New World Ashes

by Jennifer Wilson

  Ryker paused in thought, staring out at the darkening sky.

  “Honestly, I don’t know the entire story. If you want answers about your parents, you should speak to Inessa. But if I had to wager a guess, they used you as a distraction. Fandrin was so focused on you—his star pupil, his bloodline—that your mother was able to start a rebellion right under his nose. You were supposed to buy her time, but things backfired.” Ryker paused touching the scar above his left eyebrow, remembering something. His eyes met mine again. “You still bear your own scar from that day.”

  Reaching up, I touched the thin line running along the base of my skull. I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know about that?”

  “I felt it one day in the cell, when I grabbed you by the hair…” He looked down, unable to meet my gaze. “And I’m the reason you got it.”

  I held my breath as he abruptly leaned closer. His long fingers reached to the forgotten screen sitting in my lap. He tapped the surface again and a different video started playing.

  It was another video of us, but we were sparring this time in the same room I had recently been forced to fight in. Other soldiers stood by watching us. Fandrin and his brass cane were in the forefront. My stomach cringed as the little girl took out the taller boy with one final hard blow. Blood pooled on the mat beneath his unconscious body, seeping from a deep wound above his left eye. With respect she bowed to her fallen partner then to The Minister seeking his blessing, but he did not return the favor. Instead, he threw a knife at her feet. It was nearly identical to the way he had presented the knife to me the other night. I couldn’t hear his words in the video, but I knew what they were. Finish it. The little girl refused to pick up the knife, backing away to protect her friend. Fandrin advanced on her with the speed of a then younger man. His cane rose in the air threatening her as he pointed back to the knife. As his lips turned white with anger I could see the words “loyalty” and “for The Sanctuary” form on them. In a brazen gesture, the girl turned away from the older man and began to leave the ring. I wanted to cry out and warn her as his cane came crashing down into the back of her head. Her tiny body crumbled to the ground as blood poured down her skull, staining her flaxen hair crimson.

  When the video stopped, I continued to stare at the blank screen. My brain was turning, clicking the gears back into place.

  Click. Click. Click…

  I understood. For the first time since my imprisonment began I started to understand Ryker’s actions. Not justify them, but understand them. “That’s why you stepped in the other night. That’s why you broke my arm. You thought he might kill me this time.”

  Ryker’s voice was soft, bordering on apologetic. “Or worse, that you might kill yourself.”

  My head swirled as every one of his actions took on another meaning. His goading me to fight harder, his stopping my heart temporarily to make the torture cease, all of the threats I now understood were actually warnings. My ears began to buzz with the flood of knowledge. I barely heard Ryker when he began to speak again.

  “Even before all the tests confirmed it, it was easy to ascertain his blow had caused you severe brain damage. When you finally awoke, you could barely speak, your motor skills were impaired and you didn’t remember anything. Not your name or your parents… or me. Not even your training. Our healing serums were not as effective then. They could repair damage, but not regenerate memories. The doctor said there was still swelling in your brain. That you might get better with time. I remember sitting in the ward with you, watching over you while you slept when Fandrin came in. He was still using that same brass cane. He had just wiped off the blood like it never happened. Fandrin made me salute him, and then he pressed a sergeant’s pin into my hand and said ‘For The Sanctuary.’ It was supposed to be your pin, your promotion. I knew even then it was a payoff. A bribe to keep my mouth shut but for what, at the time, I wasn’t sure.” Ryker squeezed his palm as if still holding the pin. “I had been unconscious when he struck you. They told me it was an unfortunate accident but I knew something was wrong. Fandrin hid that video well, deleted all the copies from the archives and ensured no one in that room would ever speak of what happened. Those who might have let their tongues slip conveniently disappeared like your parents.

  “If it hadn't been for your father’s computer skills that video might have been lost forever. I received it in a coded message the day your parents removed you from the hospital. That night you and your family disappeared along with the rest of the rebels. It was your mother who sent the video to me… that and a copy of the letter from my own father offering me as a sacrifice to ensure your loyalty to The Minister. I was supposed to be the sacrificial lamb in the ring with you. A final trial to test your devotion to The Minister. Apparently, we both failed the test. After I watched that video, I vowed to see Fandrin and everything he had created burn.”

  His fists were clenched so tightly they were shaking. The white tint of his bones shone through the skin on his knuckles. I stared hard at his fists.

  “At least we both have that in common.” I felt the blaze of hate swell in my chest for The Minister. The dullness I had been shrouded in ebbed. Something sparked inside me. Something alive with anger and betrayal.

  Ryker continued—it was as if now that he had begun to speak, he couldn’t stop. Our shared past was pouring from his lips like an open tap. I repressed the urge to cover my ears.

  “There were so many things Fandrin did, my father did… we did as soldiers in training that I never agreed with. But so many others followed suit I thought that I must have been wrong. Even you were a loyal soldier until that night. But when I got that message... when I saw that video… You were only a child and you stood up to him… It changed everything in my mind.”

  Neither of us spoke for a while, Ryker still worrying in the past while I tried to understand it. I could still see the desire in Fandrin’s eyes when he discovered his bloodline wasn’t in fact dead. He knew that he could win over his people again if I was at his side. Which meant only one thing—the people never knew that it was his own blood that started the rebellion against him. “Inessa, told me what they used to do with traitors. How did Fandrin cover the betrayal of his only heirs?”

  “We were told that a band of rebels about to be exiled for treason had escaped the city and kidnapped your family in revenge. The rebels were accused of wanting to open the gates, to let in the Tribes as an attempt to overthrow our Utopia. The monitors buzzed with the falsified story for days. ‘The rebels had overtaken the gates and Tribes were entering the tunnel. As the hellions bore down to destroy all we held precious, The Sanctuary’s guard was able to blow up the tunnel, saving us all. But sadly The Minister’s family had to be sacrificed to save the city. His only daughter and grandchild were buried alive with the rebels. A heroic misfortune to save their people.’ The Minister managed to hide his daughter’s treason, glorify his bloodline, quell an uprising, and silence all those who thought to move against him in one fell swoop. He falsely mourned his family’s death and the city worshiped him again.” Ryker shook his head, equally amazed and appalled.

  “There were a few of us who knew the truth, but for a long time we were too scared to act. Eventually—when we realized the dust would never truly settle—we banded together again. The few original rebels left, joined forces with younger blood and we formed new plans. It has taken years to get to where we are. Personally, I have spent the better part of my life living in Fandrin’s shadow, becoming his right hand man, and waiting for the right moment to strike. And for the first time in years, we’re ready.” Ryker’s eyes were bright with hunger and rage.

  “And you’re confident of your rebels’ loyalty?” I thought of how convincing his loyal soldier routine was. Loyalties can be easily feigned.

  “Eventually you have to trust someone.” Ryker’s eyes glinted. “We have been exceedingly careful in choosing our numbers. And while there are those who will undoubtedly fight with us when the war begins, it wa
s not wise to entrust them with our secrets. Not yet. Many of our supporters may not even emerge until after the first blood is shed.”

  “And what keeps those you have chosen so carefully from turning on you?”

  He shrugged as if the answer were simple.

  “Hatred. We have all lost someone unjustly due to The Minister.” Ryker looked pointedly at me. “We all would rather die a gruesome death than live a prolonged life under his rule. Loyalty has secured Fandrin an army, but what he fails to see is that hatred can fuel a rebellion.”

  I thought about watching The Minister burn for his actions, about how good it would feel to strike that match myself. “How long?”

  “We strike in three weeks’ time.” Ryker’s voice was steady. His vibrantly blue eyes focused.

  I nodded, realizing how short my time frame had just become. Three weeks. Apparently healing—both mentally and physically—would have to wait. I needed to be the fearless soldier I once was, now. If there was still a ticking time bomb inside of me, better I point myself in the right direction before it went off.

  Ryker looked at his watch and rose from his chair. I threw my hand up to stop him.

  “There are still a lot of things you haven’t told me.” I accused.

  He pressed a hand to his flat stomach. “And there will be more time for that, but right now I am starving and if we’re late for Mae’s dinner she will skin us both.”

  He fished something else from his pocket and tossed it to me. My hand flashed out catching the small silver capsule with a clear lid. I shook the container watching six white pills rattle inside.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked shaking the container at him.

  “To help with the nightmares.” Ryker said nonchalantly.

  “I don’t need—”

  “Please,” His voice dripped with disdain. “You both have bags under your eyes and based on your lack of physicality that’s certainly not what’s been keeping you up at night.”

  I muttered a curse at him and he smiled knowing he had hit a nerve. I chewed on the inside of my cheek but said nothing, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Ryker moved toward the roof hatch. As he drew level with me I grabbed his arm forcing him to face me. He stared at my touch in surprise. Instead of letting go—like I wanted to—I tightened my grip until I saw him flinch.

  “You will answer all of my questions about my past and the present alike. You will give me answers. You owe me that.” I held him in a steady glare. My jaw set, shoulders squared. “And you will fix whatever it is that you and your cronies broke in my head.”

  His eyes shifted between mine, searching for something. “I promise, to tell you what I know. And I will do whatever it takes to get that fiery girl back that I first met in that cell. Because right now, this wisp of a girl standing before me is useless.”

  He was telling the truth, somehow I could sense it, but it was the flicker of a pleased smile that made something in my body tingle with apprehension. I let go of his arm.

  Mouse trusts him. I reminded myself.

  I followed Ryker to the hatch, pocketing the little white pills. My once dormant mind had started to work again. It felt rusty. “That night the cameras in my cell went out and I broke your nose—”

  Ryker cut me off, pausing as he held back the hatch door. “That was first time I tried to help you escape. Someone screwed that up a bit.”

  His eyes glittered with mingled anger and irony. I cringed at the thought of how much sooner I could have been set free, of the two people who wouldn’t have had to die if I had just trusted him. I turned my back on him and lead the way down the stairs, trying not to think of dead bodies.

  “I still don’t trust you.” I said over my shoulder.

  Ryker chuckled, his smile now evident in his tone when he replied. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Princess.”

  “Call me that again and I will do more than break your nose.” I growled.

  “Just remember, Prea—Keep up or we’re done here.”

  “Duly noted.” I shot back.

  16. AWAKENINGS

  TRIVEN STEPPED THROUGH the panel in the wall just as we reached the landing. He eyed us with curiosity, but said nothing as we approached. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied me before focusing on Ryker. He was calculating something. What, I couldn’t be sure. Triven’s face softened as his eyes met mine again. I stopped in front of him, standing too close for politeness but still not quite touching. He knew better than to reach for me, instead he waited for me to speak. Ryker left us and headed for the table. I did my best to again ignore him, but Triven’s eyes followed his recession before returning to mine.

  “I should have come to get you sooner, but you needed the sleep,” I said. Even now after a few hours of rest there were still dark rings under his eyes.

  “I’m not the only one.” Triven observed my own weary face.

  I shook my head, doubting that sleep would ever be an easy part of my life again. There were too many memories, too much time for my subconscious to chatter without distractions. No, sleep was never going to be easy.

  I changed the subject before he could further object to my lack of sleep. “When is the next rebels’ meeting?”

  Triven’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t look too surprised by my sudden change of interest. “Tonight, actually. After dinner.”

  “I want to go.” I said firmly.

  “I figured it was only a matter of time.” Triven smiled his annoyingly all-knowing smile, but the warmth didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  Dinner was an agonizingly slow event, everyone chewing his or her mush with sluggish concentration. I finished in about five minutes and stared at the others, wondering what exactly it was they were still masticating since the food was primarily pulp. I tried once to bring up the rebels’ plans, but was promptly silenced by the formidable Mae.

  “No business at my dinner table.” She glared hard over her plate of grey slop. Her dark eyes flitted to Mouse as if to say ‘Not in front of the child.’

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Technically it’s his table.” I jerked my chin in Ryker’s direction. He choked on his food, sputtering and prompting Inessa to smack his back in a motherly fashion. Next to me Triven stifled a smile. It seemed at least he still found my boldness amusing.

  “My cooking, my table.” Mae puffed out her substantial bosom. “You want to make the rules at dinner, next time you cook.”

  Triven did laugh this time, but at least had the good judgment not to meet my glare when I turned toward him. Even Mouse was grinning, her head bent over her plate.

  “Fine. Your table, your rules.” I nodded curtly at the dark-haired woman. My energy would be better served focusing on taking out The Minister rather than learning to cook. Mae could have her little dinner table talk. After all, was it not I who would be driving the next conversation? The important conversation?

  Let her cook. I could prepare to serve up a war.

  My table, my rules. I smirked to myself. We would talk war, she could do the dishes.

  TO MY DISAPPOINTMENT, there was actually very little for me to plan in the way of assassinations. It seemed most strategies had already been set in motion. I sat in the back of the tiny room. A bead of sweat trickled down my temple. The room was crowded, crammed with fifteen bodies shifting and restless. I had chosen the seat in the corner, farthest from the main table and hidden from the pendant’s rim of light. Mouse perched alert at my side, her skinny legs folding over themselves. Triven sat in front of me, not obscuring my vision but allowing me a reprieve from curious eyes. I never knew how he always seemed to understand what I wanted, but he did. He also seemed to be trying extra hard after his confession of drugging me.

  Sitting on the outskirts of the dim light, hidden behind Triven’s broad shoulders, I could easily see every face in the room. I could watch every movement, evaluate each person as they spoke. It reminded me of all the times I had watched the Tribes from above in Tartarus
. Nearly invisible, but wholly present—I was a ghost in both worlds.

  I had listened to them talk. Listened and watched. It felt normal.

  We had been confined in the room for nearly half an hour now, and I was yet to speak. Triven had subtly steered the discussion, asking the questions he knew I would want to hear. He was buying me time. Giving me answers and letting me process things. In Tartarus I knew my place. I dominated the city with knowledge that was far superior to others, but here… I was in the dark when it came to The Sanctuary and Triven was handing me a narrow-beamed flashlight. I clung to it.

  Their plans were far more advanced than the Subversive’s had been. Technologies here changed everything. Tartarus barely had enough power to light a few buildings, but here electricity ran their entire world. Even my mind had a hard time grasping the depth of it all. Cameras were in every home, on every street, watching every move these people made. Every second of their lives was accounted for. Every breath, every meal recorded. All of the rebels’ homes had been overridden, of course. Loops played at random, cutting in and out as people left or returned from their homes. Homes were connected through facility tunnels like the one we had hidden in so long ago. Their precautions were well planned and meticulous. Their meetings were never held in the same blockhouse and the group never met in its entirety. They never risked losing the entire rebellion if exposed. Tonight’s was being held in Mae’s blockhouse—which was almost identical to the one in Ryker’s home.

  Their plans had been years in the making. Plans that had already been set in motion. Plans that could no longer be stopped. The rebels had grown in numbers over the last few years. Their infiltration of the city had been slow and well thought out. Like a cancer, slowly spreading its way through the lymphatic system until it was too late to take action against it.