Allie's War Season One

by JC Andrijeski

  Slowly, as I calmed, that quieter version of him seeped back over his light, the one I’d always known...the one who felt like an infiltrator. Sliding down my body, he took his time, exploring me with his fingers and mouth, reading me. A flicker of that animal feeling returned as his lips and tongue lingered, grew less tentative.

  He sent me questions, cautiously at first.

  He got more explicit as he felt me react...until pain made it difficult to think, to remember where we were. My eyes started to glow, a pale, iridescent green. They reflected in his...and I felt that do something to him, too.

  I didn’t really understand.

  It didn’t matter.

  Not long after that, I let go of the rest entirely.

  17

  DEAD

  CASS STUDIED THE broad, Asian-featured face, and wondered what it would be like to kill someone. Not at a distance, like most deaths seemed to happen these days, but to really do it, the way Revik had done when he killed Terian in that cave in the Caucasus.

  Sticking a knife into someone, having them die right in front of you, the blood flowing on your hands...it had to feel different than firing at gun from behind cover at people you could barely see, praying it hit something before you were struck down yourself.

  It had to feel different.

  The man’s muscular chest moved with slow, uneven breaths on the thick pallet. His skin was pale under a deep tan, his lips cracked from dehydration. With her eyes, Cass traced the remnants of faded bruises on his high cheekbones, the cut on his scalp under his hairline, another series of marks on his muscular arms, now soft as they lay on wool blankets beside his thick torso.

  He wasn’t dead...or even dying.

  The seer medical-types said he’d gone into a kind of coma, something seers did to heal themselves when seriously injured.

  The bunker-like room, lit with candles, held wisps of mist from the open windows to the jungle outside. Cass glanced out that same set of windows, watching two monkeys climb into the higher foliage of a fern-like tree, chattering at one another. One had a baby clinging desperately to its back. It swung a little from the tawny fur as the mother climbed nimbly up a thick branch.

  Cass looked back at the man lying on the pallet. She laid a hand on his chest, feeling him breathe. After another pause, she sat back in her seat, scrutinizing his still form.

  Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a book with a black leather cover. Flipping it open to a series of pages filled with painstakingly drawn hieroglyphs, she traced some of the more delicate ones with her fingers before letting her eyes drop to the text itself. She read the first sentence, which had been written in a near calligraphy-styled English.

  “...Feigran is alone now.”

  She paused, glancing back at the trees.

  “...I wonder if it will bother him,” she read next. “...Terian assures me there is nothing to worry about, that he prefers to live in this way. Yet I am not certain if his word can be trusted in a matter such as this, and not only due to his apparent callousness to any but the more dominant-seeming segments of his personality...”

  Cass turned the page, following the neat handwriting to the top of the next.

  “...What remains of him here seems to lack empathy in totality, so much so that I cannot help but be concerned, despite his proven usefulness even now, so early in our experiment. I cannot help but think that he will be unable to do much more than superficial tasks, when his mind is of such limited composition...”

  Cass told herself, every day, that she would give the book back.

  The minute she heard Allie and Revik were on their way back to the compound, she would return it to the exact spot where she’d found it in Allie’s room.

  Flipping to a new page, she read on.

  “...Terian seems so patently determined to cut off all feeling in the parts that remain, but I do not think it is self-punishment. A part of him is more of a child than Feigran himself...which makes me wonder again if he is stable enough to act in the capacity Xarethe wants of him, even if we watch over him to the degree she suggests...”

  Cass’ fingers traced the new name.

  “Xarethe,” she murmured.

  Her eyes returned to the book.

  “...Yet, it must be Terian. There is no one else. I will not risk such a procedure on Dehgoies. Honestly, though, I am relieved to have Dehgoies to watch over him through the length of this ‘experiment.’ He seems to have strong protective instincts...I will remember that, see if I can encourage this trait. He is not blind to the emotional limitations of his new friend. However, instead of fear, it seems to evoke compassion in him. He has already taken it upon himself to keep young Terian safe, if only from himself...”

  Cass felt her jaw harden. She flipped to the next page, glossing over the line of symbols to the right of the words written in English.

  “...Xarethe thinks the process will help him. That it will provide a healthy means of taming him, and the war that rages forever in his mind. I hope she is right. If not, I may be guilty of creating a monster...”

  Cass swallowed, then read the last line.

  “...a monster the likes of which no one has ever seen, not even in Syrimne.”

  Rubbing her eyes, she laid the book on the edge of the bed.

  She didn’t like to think about it, but the fact was, she hadn’t slept well since Allie and Revik had both left the compound. It started when Revik left for Sikkim, then returned when he went to find Allie. She tended to lean on one or the other of them or both...at least since everything happened the year before. She knew it was probably unhealthy, but couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

  But then, she’d always depended on Allie more than her friend seemed to realize. Since her time with Terian, locked in a cage in a bunker in the Russian mountains, some of that dependency had been transferred to Allie’s husband...and to a lesser extent, to her brother, Jon.

  Lowering her head to her arm, Cass closed her eyes.

  She had to find her way out of this.

  She had to, before she drowned in it.

  SHE WALKS INSIDE a metal and cement bunker. Exposed pipes run across the ceiling, rattling underground. She sees a room at the end of the corridor, made of green glass tile splattered with water and blood. A door appears there...a thick, watery window.

  It morphs while she watches, a living thing...

  Inside, three cages stand, large enough to house a set of big dogs.

  Jon lays in one. A naked Asian girl with a cut across her face lays crumpled in another. Her body has burns all over the pale skin, marks where his hands have been, where he cuts her.

  He’s been inside her. More than a few times...over and over.

  He enjoys it. She feels that much off him, whispers and flushes of pleasure as he gets off. He even calls her name once...his cries thick with an almost juvenile release.

  He’d been affectionate after.

  Seers are made different, she discovers. He uses that against her too, trying to make her like it...trying it on different parts of her, using his mind to confuse her, to manipulate her until she asks him for it...

  By the end, she can’t tell the difference.

  The jungle grows back, around that scene.

  Someone stands over her. Crushing her chest. She is in a dark room and this time, no one is coming for her. Instead of Revik and Jon, dogs sit in the other two pens. They look at her, blank eyed and panting, waiting for his return.

  He will return one day. She feels it.

  From inside the jungle, a pair of bright turquoise eyes stares at her, framed by black hair. She struggles, fighting to move, to scream—

  SOMEONE GRABBED HER shoulder, shaking her roughly.

  Cass shrieked. She jerked violently, turning, gun in her hand. Panting, heart thudding in her chest, she raised her head from the foam mattress and found herself aiming the Glock Revik gave her almost seven months ago, while they were still in Russia, directly at Chandre’s face.
<
br />   Chandre didn’t move. She didn’t change expression.

  Her eyes narrowed though, as if measuring Cass’ expression, the breadth of her intent. A seer’s eyes, they showed very little white. Red-tinged irises filled the visible orbs, making her always seem to be staring. Long, black braids hung around a sharp, feline face with dark skin. Sculpted lips added a sensual femininity to her otherwise hard features.

  She reached out, placing her hand on Cass’ gun.

  Without looking away from her face, she lowered it slowly, until it pointed at the floor.

  Cass exhaled, feeling a reassuring wave wash over her like a breath. Shaking off Chandre’s hand, she flipped the safety on, laying the gun on the bed.

  The calming influence immediately retracted. Cass had warned her not to use her seer crap to push her around unduly, or their relationship would come to an abrupt end. Chandre seemed to have taken that warning seriously, at least as far as Cass could tell.

  Which, admittedly, wasn’t far.

  “What are you doing?” Chandre said. The seer’s red eyes slid slightly out of focus, which meant she was probably reading Cass’ mind.

  It occurred to Cass only then, that she’d been asleep.

  She looked down at the cot, at the depression where her head had nestled in the side of the man who’d tried to rape her best friend. A man she’d shared a train berth with, who’d joked with her as he taught her sharpshooting and how to swear in Russian, who’d flirted with her when Jon wasn’t there, hovering over her protectively when they broke into buildings to retrieve records left behind by the Rooks.

  Who’d been her friend.

  Tucking the gun and the leather-bound book into her shoulder bag, Cass glanced out the window again, making her mind carefully blank.

  The jungle stared back at her, empty and quiet, even of monkeys.

  “What are you doing here?” the seer said again. Her eyes looked worried now though, hidden behind a flush of anger. “Why, Cass? Why would you come here? With a gun? What are you doing?”

  Cass combed her long hair out of her eyes. “I wanted to see how he was.”

  Chandre’s eyes narrowed. “With a gun?”

  “The gun was incidental, Chan. I always carry it. You know that.”

  The seer frowned. “What were you doing? Just now?”

  Cass made a dismissive gesture in seer sign-language.

  “Sleeping,” she said. “And why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be guarding Allie?”

  “They relieved me.” Leaning over the bed, Chandre shut the open window to the jungle. “It is a tomb in here,” she said. “Are you trying to freeze him to death, human? Or just yourself?”

  “Neither.”

  Chandre stepped back from the bed, her hands on her hips. Her eyes grew hard, hunter-like. “Just now, what did you do? It is illegal to touch him. You should not be touching him...”

  Cass snorted. “Illegal? Give me a break, Chan. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I’d hardly be asleep in here if my master plan was assassination...would I?”

  Chandre sat on the second chair beside the pallet.

  For a moment, she looked only at the man on the bed. Then her eyes flickered sideways, meeting Cass’.

  “I understand, cousin,” she said. “But you must let it go.”

  Cass contemplated playing dumb for about a half second before she shrugged, letting her tone go flat.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. From Allie. From Jon. Probably would be from Revik, too...if I’d seen him for more than five minutes since he got back. Maybe I should take up heavy drugs...”

  “Let it go,” Chandre advised. She gestured at the man on the pallet, her voice and hands dismissive. “Whatever happens to him...it is nothing. Save your emotion for your friend.”

  “What will happen to him?” Cass said.

  Chandre shrugged. “Dehgoies will be even less rational once they are bonded. It should make things quick for this one, at least.”

  “What about his family?” She looked at Maygar’s sleeping face. “Friends?”

  “His mother is a Rook.” Chandre gestured dismissively once more, as though that, alone, explained everything. “He has friends, but they will not interfere. Maygar attempted a claim on the Bridge. Even if they did not fear her mate, they would not defend him for that.” She looked at the shallow-breathing seer with the bruised face.

  For a split second, Cass saw compassion in the dark red eyes.

  “Forget him, human,” she said. “He is already dead.”

  Looking at the corpse-like man surrounded by candles, Cass nodded.

  But he wasn’t dead, not really.

  CASS STOOD INSIDE a different building.

  Sunlight wafted through gaps in the water-damaged wood, making patterns across a straw-strewn dirt floor. Swallows and smaller birds flitted in and out of the wide door, leaving and returning to high rooftop nests.

  She knew the seer was reading her.

  Chandre stared at her tan skin, her own, darker hands resting on her hips.

  Cass knew where the seer’s mind had likely gone...to Allie, and what Allie would say if Chandre let this happen.

  A lot of the seers had been sensitive lately, after the thing with Maygar.

  “Are you sure?” Chandre said. “It will hurt you...more than me.” She gestured around at the other seers in the barn, who watched the proceedings with no small amount of curiosity.

  “...More than any of them. And it is a seer’s mark.”

  Cass focused on a butterfly fluttering through a shaft of sunlight. She watched it dip and circle lazily, as if confused by the dust-filled beams.

  Chandre frowned, tapping her shoulder with one dark finger.

  “It will hurt,” she repeated. “It will hurt a lot. The ink they use...it is not human ink. It is treated, Cassie. It burns, like acid, so it will last through our longer lives.”

  Seeing that Cass was already impatient, she raised her voice.

  “They use more of it on this mark, as it is religious to us. It will scar...”

  Cass smiled wryly at this, turning on her with a raised eyebrow. “I have a few scars already, Chan. At least this one, I’m putting there myself.”

  Chandre’s frown deepened.

  “It is a seer’s mark,” she repeated. “You are a fool to wear it.”

  Cass folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up slightly. “I’m not asking to be a member of the club. I’m just asking to wear one of your t-shirts...figuratively speaking.”

  “But why?” Chandre said. “It puts you in danger...unnecessarily!”

  “Well, that’s the point, right? I’m not going to hide behind my human status.”

  Chandre waved off the males by the wall as some nodded, murmuring in approval to Cass’ words.

  “...It is stupid,” she said. “Worse than that, it is worm logic. Not the logic of my people.” She glared around at the other seers, daring them to disagree. “...a people who have to hide, who make a lifetime of not being seen.”

  “Well,” Cass said, throwing her hands up. “I’m not one of ‘your’ people. As you feel the need to remind me constantly...”

  Frowning once more, Chandre stared at her. Her dark-red eyes slid perceptibly out of focus, which told Cass she was probably reading her again. Biting her lip, she waited for the seer to be finished, trying to remind herself that this was the other’s way of showing concern.

  Clicking out, Chandre folded her arms, clearing her throat.

  “Your friend,” she said stiffly. “...Alyson. She is my friend, too.”

  Cass snorted. “Pathetic, Chan. I mean, really.”

  “You would have her hate me? She is the Bridge!”

  “Great. And your precious Bridge believes in free will, in case you hadn’t noticed. She’s never tried to talk me out of anything I wanted to do. Well,” she said, folding her arms tighter. “Except Jack...and she was right about that.”

 
Laughter rose in pockets around the room.

  Chandre paused to glare the others into silence.

  Cass remembered they were speaking Prexci and felt a little swell of pride that hers was good enough to carry on a conversation...much less an argument…in front of a bunch of infiltrators. Staring her down a last time, Chandre shrugged, motioning for the man standing behind her to proceed. Cass caught the subtle gesture she made to the male seer though, telling him to move slowly. It occurred to Cass that the infiltrator thought she’d ask him to stop before the mark was finished, if it hurt enough.

  Biting her lip, she plunked down defiantly in the chair next to the tattoo artist’s stool.

  “Don’t expect me to be sympathetic later,” Chandre said.

  Cass was surprised to hear real emotion in the seer’s voice.

  “You want to kill yourself?” she said. “Go ahead, worm. Fine with me. Enough worms in this world already...don’t need another one. A dumb one, too...”

  Cass rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling, just a little.

  The male with the organic tattooing needle looked dubious as well, but he stepped forward when Chandre motioned him sharply the second time. He wore a leather apron where he sat on a low stool by the chair the other seers had lined up behind, waiting their turn to sit in front of him. Cass tried not to look at the bloody rags strewn around his feet on the barn floor.

  She knew it would hurt. She’d seen the young seers crying during their turns under the needle. Chandre made her watch a half-dozen getting marked ahead of her, so she’d see how much it hurt.

  The seer with the tattoo needle glanced at Chandre again.

  “You’ll take responsibility?” he asked the hunter.

  But that was too much.

  Cass rolled her eyes. “No. The Bridge will eat your spleen. And I’ll watch...laughing. Laughing and singing my ‘I hate seers’ song...”