The Lost Kids: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance

by J. L. Smith

  Chapter 19

  We followed Balen through the fortress, the roars and cries of the crowd telling me that we were getting nearer. At a huge stone balcony, we came to a halt, the structure overlooking the massive courtyard and seething crowd below. Balen and Bea took center stage immediately, inciting enthusiastic shrieks as they stood on the balcony above the people. The rest of us hovered to the side in the shadows of a hallway, with thin slits in the stonework allowing us a view of the chaos below. Guards were stationed on the balcony and interspersed amongst the crowd, with Grigor not far from Balen himself. I noticed the dreadlocked guards positioned at key vantage points on balconies or staircases just above the crowd, ready should their weapons be needed for mass control. Two of them, however, stood down the hall from where we were, guarding a closed door.

  “The seers will be there,” Neal whispered to Rayder in a low voice.

  “Yeah,” Rayder nodded, “we’ll get through them. Go do your thing.”

  Neal glanced anxiously at Balen and Bea and we could only hope that they were suitably distracted not to notice Neal sneaking off to plant more bombs. “Good luck,” Neal said, giving us all a quick once-over.

  “See you on the other side,” Rayder said, nodding to Neal as he turned to leave.

  I peered through the slit in the stonework once more, watching the excitement of the crowd below. Balen and Bea had started to talk and, while they did, people swayed and jostled as the energy grew. One could spot pockets of relative wealth here and there, those a bit more smartly dressed in real leathers, who had crawled their way up Balen’s ranks. But, to my surprise, most of them had the look of the poor and desperate, clothes tatty, hair shaggy. I remembered an early conversation with Neal about the runners, how he had told me that they were generally comprised of the lower classes, those who lacked in education and wealth. Looking across the hundreds of people assembled in the courtyard, I could see the truth of it right before me. It gave me hope that our plan just might work. To add fuel to what we hoped would be akin to a fire below, bottles were being generously passed around from one mouth to the next, brown and white liquids running down throats, causing smiles to become brighter and shouts to become louder. And everywhere, the crowd was awash in red, garish as blood: the flags which hung from courtyard windows, the scarves and bandanas which people wore, the rose petals ironically littering the floor. It was time to bless the harvest, after all, and given that red was the color of the seers, the courtyard was full of it. I cast my eye one more time about the crowd, this time looking for Saffron. It was a poor attempt, given the numbers in the crowd, and one which proved useless, as I did not find her.

  “Who wants to hear good news?” I heard Balen roar at the crowd, who shrieked back eagerly in return.

  “No one gets in Balen’s way and gets away with it,” Bea shouted, strutting across the stage with her fist raised. “Am I right or am I right?”

  The crowd erupted, throwing bottles and shouting to bring out the bikers, as clearly word had spread quickly.

  “Good news travels fast,” Balen cried, a vicious smile on his face. “Who wants to see the bikers then? The bikers who’ve been robbing us of our livelihood.” The crowd bellowed as he spoke, empty bottles flying, as men and women screamed for blood. “Who’ve been trying to start a harvest of their own. Who’ve killed some of our best runners, thinking they’re above our law.” He paused, looking towards Grigor, who nodded once, “Who wants to see justice delivered today?”

  The crowd cried out even more frantically then, chanting, “Bring them out! Bring them out!”

  Just then, I saw the actors being led onto the balcony. Additional bruises marred their faces, making me wince, as they had clearly been subjected to further brutality. I could not stop thinking about how it should have been us up there and could not quite believe that they were just silently taking it, without shouting from the rooftops that we were the real culprits. Where at first, I had seen them as capricious and a little too vain, I now saw them as fighters with backbones of steel and very much part of our team.

  “Aria,” Rayder whispered in my ear, causing me to turn in haste. “Did you hear me?”

  “Sorry,” I whispered, realizing I had been utterly preoccupied with the actors being hurled onto the balcony.

  “Get with it,” he snapped. “Okay?”

  I bristled at his comment, but replied steadily, “I’m good.”

  “We’ve got to get to the seers,” Rayder said, more gently now.

  As we had planned, Stef and Susie started marching down the long, narrow hallway, towards the door we assumed the seers had to be occupying. Their voices caught in the air, drawing the attention of the guards who hovered just outside the door which we targeted. Rayder and I followed slowly behind them.

  “He’s mine, you crazy bitch!” hissed Susie, grabbing her sister’s arm.

  “What are you talking about?” Stef shouted, sounding entirely uncharacteristic and pulling her arm from her twin’s grasp. “I’ve been with him for months now!”

  “That’s only because you stole him from me!” Susie countered. “He was into me, and you took him away, doing what you do best. Playing the slut!”

  “What did you call me?” Stef raged, yanking on Susie’s hair.

  The two guards positioned outside of the door looked on, partially entertained, but also somewhat uncertain as to how to proceed. They glanced down the hallway in the direction of Balen and the other guards, but the show was in full swing and the crowd too loud for them to hear what was happening between the pair of girls.

  “You heard me,” Susie countered, pulling Stef’s hair right back. “You always have been! Slut!” She slapped her as she spoke, causing me to gasp automatically, even though I had expected it. “Whore!” She slapped Stef again.

  “You bitch!” Stef pushed Susie with all her might, pouncing on her as she fell onto the ground and the two started brawling like something one would only expect to see in a brothel or the very seediest of bars.

  The punches and scratches came thick and fast, causing the guards to rush towards them, now sure of what they needed to do, as they tried to tear the girls apart. Kieran got into the middle of things then, just another troublemaker for the guards to sort out, as he tried to pacify the girls without any success. As it all transpired, Rayder and I quietly made our way past the ruckus, continually glancing behind us, to make sure that none of the guards had spotted us. Rayder opened the door we sought and I snuck in, before he closed it quietly shut.

  Before us, as we had hoped, almost drowning in a sea of incense in the otherwise virtually bare room, stood three seers, robed in red, their beards and long hair white, their aging skin folding listlessly about their tired eyes and mouths. They held their hands as if in prayer, a calm oasis after the raging torrent of the crowd outside.

  Startled, the seer who seemed to be the eldest, his eyes almost milky white, his proud demeanor telling us that he was the one in charge, said abruptly, “How dare you? This place is sacred. Who are you?”

  In one swift movement, Rayder pulled a knife from the hidden compartment in the sole of his boot and threw it, pinning the man’s long, flowing robe to the floor beneath his feet. With his other hand, he grabbed a second knife, aiming it dangerously, a promise that the next knife would not land so peacefully. More slowly than Rayder, I managed to extricate two of my own knives, taking a similar position as I pointed my knives at them.

  “That doesn’t concern you,” Rayder replied, his voice low. “What does concern you, is what I’m about to do.” He glanced over at me, nodding, and I tightened my fists over the handles of my knives and held them just above my shoulders, knowing that my throw could just as easily hit as miss. I could only hope I did not have reason to let go of them. As planned, Rayder approached the seers slowly and continued casually, retrieving his first knife as he went, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  “What are you talki
ng about?” another of the seers, the plumpest of the lot, spluttered, his gray eyes flicking from Rayder to me nervously.

  As Rayder advanced on them, they shuffled back, very aware of the threat of our knives. “You shout,” Rayder said, “and this,” he tilted his head in the direction of his weapon, “lands in your neck. And believe me, there are more where this came from.”

  “We’re sacred,” the eldest of the seers huffed, attempting a show of bravado, even though his cloudy eyes showed his fear. “Balen will have your heads for this.”

  In an instant, Rayder was upon him, his one hand around the man’s neck, his knife tip held tautly against the skin behind the seer’s ear. “It’s your own head I’d worry about if I were you, old man,” Rayder hissed.

  The other seers looked as if they wanted to help, but I stepped towards them, my stance threatening. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” I said, giving them a sadistic smile. Raising my eyebrows, I added, “My hands just might slip and then these knives will find their way into your throats.” Both men glanced at each other feebly and then seemed to decide that aiding their superior was not worth risking their own lives.

  Rayder’s knife still positioned behind the eldest seer’s ear, he continued, as if the interruption had not happened, “Part of me wants to cut you from ear to ear. You’re a waste of space and I’d like nothing more than to gut you from here,” Rayder touched the tip of the man’s chin with his finger, “to here.” He jabbed the seer in the stomach roughly, causing him to wince. I almost shivered at the hatred in Rayder’s voice. He had their full attention now.

  “You’re the real motorcycle riders,” the chief seer whispered. “That gang.”

  “Is that one of your visions talking?” Rayder mocked.

  The seer scowled, his eyes flashing in anger at his authority being so openly ridiculed. “Balen will find out.”

  Rayder shrugged, untroubled, “This is going to hurt.” As he spoke, he fished out a tiny sharply pointed capsule from his pocket and jabbed it into the soft fleshy spot just above the seer’s collarbone. The man jerked back in response, causing Rayder’s knife to nick the side of his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

  The seer gasped, pressing his fingers to both the small stab wound and the slice along his neck. “How dare you injure one of the chosen?” Despite his words, his voice wavered in fright. “What,” he stammered, “what have you done to me? What was that?”

  “All in good time,” Rayder said coolly, striding over to the two remaining seers. They backed away instinctively. “I’d be compliant if I were you.”

  “Who do you think you are?” the chubby seer asked, in rage and fear.

  “Guards!” the other, taller than his friends, with haunting charcoal eyes, shouted suddenly.

  In a split second, Rayder thrust his hand over the man’s mouth, slicing his knife in a hot, slick line over his collarbone. Blood immediately pooled over the wound, but I could already tell that it was superficial in nature, as Rayder would have intended. The seer lurched back, eyes going wide in response. I glanced at the door, waiting for any indication that it was about to be opened. It remained still and I could only suppose that Susie and Stef were keeping the guards occupied with their fight.

  “Now, why did you have to go and do that?” Rayder pulled the man forward aggressively, the tip of his bloody knife positioned over his eye. “Don’t move,” he breathed, taking another capsule from his pocket and jabbing it into the same spot as he had with the first seer. “Or I’ll dig your eye out.” The man was absolutely still, beads of sweat accumulating on his brow, while his eyes glared daggers at Rayder.

  “I demand to know what you’re doing to us,” the eldest seer said, rubbing the cut on his neck and glancing between Rayder and me, no doubt wondering if he could make a run for it.

  Rayder spun around, “Isn’t patience supposed to be one of your virtues?” he asked sarcastically. “And anyway, you’re in no position to make demands.”

  Rayder yanked the third seer towards him roughly and thrust yet another capsule beneath his skin. There was no need to threaten this time. The man was trembling violently from head to toe and, for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. He was seeing Rayder at his most ruthless and it was not a pretty sight to behold.

  “You will answer for this,” the head seer continued, “in this life and the next.”

  “Maybe,” Rayder responded, “but then, so will you.” He stepped back to join me, where I still held my knives in a position of attack. “You’ve heard of the suicide pill, I’m sure.” Three pairs of eyes widened before us, terror evident in all of them. It had been Neal’s ultimate triumph, the tiny sharpened capsules having been hidden in the soles of the very same boots which had helped us smuggle in the bombs necessary to take Balen’s fortress down. The plan had been for Neal to hand the capsules over to Rayder once we were inside the fortress, which he had achieved. That, together with a small remote, was the key to getting the seers to comply.

  “I don’t believe you,” the head seer spat out, his voice shaking.

  Rayder shrugged, “We can always test it out.” He looked at the other two seers. “Which of your friends could you do without?” he asked the man, almost sounding amused. Despite the sweat lining my back, I shivered, part of me hating to see this side of Rayder. “This,” he pulled a remote out of the pocket of his pants and held it between his fingers, “is all it’ll take. I push one of these buttons,” he smiled wickedly, “and it activates a release mechanism in the capsule I’ve just inserted into you. The potassium cyanide in those capsules will drain into your bodies and then it’s a matter of a few minutes until your hearts stop beating.” He paused, letting his words sink in, “So, I ask again, which of your friends do you like least? I just have to hope I press the right button and don’t end up activating yours by mistake.”

  The room was deathly still, interrupted only by the sound of cheering coming from the crowd in the courtyard. Even the incense seemed to have stopped moving, hanging limply in the air instead.

  “We’re not afraid of dying,” the eldest seer replied, his voice giving away the lie. “We go from one life to the next.”

  “Suit yourself,” Rayder responded casually. “Which one should I choose?” His finger hovered over the remote for a second and I held my breath, knowing full well that he was prepared to press one of those buttons.

  “What do you want from us?” the head seer asked quickly, obviously realizing that Rayder was not bluffing.

  “Glad you asked,” Rayder said, placing the remote back in his pocket and I noticed each of the seers exhaling in relief. “We all know what you’re supposed to do today. Bless the organs harvested in the trade and everyone involved in it. Tell them they’re doing a service for us all, sacrificing some for the greater good. That they’re helping right the evil of the diseases sweeping the desert and that Mother Nature applauds them. That their own harvest will be bountiful, in this life and the next. Have I got the wording right? It’s a well-oiled machine by now, isn’t it?” Rayder continued, his voice dripping with derision, “I’d love to know how much it cost Balen to buy you. I’ll give it to him, it was a good idea. Getting some of the most highly-respected seers in the land onto his team and feeding starving people the lies they need to hear to commit atrocities.”

  “The harvest is for the greater good,” the head seer objected. “In a time of disease and death like never before, we have to sacrifice a few for the good of many.”

  “Sacrifice a few?” Rayder asked, laughing incredulously. “You and I both know the numbers, and it’s hardly a few. And, last time I checked, murder was still murder.”

  “You don’t understand,” the man continued.

  Rayder cut him off, “I’m not interested in having a debate with you. What I am interested in, is what you’re going to be saying to the crowd this year. Because, this year, things are going to go a little differently.”

  “Balen will ki
ll us on the spot if we say anything else,” the head seer argued.

  Rayder smiled, “Not even Balen would kill the so-called sacred in front of that superstitious crowd. They believe in your powers of prophesy and oneness with Mother Nature too much. There’d be riots and rebellion.”

  “He’ll kill us afterwards, then,” the man continued.

  “Believe me when I say, Balen will be dead by the end of the day.” His voice held absolute certainty and I could tell that they were starting to believe him capable of it. “Your choice is simple. If you don’t do exactly as I say, I’ll activate your cyanide poisoning and the crowd will get to watch as you die a shameful death. If you do what I say, you might just be spared when we kill every last one of Balen’s people.”

  “Can you promise to spare us?” the man asked. “That is, if you manage to succeed.” I imagined that if we were to lose and our mission fail, he would simply tell Balen that they had had no choice. They disgusted me: men with no backbone and no conscience.

  Rayder paused for a moment, as if in thought, and then said, his tone grave, “We will win today. And as for sparing you, I give you my word.”

  Then, he told the seers exactly what they were going to say.

  It was not two minutes later that there was a knock on the door. Balen had summoned the seers and the guards led them towards the balcony, where they were to address the crowd. Rayder and I crept out behind them, no one imagining for a moment that the room had had anyone else in it, for entering such a room was sacrilege.

  We trailed the seers and guards, joining up with Susie, Stef and Kieran, who had pulled off their roles to perfection. The girls still scowled at each other intermittently, but no one noticed, as all eyes were focused on the seers approaching Balen. We made our way as close to the balcony as we could hope, without attracting unwanted attention from the guards. Across the balcony from us, I could see the actors, whose fate I did not know. I could only guess that Balen was anticipating a cruel death for each of them in front of the crowd later that night. The more alcohol consumed by the crowd, the louder the cries for torture would become. Mercy, no doubt, would be a sentiment shared by few.