by CJ Brightley
He stepped forward and knelt close in front of her, sad blue eyes on her face. Owen lifted the lantern so it lit the boy’s features clearly.
“This is what they are doing to us. Among other things.” He touched the boy’s shoulder with a gentle hand, and the boy opened his mouth wide.
He had no tongue.
The bottom of his mouth was empty, except for a wide patch of pale scar tissue and a ragged pink nub. Aria stared, then closed her eyes and covered her face as the horror hit. A child! He was only a child.
The boy closed his mouth and turned away, hiding his face from the light. He made more signs to Owen, hunching his shoulders and rocking on his knees. Owen said something softly, and the boy bowed his head to the floor, hands stretched out toward Owen.
Aria watched, her eyes filled with tears. Owen placed his hands on the boy’s head and leaned forward, singing quietly.
This time she saw the forest and the two in front of her at the same time, as if the two images were layered like the music. The sound wove around her, over and under and through her bones, green and gold and silver, clear as water. Layer upon layer, each note hanging in the air while the others rose.
It was hours before Owen’s voice faded.
He was tired, his hands trembling as he stroked the boy’s dark head. The child might have been asleep, kneeling with his face pressed to the ground for long moments in the silence. But then his shoulders jerked, and he let out a soft wordless cry, shuddering. Owen pulled him up and wrapped his arms around the boy’s shoulders, pressed the boy’s face into his shoulder. Owen’s eyes, too, were closed, and in the lamplight, she saw tear streaks on his pale cheeks.
At last, he let the boy go. The child brushed at his cheeks and kept his face turned away from Aria. He slid back from the light and sat with his knees pulled up to his chest.
The silence drew out. Owen turned to her, unashamed or unaware of the tears on his face, and let his cool blue eyes rest on her for a long moment.
“It cannot be healed.” He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “It has been too long, the wound too severe.” His hands were still shaking, and he clasped them behind his neck, stretching his shoulders with a wince. “This is what I did while you bought me time. Colonel Grenidor was distracted trying to figure out why you had no tracker. Despite his diversion of soldiers to that task, he had more sensors than I anticipated, and I was detected quickly. I could find only Niall before I had to flee.” His eyes flicked to the boy as he said the name. The boy hesitated, then nodded once.
Owen straightened with a deep breath. “Niall was captive nearly two years. He’s endured much. Since we are not human, the researchers think nothing of inflicting inhuman cruelties upon us. All in the name of scientific discovery, of course.” His voice was low, but Aria flinched at the cold anger in his voice.
“His family is still captive, as are others. I thank you for your help. I owe you a blood debt.” He turned his blue eyes on her.
She swallowed. She glanced across at the boy again, and her heart clenched at his pale, frightened beauty. “You owe me nothing. I had no idea we humans did things like that. Not today. I thought we were past such cruelties.”
Owen snorted softly, then rose and stepped back from the light. She could tell he paced only by the faint movement of air behind her; he made no sound. At long last, he stopped and knelt beside her again, facing her squarely. He said softly, “A Fae blood debt is not a thing to be tossed away. I thank you for your generosity. It is unusual and much appreciated. Yet I count myself in your debt. Niall is my nephew, and my subject, and currently my heir. He is important, and I will sacrifice much to keep him safe.”
“Your subject? Your heir?” She latched onto the words as if it would keep her from drowning in his eyes.
Niall twitched. He was looking at Owen as if surprised, and he shook his head when Owen glanced at him.
Was he afraid?
Owen spoke softly in Fae, and Niall bit his lip and stared at Aria for a long moment.
“It doesn’t matter now. But it might someday. He’s a child, and my kin, and I’ll not have him harmed more.”
He reached for his rucksack. “Rest. Niall has information that will take some time to piece together. Then we can talk.”
She pulled her knees up to her chin and watched them. Owen pulled several blank notebooks and cheap pens from his rucksack, as well as the small notebook she’d seen before. He flipped it open to what appeared to be a list, though she realized now that the language wasn’t English, and handed it to Niall.
The boy read through it with tight lips, then began at the top. He wrote something next to many of the names in a tiny, neat hand. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see it, but assumed it must be in the same language. It took nearly ten minutes for him to finish, as he flipped deliberately through several pages, pausing to think occasionally before writing. Near the end he wrote for several minutes, adding something to the bottom of the list. Owen let him write without comment, glancing at the pages at long intervals. He wrote in one of the blank notebooks, and when Niall finished, he set it aside.
Owen took the notebook and sat close to the lamp, Niall standing over his shoulder. His eyes ran down the pages, and at the end, he let out a long breath. “This many?” He leaned forward and let his head drop into his hands.
Niall stared over Owen’s shoulder at Aria with a distrustful look.
“What is it?” Aria asked finally.
“The names of those I knew were missing. He’s noted those he saw, and when, and how badly they were harmed.” For the first time, he seemed unsure, staring down at the notebook. He leaned forward to put his head in his hands again, and after a long moment, Aria slid closer. She reached out to touch his shoulder, and Niall struck her hand away angrily. He glared at her, putting himself between Owen and her.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was unsteady in the face of his blazing blue eyes. “I was just trying to be sympathetic.”
He let out his breath in a low, wordless growl that seemed to fit his expression.
Owen caught his wrist and held it, speaking softly in Fae. After a long, trembling moment, Niall crumpled to the ground, kneeling in front of Owen and bowing his head. Owen sighed, stroked the back of his head with one hand, and spoke to Aria.
“Please forgive us. Niall is protective. There are so few of us left. That,” he took a deep breath, “that is the problem. We are too few to attack by force, even if that was our goal. And I’ve never wished for war with humans. But I see no other option except extinction.” He raised his eyebrows, still staring at the book. “Which, to be honest, is not very far off.”
She knelt beside him. “Tell me. How bad is it? What can we do?”
“We? You’re still with me in this, after what Grenidor did?” He glanced up at her.
“After what they did to him, how could I not be?” She gestured at Niall.
Owen ran his hands through his hair again. The lamplight caught his face for a moment as he closed his eyes, and she realized how beautiful he was. And how exhausted. His hands were still shaking as he rested his elbows on his knees.
“Were you hurt again? And had to heal yourself?”
He shrugged. “It’s no matter.” He shifted to face her, resting his hand on Niall’s head for a moment. The boy curled into a ball on the floor and Owen smiled sadly. He lowered his voice. “We don’t procreate the way humans do. The mechanics are the same, but a Fae child cannot be conceived by accident. There are songs that are required from the father and mother. Removing a Fae tongue makes the victim voiceless, yes, but for us, it is also castration. It is an unprecedented act of war.”
Aria swallowed.
“Yet it is a war we cannot win, and one I have no desire to pursue. I do not hate humans, only the harm they do to us.” He sighed. “And we are beset. I have perhaps,” he glanced at the notebook again, “one hundred? At most? One hundred who are still free and could fight if need be. But t
hey are scattered across the continent and have children to protect.”
Niall shuddered, still curled on the floor, head covered by his arms. Owen leaned forward to look at his face and smiled sadly. “It’s good he’s asleep. He’ll need to eat soon. As will I.”
“What were you writing in the other notebook?”
“Questions for him. He’s in no condition to answer them now, though.”
Aria swallowed. “Since I’m in this, and I can’t read your notes, will you tell me? And I need to know what Colonel Grenidor meant by that story about the ancestor spirits. I need to know everything.”
Owen nodded, and she felt guilty all over again when he pushed his hands through his hair, which was already sticking up, then rubbed them hard over his face as if he were trying to stay awake. He pulled the notebook closer to him and nodded that she should sit next to him. The lamp lit the page with a flickering yellow glow. It didn’t surprise her that his handwriting was neat and precise, each line perfectly level, though the letters were fluid.
“I won’t go through all the names, because most will mean nothing to you. Niall added another thirteen names to those of which I was aware. This is his father. He was alive three months ago, but then they were separated for testing. His mother, my elder sister, was last seen six months ago when she was moved to another testing facility, possibly for,” he hesitated, then said quietly, “reproduction experiments. Their younger son, Liam, was killed when they were captured.” He stopped, and though his voice had not wavered, he bowed his head a moment and closed his eyes. Aria felt her own throat tighten with emotion, and she reached out a hand and laid it on his arm.
“This is my father’s name. He was last seen alive two months ago but was transferred to a solitary confinement area. I can imagine why.” At Aria’s glance, he said softly, “My father is not the sort to let his people be abused without a fight. I’m sure he’s caused all manner of problems for them. And paid for it, no doubt.” He took a deep breath. “This is a childhood friend. She was moved to solitary confinement around the same time my father was. This is a friend, as well. He died as a result of an experiment on drug toxicity.” He took another deep breath and let it out slowly, moving his finger to the middle of the next column of names. “This is my younger brother, Cillian. He was last seen alive nearly six months ago when he was moved to an enclosed compartment for testing infectious diseases.”
Aria felt something break inside her, and she leaned forward to rest her forehead on his shoulder, one tentative hand on his back. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
There was a long silence, and finally, he said softly, “You had other questions, did you not?”
She pulled back so she could see his face, watching him in profile. “What did Grenidor mean by the ancestor spirits story? Was it a lie? Does it have anything to do with Fae?”
He waited so long to answer that she wondered whether he meant to at all. “I’ve heard a similar story before, but I don’t know the Fae of that area. Fae have long preferred to remain unseen rather than walk among men. Some have good reasons, some less so. Some men are superstitious and invent malice and monsters where there are none. And some Fae enjoy the power to make men afraid. If I had to guess, I would imagine that there was one, perhaps two, turned Fae who thought it amusing to play with the tribe for a while and eventually grew tired of their game. But there are other things than Fae and men in the world, and I could be wrong.”
She took a deep breath. “So a Fae could have done it.” It’s not as though people don’t do horrible things, too. You’ve already seen the evidence. We even do them to each other.
“It is possible.”
“He also said,” she hesitated, but pressed on, “he said I was stupid to be helping you. Naive. He asked if I knew how many you’d killed. And said that just because you hadn’t hurt me yet didn’t mean you wouldn’t; it only meant I was useful for now.” She swallowed, trying to read his expression.
“And you believe him?” He stared at the floor in front of his crossed ankles.
“I’m not sure. Should I?”
“What do you think?” Still he kept his eyes on the floor, and she wondered suddenly if it was out of consideration. Surely, by now, he’d realized that it was hard for her to think when his eyes were on hers.
“I believe you’re helping your people. I know you could have hurt me and you didn’t, and you rescued me from Grenidor. But how many people have you killed? And why?”
“I do not dwell on the exact count.” He spoke slowly and precisely. “I’ve been alive a long time, and most of that time has not been idyllic. All have been for reasonable cause. Most were trying to capture or kill me, or other Fae. One, I surprised in the middle of his attempt to murder another human. Grenidor sees us as dogs, and dogs who bite deserve to be put down, regardless of what the human does to the dog first. I believe we have a right to self-defense.” He sighed, leaned forward to look at Niall’s face for a moment before lying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head. “You are free to go if you wish.”
“All of them were self-defense?”
“All were for reasonable cause.” His eyes were closed now, and he turned his back to her, lying on his side with one arm curled under his head. “Believe what you like. I must sleep now.”
She stared at his back. Why did I even ask him? He’s given me no reason to fear him, and Grenidor is a monster. I don’t doubt there’s more to know, but I owe him an apology. After he rests. After I rest.
She rubbed her eyes and wrapped herself up in the blanket on the floor, then reached out to turn down the lamp.
Chapter Five
Aria woke to the feeling of being stared at. The lamp was turned up again, and she blinked for a moment before she realized that Niall was sitting on the other side of the circle of light, his blue eyes on her face.
“Hello,” she said tentatively. “My name is Aria. I don’t think I said it last night, if it was night.”
His eyes flicked away and then back to her before he nodded.
“You understand English, don’t you?”
He nodded again. She sat up. He looked a little better after sleeping, the dark circles under his eyes fading. The red rings and underlying bruises around his wrists and ankles were much fainter, too. Owen’s singing had helped, then, though it couldn’t heal his tongue.
“Where is Owen?”
His mouth twitched, and then he picked up a notebook and pen and wrote. He turned it to show her. You should refer to him as Lord Owen.
“Oh.” She considered a moment. “I’m sorry. He didn’t tell me.” Those blue eyes on hers seemed a little softer. “I’m sorry about what they did.” He stared at her, and she felt suddenly that she was being measured.
He went to get food.
“Good. I’m hungry, and I bet you are, too.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but he merely stared at her. “When did you last eat? Well, how often do you normally eat? Owen, I mean Lord Owen, didn’t seem to need to eat every day.” The title felt awkward and strange in her mouth, but she thought she would oblige him until Owen came back and made his wishes known.
Normally we eat every three or four days. They fed me once a month. After considering her face a moment, he added, Grenidor lies.
“Did you hear us last night?”
Only the part where you accused Lord Owen of being a murderer. He wrote the words with irritated force, then glanced up at her again.
“That’s not what I meant! I just wanted to hear the truth.” She was going to keep justifying herself, as thin as the words sounded, but he started writing again.
Grenidor is one of the directors of the experiment program. He devises the tortures that are inflicted on our people. He turned the paper around so she could see it with an angry flourish, then stopped to add, If you cannot believe Lord Owen’s word over Grenidor’s, you are the stupidest human I have ever met.
She winced. “You’re right. It was stupid. I’m s
orry, and I owe him an apology.”
He scowled at her, only slightly mollified.
“How old are you?”
Chapter Six
She blinked. Yes, that would be right. If Owen looked about thirty, but was 273, this child looked something close to a third of that, eight or ten. She shook her head at the strangeness of it. “Where were you born? Do you remember before the Revolution?”
It was his turn to stare at her oddly before answering. Nearby, outside the city. I remember. Not as much as Lord Owen, because I was young and my parents sheltered me from the worst of it.
“From the worst of it? The worst of what?”
Another strange look. The violence.
“What violence?”
He cocked his head to the side and stared at her for a long moment. He tapped the pen under the word violence, watching her face.
“What violence? There wasn’t any violence. It was a bloodless revolution, just a political change. The only fighting was against the Outlanders in the West and South Quadrants, and even that only lasted a few weeks. There was some unrest, competing propaganda for a while, but then it faded as everyone realized how much better things were.” She stopped, blinking. The words came from her lips, but they sounded wrong, somehow. False.
She shook her head, feeling as if she stood on the edge of a precipice. “It was bloodless, wasn’t it?”
His lips opened as if he wanted to speak, but then he clamped them shut. He wrote furiously, and she read over his shoulder. No. There was much bloodshed. Do you not remember? Fighting in the streets for years. Many people killed. Some Fae also. Laser guns. Death squads. Getlaril bullets and vertril invented. Trackers. Propaganda war ended with assassinations of journalists.
“No. No. That’s not what I remember.” But images flashed in her head. Blood splatters on the asphalt. Rockets. She pressed her hands over her eyes and shuddered. Shivering in the bathtub, hoping it would stop the bullets.