Ascendant: The Complete Edition

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Where are they?”

  “Hiding behind those boulders,” Reggie said. “Bandits who thought they were stumbling on treasure, probably. Watch this. And get down, damn it.”

  Squinting into the scope, he fired the rifle, then loaded another shell using motions so fast it was like he had never moved. A scream rang across the field and echoed off the mountain walls.

  “Try to feel their presence,” he said, not looking at Michael. “Close your eyes and place them.”

  “I can’t even see them.”

  “You can sense their presence if you put your mind to it. Go ahead.”

  Michael did as told, focusing on the boulders Reggie had indicated. He closed his eyes and tried to reach out to the men crouched behind them. Slowly but surely he began to see tiny grey smudges behind his eyelids.

  “Whoa.”

  “You see ’em?”

  “Yeah,” Michael said, licking his lips. “Sort of. Little gray blurs, right?”

  “That’s them. Watch and learn.”

  Reggie shot, loaded a shell, shot again, loaded a shell, shot again, loaded a shell.

  BANG. Click, click. BANG. Click, click. BANG. Click, click.

  The air stirred as Reggie moved. One by one, the gray blurs changed. One disappeared. The other two became brighter, then trembled and moved apart.

  Michael described what he saw.

  “I killed one and wounded two others. You just confirmed it. That’s the kind of intelligence your kind can give us. You can open your eyes now.”

  “My kind?” Michael said. “I thought you were a telepath, too.”

  “Nope. Just a good old-fashioned marksman. Nothin’ special about me except my striking good looks.”

  Across the field—little more than specks in the distance—two men ran across the canyon’s opening and disappeared around the corner. Michael could still sense their presence. It was amazing. He felt connected to them as if he’d attached a thread to their minds and could feel them tugging.

  “They’re getting away.”

  Reggie chuckled. “Only if Dominic lets them. Close your eyes again.”

  He did, this time eagerly. As he listened, two shouts filled the canyon and were suddenly cut off. He lost his telepathic grasp on the bandits. The strings had been cut.

  “He killed them,” Michael said, opening his eyes.

  Reggie gave him an admiring look. “Your ability is strong. Now you just have to learn to use it properly.”

  They got up. Reggie unloaded the hunting rifle and let Michael look through the scope at the solitary figure in the distance making its way up the road. It was Dominic, holding a knife and walking with a determined stride toward Gulch. There were splashes of blood on his shirt.

  “That bastard,” Reggie said. “Only left me about five. Killed the rest before I even got here.”

  “How many were there originally?”

  “Eleven. A small pack, probably rock roamers with an outpost in one of the dead cities nearby. Dominic always has to compete with these things.”

  “And he always fights with a knife?”

  Reggie winced a little. “He likes to get close to his enemies, look ’em in the eyes before he does them in.”

  Michael peered once more into the scope. Dominic, now life-sized in front of him, wiped the knife against his shirt, squinted up at the watchtower, and raised his middle finger.

  “That was your voice in my head?”

  Michael and Louis Blake walked alongside each other up Missile Avenue toward the town hall.

  “That’s right,” Blake said.

  “Where were you?”

  “In one of the towers. I was watching you, to see how you’d react. I didn’t sense much fear. Mostly excitement.”

  Michael shrugged. “I haven’t learned enough about this place to be afraid.”

  “That’ll change.”

  Michael stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked around. They were surrounded by people; all of Gulch’s residents had been instructed to meet at the town hall for an explanation of the attack. Some of the men patted Louis Blake on the back and thanked him. Word had spread that Dominic and Reggie had taken nearly a dozen raiders out by themselves, and everyone knew that they were Blake’s men, not Meacham’s.

  “If those boys weren’t as queer as a green coyote, I’d be proud to call ’em my sons,” one man said. He adjusted the brim of his hat. A man next to him said, “Amen to that.”

  “I heard Meacham’s boys, Warren and that other one, Elkin, were stone drunk, and that’s why they was late in gettin’ there,” another man said.

  “Yup, I count on Blake to defend my town,” a woman said.

  Blake snorted laughter and shook his head.

  “Farmers,” he said quietly to Michael. “I’m glad you recognized my voice. I’ll be doing that from time to time, when I need to send you a message.”

  His next words were telepathic.

  Pretty soon you’ll learn how to do it yourself.

  Awestruck, Michael shook his head slowly.

  “That mental voice,” he said to Blake. “Can you use it to tell Arielle everything’s okay? She sounded terrified when I left her.”

  Blake nodded. “I’ll make sure she gets the message.”

  The town hall was packed by the time they arrived. There was a stale, wooden smell in the air along with the stink of bodies covered in nervous sweat. People murmured and whispered. Men with red necks and sunburned ears stood with their hands in their pockets next to women wearing dresses and holding babies. The up-and-down wailing of an infant rang like an alarm.

  “All right everybody, just settle down,” John Meacham said from the podium facing the crowd. “Take a seat or what-have-you. Just settle down.”

  The murmuring quieted. Many people were fanning themselves. Charlotte sat near the front with William, on a bench alongside Peter, Ian, and Eli. At one point, Arielle entered the room and joined them. Meacham was about to speak when the back doors banged open.

  Dominic entered the town hall and swaggered up the central aisle, followed by Reggie and Midas Ford. People turned to watch him as he took his place next to Michael against the wall. He was covered in blood, which visibly unsettled most of those present, including John Meacham.

  “Watch what this bastard does,” Dominic told Michael in a low whisper. The metallic smell of blood emanating from his shirt almost turned Michael’s stomach.

  John Meacham cleared his throat to call back the attention of his audience. He made sure to give Dominic a cold look before continuing.

  “Many of you heard the gunshots earlier, and you have every right to be scared. But rest assured I have my men working on the town’s defenses as we speak. Good news is, we’ve been planning some measures we’d like to put in place as soon as possible to ensure our children are safe and sound. This will involve sacrifices on all of our parts, including mine...”

  Dominic shot Michael a covert glance.

  He’ll raise taxes, he sent into Michael’s mind, lips unmoving, eyes narrowed. Been planning to for a while. The bandit attack came at just the right time. Perfect, actually.

  Michael gave a slight nod to show he understood, even though he didn’t. Was Dominic saying the attack had been planned by the city’s leaders?

  John Meacham continued. “We all still remember what happened to those young women kidnapped five years ago. I became Overseer shortly after, and under my watch that tragic event has not been repeated. I’m here to keep you safe. You can trust me on that.”

  Dominic’s frown only deepened. What was going on?

  He’s talking about three women who were kidnapped by slavers. No one knows how the men got past our defenses, but rumor has it those women are still alive in a slaver settlement southeast of here.

  Michael nodded as he processed the information. Anyone watching would have thought he was lost in his own musings. There was an edge of disgust in Dominic’s abstracted voice.

  Meach
am tells these people they’re safe, but that’s only as long as they do what he says. Those women who were kidnapped? They tried to have Meacham outcast for sexual harassment and rape. They were gone before the matter could go to trial. Pretty big coincidence, wouldn’t you say?

  Michael kept quiet. He was starting to feel like coming here had been a mistake.

  He heard footsteps outside his bedroom door a few nights later; the unmistakable, quick steps of a barefooted girl scampering up the stairs, followed by a series of light knocks, almost too soft to hear.

  “Come in,” he said, his heart speeding up. Could it be Arielle? Why would she come to him at such a late hour? And what did that mean?

  He fumbled for the matchbook he kept on the shelf above his cot. He lit a candle, the one he used for reading in bed, just as the door opened and shut. By its light, he saw not Arielle but someone darker of feature, wearing a long black coat.

  “Charlotte. What are you doing here?”

  With hurried movements, she unbuttoned the coat and cast it off with a shrug of her shoulders, revealing a body as naked as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Her breasts hung heavy and loose like enormous, pink teardrops on which two brown nipples stood erect. They rose and fell as she breathed, then swayed from side to side as she reached up and undid her hair to let it spill around her neck. With a shy look, she covered the dark patch between her legs with both hands and stood watching him.

  “Charlotte, you really shouldn’t—”

  “Shhh…”

  She slipped under the blanket, lips finding his before he could resist, a blast of warmth against his skin. Michael tried to free his mouth so he could tell her to slow down, but Charlotte stuck to him, her tongue battling his for dominance.

  His hands clutched at her waist, searching for some way to grab hold of her and push her away. Charlotte repositioned them to grasp her buttocks instead. Michael found smooth, warm flesh, so much of it that it seemed she was being inflated by his lust until eventually her body would exceed his own in size, each curve a dangerous path for his hands to follow.

  The bed squealed beneath them.

  “Shit,” Charlotte said. “They couldn’t get you a real bed?”

  “We have to stop,” he said.

  She reached down between their bellies, a masculine movement like a hand reaching down to start a lawnmower engine by pulling its cord. Her fingers wrapped around him, surprisingly cold and strong.

  “Don’t tell me you want to stop.”

  Michael was about to speak when the pounding began. Charlotte’s eyes, barely visible in the dark, flew open. Footsteps.

  Boom, boom, boom, boom…

  Charlotte lifted off of him, covering herself.

  The door flew open. Light fell into the room. Michael twisted to see who it was, right arm lifting defensively as if the light itself were an attack.

  “What the hell?” Eli said.

  He was holding a baseball bat, dressed in a tank top and boxer shorts, his feet bare. His chest, shaped like a barrel, heaved with each breath.

  “Charlotte,” he said.

  “Eli, what’s the matter with you? Can’t you see we’re busy?” Charlotte shouted at him, arms tightening about her chest, pushing her breasts up into round circles beneath her chin.

  Michael shifted to get out from under her. “This isn’t how it looks,” he said.

  “Yeah, right,” Eli said, still breathing hard.

  “I’m serious,” Michael said. His voice had risen into a whine, and now he felt embarrassed. “Charlotte, get off.”

  “I was trying to.”

  “I’m serious. Get off!”

  Charlotte gave Eli her full attention. “He invited me here.”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “Shut up! Both of you,” Eli said. He seemed more angry now than surprised, like he wanted this to end immediately so he could go back to sleep. With one meaty arm, he held the baseball bat horizontal, the thick end pointed at Charlotte like the barrel of an oddly-shaped shotgun. “You need to leave. Ian finds out you were here and you’ll be sorry. Don’t think I won’t tell him what you did.”

  Her expression flashed into an angry, almost animalistic, scowl.

  “Blame the woman, right?” she said. “If he was trying to rape me, you’d say it was my fault.”

  “Rape you? I would never—”

  “Shut up,” she told Michael with a flash of her teeth.

  He was about to push her away when, abruptly, she raised one leg, leaned back, and rotated off of him, squashing him between the legs.

  “Ow!” Michael cupped himself and winced. “Everybody just get out of my room.”

  Charlotte slipped her clothes back on as Eli watched with a frown of concern that seemed too serious for him. When she was dressed, she pushed past him and hurried down the stairs.

  Michael sat on the edge of the bed, legs covered by the blanket, his head hanging over his joined hands. He could feel Eli’s gaze on him.

  “You screwed up,” Eli told him.

  “I—I swear I didn’t—”

  “If Ian finds out, it won’t matter what really happened. She’s with him, you understand?”

  Michael nodded eagerly.

  “I won’t tell anyone what I saw tonight, not even Peter—”

  “Thank you.” Michael gave him a look so full of gratitude, his eyes almost watered.

  “But,” Eli continued, “you keep away from her. Control yourself.” He pointed the baseball bat at Michael much as he had done to Charlotte. “Got it?”

  “I got it,” Michael said.

  On his way out, Eli looked back at him over his shoulder. “There’s a convenience store on Radar Street. They sell locks for doors. Buy one.”

  He clicked the light off in the hallway and left. Michael barely slept all night.

  Chapter 14

  Over the next few weeks, Michael finished the books on telepathy he’d found in Midas Ford’s attic and began his job restoring old cars and motorcycles with Rudy Jenkins, the head mechanic in Gulch. Rudy was an ex-soldier who had once specialized in explosives. He hobbled around his shop, always in his gray mechanic’s suit, his enormously heavy tool belt dragging him down. His mouth endlessly spewed facts about transmissions, fan belts, and gasoline. He walked with a limp and claimed he still had shrapnel in his ass from a battle against some People’s Republic soldiers he and his men had caught mapping Eastland terrain twenty years earlier.

  “Spiteful Kole-lovin’ bastards think they can just walk in here and start taking photos and soil samples? Hell no. My boys and I, we blew their asses up, sent bits of them flyin’ back over the Line. You know, I never had an apprentice before. Kinda nice, if you ask me.”

  Sometimes Rudy brought homebrewed beer into the shop and just before sunset he and Michael would sit outside, covered in grease, and Michael would listen to the man’s stories. He learned plenty about the New Dallas Republic to the east and how it had originally been established as a free state, and how the current president was a megalomaniac just like Harris Kole, intent on controlling the region’s economy and expanding his power across the continent. Rudy Jenkins hated government of all forms, and Michael loved that about him.

  The work came naturally to him. Michael had always been able to memorize facts and statistics and complex equations without having to consult manuals and technical guides more than once. And yet despite the rigorous tasks Rudy assigned to him, his thoughts constantly drifted to a hypothetical version of reality in which it was Arielle who had come to his room that night instead of Charlotte, without Eli or anyone else to stop them.

  After lunch one day, Michael caught up to Charlotte and offered to walk her home. Along the way, he told her there could be nothing between them, especially since it was common knowledge that she and Ian were together. He didn’t mention Arielle. When he was finished, Charlotte gave a polite goodbye and turned back into town, leaving him to walk to Silo Street alone in a state of utter con
fusion. He hadn’t spoken to her since.

  He was persistent when it came to his training in telepathy. Blake and Dominic assured him it was only a matter of time, that he needed to be patient. After all, telepathy is most useful to spies and assassins, and what kind of spy or assassin doesn’t have patience?

  Their answer: a dead one.

  By far the worst thing about his situation was the fact that Warren and Elkin existed. They’d follow him around town sometimes, and once he caught movement in the bushes outside his house. Maybe he was being paranoid, but there was something about the way they looked at him—as if they were waiting for him to reveal a hidden weakness—that unnerved him.

  Of one thing there was no doubt in his mind: Warren and Elkin were men of patience.

  Chapter 15

  A blast of cold water woke Michael one night.

  He came up sputtering in bed, chilled to the bone from what had felt like a shower of ice. He was soaked. A flashlight shone in his eyes, making the figures beyond it little more than shapes in the dark. The windows were unlit, which meant it was either late at night or predawn morning.

  “Get up.”

  “What do you want?”

  The flashlight flipped to shine against the man’s face. He wore a black wool mask that revealed a mouth and two narrowed, angry eyes.

  “Get your ass out of bed now.”

  Michael kicked back the covers, frantic, his hands shielding his face. He was dressed only in boxer shorts, and the frigid air made goose bumps ripple across his skin. Was this a nightmare? Or a flashback to that night in the basement?

  Once he was standing he could see there were two of them, both wearing masks. He couldn’t tell who they were, but he had a feeling he knew.

  Warren and Elkin.

  “Don’t do this,” Michael said, moving toward the door. He stopped when one of the men shone his flashlight over a pistol. They were serious.

  “You open that door and I shoot, you got it? Don’t do anything stupid, kid.”