The Tremblers

by Raquel Byrnes

  “And what if I refuse to wear these bizarre articles?” I said, hoping to hide a sudden taut pull in my middle. “I’ll remind you I never agreed to confinement or stashing or anything of the sort.”

  “Then, as with the gloves I offered you last night, you can choose to go bare.” He said it softly, but a smirk pulled at his mouth.

  “They’ll be fine.” I yanked the ribbon from his grasp, mortified when I took in the astonished look on Lizzie’s face.

  “Very well, Miss Blackburn,” Ashton said and pulled the window shade down.

  I nodded, avoiding his gaze as he left.

  Lizzie dropped the bundle on the chair, smiling.

  “May I ask why you are so amused?” I bristled. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “It appears quite the opposite,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him behave that way. Ashton rarely smiles.”

  I waited for her to explain, but she held up a metal link spreader instead.

  “Shall we?”

  I crossed my arms.

  “I am not the enemy,” Lizzie said softly. “We are not the criminals.”

  “What are you then, if not traitors to the Union?”

  Her jaw tightened.

  “We are a group called Defiance,” Lizzie said. “And we refuse to be crushed under the foot of the very kind of government we fought off not long ago. Have you not noticed, debutante, what your country has become?”

  “Oh, and your Defiance,” I said. “All of you know how our country should be?”

  “I know how it should not treat those who are weak,” Lizzie said. “I know what it looks like when too few have too much power.”

  “Protesting ill treatment with violent outburst is ludicrous. You injure your own.” I tried to reach for the link spreader, but she held it aloft. “I can do this myself.”

  “It does not even appear as if you can think for yourself.”

  “What of the explosions?”

  “You do not understand.”

  “I—I do not know your quarrel, nor do I wish to become a part of it,” I cried, covering my ears. “My father was taken from our home. He is old and they b-behaved so horridly.” Tears spilled, my entire body trembling with grief and worry. “I just want his safe return. He is all that I have in this broken world, and I want him back.”

  Silence followed and I raised my eyes to Lizzie’s gaze. Where I expected anger or disgust, I saw only pity.

  “Yes, I suppose that is all I would be able to think of if I were in your position. I am truly sorry for what you have been through.” She raised the link spreader and favored me with a noble effort at a smile.

  “You won’t yell at me again?”

  “I think if you cry any more you may very well dehydrate.”

  I let out a shaking sigh and nodded. “I think you are correct.”

  Lizzie set to work undoing the ribbons and hooks that held the chainmail bodice together.

  Steadying myself, I grasped the side of the table as Lizzie yanked. All at once, the bodice fell open and the deep breath my freedom afforded sent a wave of dizziness through me. “I think I might faint,” I whispered, bracing my hands on my knees as the room stopped spinning.

  “It’s no wonder,” Lizzie said and clicked her tongue. “You’re bound up good like a trussed-up goose.”

  My skirts untied, I stepped from the pile of ruffles, shivering in the cold. “What…what are we to do now?”

  “Well,” Lizzie handed me a blouse, “Ash has it under control. He always does.”

  “You’ve known him long?”

  Lizzie murmured her assent. “Here, over your head like this.”

  Soft and filmy, the peasant-cut blouse skimmed my torso, hugging my form and flaring out in fluttering sleeves. “It’s barely there.”

  “Well, that’s the point isn’t it?” Wrapping a leather over-bust bodice around my middle, Lizzie fed the straps into the side buckles, pulling them tight. “You have to be able to move. All that metal and skirting makes it easy for a lady to fall flat on her face. Folks wear more practical things up here.”

  “I can get accustomed this.” I finished the final belt before stepping into the skirt held open by Lizzie. “It’s different, certainly. Easier to breathe.”

  “You’ll not want to go back to those binding clothes, after traipsing around in this.” Showing me how to button the waist, Lizzie gathered the ruching of the skirt until it hovered just over my shins. I tugged at the hem, unaccustomed to the exposure. “Don’t worry, stockings and boots will cover you up.”

  “I was wondering.” I ran my hand along the dark chocolate cotton. It was airy and smooth, like the muslin curtains in the kitchen at home.

  “This chain here,” Lizzie pointed to a length of links banded around my waist and held up a small section of material. “You can secure this pouch to hold goggles, whatever you don’t want to lose.”

  “I saw something on Ashton’s wrist…” I thought of the chain he wore. “It had strange writing.”

  “It has something to do with his faith,” Lizzie said, fussing with the straps on my skirt.

  “The Order is a religious society?”

  “No, not all of them, but back when The Order began, the soldiers, the ones that wielded the sword, they were set apart, vested.”

  “They sound akin to knights.”

  “That is not entirely wrong,” Lizzie stepped back, yanked on the bodice. “But they are the soldiers of The Order.”

  “I thought they were peacekeepers.”

  “Ashton told me once, that not all battles are fought with the sword.” She shrugged, scrunching her nose. “He said the most vital are won on bended knee.”

  “Swords and warriors?” I struggled to understand. “How long ago did this begin?”

  “The Order of the Sword and Scroll is older than most empires.”

  “Is that what you were talking about last night? The mandate?”

  “They are almost from another time, debutante.” She regarded me with hands on her hips. “All of the members of The Sword and Scroll are, but even more so the ones like Ash.”

  “And this Order, it is not a part of your…Defiance?” I asked, hoping my curiosity would not offend. “You said something about them not approving of Mr. Wells consorting with your kind?”

  “There are those within The Order who sympathize,” Lizzie said, her gaze sliding from mine. “But we are different in many ways. The Order directs and advises kings, and, at times, has worked to overthrow them. They are apart from kingdoms and governments, and I suspect, consider themselves above laws as well. Defiance members are Union citizens. We fight to right our own country from within.”

  “Older than empires? How could my father be a part of this without me knowing?” I whispered. “We went to church services, but…”

  “Well, from what I know, your father was a scribe. A man of books in The Order,” Lizzie stood back, nodding at my outfit. “Like I said, not everyone in The Order espouses the same ideals. There is a lot of trouble within from what Ash tells me.”

  “What does it mean?” I asked, my fingers going to the chain around my bodice. “The shackle…the mandate?”

  “His life is not his own,” She held up her wrist. “The chain is a reminder that he is a servant by choice.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Not many do,” Lizzie said and shrugged. She caught my gaze. “Ashton is a singular individual. He is both noble and ruthless and that does not earn him many friends, but he will do what is right. At least what he believes is right.”

  “And you don’t always agree with him?”

  “Sometimes what is fair and what is just are not the same.” Lizzie answered quietly. “That is where we often disagree.”

  “He wants me to trust him and I do not know if I should.”

  “Oh, you should…but what you ought to ask yourself is if you think you are able.”

  “Why do both of you speak in
riddles?”

  “Ash does not compromise. He will not deviate from what needs to be done. No matter the cost. Are you able to live with that?”

  I thought of my father, how quickly Ashton made it clear he was not a priority. I’d given over the journal, convinced I could persuade him to take me to Collodin. Now I doubted my actions. My gaze went to my father’s pocket watch on the side table.

  Lizzie dug in the pile of clothing and I watched her silently, my mind troubled.

  “And now these.” Holding up a pair of black wool stockings and dark brown boots, Lizzie motioned to my feet. “You’ll lose your footing with those high heels.”

  Sinking into the chair, I held up my foot only to stop at Lizzie’s irritated expression. “What?”

  “The point of this style of clothing is for you to be able to not only move, but to dress without servants.” She dropped the boots and stockings. “Best you learn that right now.”

  I closed my mouth on my apology as Lizzie turned and exited the room. Sighing, I reached to unbutton the boots, only to realize with surprise the ease with which the leather bodice bent. I quickly kicked off the heeled shoes and rubbed my sore feet. Unfastening and rolling down my silk stockings, I pulled the wool up the length of my leg, reveling in the warmth.

  “Not so bad.” I slipped into the boots, buckled the four straps, and wiggled my toes in the generous space. The modest heels felt solid, less precarious. I stood, feeling at once more steady and more at ease on the listing ship. Securing the pouch to the chain at my waist, I dropped in my father’s watch and the lorgnettes before turning at a knock.

  “Are you ready?” Ashton asked through the door.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He walked in, his assessing gaze traveling over me. “I think you’ll pass.”

  “Pass for what?”

  “For riff-raff.” He moved, holding the door open. Pulling a pair of goggles from his coat pocket, he offered them to me. “We’re almost there.”

  “Already?” I took the goggles, puzzled.

  “For the sun. It’s much brighter up here than under the dome once the sun reaches its apex.”

  I held them up to my face and smiled, surprised. The blue lenses made everything sharper, brighter in color. Depressing a small lever, a magnifying lens slid down over the right eye. “Remarkable.” I tried to pull the strap over my head. “This part…”

  “Come here.” Ashton pulled the strap apart, and secured the two ends at my nape like a necklace. He stood so close and smelled of soap and leather. I stilled when the scruff of his chin brushed my temple. Stepping back, he lifted the goggles, and his fingers skimmed the hollow of my neck. I startled at his touch, pulling away.

  “I can…I think I know…” I fumbled with the glasses. Sure I was pink to my eyebrows, I struggled to pull the strap free.

  “They go just…” He reached again, slowly, and then placed them atop my head like a tiara. “Like that. You pull them down when you need them.”

  “I would have gotten it eventually,” I muttered.

  “I’m certain you would have.” He glanced down at me and I noticed the slightest dimple at his chin. A befuddled look crossed his features, and I wondered what he was thinking.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, far closer to him than society would allow.

  He stepped back, his arms crossed. The momentary warmth in his gaze was replaced by the stony resolve I’d seen before. “I think I know someone who may be able to help with your father’s journal. He lives in Rodale. I will go to him once I have you settled.” Ashton tucked the small book into the open utility bag at his side.

  “My father entrusted that book to me,” I began, but Lizzie called from outside the room.

  His gaze narrowed before he turned to leave.

  I caught up, following him out to the passenger car. “You intend to take me with you to this…this man, correct?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Wells!” I tugged on his sleeve, stopping his progress.

  He turned, brow raised. “I told you my reasons for hiding you up here. You are a very potent form of leverage, Miss Blackburn,” Ashton said as he continued to the helm where Lizzie stood.

  I followed, fuming. With the journal and his likely connections Ashton did not need me at all and, therefore, would not include me in any plans. I doubted that he would acquiesce to taking me to Collodin. I, however, had no intention of cowering in some corner waiting for word about my father that might never come. Deciding to level the odds in my favor, I eyed the journal just inside the utility bag. If Ashton could be as ruthless as Lizzie said, then so could I.

  “So that is it, then? You’ve decided and that is all?”

  “I’m glad we understand each other.” He pulled my father’s weapon from the bandolier crossing his chest, set it down, and reached for a conventional revolver on the counter. “Tracer guns do not work outside the domes. Only the Union Soldiers’ weapons do.”

  “How can that be?” I glanced at the antique weapon, the snub-nosed bullets visible in the round chamber in its middle where the energy cycling works should have been. “We have every right to bear—”

  “Unless you have an energy source calibrated to the Tesla Dome’s pulse, your tracer gun does not work outside the city.”

  “Well, what is the pulse sequence?” I did not like this old gun. They were unreliable according to my father.

  “They won’t tell us. It is a secret for ‘our own protection’ as the Governors have assured us.” Lizzie looked at me as if I were a stupid child. “You can have a weapon, the law is clear, you just cannot have the means to fire it.”

  “We have weapons though,” I argued. “My father’s tracer gun at our home—”

  “Was a service weapon given to him by The Order and unregistered,” Ashton explained. “If they had known about it, they surely would have altered the pulse before attacking.”

  “They can simply render our weapons useless with the turn of a dial?” I raised a brow. I had not known this. “Maybe it’s for the safety of everyone. Perhaps, the concern is the arming of outlaws.”

  “Like you? Needing protection against your own government outside the city?” Lizzie asked softly. “Still feel safe?”

  I did not know what to say as I grappled with gall at my own ignorance about how much things really had changed since The Great Calamity.

  “You’ll need this out there.” Ashton’s face held sympathy.

  I hated that I appeared so uninformed in front of him. “But you said it was safe.” I eyed the primitive gun and doubt shook my resolve.

  “No, I am very sure I did not.” Ashton reached for a thick belt lying on the nearby shelf and laced it through a small holster. In one swift motion he whipped it around my waist catching the end in his other hand before cinching it. “I said you’ll be fine. Two different things.”

  The spine of my father’s journal poked through the utility bag at his side and I remembered my earlier misgivings about leaving it in his possession. Panic made me act. “What about a dagger, then?”

  “Truly?” I met his doubtful gaze with indignation.

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “Very well, then.” He turned, looked for the one on the counter, and I slid the journal from his pouch.

  Lizzie caught me, raised a brow, but said nothing.

  “Do you even know how to use one?” He asked, holding the knife between us with a concerned expression.

  “I—I …” I stammered trying to hide the journal behind my back. “No, I guess not.”

  “Trust me, Ms. Blackburn.” Donning his own pair of brass eyepieces, Ashton pushed them up, pulling his dark hair back and revealing a smattering of freckles along his widow’s peak. He seemed young then, despite his commanding presence and the way he burst in full heroic fashion into my life. The burden he seemed to carry darkened his otherwise handsome gaze. “You’ll be fine as long as you follow my lead.”

  “It’s apparent, Mr. Wells, that
I have no alternative.”

  “Ash,” he corrected. “There is less formality up here. You want to not appear as if you don’t belong.”

  I nodded. “Ash.”

  “This is a terrible idea,” Lizzie said from the helm. “Of all places.”

  “I’ve no other choice.” Ashton looked at Lizzie, his mouth in a grim line.

  I watched the exchange with worry. Neither of them spoke, but the tense set to his features revealed volumes. Using the moment, I pushed the journal into my leather bodice, adjusting it just as he turned back. Grasping my father’s pocket watch, I squeezed it, willing myself the courage to do what I must.

  Sometime later, I found Ashton standing on the side deck. His head bowed, one hand clasping the other, he whispered.

  Although I should have given him privacy, I stood rooted to the spot. I wondered why a man so accustomed to danger, so seemingly sure of his own abilities, would need to pray. His thumb traced the links of his shackle as he murmured. My mother had done that. Her delicate fingers would slide over the pebbled surface of her Bible as she prayed.

  His life is not his own.

  As I wondered what Lizzie meant by that, it occurred to me that I had prayed more in the past day than in the years since my mother’s death. That I only turned to prayer when I had needed something did not sit well with me, but I had no idea why.

  “It doesn’t matter to Him why you start.” It was a moment before I realized Ashton was speaking. He was not looking at me, his gaze out over the billowing sea of clouds. “Just that you do.”

  “Pardon?” I bristled that he might have guessed my thoughts.

  “It is in our nature to crave His voice.” The hardness to his features softened somehow as he looked at me.

  I did not know what to say to him. He seemed so clear in purpose where I struggled with anger and confusion. Deciding that saying nothing was better than saying something that would make me seem foolish again, I merely nodded.