by CJ Brightley
Niamh, too, looked like her brothers, or they looked like her. Her features were more feminine, but had the same pale, fine-boned beauty. Her hair had sprung into a mass of black curls that fell halfway down her back. Like the others, she wore what appeared to be castoff clothing, faded and worn. She wore a dark brown man’s dress shirt, a small size but baggy on her thin frame. Untucked, it hung past her hips, half-covering threadbare denim jeans with an incongruous line of pink rhinestones up one leg. Her bare feet were tucked beneath her.
“Siofra.” Niamh indicated a younger woman. Equally pale, her hair was straighter and had a hint of red-brown. Her face was softer, and she smiled warily at Aria.
“Ardghal.” The Fae man nodded to her, eyes on her face. He appeared to be in his early forties. Aria tried to guess what that meant. Three hundred fifty years or so? He too was gaunt, but he looked strong and muscular beneath his torn, blood-stained shirt. His hair was lighter, a reddish-brown that caught the light.
“Berach.” He was also older, not quite so thin but somehow worn looking. Tired.
“Finn.” A little older than Niall.
Lorcan. Conal. Aideen. Lachtnal. Tadg. Lonan. Conri. Fearghal. Sabd. Cathal. Aria forgot the names, but she remembered their faces. Tadg, Lonan, and Sabd were children of Niall’s age and a little older, with the same hollow-eyed caution she’d seen in him at first. The others were older, ranging from young adults to Conri, the oldest. Aria hesitated to even guess at his age; if he’d been human, she’d have guessed somewhere between sixty and an athletic eighty. His hair was fully gray, and he stooped a little, but his eyes were bright and clear. There were more names too; twenty-three Fae had been rescued.
Aria tried to focus, but she kept thinking of Owen. How he’d jerked, hauling her upward even while they shot him again. His breath in her ears as his arms strained to lift her high enough. How he fell nearly thirty feet to the ground because he’d made it almost to the top. For her. ‘Gabriel, catch her,’ he’d said. Not ‘help me.’
“We need to go back and get him.” She looked up to meet Niamh’s eyes.
Niamh’s lips tightened. “We cannot. None of us has the strength.”
Niall paced behind Aria, a quick, agitated rush of air betraying his silent footsteps. He knelt to write in the notebook and showed it to both of them. He rested before he rescued you. But he had only humans to help him, and you know we are stronger. We cannot leave him there.
“We will not leave him indefinitely, Niall. But it cannot be for at least a week.”
Niall gave a soft wordless cry and looked at his mother. They will kill him before then. You know they will.
“We can’t, Niall. It isn’t possible.” Niamh’s voice had softened, barely audible, but she spoke in English. She wanted Aria to understand.
Grenidor hates him. After tonight, it will be worse.
“Yes, I know. But what would you have me do? Sacrifice everyone to save him? You know he would not want that, even if it could be done.”
Niall glanced at Aria and back to his mother, then gestured toward Aria. She straightened, not sure what was happening, but Niamh gazed at her for a long moment.
Aria offered, “It wouldn’t be alone. I imagine Gabriel would help. And I would.”
Niall dismissed this with a wave of the hand. They will not keep him at Eastborn. They will move him elsewhere for interrogation, or kill him immediately. We haven’t much time.
Niamh glanced between them thoughtfully. “What are you suggesting?”
Everyone should give their strength to Cillian and then go to safety. Cillian, Aria, and I will go to Petro for help.
Niamh sat back with a sharp intake of breath. “Absolutely not.”
Niall stared at his mother, eyes glittering with tears. I will go with or without Cillian. You cannot prevent me.
“Leave us, Aria.” Niamh’s eyes did not leave her son.
Aria slipped out the door gratefully. Her heart felt shredded.
Gabriel beckoned to her from across the room. She picked her way through the bedrolls and rucksacks toward a small crowd sitting on the floor. Aria sat near him, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at the group. After a glance at Gabriel, she kept her eyes mostly on the floor, hunched and miserable.
Gabriel looked tired, rubbing his face blearily, but he shook out his shoulders and said, “We’re beginning the debrief. I’m not entirely sure what happened and the Fae don’t seem to want to tell us right now. Evrial, you go first.”
“We went in. No problems at first. Owen warned us about the alarms; the door itself had a sensor that went off when he got close to it. He opened it somehow, magic I suppose.
“Inside was pretty big. The left side had a surgical table and a bunch of equipment. MRI, EKG, defibrillator, all kinds of stuff. It had been freshly cleaned, but they missed some bloodstains. On the right were cages. Rows of them, metal mesh on the front and solid metal sides.
“Owen touched the mesh on one trying to open the lock, and it blew him across the room. You probably heard the crack through the headset. He was pretty dazed for a minute, but he got the locks open after that without touching the mesh. He said he didn’t think it would shock humans, but we didn’t want to chance it and pulled the doors open with the handles of some brooms and mops we found. We met the first guards as we were leaving, but my team got the first five out and regrouped outside the front gate.” Evrial sighed. “We heard the chaos but didn’t see most of it.”
Gabriel nodded. “Bartok?”
Bartok rubbed one hand down his thigh, staring at the floor. His voice was quiet when he began. “I went back in to help and got one of them nearly to the door. Then I got shot. It hit the femoral artery, painted the wall with blood. Owen was right behind me, and he did magic, I guess, healed it enough so I wouldn’t bleed out. It felt…” he hesitated. “It felt exceedingly odd. I don’t think he was focused on reducing the pain, but normally one would bleed out so quickly that the pain wouldn’t last long. I think he healed the main artery but left the rest for later. I blacked out, and woke up outside the wall with Niall over me.” Bartok’s lean face was serious.
“How do you feel now?” Evrial asked.
“A little shaky and weak from blood loss. But there’s no pain. The wound itself is completely healed. Niall finished when we got back.”
Gabriel nodded. “Jonah?”
Jonah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I went to the front gate and then went back in. Owen was somewhere back in the maze of cages. Cells. Whatever you want to call them. Fae were trying to walk, but most of them were in such bad shape they couldn’t make much progress. I got one with an arm over my shoulder and hauled him to the front. We rounded a corner and met some guards. They were responding to the alarm, and they didn’t expect us that close to the exit. But they got off a few shots before our team handled them. I was in front and didn’t have a vest. A couple rounds caught me in the chest and I went down. Smacked my face pretty hard on the floor too, all tangled up with the Fae I was carrying. I blacked out. When I woke, Aria was between me and the door, covering me. Owen was there, the Fae I’d been carrying was gone, and a Fae woman was lying beside me instead. Niamh. Their leader, I guess. Owen told us to leave and went back. Niamh looked like she might argue, so I grabbed her and we ran to the wall. You know the rest.” He rubbed his chest and stared at the floor.
Aria felt her throat tighten. Owen, how many did you save at your own expense? But this was your mission, not theirs. It wasn’t a choice, was it?
Gabriel frowned. “Why did he go back? He heard me say you were out of time.”
Jonah shook his head minutely.
“The last one, the one we brought out right at the end, is his younger brother.” Aria couldn’t look up from the floor, unwilling to let them see her tears, but she heard Gabriel sigh.
“Benjamin?”
“I got shot on the lawn. I don’t remember at all, just running and bam, on my face in the grass, then blac
kness. I came to on the other side of the wall.”
Gabriel said, “I think it was Charlie who got you up the ladder.”
One of the men in the back nodded. “Yep.”
Benjamin turned to catch his eye. “Thanks.”
“Yep. I didn’t know if you’d make it. That boy fixed you up pretty well, though.”
Gabriel ran his hands over his face again.
“Dominic? What happened with the front gate?”
“The guards stayed in their positions even after the explosion in the back. We were considering changing positions when Aria said Niall would handle them. He did. Took them all out without a shot. I don’t know if he killed them or just knocked them out. We didn’t do anything though, just maintained our positions to provide cover fire when required. The metal gate came up a few minutes later.” He shifted. “I don’t think it was anything we did directly. Sometimes the advanced facilities have systems where the guards have to check in every few minutes or the ingress point is automatically secured. I’d guess this one was on a five-minute timer. A guard swipes his badge or presses a button with a thumbprint reader or something every five minutes. Otherwise the gate engages automatically.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize we had systems like that.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “Most facilities don’t. But the technology isn’t new; it’s just inconvenient to use on a daily basis. Imagine if cars were always going in and out; the gate would crush a car if the guard mentally checked out for a minute. But if security is important enough, you tolerate a little more inconvenience.”
Gabriel sighed. “Anyone have any questions? Comments?”
Silence.
Aria wanted to say they needed to go back to get Owen, but she looked around the room. Without the Fae, what chance did they have?
“Get some sleep.” Gabriel stood and waited while everyone meandered to their bedrolls. He shot her a hard glance when she didn’t move, but said nothing. He stared around the room, his gaze lingering on the hall the Fae had claimed, and finally walked slowly to the conference room. He closed the doors. A line of white light showed between the doors and the floor.
Aria didn’t know how long she sat there. A few lanterns remained lit; some of the soldiers who hadn’t gone on the mission remained on watch. No vertril came.
He had no choice. And no one but Niall seems to think we should, or can, do anything to help him.
Hours passed. The soldiers on watch went to bed and others took their places. The light under the conference room door remained.
Finally, Aria rose, her legs stiff from the cold concrete. She was hungry, thirsty, and shivering, but it didn’t seem to matter. She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and walked across to the conference room. She entered without knocking.
Gabriel looked up at her. His boots were on the floor, his sock-covered feet propped on the table and his chair tilted precariously back against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest.
“We need to go get him.” Her voice was flat. “They said Grenidor will kill him within a week.”
Gabriel didn’t answer, and his gaze slid away from her to the far wall.
“We have to. You know he saved Jonah’s life, and Bartok’s, and mine. Maybe others. He didn’t have to do that.” She stepped closer.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “It was his mission. He knew the risks.”
“But they’ll kill him!”
His gaze flicked back to her. His eyes were red, and Aria wondered suddenly whether it was weariness or whether he’d been weeping. “There are worse things than death.”
“Why do you hate him so much?”
His eyes were hard on her face now, angry. “Is that what you think? You know nothing! You’ve caused enough trouble for us. Go to bed.”
She trembled, but she didn’t move. “Do you know anything about Petro?”
“No. What is it?”
She searched his face, the lines of tension around his mouth, the tightness of his lips. Angry. Grieving. Frustrated. Doubting. “Never mind.”
She turned toward the door and then stopped. “Thank you for pulling me up. You saved my life too.”
He grunted. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He stared at the far wall, his face hard and unfriendly.
Aria lay on her bedroll on the floor in the room she’d shared with Owen and Niall. It was empty now; Owen was gone, captured or already dead, and Niall was still doing whatever he was doing. Arguing, most likely.
It was five thirty in the morning and she was so tired every muscle in her body ached. But sleep eluded her for another hour. Behind her closed eyelids, she saw Owen’s blood-streaked body on the ground, wet curls stuck to his forehead. Saw him jerk as the bullets tore into him. Exhaustion finally won over guilt.
She had strange dreams. Dandra’s face appeared more than once, though she couldn’t remember the context when she woke up. She dreamed her tongue was cut out. It didn’t hurt, but she was terrified, her mouth filled with blood. Later, there was so much that needed to be said, important things that should be conveyed, and she couldn’t talk. No one would pay attention to her long enough to understand why she couldn’t make a sound. She waved a notebook and pencil helplessly, suddenly unable to write. She tried, but the words made no sense, just long strings of meaningless squiggles.
She woke with a jerk to find Niall staring at her. He knelt on the floor in front of her, hollow-eyed and exhausted, one cool hand on her shoulder. She sat up and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. Cillian was crouched behind him.
“What is it?” Her voice felt like a croak, and she wondered how long she’d been asleep. “What time is it?”
Niall scooted backward and sat with his legs crossed. He motioned to Cillian to begin and let his head hang down between his shoulders, as if he wasn’t part of the conversation.
“About nine thirty. Niall says you would be willing to go with us.” Cillian’s eyes were bright on her face, so much like Owen’s that Aria’s heart twisted and she fought back tears.
“Go where?”
He blinked slowly, as if thinking about his words. “To ask Petro for help.”
She nodded. “I don’t know what he is. But I’ll go with you, if you think it will help.”
Cillian blinked again and drew back slightly. His gaze swept over her, a long, thoughtful look.
She swallowed.
“You should know what we know about Petro before you make your decision,” he said finally.
“Owen said some things should not be known.” Why did I say that? I want him to tell me.
Cillian’s lips tightened. “Owen is wiser than I am.” He glanced toward Niall and said something, and Niall rose and left the room.
Cillian took a deep breath, and Aria saw again how similar he was to Owen. He had many of the same mannerisms. He looked disconcertingly close to her own age, but she knew he was much older. He was too thin, as if he hadn’t eaten regularly in a long time. His shirt had been a white knit with a collar, but it was torn and stained. Through the holes, she could see the hard, stringy muscles of his chest and stomach. The dark smudges under his eyes had barely begun to fade. He had no bruises around his wrists or ankles, but he did have a long, livid red scar on one forearm from the inside of the elbow nearly to his wrist.
“Fae are not what you expected, I imagine. Few humans know anything about us, and most of what they have heard is wrong. Magic is also inaccurately understood. It is called magic because that is the closest concept in human thought, but the understanding you get from the word is partial and far from accurate.
“Magic is real, like what you call science. Imagine a bubble. The film of the bubble, the interface between the inside and the outside, is what you see as the universe. It encompasses the stars, molecules, time, everything you have ever heard of or studied. Scientific laws, physics, chemistry, etc., they apply only on the film of the bubble. Both the inside and the outside of the bubble are real,
but they are not part of this universe, the one that humans inhabit. They are separate, and they are subject to separate rules.”
Cillian paused, his eyes on her face. After a long moment studying her, he continued, “Humans live entirely in the film of the bubble. Fae extend a little ways outward, so to speak. Or inward. Direction is an irrelevant concept. This is one reason it is difficult to kill us; only so much of us is present in this universe, and with time and effort we can restore our physical bodies. It is easier with help, and there are limitations, but it is possible. We can manipulate the possibilities and shape the future in ways not possible for humans, using what you would call magic.
“Yet we believe that humans and Fae are closely related. We can interbreed, though for many reasons it is not commonly done. Our physical bodies are very similar, as are our emotions and intellectual capabilities. We feel joy and pain. We love. We grieve.
“It is thought that we diverged from a common ancestor, most likely an early human. While your ancestors were learning how to make fire and sharpen sticks into weapons, a few touched magic. It changed them in ways they didn’t understand. Perhaps they studied healing first; it would have been advantageous. Their children found it easier to touch magic, but they became less human. As their control of magic increased, their bodies changed. They lived longer, they bred with each other rather than short-lived humans, and they began their study of magic early. But human newborns and Fae newborns are not as different as you would imagine. We are not human, but we are cousins to humans.”
The door opened, and Niall slipped in. He put bags in front of each of them and dropped to sit to the side again.
Cillian stared at her a moment before opening his bag. “I beg your pardon for eating in front of you. Most humans find it off-putting, but I require sustenance.” He cut the bloody heart with his knife, and Aria saw his hand shaking a little as he put the knife aside.