips lovingly over her mother’s name. Immediately she understood why Crenshaw had felt the need to create such a place. Her mother died long ago in the Wilderness, and though her grave was marked it was far beyond the regions in which Silent Thunder roamed. But to be here where her name had been inscribed with remembrance, it was almost as though she could feel her. And for Grace, who had never gotten the opportunity to know her mother, it was a very special thing.

  Crenshaw came up beside her, his eyes fixed on Lori Crenshaw, beloved wife and friend; Charles and Jacqueline Crenshaw, beloved parents and mentors. “When it comes down to it, it's just a bunch of names on a wall. But when I stand here, it helps me to remember that though they’ve gone on, they never really left us at all.” He took a small laser inscriber from his pocket and handed it to Grace. “I think you should do the honors on this one.”<
br />
  Grace swallowed as she took the inscriber, holding it like a pen as she pressed its tip to the stone wall just beneath her mother’s name. She wrote in flowing script: Jacob Sawyer, beloved father, friend, and commander. Smoke still rose from the new letters as she handed the inscriber back to Crenshaw and looked upon her work with satisfaction. It wasn't much, but it was enough to bring a smile back to her face.

  “Do you have Glorificus?” Crenshaw asked.

  She turned to see Crenshaw on his knees in the center of the room, raking away the cold earth with his bare hands. Now she understood why he asked her to bring the weapon, and she wasn’t certain she was okay with it. “You don’t mean to bury it?”

  Crenshaw stopped digging and looked up at her, “The thought had crossed my mind. But that’s your decision, Grace. As his daughter, ownership of his Gladius should rightfully fall to you.” He returned his attention to the ground and kept digging. She felt awkward standing over him while he worked, so she knelt down and helped him.

  “This might have been easier with a shovel.”

  Crenshaw smiled and shook his head. “Easier, maybe, but not as meaningful. At least not to me.”

  They spent a couple of minutes in silence digging, until Grace's fingers felt cold and raw from moving so much of the hard soil. Digging by hand was more time consuming, that was certain. For every handful of dirt she managed to dig away, another half seemed to fall back in her way. But when the hole became much deeper than what would be necessary to bury the hilt of a Gladius, she asked quietly, “You think I should?”

  “Should what?”

  “Bury it,” she said. “Should I bury Glorificus?”

  “Not my choice.”

  “I heard you the first time,” she said. “I’m asking for your opinion.”

  Crenshaw used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his brow and then continued digging. “Well, what reason do you have for keeping it?”

  “It was his,” she said simply. “It was a part of him...and I don’t want to forget.”