by Wendy Wang
“What do you want?” he said. He didn’t take his eyes from his paper.
“I’m here to see the dissidents’ quarters,” she said, casting her voice as low as it would go. She shoved the forged paper at him and he snatched it from her hand, crinkling it. His eyes skimmed over it, cut to her and then back to the paper. Her hands clutched at the leather binder, and her knuckles whitened.
“There was already an inspection a month ago,” he said.
Her heart dropped like an icy rock to the pit of her stomach. Stay or go? her mind whispered. She could go. Should go. If he questioned her too much, he might see through her, might see she was a fraud. Still, she had promised to find Paldraelle. What would Cai do in this situation? He would be noble. He would only yell if it was his own men. No, she needed to be deceptive. What would Peter do? She already knew without too much wondering. He was a master of make-believe. She took a breath and clenched her jaw.
Neala slapped her hand flat on the desk and leaned forward, looking him in the eye. “And now there is another one. Do you want me to call your superior and tell him how uncooperative you’re being with a D.O.R.?”
The guard scowled as he lowered his leg to the floor and pushed to his feet. He nudged a sign-in sheet towards her and jerked the keys off their hook on the wall behind him. “Sign in,” he said. Neala signed in as Dantis Markoza, just as Alessé had instructed her to do. The guard shuffled across the floor, moving more slowly than honey in February. The keys on his ring jangled as he unlocked the main jail door and led her down the long corridor past the holding cells. She counted twelve cell doors. Each cell was barely three feet wide and a few held more than six men. One cell held four women and the last cell on the right held two men. One of them lay on the floor moaning, his face bruised, but his reddish-blond hair was unmistakable. Gordon. Cai squatted next to him. Blood oozed from a wound on his head. Neala clenched her teeth together so she wouldn’t be sick. How could they have been caught? Did that mean Farrasce was in trouble, too? What about Alessé? Her gut wrenched as she passed by their cell. She wanted more than anything to let Cai know she was there and that somehow she would get them out, but she didn’t dare even send a thought his way in case it raised suspicion with the guard. She continued to follow till they came to the end of the corridor.
A thick metal door with a small, barred window cut into the brick wall. The guard inserted a key and turned it. The door screeched as he dragged it open.
“I need to do a full inspection,” she said.
He rolled his round, bloodshot eyes at her and gestured for her to enter the room. “Go ahead. It’s the same as it was a month ago.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she sneered and put her hands on her hips.
“Can’t leave this door unlocked. You’ll have to use the wooden bat to signal when you’re ready to come out,” he said.
“Fine.” She stepped inside. The smell of urine and feces almost knocked her backwards as she walked into the room. She pivoted on her toes towards the open door, her hand raised. “Wait.” The guard’s one gold tooth glinted as he grinned at her. He shoved the screeching door and it slammed in her face. Keys rattled and the lock clanked into place. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand, pinching her nostrils shut. Her shallow breaths couldn’t stop the acrid taste of the air from coating her tongue.
A whimper came from the last cell on the right. All three cells were dark and the short corridor was dimly lit by one torch mounted against the stone wall. In the first cell, the original dissident—Andes Tolomej–sat cross legged on his cot, his back against the wall as he thumbed through a small book. He didn’t even look at her as she scanned his cell. He was probably used to this sort of intrusion by now. Unfazed by it. The stone floor was spotless and the toilet bucket in the corner was covered with a dingy, white cloth. Not as horrible as she thought it might be and certainly not the source of the stink permeating the air. The second cell was empty. A thin mattress folded in thirds rested in the center of the metal cot and a metal bucket sat in the dark corner, unused.
The stench grew stronger as she approached the third cell. Her eyes burned and she squeezed them shut. Wetness touched her cheeks and she swiped at it, praying the skin tint wouldn’t smear.
In the third cell, ten women huddled against the dank walls. They had no toilet bucket, no cots or bunks. The cell was barely the size of a broom closet. At the back, in one corner, she could see where the women had been forced to defecate and urinate. Her muscles stiffened and her belly filled with ice. How could anyone be made to live like this?
Something grabbed her ankle and she jerked her leg backwards. A little cry escaped her lips. A woman with large dark eyes stared up at her. The woman’s cheekbones formed a sharp precipice on her sunken face. Her head lolled to one side.
“Please,” the woman pleaded. “Please help me.”
Neala squatted down. She took the woman’s hand through the bars and squeezed it tight. “That is why I’m here. What’s your name?”
“Aramá,” the woman said.
“How long have you been here?” Neala asked.
“I don’t know. Weeks?”
“Do you know a woman named Paldraelle? Was she here with you?”
The woman blinked several times, holding back tears her dehydrated body no longer could produce, and her lips trembled. “I don’t know her. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. It’s all right.” Neala nodded and touched the woman’s shoulder. “I’m going to get you out of here. All of you,” Neala said to the back of the cell. Some of the women shifted, but their lethargic movements told Neala all she needed to know. “Aramá, how did you get here?”
“I was in the market and these men approached me, accused me of horrible things, said I was a known dissident, had been speaking against Atraxis. But I had not. They brought me here,” Aramá said.
After Aramá finished her story, another woman moved towards the front of the cell to tell her story, then another, and another until they had all told her how they’d come to here. Blood pounded in her ears and her hand grasped the bars. Her knuckles whitened. All the stories were nearly identical. But the question still had to be asked—why? Why these women?
“Can you tell me what’s happened to you since you’ve been here?” Neala managed to say without gritting her teeth. They all looked around at each other, their eyes wide and fearful. Neala opened the leather portfolio and pulled out a small canvas. She didn’t know why she had felt the need to paint it, or why she brought it with her on the trip. It had been a compulsion that she never could justify, even to herself until today. “Aramá, have you ever seen this man?” The picture of Peter was from her memory but the likeness was still true. Aramá covered her mouth and nodded. “Where? Can you tell me?”
“We’ve all seen him,” another woman said. Her bony face emerged at the cell door.
“There is a doorway hidden in the wall at the end of the corridor. He was behind that door.”
“How do you know that?” Neala asked.
“We’ve all gone through it. We’ve all –” The bony woman’s voice trailed off and her hand covered her mouth. She looked away, her face filled with shame.
“It’s all right.” Neala let go of the bars and patted the woman’s shoulder. “I want to stop him. Can you help me?”
The woman’s dark eyes found Neala’s. “What do you need me to do?”
“Do you remember how he opened it?” Neala asked.
The woman pressed her lips together and nodded.
“That’s a start.”
“I am a Fire Kael,” the woman said. “Proficient, was the grade of my elements test when I was a girl. And yet, he burned me.” She lifted her sweat-stained robe and two long, thin red wounds stretched across her belly. The skin peeled back in places and a thin layer of yellow pus oozed out. “How is this possible?”
“I don’t know,” Neala whispered. Somewhere in the back of her mind, guilt niggled at her
. This was her fault. She didn’t know how or why, but she knew it as well as she knew her name. She cleared her throat. “But I’m going to find out and I’m going to stop him.”
“He stabbed me,” another woman said. “I am a Metal Kael.”
“He tried to drown me,” yet another woman said. “I am a Water Kael.”
They all had a story. All had proficiency, some at more than one element. None of the torture they had endured should have affected them. Neala’s stomach turned at the sight of their infected wounds. She wanted to rescue all of them. Take them far out of Peter’s reach.
“How do you get inside the door?” Neala asked.
“He touches a particular stone,” Aramá said. “And the door opens.”
“Which one?” Neala asked.
Aramá leaned close to the bar and surveyed the wall. “I—I think it was the fourth up from the bottom, then over right two stones. There was a sequence, but I don’t recall it.”
“That’s very good. Thank you,” Neala said. “I need all of you to come close now.” The women huddled next to the bars, their eyes steady on her as she spoke in hushed tones. “I can get you out of here.” Their bodies shifted, almost in unison as they leaned forward, listening to her. “But it won’t be home. I can’t take you home. Just somewhere else. Where you’ll be safe.”
“Will we see our families again?” Aramá asked.
“I – I don’t know. I don’t want to promise you anything other than a way out of here,” Neala said. She took a deep breath. “If you want to go, raise your hand.”
The women glanced around at each other. Slowly, hands rose in the air. Every single woman. Neala opened her binder and pulled out another canvas. The passageway she painted to get home. The binder still held a few pieces of paper and a piece of sharpened charcoal that she had tucked inside. She scribbled a note and folded it in half.
“Aramá, you are to give this to the first warden you see. Which will be a lot sooner than you think.” Neala managed a weak smile.
“Warden? Where are we going?” Aramá asked.
“You’re going to Tamarik, to see the Queen,” Neala said. “Insist that he follow the instructions on the paper. It will be all right.”
“Who are you?” Aramá’s eyes widened.
Neala patted Aramá’s hand. “Someone who wants to help. Now, who’s going first?”
“Wait,” Aramá said. “How do we know you are not a worse monster?”
Neala smiled but it felt flat and full of sadness. She shook her head. “You don’t. You’re just going to have to believe and see.”
Aramá squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. “I’ll go first.”
Neala placed her hand on Aramá’s shoulder. “It will be better there, I promise.”
Neala gestured for them to make space on the floor. She pushed the canvas through the bars and unfolded it on the ground. “All you have to do is step through. You can go through two at the time if you want. Just hold hands.”
Aramá stood up. Her throat undulated as she swallowed hard, the note clutched in her hand. “Whatever happens, thank you for your kindness.” Neala forced a smiled. Aramá took a deep breath, raised her foot and stepped on the canvas. Her body sunk nearly halfway in before she totally disappeared. A few gasps traveled around the cell but none of them backed away from freedom. When the last woman passed through, Neala grabbed the canvas, folded it in fourths and tucked it back into her binder.
“What about me?” A voice said. The male dissident.
“What about you?” Neala said.
“Aren’t you going to save me?” the dissident asked.
Neala walked to his cell. He stood at the cell door, his hands wrapped around the bars. “You look pretty cozy in there. Why would I save you?”
“They will kill me.”
“No, they would’ve done it already. You serve some purpose. That’s why they keep you clean and fed,” Neala said.
“I can help you,” he said, sounding more desperate.
“How?” Neala held up one finger. “And before you answer, just know I can read you. I’ll know if you’re lying.” The dissident’s skin blanched and his eyes blinked rapidly, as if he was re-thinking his plan. “You’re small. The men I’ve seen go in there are rather large. I can fight for you.”
“Thanks, but I can handle myself,” Neala said. “But—you can tell me what you know.”
“And if I do, you’ll help me escape?”
“Tell me what you know and we’ll talk.”
“No,” he shook his head. “You have to promise to help me escape and only then will I tell you anything.”
“You have a pleasant day,” Neala smirked and stepped towards the door.
“Wait,” he said. “I’ve overheard things.”
“That’s promising. Tell me exactly what you’ve heard,” she said.
“One man telling another to find him a woman,” he said.
“What woman?”
He shrugged. “He gave no name, only a specification.”
“What specification?”
“He wanted a woman with affinities for all five elements. He said it was the only way their plan would succeed completely,” he said.
“Anything else?”
He lowered his head. Softly, he said, “I’ve heard screams. Women screaming.” Neala’s gut wrenched and she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “There were more women that went into the wall. They never returned.”
Neala nodded, processing his words. They never returned. A shiver slithered across her spine and she covered her mouth. Had Paldraelle been one of those that never returned? “You never saw their bodies?”
His mouth curved into a grimace and he shook his head slightly. “No. They just…disappeared.”
“Thank you,” she said. She pivoted away from him and stepped towards the door.
“Wait,” he said. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to take care of something first. Then you and I are going in there.” She walked to the door and glanced at the bat hanging from a chain next to it.
“I lied.” His voice cracked. “When I said I could fight.”
“I know,” she said over her shoulder. The lock clinked when she laid her hand flat against the door. A quick command to the metal door ensured its silence as she opened it and slid into the corridor.
The cool, stale air hit her face and she breathed it in, clearing the stench from her head. A man coughed in one of the cells, hacking so hard it sounded like he might die. The guard didn’t move. He still leaned back in his chair, newspaper in hand, his foot propped up on the edge of the desk. Lazy bastard.
Creeping down the hallway to the holding cell where she’d seen Cai and Gordon, she moved noiselessly across the stone floor. Gordon lay on his side with his arm folded under his head. Cai sat next to him, cross-legged, his hands flat against his knees. His eyes were unfocused and she let herself listen to his thoughts. One radiated from his mind – so strong she could almost see it glowing halo-like around his head. I must get back to Neala. It took her breath away.
Neala manipulated the cell door into soundless operation. The vibration of the mechanism signaled it had done her will and her eyes watched the guard as she stepped inside.
Cai raised his head, stared up at her with contempt. Red striped across his cheeks and his nostrils flared. Gordon opened his eyes and twisted his head so he could look at her. In a hushed tone, he said, “You’re kind of short for a guard, aren’t you?”
Neala glanced at Gordon and chuckled, thankful to be free of Cai’s unblinking eyes. “Indeed I am, Captain.”
A wide grin stretched Gordon’s lips, followed by a grimace. He stroked his bruised cheek. “I hope you have a plan, Highness.”
“I do,” she said, smiling.
“Neala?” Cai’s voice went up an octave as he got to his feet. Neala and Gordon both shushed him at the same time. “What are you doing here?”
“The guard is right down
the hall,” she warned him, keeping her voice low.
“What are you doing here? How did you even know we –” he whisper-yelled at her.
“Does it matter? I’m here now.” She sighed.
“Well, I, for one, am very glad to see you,” Gordon said as he struggled to push himself up from the floor. Cai outstretched his hand and helped Gordon to his feet.
“Are you all right, Captain?” Neala held her hand above Gordon’s blackening cheek.
“I’ll be just fine once we get out of here. You are getting us out of here, aren’t you?”
Neala nodded, opened the binder and fished out the canvas. Unfolding it, she placed it on the floor in the center of them. “Time to go home. You first, Gordon.”
“Ah—thank Jerugia. You’ll get no argument from me,” Gordon said. Cai gripped Gordon’s wrist, steadying him. Gordon took a deep breath and stepped into the canvas. He gave her a two-fingered salute just before he disappeared.
“You’re next,” Neala said.
“No, you should go next,” Cai said.
“No, I can’t. Someone has to close the passage,” she said.
“Then I’ll do it,” he said.
“Because you know exactly how to do it?” Sarcasm filled her voice and he scowled.
Cai grabbed her hand. “What if we go together? You can close it as we go.”
“It’ll be fine Cai. I’ll be right behind you,” she said.
His finger found its way beneath her chin, tipping her face up and he searched her eyes. He was blind against her while she wore his stone, which she was counting on. If he had been able to read her, he would know everything—including her plans to deceive him. “You promise?”
“Yes,” she said, amazed that her tongue didn’t trip over the lie. “I promise.” She closed the gap between them and placed her hand on his chest. His breath drew in and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I will follow you through.” She silently added, As soon as I’m finished here. Part of her wished he could read her, could know her heart and her mission. He was her match, after all. Not Peter. Never Peter. Another part of her feared he would try to stop her. Silence was better. She would tell him everything when she got home. If you get home–a little voice inside her taunted. It was right – that nagging, little voice. And this was her chance to let Cai know how she felt. Maybe her only chance.