Whispers From the Past

by L. S. O'Dea

  “I mean created.” Her blues eyes gleamed with fierce intelligence. “During Granddaddy Ben’s time, there were ambitious men, ambitious leaders who’d never settle for such little endeavors as the camps run by Benedictine Remore. Did you ever wonder why Trackers and Handlers used to bond but Remore couldn’t get that to work?”

  “I had wondered about that.” He said it slowly, not sure he wanted to go any further down this path. His life was messed up enough. “But even back then, the scientists couldn’t have created a creature without cloning or some type of modification to an already living being.” An image of the River-Men and Cold Creepers flashed through his mind.

  “You are an intelligent man.” She took a sip of her tea, watching him.

  His mind tumbled over the information. They used to bond. They didn’t now. Both before and now, another creature was modified to become Trackers and Handlers. “They didn’t create them the same.” He stood. This was great. He could use this. If he had an army of bonded Trackers and Handlers...

  “Sit down and stop thinking that nonsense.”

  He sat, almost unable to disobey.

  “You are not one of those men, remember.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. She was right. To create Trackers and Handlers he’d have to mutate something else. “I’m sorry. I...I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking about winning this war but we aren’t talking about the war now. We’re talking about other matters. More important matters.”

  The past wasn’t more important than this war but he couldn’t experiment on Guards and Servants or any of the others.

  “Don’t you want to know how they did it?”

  He did. He really did. “You’ll tell me even after—”

  “It was a momentary lapse.” She patted his hand. “I forgive you, but think, Hugh. How did they create them before? I’ve given you the clues. Put the puzzle together.”

  He stood again and began to pace, his mind scrambling over their conversation until it froze in horror. He turned toward her and met her icy glare.

  “Yes, Hugh.” A sudden wind rattled the house. “They used our twins.” Her voice was whisper soft and as deadly as a snake. “They took the twins of the Almightys and genetically altered them, giving one to a family of Handlers and one to a family of Trackers. At some point, the two would feel a need to find the other. It was a bond stronger than that of any other creature. Stronger than mates or even mother and child. These two shared the same womb and the same genetics.”

  “Holy Araldo.” He dropped onto the chair. He’d known he didn’t want to hear this tale.

  “Don’t say his name in this house.” The wind whipped through the windows. “Harold was no god.”

  “Harold?” He had no idea what she was talking about.

  “You don’t even know who you worship. Araldo is his other name.” She took a deep breath and smiled slightly, the wind settling to a soft breeze. “Sorry. The deification of Harold annoys me, but he did understand the spirit of the genes.”

  “What do you mean by that?” There was no spirit in genetics, only science.

  “You’re like Conguise, all science.” She waved her hand, getting upset again and the breeze picked up its pace. “You need to learn. To open your mind. You cannot separate the spirit from the science they are bonded together for eternity.” She pointed to a blue jay in a tree that was fighting to stay perched in the wind. “You can befriend that bird, but it’ll never be tame. Wild is in its genes. It’d take years to breed it out of the creature. Harold understood that. The one who messes with genetics now does not.” She leaned forward and the wind whipped through the window again, and the blue jay flew away. “Do not make the same mistake.”

  He glanced at the curtains billowing out from the wall. There must be a storm coming. That had to be it. He didn’t believe in magic, but he did always believe to err on the side of caution. “Okay. Sorry.”

  Her eyes softened. The wind died down. “No harm done.” She carried their plates to the sink. “Granddaddy Ben discovered what they were doing. He uncovered the facts and then hid them.”

  “This is all written down?” He tapped the book in front of him. “Tell me you have his notes.” There was no way everything was written in this one small book. “If I know more about how they were created I might be able to help Mirra have a healthy pregnancy.”

  “You’re a good man, Hugh Truent.” She smiled.

  Not good enough. Trinity would be happy to tell her that.

  “I think you should start with the serum they take.”

  “The serum, of course.” It made sense. It was basically innocuous but it affected Gaar and Mirra differently. Since other Handlers and Trackers reacted to the serum in the same manner, he’d assumed it was an allergic reaction isolated to Handlers and Trackers. Now, he had his doubts.

  “Granddaddy Ben had been about to expose the horrid little secret when the Almigthys struck.” She filled both cups with more tea and sat back down.

  His mind came to a halt. That was the last time they’d released the weapons.

  “I’m not sure what they gave the Handlers and Trackers to make them fight, but it was something strong, lethal. They’re violent creatures. They were made to be, but not to each other.” She stared hard at him. “What could make two siblings attack and kill one another?”

  He couldn’t help it, he fidgeted. He’d kill Jethro in a heartbeat for touching Trinity.

  She continued to stare at him for a long, long time and then said, “Granddaddy Ben was able to get there in time, at least for Gaar and Mirra.”

  “If your grandfather created the serum, don’t you know what it does?”

  “Of course I do.” She slid the book across the table. “My great, great grandparents had a huge fight over that concoction. Grandma Helen left him for a time.” She paused a moment. “But true love heals and forgives. They weren’t apart long.”

  Her message pricked at him like a swarm of mosquitos. There was no such thing as true love, at least not for him. He reached for the book, but she kept her hand on it. His eyes darted between her and the book. He really needed to read it.

  “Grandma Helen wanted him to let her children go. Free them from the war within their bodies. Let the genetic alteration run its course. Let them turn into whatever they were meant to be, but Granddaddy Ben...He couldn’t do it. He loved them too much to lose them.”

  His heart twisted for all of them. “Gaar and Mirra are his children aren’t they?”

  She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek. “Don’t you dare tell them. They loved their parents and this horrible truth will do them no good.”

  “They have a right to know?”

  “For what purpose? They are who they are. Granddaddy Ben searched and searched for a way to undo what was done to them, but there is no unjoining of the genes.”

  “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t imagine the devastation of having one’s children taken away. His breath froze. They did it all the time to the other classes.

  “After Granddaddy Ben saved Gaar and Mirra, he convinced those running the experiments that he’d remain quiet about what they’d done, but only if they left Gaar and Mirra alone and didn’t create any more Trackers or Handlers. Otherwise, his findings would be made public.”

  “He must have been smarter than me. He didn’t end up in jail.”

  “No, he didn’t.” She smiled. “But don’t feel too badly. It wasn’t long before they had to fake their deaths and go into hiding. Blackmail doesn’t go over well with those in authority.”

  “Doesn’t go over well with anyone.”

  She laughed. “No, it doesn’t. Anyway, by that time, those in charge had found a use for Gaar and Mirra so they were safe.”

  “Yes. They used them.” He’d used them.

  She shrugged. “They were kept safe.”

  “How did you learn all this? I’d heard that your great grandmother was raised by an aunt when
Bradley and his wife died, or pretended to die?”

  “I’m like Grandma Helen. Life in society was dangerous for me. My grandmother and mother understood that. They sent me to live with the Forest Witch, my great aunt, but we don’t have time to dig up my past. Come back when your tale has been told and I’ll answer all your questions, but for now”—she tapped the book—“this will tell you what you need to know. I’ve waited a long time to give you this, but you must promise to help Gaar and Mirra. To free them. To let them become who they are destined to be.”

  “At what cost?” He liked Gaar. He owed the Handler his life. He wouldn’t betray him.

  “They will finally be free. Isn’t that worth any price?”

  “No. It’s not.” He drew back his hand. Letting some screwed up genetic experiment run its course was not a good plan. “We have no idea what might happen to them.”

  “But we do.” She leaned forward. “It happens to Conguise’s creations. They morph and change into what their bodies are trying to become. What they were meant to become as soon as their genes were merged.”

  “It could be dangerous.” His mind scrambled for reasons to convince her. “If Gaar and Mirra are your great, great grandparents’ children they must be...what over a hundred years old?”

  “They’ll be one hundred and thirty eight this year.”

  “It has to be the serum keeping them young...youngish. If they stop taking it they may age drastically.” He had to study that serum more. If he could isolate the part that kept them young...

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” She stared at him for a long time and then moved her hand to her lap. “Take it. Look into the serum. Find your answers.”

  “I won’t promise to stop the serum even if I discover they won’t age drastically. I can’t. I won’t do it to Gaar.”

  “You’ll do what’s right.” Her blue eyes gleamed with hidden knowledge.

  “You may not agree with what I think is right.” He wanted the book. Its secrets could topple the empire he fought, but he wouldn’t make any promises he couldn’t keep.

  She smiled a sad smile. “Hugh Truent, you are a good man. Take the book. Free from promises.”

  He picked it up, paging through it. “There’s a map of some sort, but it’s in code.”

  “Yes. Granddaddy Ben wouldn’t chance it falling into the wrong hands.”

  “You’re giving me the key too, right?” Without the key it was useless. He could spend years trying to crack this code.

  “I don’t have it, but”—she held up a finger to stop his protest—“a long time ago, the Almightys gave pieces of a map to Gaar as payment for his services.”

  “Yeah.” He’d heard about that. It was before he’d been put in charge of the serum. He hadn’t agreed with the practice. “The maps were a trick. They led nowhere.”

  “They led nowhere the Almightys could find. They see only with their eyes. This island is one of those places on the map. There are others—”

  “I’ve been to one. Trin...” He didn’t want to say her name. He didn’t want to think about her—about her and Jethro. “After my escape we hid on a rock island. Gaar had shown it to...her.”

  “On that map is the key to the code that’ll unlock these pages.”

  “That was years ago. I doubt Gaar still has it.”

  “Then put it together again. The pieces are in the book.”

  He flipped through the pages. It was filled with maps and ciphered words.

  “Gaar will remember how it mends together.”

  He’d have to take her word on that. “Thank you. I’ll see what we can do. Ah...” He didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Yes?” Her eyes sparkled as if she enjoyed his unease.

  “The Handlers and Trackers”—his hand trembled, so he hid it on his lap—“weren’t the only ones created from Almightys were they?” It’d explain how all the classes shared genetics.

  “You’re a smart man, Hugh Truent, but those atrocities happened long before Granddaddy Ben’s time.” She smiled a bit. “I suppose in a way Harold is the god for most of our classes. He did create them although mutate is probably more accurate.”

  “Everyone started as an Almighty.” He’d assumed as much by the results of his studies on the DNA, but he’d figured that somewhere down the genetic history a Founder’s Mutation had happened naturally. He never would’ve guessed their society - their classes - had been created in a laboratory. “How did it happen? These creatures that Conguise is creating are more animal than Almighty. Guards, Servants and all the existing classes are more Almighty than anything else.”

  “Conguise is not Harold. As I said before, the others who’ve tried to follow Harold’s path, only look at the science, not the spirit. That’s the difference.”

  He wasn’t buying that. There had to be a scientific reason behind the failures of the others, but there was still no need to argue. “Why did Harold do this? Why merge Almightys and other creatures?”

  “Power. Fame. There are many reasons to tamper with nature.” She studied him closely and said, “There are books that explain it all. Our hidden history. The story that was not chosen to be told.” Her eyes locked with his. “The history and legends that survive are chosen by the winners of wars. They are never the full truth.”

  “Do you have these books?” He really needed to read them.

  “No. My great aunt told me the stories. We had many long days and nights together in exile.”

  “What are they? Please tell me.” He was hooked now.

  “You don’t have time.” She blinked, her face going slack and her eyes clouding. “They come. Blood. Death. Ambush. Don’t let them use the weapons or all is lost.” She inhaled sharply and then shook her head as if to clear her visions away.

  He didn’t believe in precognition but she did play the psychic well. She had the glassy-eyed thing down pat, but like all would-be psychics, she only spouted the obvious.

  “Well, then.” She stood, running her hands down the front of her dress and straightening her clothes. “It’s late and you must be tired.”

  “Of course.” He wasn’t. Although, he couldn’t force her to tell her stories, he wasn’t giving up. This information was too vital. He stood. “I’ll go...” He didn’t want to go to the barn. Trinity was in the barn. “Can I shave?” He hated this beard and he wanted to delay his trip to the barn as long as possible.

  “You’re a stubborn man, Hugh Truent.” She frowned, but her eyes were filled with understanding. “The bathroom is there”—she pointed to one of the rooms—“and tonight you may lick your wounds and sleep there.” She pointed to another door in the back of the cabin. “But tomorrow, you’ll leave and I’ll see you off.”

  “Thank you.” He strode to the bathroom. No amount of tending would heal his wounds. Only time and forgetting about Trinity would do that, but he was thankful for the reprieve. Tomorrow, he’d be stuck on a boat with her for hours. There was no avoiding it, but if he could handle years in jail, he could handle a day on a small boat with Trinity. Right now, if given the choice, he’d choose jail.

  CHAPTER 35: TRINITY

  THE NEXT MORNING, Trinity found herself at the opposite side of their group from Hugh. He’d shaved and now only had the stubble that she loved. She yearned to run her fingers across his cheek, but she couldn’t do that anymore. She slipped her hands into her pockets. She was once again dressed in slacks and a shirt. She kind of missed the dress. It’d made her feel feminine and pretty and she could use a little confidence right now. She and Hugh had seemed to come to an unspoken understanding to not talk to one another, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting toward him again and again. His shoulders were slumped as if something weighed heavy on his mind and there were blue circles under his eyes. He needed to take better care of himself.

  Verly said her goodbyes to Gaar and Mirra, both Tracker and Handler gruff in their gratitude for her help. She turned to Travis. “You, my boy,
may visit me whenever you like.”

  “Thank you.” Travis hugged her. “And thank you for saving us.”

  Verly patted his cheek. “Take care of yourself.” She moved on to Hugh, wrapping her arms around him.

  Exactly, what had gone on in that cabin last night? She’d stayed in the barn and Hugh had never joined them. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d crawled into bed with the Forest Witch. He’d bedded Meesus, why not the witch?

  “And you, our troubled hero.” Verly glanced at Trinity and then kissed Hugh’s cheek. “Remember, a good leader surrounds himself with those he can trust and those people must be free to question his decisions.”

  “That was your vision for him?” Gaar’s eyes lighted with amusement. “That’s not fair. His was easy.”

  Verly touched Gaar’s arm, a fleeting movement. “That was advice. I told him his vision last night.”

  “Tell us,” prodded Gaar. “I told you mine on the trip over here.”

  “She said I’d be betrayed.” Hugh’s eyes landed on Trinity.

  She looked down at her hands.

  “Oh...ahhh...well...then,” stuttered Gaar.

  “That wasn’t the entire vision, Hugh Truent,” said Verly. “You forgot the important part.”

  She glanced up. Hugh was looking at the Forest Witch and he wasn’t happy.

  “I thought that was the important part.”

  Verly’s eyes narrowed and the wind picked up.

  “I’d suggest not making her angry,” said Gaar. “We have a long way to row and don’t need the winds against us.”

  “Fine,” said Hugh. “The rest of my vision is that I have to learn to love.”

  He didn’t look toward her at all this time and that hurt even more.

  “Love completely. Without conditions.” Verly took his hand. “That’s the important part.”

  His body tensed, trembling slightly as he stared into her eyes.

  “Do not let this story repeat itself. Listen to your heart not your hurt.” Verly dropped his hand and he blinked several times and glanced around as if unsure where he was.