New World Ashes

by Jennifer Wilson

  I had been wrong before.

  For so many years I had suppressed my emotions. Pushed away everything that could make me weak, make me human, but now I needed them. I needed those memories, those feelings to give me strength. Hate could give me drive, but I needed more than that. I needed the most dangerous feeling of all.

  Hope. Hope gave you strength when all else was lost. Hope gave you a glimpse of a future even when there might not be one to be had. It was a reckless and dangerous emotion and for the first time in my life I let it into my heart.

  Just because electroshock was off the docket for now, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t have a new torture worked out for me tomorrow. So, for the first time since I was captured, I let myself think about Triven and Mouse. Then I drew upon the few mental images I had of my parents. Keeping my eyes closed, I slowly drifted into a restless sleep.

  Dreams quickly turned to nightmares. I was the child I had seen on the screens. I was sparing and I was winning. The faceless little girl before me took hit after hit until she couldn’t get up again while Fandrin watched smugly from the sidelines. A strange pride washed over me. I stood triumphant over my opponent’s fallen body, but something felt wrong. I looked down at the girl again. My smile wavered. Her brown hair fanned out around her unmoving head. Her thin neck was exposed. A scar. My hands shook as I turned her over. There was blood. On her face… On my hands… It trickled from her open mouth as her lifeless eyes stared up at me. I choked.

  Mouse…

  The screams from my nightmare erupted in my cell. They echoed, slapping me in the face, but the nightmares didn’t stop. I could still see her. Still feel the blood on my hands. Screams turned to sobs and I began to claw at my own eyes to make the images go away.

  5. CONTROL

  I STARTLED AWAKE, causing the muscles in my neck to twinge. I had just barely dozed off.

  It wasn’t until the door swung inward that I realized that’s what had awakened me.

  Major Ryker James stepped into the cell sneering contemptuously down at me. His eyes traced over me with a look of disgust. Despite the washed hair and change of clothing, I was sure I looked anything but healthy. I stared blankly at him.

  “What, no smart comment for me this morning, Princess? I’m disappointed.” He said.

  “I had a few quips in mind but dumbing them down for you takes too much energy.” I smirked sardonically as I stretched lazily. “So what do we have planned for today Ryker, ripping off my fingernails, poison-tipped needles?”

  He stooped, snatching my upper arm in a tight grip and yanking me toward him. He towered over me. I stared down at his hand on my arm and was shocked to see that his fingers could close entirely around my bicep. I knew I had lost weight but I hadn’t realized until that moment just how much. He yanked my arm again, forcing me to meet his eyes.

  “That’s Major James to you, Princess. You will respect me within these walls.” Keeping a firm grip, he hauled me though the door. The familiar black bag was over my head before I could lift my gaze. The hands forcing my wrists into the shackles were far from gentle.

  “While your ideas sound enticing, we had something else in mind.” I could hear the malice in Ryker’s tone. Taking a restricted breath, I began counting our steps.

  My guard still consisted of at least five other soldiers at all times, but I could tell by the variance in footsteps that it was a rotating guard. Ryker seemed to be the only constant in the group. I wondered mildly if he was assigned to my demise in particular or if he had just taken a perverse liking to overseeing torture. I felt the familiar drop in my stomach as the elevator rose again, but unlike the time I visited The Minister’s office, we stopped after only a few seconds. The gliding doors were nearly soundless as they opened, but the blast of noise from beyond caused me to start with surprise. The sounds of combat hammering my ears were all too familiar. Ryker forced me forward and the noise magnified.

  A hand roughly yanked the bag away from my head. I was prepared for the change in lighting this time. My eyes adjusted. It looked like a warehouse. Everything was painted the same lackluster dark grey. There were clerestory windows surrounding the space, diffusing the room with muted sunlight. Aside from a few sparse bulbs and the dimmed sunlight, everything in the room was heavy and dark. It seemed the absolute inverse of The Minister’s office. While I did not remember standing in the cavernous room myself, this was the same room I had seen my younger-self sparring in just days ago on the monitor screens. My eyes darted to the sparring rings scattered in the room and my heart sank. Older soldiers dressed in customary silver stood outside of the rings overseeing the matches. The fighters poised inside, however, were much younger.

  They were children.

  My eyes flitted from sparring match to sparring match. Most of them appeared to be under ten, dressed in matching drab grey uniforms. The dream from last night came racing back.

  “Cadets!” Ryker’s voice rang out, echoing back in the open space. All sparring teams froze in their matches. Their supervisors snapped to attention, saluting their superior.

  “Line up!” The female solider on my left cried out. There was a scramble as the young cadets ran to assemble before us. I could not help but stare as their curious eyes flickered toward me. My throat swelled as I took each face in. Based on my short time spent around the Subversive’s children, I roughly gauged their ages. The oldest child was maybe thirteen, the youngest bordering on seven. Each child bore the marks of fighting—bloody noses, blackened eyes and jaws, fat lips, bloody knuckles—every one marred by Fandrin’s edicts.

  “We have a special treat for you today.” Ryker said. Several of the children’s attention flickered to me once more. “Our honored guest here used to be the best in her class. The fastest rising cadet in our militia. She was our fiercest fighter, best weapons expert and our most lethal hope for maintaining our utopian society here in The Sanctuary.”

  All eyes broke rank this time. They gazed at me in appreciation, but just as that faint light of admiration sparked, Ryker snuffed it out with his next words.

  “BUT… it seems that our prodigy here has forgotten her place.” He prowled down the line of children as he spoke. “WHO are we here to serve?!”

  “The Minister Sir!” The cadets shouted in unison, their curious eyes snapping back to attention.

  “And who do we protect?!” Ryker bellowed.

  “The Minister Sir!” Their volume rose with pride.

  “And who would we die for?!” His icy stare shifted to me.

  “The Minister Sir!”

  I repressed a shiver, as my chest heaved with hate.

  “And why do we live to protect our Minister?” He held my gaze. I wanted to slit his throat.

  The echo of their perfectly synchronized response made the flesh on my arms prickle. “We live to serve and protect our Minister because he is the glue that holds our society together. He is our leader and our savior. Equality! Unity! Freedom! Semper fi!”

  My heart stuttered as their last words rebounded back to me, the translation racing through my mind. Always faithful. I knew that phrase from the history books I had read in the library. It had been used in the Old World’s military. It was a phrase of honor, of loyalty to country and state. But to hear it from the mouths of children… Staring at their blank, obedient faces… They didn’t know what they were saying, couldn’t know the monster they were committing their lives to.

  Ryker turned to me, barely concealing a grin. When he spoke, his words were only for me. “The Minister owns them. Their every breath, their every thought. They have already been molded into his perfect little soldiers. He owns them, and soon he will own you too, Princess.”

  I lunged forward, feeling my wrists bruise as I pulled against my shackles. Just before I could reach Ryker’s face—which I intended to smash with my skull—someone yanked me backward, forcing my arms excruciatingly upward. I doubled forward trying unsuccessfully to alleviate some of the pain blazing in my shoulders
. A few more inches of pressure and both my arms would come out of their sockets.

  Ryker leaned forward, so he could see my face. “Save it, Princess. You’re going to need that energy.”

  “Cadet Norris, in the ring.” He barked, still looking at me.

  I watched through the tendrils of my hair as one of the older children, a boy about the age of thirteen, jumped forward. With a salute, he moved to the nearest sparring mat.

  “Today we will be reminding our guest where she comes from. You cadets will be fighting for merit and honor. But today there will be no resignations. There will be no conceding defeat. You will fight until one of you no longer can.” Ryker said.

  The children’s nervous looks were prominent on their paling faces. Still, they each shouted, “Sir, yes Sir!”

  Swallowing back vomit, I stared at my shoes. They were going to make me watch as these children beat each other to a bloody pulp. Honestly, I would have preferred the electric shock. I had done this same thing as a child, but I could remember nothing of it. It made no mark on my memory, but my dream last night made me think of Mouse. She did remember her life here, and it haunted her. Every child’s face I stared at, I saw hers.

  “There will be one other change to our normal training.” Ryker’s deep voice rang out once more. In one swift movement, the manacles were released from my wrists and I was shoved forward into the ring. I staggered, nearly colliding with the equally surprised boy. “You will be fighting against a trained soldier who has survived with the savages outside of The Wall. She may look weak, but don’t underestimate her. She is as lethal as any Tartarus Tribesman.”

  The children visibly stiffened, but to my astonishment their rigidity did not appear to be from fear but from determination. I was no longer the pride of their city. I was the enemy. I was everything they feared, everything they had been raised to hate. I was what they were training to keep out.

  Rubbing my wrists, I drew myself up to full height and squared my shoulders against the Major. They couldn’t make me do this. This was not a nightmare. I had a choice.

  “I refuse to fight.”

  “You will fight, or they will suffer the consequences.” To my surprise, it wasn’t Ryker who responded but a soldier at the back of my guard. I had not noticed him before now, but as he moved forward through the pack of soldiers I recognized him. He was there the night I first met The Minister and again later in his office. It was the boy whose eyes reminded me of Mouse. Before, among the older soldiers, he had seemed so young. But now surrounded by children, I realized my first judgment had been false. He was young, yes, but no longer a child. Maybe fourteen or fifteen, but small for his age. Yet, he wore a white suit and his shoulders were adorned with silver epaulettes. He was not a mere soldier, but an officer—despite his young age. There was something in his tone that set my nerves on edge as he spoke again. “And I doubt your conscience can handle the repercussions of your actions.”

  I prickled as his large brown eyes glazed over like ice. My mind raced, searching for options. If I fought weakly, if I let the children get in a few good hits and ran out the fights until they were too exhausted to fight… Or if I could fake a knock out, maybe I could spare them. The soldiers seemed to think I was still a strong fighter but they had not seen me fight in years. Witnessed me fire a gun when we had tried avoiding capture—yes, but engage in hand-to-hand combat—no. Maybe I could fake loss of technique.

  Six months ago, I would have fought these children. On the streets of Tartarus, the old Phoenix would have engaged anyone who came across her path and demolished them without a second thought. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. Not after Mouse, after Triven. And especially not after meeting The Minister.

  I met Ryker’s sharp eyes and nodded once. As I turned to face the blonde-haired boy in the ring, a small fist thrust toward my face. Instinctively I dodged sideways, and popped my wrist out catching him in the side. An involuntary yelp escaped the boy and my heart plummeted. The many years of training and fighting to survive were hard to ignore. Synapses fired in my brain, my muscles twitching with the urge to fight, but I repressed them. The boy bobbed twice, swinging sloppily with his right hand. He threw too hard. His left hand dropped leaving his entire left side open, but I did nothing. Instead, I let his fist collide with my jaw. The sound was much more impressive than the actual punch, but I went with it, staggering a little, allowing the boy time to regain his own balance. The crowd of on-looking cadets cheered, but Ryker’s and the threatening young soldier’s eyes narrowed. They were not deceived.

  I loosened my stance, tried to make my form look poor.

  Think novice. I reminded myself.

  I threw a punch, stepping forward to warn the boy of my intent. To my relief, he read my body language and stepped back letting the blow glance off his shoulder. I let my body fall forward with the force of my throw, leaving my head exposed. Careful not to let any anticipatory flinch cross my features, I prepared for his next assault. He took the opening and landed a clean blow to the back of my head with his elbow. Stars popped in my eyes, but his hit was not yet as strong as an adult’s. Still, I dropped to my knees feigning a concussion. I let the boy punch me in the jaw and collapsed forward pulling my hands around my head like a novice fighter would. The boy went in for the kill and began assaulting my midriff with kicks. Despite his smaller size, I felt a rib crack. Even then, I stayed down and continued to take the beating.

  I could hear his fellow cadets cheering him on, but a roar rose above theirs. “Enough!!!”

  I rolled onto my back just in time to see the young, brown-haired officer rip the blonde boy away from me. The officer pointed a stubby finger at me. His eyes were ablaze with wild cruelty. “I warned you. You chose to fight like coward and now they will pay the price.”

  Horror sucked the air from my lungs when he punched the boy in the throat. As the child doubled over in pain, grasping at his neck—desperate for air—the officer began to pummel his face. I jumped to my feet just as the child’s nose broke. I lunged forward but arms bound me like an iron cage.

  He was going to kill the little boy.

  6. FISSURES

  I SCREAMED AT the young officer to stop, struggling against the arms holding me back. My legs flung out to kick the person restraining me, but he squeezed tighter. My broken rib blazed but I ignored it.

  The young officer had snapped the boy’s arm nearly in two. The child’s screams were like razorblades against my eardrums. My attempts to free myself became erratic. I knew this wasn’t how I would normally act, but I couldn’t stop. One name kept thrumming in my head.

  Mouse, Mouse, Mouse…

  I yelled louder, so loud my throat felt like it would tear. With all the screaming and thrashing, it took a moment for me to hear the soft, sinister voice in my ear.

  “Gage will kill that boy, Prea. He doesn’t care if there is one less cadet in the ranks. He will sacrifice that boy or any other child to teach you a lesson.” Ryker’s voice made my blood run cold. “You can stop this. You may hurt one of them, but at least then you’re in control. Unless you’re too weak to handle it, Princess.”

  The Mouse-like young man—Gage, as Ryker called him—raised his fist to deliver the final blow to the limp boy dangling in his grasp.

  “I’LL FIGHT!” I screamed. Gage paused to look at me. The pleasure in his eyes made my insides clench. I spoke softer now. “Okay… I will fight for real. No more feigning.”

  Gage dropped the boy with a triumphant smile. “Get this weak piece of trash out of my sight. He fights like a child. Who’s next?”

  “Good girl.” Ryker crooned in my ear. I could hear him smiling as he said it.

  Ryker released me, shoving me forward, as Gage stepped out of the ring and called the name of a new competitor. A girl no more then twelve stepped onto the mat. Gage pulled a gun from his side holster. Crossing his arms, he tapped the barrel against his arm with a pointed look. You fight or I’ll shoot her, it said.

 
I readied my stance.

  THE SCREAMS ECHOED off the walls of my cell, magnified in the tiny room. I knew the screams were mine, but still it took a while to quiet them. It had gotten worse over the last three days. The screams I could usually choke back or quiet once I awoke had taken on a life of their own. I would awake multiple times a night screaming so loud I could taste blood.

  I never slept for more than half an hour. By the time I finally got my body to stop shaking and could doze off, it would start all over again. The nightmares that plagued me were of my parents, of Mouse and Triven and of Maddox’s dead eyes. They were getting worse, more vivid and more violent with each passing day. Before when I awoke, I had always known it was just a dream, past memories that couldn’t be changed, but now they seemed so real… so present…

  Despite my resolve, they were breaking me.

  My knuckles were swollen and bloody, my face blotched with purple and yellowing bruises and my fractured ribs ached every time I breathed. But this was not the worst of it. I could feel my mental stability crumbling. For the past five days I had been forced to fight child after child. I wanted to keep them safe, to keep them away from the boy who had once foolishly reminded me of my Mouse. I say foolishly reminded because he now resembled nothing of the child I had sacrificed my life for. Gage’s brown eyes, which I had once found deep and pensive, were now hardened and cruel. He became the antithesis of everything I saw in Mouse.

  Each fight I told myself I was hurting that child to save them from a worse fate, but it was becoming harder and harder to believe that. At first I just knocked a few kids out cold, before they could even raise their fists to fight, but then I began to worry about the brain damage I might inflict doing that. So then, I changed my strategy to painful but reparable injuries, dislocated shoulders, sprained ankles, broken fingers and in one extreme case where the child was too stubborn to give up, a broken arm.