Dreams of the Chosen

by Cawell, Brian

  Besides, if the ether-comm failed, Terese and Richie already had a bearing on the Village and on the Archive, courtesy of our first-night communication. I wasn’t sure how the Sect might feel about that, but we weren’t about to bring it up, and as long as we kept quiet on the subject to Leana or Mykal, there was little chance of anyone discovering it, so we left it that way.

  No point in making unnecessary waves.

  Erin looked in my direction from across the room, but her smile was just a millisecond late. I shot a thought to her.

  – You okay?

  – Fine. I’ll tell you about it later. Another half-hearted smile. I smiled back, unaware that it might be the last smile we would ever share.

  Because two days later, everything changed.

  PART THREE

  JOURNEYS

  The Chaldeans . . . swept down on your camels and carried them off. They put the servants to the sword, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you! Job 1:17

  28

  The Only One

  The Forest of D’nong

  Eastern Perimeter

  Bourne Region

  December 31, 3383ad

  LEANA

  The clouds have blown away, leaving only the memory of the storm and the blistering day that spawned it.

  The moon hangs huge and low in the sky, painting the landscape with a frosting of white, and the wall of trees is before her, black in the pre-dawn glow; dripping and dense with its promise of safety.

  Cold air tears at Leana’s throat with each rasping breath and every step is agony. Behind her, the sounds of pursuit have long since died away, but her pace does not slacken.

  Her flight is instinctive. She moved beyond thinking hours ago, riding the horror like a wave, driving herself beyond endurance. Beyond hope.

  For somewhere deep beneath that instinct, the screams still echo. Somewhere, the feral howls resound.

  Back there in the darkness, an era has come to a bloody end.

  Northwestern Extremities

  Old Bourne

  Twelve Hours Earlier

  LESSANDRO DEY

  Lessandro Dey sits on his huge horse, watching the soldiers fan out around the tunnel entrance. The animal snorts and drags a hoof across the hard-packed ground.

  The sun is gone, but the air has lost none of its heat and the black hood is like an oven. He pushes it back from his face and looks up at the western sky. The thunderheads are forming, their contours tinged pink by the reflected sunset.

  A fork of lightning flashes to earth in the distance – a promise of the storm to come.

  He stares into the dark entrance, so cunningly hidden behind its screen of trees and bushes. The path that leads to it is wide enough for a small cart, but it snakes tortuously between the trunks and around the screening vegetation, so that there is no direct view of the entrance.

  And even if an enemy were to have approached directly, it would have withstood all but the closest scrutiny.

  Luckily, the dogs have other senses.

  And now the camouflaged door so cunningly crafted to resemble the rock that surrounds it has been torn down and lies in pieces, crushing the foliage that grew thickly on either side of the entrance.

  It is only through blind luck that they have discovered its existence at all.

  A patrol, still searching for the Other-Worlders, spotted a man in the woods and called out for him to stop.

  Nothing unusual in that – except that he didn’t stop. He ran, they gave chase and lost him in the thick bushes that grew along a nearby creek.

  This might have been the end of it, but Fate is sometimes unpredictable. Caught on the thorns of a creek-side vine hung a small shred of cloth – no bigger than a child’s hand, but enough. The dogs were called in, while the trail was still warm.

  So, here we are.

  He nudges his mount forward with a sense of anticipation, drawing the glo-lamp from its pannier beside the saddle to drive back the dark. Around him in the shadows, the soldiers file in and other hooded riders are drawing out their glo-lamps and following. Something so carefully hidden is usually worth finding and whatever lies at the end of the tunnel will soon be revealed.

  The muffled hoof-beats echo softly from the cold stone of the tunnel wall.

  MYKAL

  When it comes, the attack is swift and devastating, despite the warning, for there is too little time to prepare.

  Caleb, who has been on lookout duty at the northern entrance, bursts in through the door that leads from the tunnel. ‘They’ve found the entrance!’ His voice is shaking from the fear and the exhausting run. ‘The Guard and a large squad of soldiers. They’re heavily armed and they outnumber us.’

  ‘How long do we have?’ Mykal slams the heavy door shut and slides the bolts into place. Its camouflage will delay them for only a few precious minutes.

  ‘Ten minutes, maybe. I ran as fast as I could.’

  Ten minutes. No time to secure the Archive. Nine centuries of work –

  ‘We have to evacuate.’ Leana watches him calculating the odds, but she already knows the outcome. Some can make it out through the narrow southern exit, but the climb is steep and difficult and the older ones will slow down the escape. Only the young and fit can be sent out that way.

  Two small trapdoors lead out into the no-go zone of the old city and she remembers from personal experience the dangers that lurk there. For the older Sect members, even surrendering to the Black Guard would be a better option.

  ‘Listen up!’ Mykal shouts. ‘Caleb, you take the younger ones out through the southern exit. When you reach the woods, scatter to the safe houses. Get word to the Northern Archives and they’ll send people for you.’

  The Council members have gathered at one end of the chamber. They watch the younger Secters gathering whatever precious things they can carry, then filing out to begin the long climb up towards the southern exit.

  Carl stands hugging a sheaf of Plastisheets to his chest, as if he can protect them against what is to come. Denton, the Council Head, wraps his cloak around himself and stares nervously at the door, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, and almost succeeding.

  Then comes the first thud. The soldiers have found the hidden entrance.

  Jordan, Alvy and Eliita stand together in a group, as if uncertain of what to do. Alvy has a comforting arm around Eliita’s shoulder. Mykal motions them over. He notices that Eliita is limping badly.

  – We should try for the southern exit. If we can escape into the Woods, the Esper will find us, and you can rejoin your friends.

  Jordan looks down at Eliita’s leg. Her ankle is swollen and already the flesh is beginning to bruise.

  – We tried. In the crush, she missed the step. I think she’s torn the ligaments. She’d never make it, and we can’t leave her here alone.

  The thumping on the door gets louder. Jordan looks towards the door, then back at Mykal and Leana.

  – You and Leana can make it. We’ll have to take our chances here.

  Leana hesitates.

  – Mykal, we can’t leave them here without help. They don’t know anything. If the Guard discover who they are – if they even suspect they possess the Gift – you know what they’ll do.

  It is the truth, and they both know it. She watches his mind working, and even through the fear and the tension, she is proud.

  – They don’t know that any of us has the Gift.

  He is thinking aloud, planning, working out the odds.

  – That gives us an advantage. If we work together, we can use it. He turns to face her. But we have to get you out of here.

  – I’m not leaving!

  He grabs her wrist, turning it over, so that the livid brand is revealed. A capital ‘E’ in a circle of scar tissue. ‘E’ for Esper. As soon as they see that
, it’s all over. Where there’s one Esper, there’s likely to be more. They won’t stop till they’ve uncovered us all.

  Mykal turns to Jordan.

  – Let me look after Eliita. You and Alvy can make it out with Leana.

  But Jordan shakes his head.

  – She’s part of my team, so she’s my responsibility. But you’re right about Alvy. Go with Leana, Alv. Let them know what’s happened. I’ll try to leave clues. If you can track us, we might be able to organise the lander to come and bust us out.

  He reaches into his satchel and removes the ether-comm device.

  – Take this. You’re going to need it.

  For a moment, Alvy looks as if he might argue, but then he thinks better of it and it is decided.

  Leana is having trouble seeing through the tears. Mykal kisses both her eyes.

  – Stay safe. He sends the thought with his forehead pressed against hers.

  They make the first move towards the steps, but get no further. At that moment, the door finally gives way and collapses inwards, and they all freeze.

  Mykal reacts first.

  – It’s too late for the southern exit. You won’t make it halfway up.

  He grabs their arms, and drags them towards another passage, obscured by a hanging curtain.

  Leana recognises it.

  – Mykal, no! The memory of her escape from the ruins returns vividly and with it the visceral fear. But the screams of the Sect members and the viciousness of the soldiers as they burst into the Archive decide her.

  As they run along the glo-lit passage, with Alvy and Jordan taking the weight off Eliita’s injured ankle, Mykal does his best to reassure her.

  – It’s the only way, Lea. It’s late. Most of the Ferals will be sleeping. You’ll be able to read the sentries and avoid them. You’ve done it before, with the Tribe, so between the two of you, you’ll be safe. Come on, there’s no more time.

  At the end of the long corridor, the ladder stretches up to the ruins above. Without looking back, she steps onto the bottom rung and begins to climb.

  – Don’t look down. The thought is like a mantra. Don’t look down.

  She knows that if she does, she will never be able to leave him and she must, for all their sakes.

  At the top, she unbolts the cover, pushes it carefully upwards and peeks out to check that the coast is clear. She sends a probing thought, but the nearest mind-tones are 200 metres away – and all but two are sleeping.

  She can sense Alvy on the ladder below her and begins to pull herself up, just as the soldiers find the curtained passage and rush through. There is no time for those below to close the trapdoor and no real point. Its purpose is to keep the Fe’ls from discovering the entrance, but the Archive is no more. From tonight there will be nothing for the door to protect. And the knowledge of it feels like a dagger in her heart.

  As Alvy follows her through he looks down to see the soldiers surrounding Mykal, Jordan and Eliita.

  – Come on. His thought is urgent. They’re coming after us.

  They melt silently into the ruins, putting distance between themselves and the trapdoor. Then they stop to take their bearings. The years of Seeing for the Tribe have not been wasted. Even by moonlight, she can sense the direction she needs to take. But before they can go further, the first of the soldiers emerges from the secret entrance.

  ‘We’re in the ruins,’ he shouts down to the men following. And the fact that he has made such noise shows that he understands nothing of what the statement means.

  Leana sends her probing wider.

  The sentries have heard. Already, they are waking the camp and gathering up their weapons.

  She watches in sick anticipation. She has seen the Fe’ls fight too many times.

  A group of fifteen soldiers has gathered at the top of the ladder. They are tough men, chosen for their strength, their brutality and their ability to follow orders, and they are good fighters, but they do not stand a chance.

  While they are still looking around them, assessing the strange terrain, the Fe’ls attack, yelling like devils, fearless and merciless.

  The soldiers step away from the ladder to find an open space, then form a circle, swords drawn, but the Fe’ls number forty or fifty. And the Fe’ls do not have the imagination to fear death. The fight is short and bloody. For a few seconds, the circle holds and the soldiers strike a few deadly blows, but then the weight of numbers tells. Huge, muscled bodies crash into the group, breaking the line, causing them to stumble, to lose balance and in a fight to the death, he who stumbles is finished. With the circle broken, each soldier is exposed and the end is swift. The cries of the dying are drowned out by the shrieks of the victors, as they echo from the ancient concrete bones of the dead buildings.

  – Don’t move. Alvy sends the thought urgently, as the leader of the Fe’ls looks around him, testing the air for danger.

  But she understands them better than he does.

  – We have to – right now! I know them. They only survive by maintaining vigilance. These intruders mean the likelihood of more. They’ll quarter the area and search for threats. We’re not far enough away. The longer we leave it, the less chance we’ll have to slip away.

  With the ending of the fight, a fragile silence has descended. And into the silence drifts the noise of another struggle. Far below them, in the Archive, the soldiers are herding the Sect members together with blows and shouts, and the sounds are drifting up through the open trapdoor.

  Within seconds, the savages have discovered the ladder and a growling council of war is taking place.

  Aided by the distraction, Leana and Alvy take their chance, slip from their hiding place and scurry from pile to pile of the debris that litters the dead city floor.

  Then it happens.

  Looking backwards, Alvy misjudges a step, dislodges a small piece of debris and sets in motion a noisy chain reaction, as loose rubble tumbles to a new level. Though they manage to duck unseen behind another rock pile, the attention of the Fe’ls has been drawn.

  The growling halts and the leader mumbles some orders. A group of maybe a dozen of the savages begins moving towards them, closing the gap with huge strides. Drawn by the noise of fighting, the others start climbing down into the hole.

  Years of testing himself in the most dangerous pursuits a civilised society can offer have honed Alvy’s reaction times. In an instant, he has summed up the options.

  – Stay here! Don’t move a muscle. The thought is an order. I’ll draw them off and give you a chance to escape.

  – But—

  – No buts. I can move quicker alone and once they see me, they won’t think to look for you. Don’t move!

  Before she can object again, he is up and running for his life. The path he has chosen draws them off towards the west and they follow as a group – just as he predicted. He leaps over the tumbled remains of a wall and disappears from sight into the moon-shadows, making just enough noise to keep them following.

  It is the last time she sees him.

  After a few seconds, she takes the chance he has purchased so dearly and slips away in the opposite direction.

  JORDAN

  There is no point resisting.

  As the soldiers drag them along the passage, back to the main section of the Archive, Mykal and Jordan support Eliita, as best they can. Her face is white with the pain from her damaged ankle and they position their bodies to protect her from the random impact of fist and boot and sword-butt.

  ‘Move along, scum!’ A soldier shoves Jordan in the back. He falls to his knees and braces for a reaction.

  But Mykal’s warning-thought is like a shout in his mind.

  – Don’t do it! Override your training for once and read him. He’s itching for a fight. Don’t oblige him. We can’t afford to draw any attention to you. Except �
� The glimmering of an idea begins to take flame. Just play along – I’m going to try something.

  In a split second, he has assumed a different persona. His thought-tone shifts and he takes a long breath.

  As Jordan regains his feet, Mykal releases Eliita’s arm and turns to the soldier, affecting the subservience of the vanquished.

  ‘Please, sir,’ he pleads. Then he touches his finger to his temple. ‘He’s not all there. Neither of them is. We took them in when no one would look after them. Their family were Zone-Dwellers. They’re good workers, but there’s nothing much upstairs. Can hardly talk. He won’t give you any trouble – and neither will she.’

  Taking his lead, Jordan bows his head, takes Eliita’s arm and moves on. The soldier stares at them with disgust.

  Zone-Dwellers, he thinks. What kind of do-gooders take in Zone-Dwellers?

  They have just reached the curtain separating the passage from the main Archive, when, with a savage yell, the first of the Fe’ls leaps from the ladder.

  In an instant, the soldier’s training kicks in.

  ‘Ferals!’ he yells. ‘In the passage, defence formation. Now!’

  With a precision honed by endless hours of drill and battle simulation, the soldiers and their Guard officers charge into the passage, deploying in a wedge formation that drives forward into the bare-chested rabble forming at the base of the ladder.

  Powerful as they are in open battle, the savage force of the Ferals is no match for the discipline of the seasoned soldiers in the crowded confines of the passageway.

  They find themselves trapped in the dead-end at the ladder’s base, with the Ferals on the ladder, unable to touch ground. A few of the braver savages leap from the higher rungs into the midst of the packed soldiers, but they are quickly cut to pieces, as those around the ladder fall to the swords and axes of the frontline troops.

  The smooth Plascrete of the floor is slick with blood and in the chaos of battle, one slip means death, for few are strong – or lucky – enough to rise again.

  For fifteen minutes, the fighting continues and when it is over, not a Feral remains alive.