by Edge, T. C.
He stands and moves towards me, stepping under the buzzing light. It falls on him like a spotlight, illuminating his face, his eyes, his shining blond hair.
I think I must be dreaming, still caught inside my own imagination. He continues forward and kneels ahead of me, a bright smile arching across his golden face.
“Jackson,” I whisper, my voice nothing more than a croak. I shake my head in disbelief, raising my hand to his face. Is he real? Is this just a dream?
“It's me,” he says. “You're safe now.”
“But...how? It was you? In the shelter?”
He nods, rolling his fingers through my hair, feeling the bump at the back of my head. “I'm sorry about the way we did it. The gas was a knock-out agent. They wanted all of you to come without a fight.”
“The others...they're OK?”
“They're fine, all of them. They're being kept separately for now.”
It's only now that I glance to the front of the cell. Behind the bars stand two guards. They hold automatic weapons, wear dark brown desert clothing and armour.
“Where are we?” I whisper, finding it hard to catch up. “I thought I'd been caught by Eden.”
“We're in a free city, Cyra. Miles beyond the Divide.”
“Beyond the Divide? But...how?” I stare at my surroundings again, as if they'll give me some indication. I knew I wasn't back on Eden, not in a place like this. But beyond the Divide; how could that have happened? And why is Jackson helping the rebels?
“I'll explain everything soon,” says Jackson, his eyes smiling and shining blue. “But first...”
He pulls me in for a hug, squeezing me tighter than ever before. His hands run over my back, fingers pressing hard against my flesh. “I saw you,” I say into his ear, my eyes beginning to well. “I saw you from Eden. You were injured, lying in a basement. I can see things Jackson, visions of the future...”
He pulls back, but there's no surprise in his face. “I know,” he says. “You're a Watcher.”
“You...know what I am, what I can do?”
That's impossible. How could he know? How did he find me?
“The rebels have them too, Cyra – Watchers. One saw you and your friends. We knew where to find you. I can't explain it. I don't understand it. But as soon as I heard, I had to come get you.”
I think of my vision the other night. Of the men moving through the secret door in the stone. It was Jackson. He knew where the secret passage was through Knight's Wall. Only he knew how to open it.
“You're working with them?” I ask, glancing back at the guards outside the cell. I lower my voice, lean in close. “We have to get out of here,” I whisper. “We have to save the others and escape.”
Jackson twists his neck and looks at the guards. They talk between themselves, apparently oblivious to what we're saying. Then he turns back to me, his eyes like steel.
“There's no escape from here, Cyra. It's safer here. You can't go back.”
“What do you mean? What's happening Jackson? Tell me the truth.”
Jackson glances again at the guards, before moving to sit next to me on the bed.
Then he starts talking, telling me his story. How he came to be here. His experience with the rebels. His journey to find me, to save me.
He was caught in an ambush, he tells me, during a routine patrol. During his time training he had learned that rebel attacks had died down over the last few years. Yet there was talk of an uprising, of forces massing far beyond the Divide. That those in power knew that something was coming and that's why the military was being expanded.
He learned of the Watchers through rumour among the soldiers. People whispered of them, these people who could see things that were yet to come. Word spread that the wall was being prepared for war, that something unseen was coming.
Patrols were ordered to scout the parched earth beyond the Divide. They'd go deep, searching for rebels, but would never find any. That was, until Jackson's unit were ambushed. He was caught in an explosion, shrapnel cutting into his abdomen and arm. He thought he was going to die, his life cut short out there on the wasteland.
But he didn't die. He woke in a basement, a woman tending him. Every day a man came and spoke with him. The cloaked man. The man I saw in the vision, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room.
He wanted information. Information about the new fortifications, about any weak points along the Divide, about the number of soldiers being trained. But Jackson said nothing. He kept his mouth shut, expecting them to torture him and interrogate him. But they never did.
He recovered quickly, but was kept in a cell. The man kept coming, kept asking questions. Not just of the military, but of life in the regions. Eventually, Jackson began to speak. Not of the military, but of home. They'd talk for hours about the disparity of life. Of the Duty Call and Pairing. Of the strict rationing and the hardships that those on the mainland face on a daily basis.
Jackson learned about the rebels. Learned how the old urban legends of barbarism and cannibalism were untrue. Those legends that parents would tell their kids, who'd then tell their own kids when they grew up. Urban legends spread down from Eden to make people fear the rebels. To make banishment sound like the worst punishment imaginable, all so that kids would grow up behaving and never questioning their lot in life. All a system of control to keep the regions in order.
Yet the banished were always taken in. Picked up by the rebels, they'd be cared for and join the free people, starting a life without boundaries and restrictions. A life of fairness and equality in their joint fight for survival.
Gradually, leaders came together from the ashes of war. The virus that was thought to have wiped them all out left them only scattered and divided. Years passed, however, and they began to unite, their numbers swelling.
“Up there, there are thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Just here, in this city,” says Jackson, his voice rising with passion. “And there are others, Cyra. Other cities, other settlements spread across the country. This war is coming, and it's real. Nothing's going to stop it.”
“I know it's real,” I say. “I've seen it.”
My words have an immediate impact on Jackson, his eyes narrowing, his ears pricking up. I'm reminded of when I first told Ajax about the army beyond Knight's Wall, out on the Deadlands.
“You've seen what?”
“I've seen an army outside the Divide. Back in Eden, it's all they wanted to know about. Chancellor Knight questioned me on it. They're desperate to know where the rebels will strike.”
“And what did you tell them?” he asks quickly.
“Nothing. All I ever saw was a random part of Knight's Wall. I had no details to give.”
“And Knight. You've met him?”
I nod. “A few times. He made out you were dead, Jack. Just so I'd commit to my training, commit to Eden. That's why I came to find you. I saw you in my visions. I needed to know the truth.”
“He knows who I am? But why do I matter?”
“Because you matter to me. He was using your death to make me let go, all so I'd see clearer visions of the attack.”
A pensive look rises over Jackson's face. “So it was you? You were the Watcher who saw the army? That's why the military is being expanded?”
I shake my head. “No, that makes no sense. The military was being expanded before I ever left for Eden.”
“So there's someone else. Another Watcher must have known about it. There's no other explanation.”
Jackson stands now, and turns towards the guards. “Open it up,” he says, and they do as ordered. And there's me thinking he was a captive here. It looks more like he's been fully enlisted to the rebel cause.
As the barred door opens with a metallic squeak, Jackson steps towards me, lifts me to my feet, and hugs me once more. “I'm sorry to leave like this. There's so much more to say.” He runs his fingers over my palms, as he used to back home, and kisses me on the cheek. “But I have to report in. I'm acting a
s liaison with you and your friends.”
“You've met them?” I ask.
“Not yet. But I will. Don't worry, Cy, you won't be down here for long. It's just a precaution. Get some more rest. I'll be back soon.”
With that, he turns, and begins marching quickly down the corridor, flanked by the two guards. I hear the grind of a heavy door around the corner, which closes with a thud, and then the entire floor falls silent once more.
29 - Leaders
I'm shaken out of a nightmare. One filled with the sight of men burning, screaming as their bodies are blanketed in flame. Thousands of them, scorched by the breath of the devil.
Jackson's eyes peer down on me, glowing blue in the dim light. “It's time to go, Cyra. They want to see you.”
I'm lifted groggily to my feet, my head still swimming, and step out of the cell. Once more there are two guards waiting outside. They allow Jackson and I to pass before following in behind us.
“Are they your personal escort or something?” I ask.
Jackson laughs. “Not exactly. They're more my protection against you lot.”
“Protection. You don't need protection.”
“Not against you maybe. But the others, we weren't sure.”
I glance back at the guards. “You know, if Link or Theo wanted to get past you they would. I take it they were cooperative?”
“Well, you could say that. Ellie was nice.”
We reach the end of the corridor and pass through the heavy metal door. Beyond is a staircase that winds up past several other floors, each of them filled with long corridors and cramped cells.
“Sorry for keeping you down here, Cy. It wasn't my idea. I told them you could be trusted, but they're a little skittish right now.”
“And who's they?”
“The Leaders. The people running this show. They're scared of Knight's spies.”
“Well, we're not spies, I can assure you of that.”
“I think it was Theo they were more worried about. You know, being the son of two Councillors.”
“That means nothing,” I say, slightly defensively. “We all wanted out of that place, him as much as anyone.”
Jackson makes a sound of agreement, but doesn't look overly convinced.
After half a dozen floors we emerge into a large open hall. Inside are hundreds of people, sitting around eating at tables. A line forms against a long counter at the end where food is served onto trays. It reminds me of the canteen at school, only much larger.
The people are covered in tatty clothing, similar to back home in Arbor. I suppose, after living in Eden, everything seems slightly worse now outside of the city. Slightly more gritty and grubby. The clothes, the food, the cracked walls and faded paint. Yet there's a buzz in the air. One of excitement. Of hope and promise. One that only freedom can bring.
“I had no idea there were functioning towns and cities in the Deadlands,” I say, staring around at men and women and children of all ages and races. “Back home we're taught that it's nothing but scavengers and cannibals.”
“Nor did I. You quickly understand their cause when you're exposed to it. I don't think Eden wants the general public to know. These people are just like us, Cyra. They used to be our countrymen. I suppose if the people across the regions really knew the truth, they might not be so compliant.”
We pass out the back and into the open air. Buildings rise above me, stretching down rubble strewn streets. Many are caved in and destroyed, many others remain largely intact. Around one is a contingent of guards. Men and women dressed in armour and carrying heavy automatic weapons.
We move towards it and are ushered inside. Once more, I get some odd looks from the guards outside. It's something I've well and truly gotten used to by now.
The space within is no different from anywhere else I've seen. It's crumbling and broken, the walls and ceilings gradually being retaken by nature. We move through the large lobby of what seems to be an old hotel, before continuing through into the back. We pass more guards as we go, staring with their inquisitive, watchful eyes.
“Ignore the stares,” whispers Jackson. “They're just wary of anyone from the other side of the Divide.”
“And especially from Eden,” I say.
Jackson dips his head but doesn't answer. The idea that these people really think I come from Eden is mildly insulting. I guess, now that my blonde hair has faded and golden skin grown more pale, I look more like one of them.
We walk down another corridor before appearing in an open room. Here it seems more intact, an old banquet room used for special occasions. Large and open and ornately decorated with stone sculptures on the walls and moth-eaten drapes hanging from the ceiling.
Jackson guides my eyes to the far end, where three people sit on simple wooden chairs. Each wears a cloak that obscures their face, patiently awaiting my arrival.
“They want to speak with you alone, Cyra. Go to them. I'll be right outside.”
He runs his fingers over my palm and then leaves the room, the two guards leaving with him. I turn back to the three Leaders and begin walking towards them. None of them speak as I go. None of them move. They just wait as I approach, the echoes of my footsteps bouncing around the walls as I get closer.
“So this is the girl with the vision,” says the man on the left. His words ring out and stop me in my tracks, ten metres away from them.
“Your name is Cyra Drayton, is that right?” he continues.
I nod.
“And tell us, why were you and your friends so far from Eden?”
I swallow hard and find my voice. “I came for Jackson, sir. I was told in Eden that he had been killed. Then I saw him in a vision, wounded but alive. I...I came to rescue him,” I admit.
“Thank you for your candour,” says the Leader in the middle. A woman, her voice tender but firm. “But Jackson needs no rescuing.”
“I understand that now, ma'am.”
The woman nods, but her features remain obscured beneath her hooded cloak.
“Jackson told us you've had visions of an army outside the Divide. Our army. What have you seen?” It's the woman once again. The Leader on the right has yet to speak, but looks to be a man by his size and shape.
“I've seen the vision for months, ma'am. I saw Knight's Wall and soldiers on top of it. There was fighting, gunfire, explosions. Then, beyond the wall on the Deadlands in the distance, there was an army, led by a man in a cloak.”
The three Leaders turn to each other. “When did you first see this?” asks the Leader on the left.
“When I first arrived in Eden more than three months ago.”
“So you've seen a long way through both time and space. You must be gifted.”
“So I'm told.”
“And you've seen the same vision since?”
“Yes, but mainly in fragments, sir. Is that your plan? To attack the wall?” I ask. I know I'm speaking out of turn, but I don't care right now.
They share looks again, and then the woman answers. “We have discovered a weak point that we will target. We intend to strike secretly and without warning. Yet...you say you've seen fighting?”
“Yes, ma'am. Fighting, death, destruction. And...fire. I've seen thousands of men blanketed in fire.”
“Our men?”
I nod. “I think so. They all die.”
“Then we are to call off the attack.” The Leader on the right speaks for the first time, his voice cutting through the air like a scythe, deep and penetrating.
“Call it off?” says the other man, turning to him. “We've planned this for months, years. We can't call it off now.”
“There's no other choice. If what Cyra says is true, we'll be walking into a trap. Knight has some powerful agents at his disposal, we all know that. Who's to say he hasn't worked out where the attack will come, that he hasn't set a trap to destroy us before we even strike? We all know what the man is capable of.”
“Yes, but this is our one chance. How can we
let it pass? If we strike right now, we can penetrate and overcome their weaker bases. We know they're still fitting out the military and recruiting more soldiers. Most of them are young, only partially trained. They're not hardened or experienced. Now is the time to strike...”
“But you can't!” I shout, my words breaking their debate, dragging all eyes back onto me. “You can't kill them. They're good people, they didn't ask for any of this!”
I think of Jackson being dragged away for service along with plenty of others from my school. How it must have been the same all over Agricola, all over Fossor and Lignum and the other regions. “They're just kids, you can't kill them!”
“This is war, Miss Drayton,” calls the Leader on the left. “Casualties are part of it.”
“No! You'll die and they'll die if you go. I've seen it.”
“You don't even know what you've seen, or where. These visions of yours, they're not real until they happen. They're only possible versions of the future and can be changed. Your testimony will help us greatly, and we thank you for that. But we have no choice. We have to strike.”
A silence dawns in the room. I think of Jackson outside, how quickly he's converted to this cause. Is he willing to kill his own people, the people he trained with, went to school with? Young soldiers, dragged from their families, terrified of the threat of looming war. Was it his information that helped them discover the weak spot at which they'll strike? Has he doomed thousands of people to their deaths?
I hear my name and raise my eyes back up to the Leaders. The woman in the middle lifts her hands to her cloak and pulls back her hood. She has greying blonde hair, wizened blue eyes, darkly tanned skin riddled with wrinkles.
“We understand how you feel,” she says softly. “Many of us here once lived in the regions, banished for minor crimes. We know the people there are good. We know that they're innocent. And that is why we're trying to free them, Cyra. We're not conquerors or invaders, we're liberators. We will not kill needlessly and it pains us to have to take such drastic steps. But they are steps that must be taken.”