by Janean Worth
Sitting in his throne room, he imagined in great detail what it would be like. He did not know the full force of what the blast would look like, but because it was one sort of Old Tech similar to that which had precipitated the Fall, he could envision its awesome power well enough. First, he surmised that the House, being the location of the Old Tech device when it was detonated, would explode with such force that the debris would be sent out in violent concentric shockwaves, then, milliseconds later, the destructive concussive force would sweep out across GateWide, like the rings made in a pond when a stone was tossed inside. The Sovereign smiled as he thought of the blossom of dust and fire that would surely be visible from outside the walls.
The destruction of the walls would be the final blow. For years, the ungrateful and useless people of GateWide had benefitted from his protection, his laws, his wall, and his cleverness. And what had they given him in return? Nothing!
If he had not thought to have the wall built, then what would have sheltered them from the wilderness all of these years? If he had not thought to use the Old Tech control harnesses in such a way to enslave the tracken beasts, what would have been used to keep the Strays from fleeing their fate to serve? If he had not implemented the system of dealing with orphans, taking them into the House or setting them in service to a worthy family, then who would have controlled the brats once their parents were gone? And, if he had not seen fit to form the Enforcers, who would have kept order?
The Sovereign snorted in disgust. No one, that’s who. And how had the citizens repaid him for all of these efforts? By allowing the Strays to escape with his tracken and his horses and a few of the kitchen servants, that’s how. Not a single citizen, other than his Enforcers, had lifted a hand to stop the Strays when they’d fled. Not a single one.
After that day, the Sovereign had realized what they were: traitors and colluders, every one. There must be more hidden Believers in GateWide than he’d first imagined.
But with the Old Tech bomb that his loyal Enforcers had found, he would be able to cleanse the world of these traitorous good‑for‑nothings and start afresh somewhere else.
He had new, stronger slaves to serve him, and with his most faithful Enforcers, they would carve out a new and better regime in one of the previously unknown civilizations that he’d glimpsed with the Far‑Seeing device.
And, best of all, now that the traitor amidst the Strays had communicated that Gregory’s powerful device had finally been put out of commission, sabotaged by this devoted servant, there would be nothing that could stop him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Had they killed her or was she still alive?
Heart hammering hard with fear and dread, Mathew barely dared to breathe as he crept further and further down the pitch‑black tunnel. He placed his feet very carefully for every single step, going agonizingly slowly to avoid making a single whisper of sound.
He knew that the Fidgets’ hearing was much better than his own. As was their sense of smell, which was why he had paused to rub dirt from the tunnel floor all over himself before he’d started down the tunnel after them. He’d made sure to coat every square inch of exposed skin and had given his hair a good dusting, too.
Though he hated the feel of the grit on his skin and the filth encrusting his hair mingling with the residual dampness from the rain and hardening to form a mudlike cap upon his head, he knew it was necessary if he was going to have a chance of helping Kara.
But did he even have a chance? How would he retrieve her from a horde of hundreds of ferocious flesh‑eating creatures such as the Fidgets? He couldn’t hope to see better than they could in the dark. And he didn’t stand a chance against their razor‑sharp claws—claws sharp enough to dig through heavily compacted soil and tree roots and form a burrow deep underground in only a matter of a few short minutes. He knew he was no match for their feral viciousness, either. He had had trouble killing the single Fidget at the sanctuary; he couldn’t imagine killing hundreds of them. But he knew that they would not feel the same. They would end him and feast upon his bones in a mere heartbeat if they had the chance.
So how could he help Kara? He had no idea, but he knew that he had to try. He could not imagine trying to go on living without her. The death of his mother had left a hole in his heart, but he’d been a childish, selfish boy then, and the hole had been a selfish thing full of wants and needs. It wasn’t until he’d met Kara that he’d realized how self‑involved he had been. Kara had made him see the world through her eyes, and her view of the world was something totally different than his. Her view of the world, focused through the tight, clear lens of the Creator’s Word, was all goodness and compassion and mercy.
If Kara died, he knew that the hole in his heart, where now dwelled the deep and abiding sorrow of losing his mother before he’d had the chance to tell her how much he appreciated and loved her, would only grow larger. If Kara was gone, that hole of sorrow would consume him, and he’d have no more reason to even attempt to see the world as a beautiful and wondrous place like she did. Without her, he didn’t think that he’d really have any reason to go on living at all.
When the horde of Fidgets had moved off down the tunnel and Mathew had crept forward to the spot where they’d been jabbering in triumph, he’d found nothing there but a few spots of blood on the huge metal tube‑like conveyance that filled the tunnel, hulking over the iron rails. He knew that the blood must be Kara’s and that they’d taken her away down the tunnels. What he didn’t know is whether she had still been alive when they’d taken her.
If she was alive, he’d realized immediately, standing there staring at her smudged blood, he had no chance to save her if he mounted a full‑out attack upon the Fidgets. He was vastly outnumbered and an attack would surely fail. No, what he would need to save her was stealth. And stealth was one skill that he’d honed to perfection when he’d lived in GateWide and had enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.
As he thought about his past thefts, he supposed, in that way, he wasn’t so different from the Fidgets. In GateWide, when people had talked about the little beasts, it had been said that they enjoyed nothing better than a good meal of fresh human flesh and bone and then the subsequent appropriation of whatever belongings that human had possessed. Though he’d never, ever contemplated killing anyone to get their belongings, he had taken many things that did not belong to him.
He marveled at how this skill at stealth, honed for such nefarious and selfish purposes, might just save Kara’s life—that is if she still possessed her life and he could get to her in time.
An oft‑recited verse from the Book came to his mind, and all things will turn to the good of those who love Him. Had the Creator of all had His eye upon Mathew even as Mathew had been an ungrateful, spoiled thief? Had He seen the things that Mathew had done, but yet had already had a plan to make it all work toward good in Mathew’s future? In Kara’s future?
Mathew realized that it must be so, for how else would he find himself in possession of such a specific skill—the very same one that he was now in such desperate need of?
Mathew smiled slightly in the darkness, realizing that he was not quite as alone as he’d thought he’d been moments before, and said a prayer of thanks. This epiphany, this realization that God had a plan for him and had seen fit to prepare him for something that Mathew had never even seen coming, calmed his racing heart and lent him courage.
He could do this. He could save Kara, though on the surface of it, it seemed an impossible task. Nothing was impossible for the Creator.
Still smiling, he crept through the darkness on feet as silent as angel wings, until he neared another platform that was slightly illuminated by the yellow‑gold flicker of candlelight.
There he stopped, crouching just below the lip of the platform, listening as Kara read aloud.
Why she was reading, he could not guess. Had the Fidgets taken her to be their narrator? It was such a ridiculous thought that it confounded h
im.
For a moment, he wondered why they would do this, and then he decided that it did not matter. That it was, in fact, an odd twist of fate to be thankful for, as it would probably keep their attention on Kara rather than on him.
He dared to glance over the top of the platform and saw that Kara was seated on the floor next to a tiny, wizened old man perched in a massive throne‑like chair, reading to him from a large, aged book.
Upon seeing her there, unharmed for the most part, still alive and breathing, joy struck him so hard that he almost toppled over with the impact. The urge to call out to her—to run to her and embrace her—was almost overwhelming, but Mathew managed to contain himself and look around to take in the scene’s detail instead.
Three candles flickered in the darkness, illuminating the platform and the room beyond, and a single Fidget kept guard near the far edge of the room, which was opposite from where Mathew crouched in the darkness. The Fidget was much nearer to Kara than he was, and in a contest of who would get to her first should Mathew leap onto the platform and try to spirit her away right that very moment, Mathew was sure the Fidget would win.
He slunk back down below the platform’s edge to try to think of an escape plan as Kara droned on and on, her beloved voice filling him with such a mix of emotions that it was hard to sort out. Happiness at seeing her warred with fear of his own failure to rescue her.
Where had the other Fidgets gone? And when would they be back? He felt like he should act quickly to get her away while she was unharmed, but he wasn’t sure what to do. He was gifted at stealth, not attack. His heart began to pound again, dread creeping up on him once more as his faith of moments before bled out into the fetid, still air. He tried to cling to it, but it faded away like a shadow during an eclipse.
Frowning, he hunkered down to think.
Seconds passed, ticking by until they lengthened into minutes, yet no likely solution presented itself to him. Desperation crowded his thoughts, making it hard to think.
Mathew bit his lip and clutched the shielding device even harder, his pulse pounding so hard that he thought the lone Fidget in the room above him might hear it. As the seconds pounded by with the speed of a runaway stallion, his urge to act became a necessity. Instead of a plausible way to rescue Kara, his thoughts turned to dark imaginings of what could happen if he waited any longer, what could happen if he failed.
He wondered what he could do if the rest of the Fidgets suddenly appeared out of the darkness of the tunnel to surround him, and then imagined he could hear their harsh breath as they rushed toward him.
He was so caught up in his dread that he didn’t notice that Kara had stopped reading until her voice came to his ears, much closer that time, as if she stood right above him.
“Thank you, Master,” Kara said.
For a moment, Mathew’s thoughts turned from fear and instead burned with anger. Master? The man would never be her master. Why had she called him that?
Before he could contemplate it more, the breathing that he’d thought he’d heard earlier became a reality as several short, dark shapes rushed out of the darkness at the other end of the tunnel and clambered gracelessly up onto the platform.
Mathew barely contained his surprise, but above him, he heard Kara yelp as they rushed by her.
Mathew nearly stood up then, and he would have if the Fidgets hadn’t begun gibbering so excitedly. And then the old man began taunting Kara with the news that they’d brought to him, holding Mathew in place below the platform. The man’s words came clearly to him, reverberating lightly off of the far side of the tunnel, easy to hear in the confined space.
“They say that there is much going on above on the surface.” The man’s tone was taunting and filled with malicious glee. “To the north, they say that guards from the place you call GateWide have gathered to fight other men from the place near the end of the Narrow Road above. To the south, more of the guards gather and hide, waiting for your others to be brought to them by a girl who leads them away from the city and your place of hidden protection.”
Mathew heard Kara choke back a sob. Then he heard the man laugh, and his anger burned brighter, surging to the surface. How dare the man taunt her and then laugh at her misery?
“No, there is no escape. You will be my companion as long as I desire it. Long after your others have been killed and their bones rotted away, you will be here, with me.”
Mathew could contain himself no longer. He shot to his feet and launched himself up onto the platform, landing very near to where Kara stood, her face half hidden behind her hands, her eyes large with suppressed anguish.
The Fidgets snarled at him, and he snarled back, anger coursing through him and chasing away the last vestiges of fear.
“No, she won’t,” Mathew shouted as he seized Kara’s wrist with his free hand and dragged her back down into the rail‑lined channel, activating the shielding device as he leapt down himself.
He turned quickly, holding the device at his side, orienting it to block any advance of the Fidgets.
“Run,” he whispered, letting go of Kara’s wrist to give her a little nudge forward. He wanted to grab her and hug her, to make sure that she was truly unhurt and there with him in the darkness, but they had no time.
“We have to get back to the other platform and get out of these tunnels before they can double back aboveground. It’s our only chance,” he said, giving her another gentle nudge.
“You’re alive,” Kara whispered, looking shocked still by his sudden appearance, her eyes welling with tears.
He pried the palm‑sized light from his pocket and pressed it into her hand and she took it, her lips trembling into a small, grateful smile.
“Yes, I’m alive. And I’m very glad to see that you are, too,” he said.
He felt an impact upon the shielding device and turned to see a Fidget rebounding backward off of the invisible barrier, knocked back into the darkened tunnel by the force of its own forward advance.
“Run, so we can stay that way,” he said, turning back toward Kara.
She needed no further urging as she took off down the tunnel.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jack sat in stunned silence, seething. He glared at the girl, Gemma, who stood across the small clearing where the Enforcers had made their temporary camp. She was talking with one of the burly men, her eyes glinting in the light from the huge fire that the Enforcers had built in the center of the camp to keep the Fidgets at bay.
He was not near enough to hear her words clearly. He and Merrilee and the others, except for the woman Hertha, were bound hand and foot and lay where they’d been tossed near the horses.
Jack chafed against his bonds, trying again to loosen them, though he knew that he wouldn’t be able to. He’d tried several times to free himself since they’d arrived.
“Merrilee, are you okay?” he hissed, his eyes seeking out her small, sagging form in the deepening gloom of dusk.
She didn’t answer, but he could see that her eyes were open, so she was not asleep or unconscious. Still, she acted as if she hadn’t heard him, staring straight ahead into the fire, her face frozen in a mask of nothingness.
Her expression frightened Jack more than the sudden appearance of the Enforcers had. She looked as if she had lost touch with her surroundings, and her glassy eyes held no spark of any emotion at all.
It seemed as if she had already accepted the fate that they’d meet when they were taken back to the House. As if they were already there, and the Sovereign had already meted out his punishment to all of them. As if she were already dead.
Jack shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the air. Merrilee had given up.
Bolstered by weeks of freedom and exposure to the hope that infused the Word, Jack would not give up. Not when they still had a chance to escape.
He called to one of the other Strays, a boy of thirteen, one of the newest Strays to the House, and consequently one of the healthiest an
d strongest of them because he’d endured fewer days of starvation and deprivation than the rest of them had.
“Daven, can you untie me if I roll toward you?”
Daven, still possessing a bit of the rebellious spark of youth, nodded eagerly, his eyes burning with hatred as he stared past Jack, his gaze focused on the Enforcers.
“I will try my best,” Daven said, with feeling.
Jack grunted in acknowledgement and then began to twist his body, using his shoulders and hips as leverage points against the ground, flopping toward Daven like a fish just pulled from the river.
He was tied so tightly that even those small movements were difficult, but, after a few minutes of struggle, he was able to position himself near Daven, his bound hands pressed up against the other boy’s bound hands.
“These ropes are so tight that my fingers are nearly numb. This might take a while,” Daven said as he began to fumble with the thick ropes around Jack’s wrists.
Jack flexed his wrists, attempting to loosen Daven’s ropes as the Stray sought to do the same for him.
They fumbled together in silence for a few moments and Jack became quickly frustrated.
“Can any of you do the same?” Jack asked quietly, directing his question to the other Strays surrounding him and Daven upon the ground.
A few of them mumbled, but none of them moved.
“Just try!” Jack hissed, a bit put out with their lack of fortitude.
No one said a word in return. And still, no one moved.
It seemed that they were all as afraid as Merrilee, though none of them seemed catatonic like she did.
Jack suppressed a heavy sigh of disappointment.