The Recusant

by Greg Hanks

  Penelope’s eyes shot open, and she pushed her body from the bed, so her face was inches from V’delle’s. Her teeth bore fiercely, and her hands shook to hold up her weight. “Rain was the only one who came back! You left! If you would’ve stayed, we could’ve fought them off. We could have stopped them from—”

  “Penelope, we spent the last three months trying to find you,” V’delle said sternly, focused, trying to contain her rage. Her anger was mainly directed at Breckenridge, but it was starting to defrost into her own image, the memory of walking down the catwalk steps of the canal, never giving a second thought to Penelope, Rain, or anyone she had left behind.

  “Oh, the last three months?” Penelope said, sitting up. “I’m so glad you took your sweet time. Everything’s always been about you, V’delle. Hasn’t it?”

  “If I remember the old Penelope,” V’delle said, “I think she never once asked for anyone’s help. And I was different back then. You’re right, I was selfish. I used to only think about myself. I still do sometimes. But a lot has happened since then. I just want to make things right. And I don’t have time—”

  Penelope relaxed on her pillow and turned to a thick sarcasm. “‘A lot has happened.’ I’m sure so much happened to you. I’m so sorry. I bet you were really hurt. I bet you felt like you lost everything. Now you’re new. You had some bad things happen and now you’re all changed. I’m so sorry . . .”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course I don’t!”

  “It wasn’t my decision to torture you,” V’delle argued loudly. “What else am I supposed to do about it?”

  “I want you to suffer like I did.”

  V’delle gripped Penelope’s bicep and squeezed. “I’ve suffered plenty.”

  “Go ahead,” Penelope said. “I want you to die thinking you endured the worst pains imaginable, then get to Hell and figure out you were just a goddamn baby!”

  V’delle restrained herself despite the intensely hot magma trying to erupt from her pores. She flung Penelope’s arm away and stepped back. “You’re sick, Penelope. You’ve been messed up by the Khor’Zon. But you’ll get better. Then you’ll know. All we ever wanted was to find you.”

  Penelope started giggling again, throwing her head back. She imitated a little girl. “Ouchie! Ouchie! Look at me, I’m V’delle! I got hurt! But I’m so strong! Look at me everyone! I’m so important!”

  V’delle watched the redhead without energy, throwing away the insults but keeping a shred of the truth within each one. She left Penelope to laugh, her voice penetrating the walls of the hospital rooms, gnawing itself into V’delle’s brain to infect everything she thought she knew about herself.

  WHAT THE WAR CAN’T TAKE

  “And then two soldiers spar without weapons or armor,” Balien was saying, joined by V’delle and Farin. They walked through the threshold to their little planning room, an unwanted, first floor oval office. Piers was already there, organizing a stack of manila folders. “We have this great arena, surrounded by rows of seats. Some of those fights I will never forget. The lights bring that floor to the stars. And it is like you are one great Khor’Zon arm, curling together as you cheer for your bet.”

  “But it’s not training?” Farin asked.

  “It is tradition.”

  V’delle looked at Piers, feeling guilty it had taken this long to finally reconvene. The room hadn’t changed much since she left for the prison. Tacked documents on the walls. Whiteboards covered in drawings and maps. Table cluttered with coffee cups and dirty plates and old tablets. Torn swivel chairs, a fuzzy brown couch, and a metal buffet table with cabinets stocked with pre-war magazines.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she approached him, defeated.

  “Nonsense,” Piers said, standing up. He grabbed her by the shoulders and studied her face. “I’m just glad you made it back.” He meant to say more but glanced up at their new captive. “Balien, is it?” He extended his hand. “My name is Piers. Welcome.”

  Balien smiled as he took the hand. “Looks like you have been busy here.”

  “I wish I could say it has all paid off,” Piers said.

  V’delle was looking around for a marker. When she found her trusty red one, she rushed to the big map on the wall. Piers folded his arms in skeptical anticipation.

  Beliveilles was about sixteen miles north of Flonneburg, sitting on a horn-shaped mass jutting out of the country’s northern cliffs. Its neighboring cities were small, defunct, and gutted for Flonneburg’s production, leaving the surrounding lands a graveyard of eerily quiet wilderness. One hundred miles south, the Chalis stood tall in its wasteland diameter, with Sanction close by as the bulwark of the Khor’Zon offensive. V’delle drew a Khor’Zon-shaped head on the island north of Beliveilles and wrote “Aeternis” above.

  “What’s that?” Piers asked.

  “His home,” V’delle said.

  “Perhaps I should make some room on the wall then?” he said, anticipating a new divulgence of information. He untacked some papers and cleared a space.

  Rain arrived with a pot of hot coffee.

  “Look alive, folks,” he said, setting the pot in the center of the table.

  “Uh oh,” said V’delle, “plug your nose before you take a sip.”

  “Plug your mouth,” he said.

  Farin laid a gentle hand on his wrist. “It’s nothing personal, Rain. It’s just, your coffee sucks.”

  The group snickered, but they all poured themselves a cup. Balien looked down at his, bit his lip, then set it down on the buffet table.

  “Good,” Piers said after a long drink. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin. Is this Aeternis all you’ve got to report?”

  “For now it’s just a marker,” she said, eyeing Balien with an essence of hatred. “We can’t count on his people to do anything. But he’s agreed to share any Calcitra knowledge he has.”

  “And what information would that be?” Rain asked, draining his mug in a single gulp.

  “Well,” Balien said, “I am not claiming to have any shattering information. I want to aid you, though. I have met a few groups in my travels over the last twenty years. Though their positions have likely changed, I could still give you insight.”

  Piers was nodding to himself. “It might mesh with what I’ve found.”

  “Your discovery?” V’delle asked.

  “This might have the power to give us a huge win,” he said, opening the top of his manila folder and stepped back, as if waiting for a gasp from his captive audience. “You are looking at Sanction’s supply manifest for the last six months.” He watched their eyebrows twitch in confusion. “This tells us exactly what kinds of supplies Sanction has been sending to Khor’Zon-controlled Cities all across the continent.” He waited, arms folded in utter triumph.

  “Where did you get this?” V’delle asked.

  “Our friends in Sanction. They finally pulled through.”

  “What? Those pieces of shit actually helped us?”

  “They’re starting to communicate with us more frequently. Bazek’s been having fun trying to decipher their code system. But hey, it’s something, right?”

  “These are the two men we spoke to a few weeks ago?” Farin clarified.

  “Yes,” said Piers. “And they provided.”

  “Holy shit,” V’delle mumbled. “How’d they send the data?”

  “All we got was a compressed file with a short message. They said they couldn’t reach us again for a while because of Sanction’s network security rotation.”

  “They did good work,” Rain said, looking over V’delle’s shoulder as she flipped through a few pages.

  “I wonder if they rotated the network because of the Lo’Zon,” said Farin. “His arrival probably shook things up.”

  “All the better,” V’delle said. “Now I’ll never have to step foot inside the Chalis again. The coward has finally come out to play.”

  “How exac
tly does this manifest help us?” Rain asked, finding his chair again and putting his boots on the table.

  Piers cleared a section of the table, grabbed one of the papers from his stack, and placed it for everyone to see. “Okay, look here. This part of the manifest is for a Khor’Zon City called Urholm.” He turned to the wall map and roamed the lands with his finger. He stopped and tapped a location seven hundred miles from Beliveilles, near the western edge of the continent. “From what we know, it’s been controlled pretty much since the first Preen’ch were released about ten years ago. And if you look at the list, you’ll see the usual amount of supplies sent to and from Sanction: weapons, food, ammunition, architectural surplus, residency, vehicles, dropships, et cetera.” He thumbed through the stack, finding another sheet almost halfway down. “Now look at this. Six months ago, the flow of supplies stops completely from Urholm. Just stops. Sanction starts sending Urholm triple the amount of supplies to compensate.”

  “Urholm was attacked?” V’delle pondered aloud.

  “That’s the thing we need to answer,” Piers said. “I spent the last few days poring over this stuff. I can only think of three things that could call for this kind of delivery: a large scale attack that required emergency aid; Urholm giving half their supplies to another City or Outpost nearby for a split or defensive measure; or . . . something much more to our liking. Something like Calcitra stealing Urholm’s supplies, requiring emergency replacement.”

  “Seems like you’ve already picked your answer,” Rain said, sitting up, gaining more interest. He reached across the table and snatched the paper to get a better look.

  Piers smiled and gave an “either-or” nod. “There’s no evidence in the other manifests for nearby Cities or Outposts that show a jump in supplies in the same month, so I’m ruling out the gift option. There could have been an attack, which still means we have Urholm and its surrounding locations to weigh in on Calcitra camps. But there has been a steady influx of Sanction supplies for the past two months. If Urholm was attacked and taken, Sanction wouldn’t be giving them supplies still. The Calcitra could be bleeding the City.”

  “Vampires,” Balien said quietly.

  “Piers,” V’delle said, looking through the main stack, “this is . . . amazing. We can check tons of Cities like this. Have you?”

  “Urholm was the first I’ve seen like this,” Piers said. “We can start there, and work on the rest of the manifest as we go.”

  Rain weighed the piece of paper in his hand, as if deciding whether to speak or not.

  “Urholm . . .” Balien spoke, startling everyone to his presence. He stepped to the map and traced the path to Urholm with his eyes. “I remember that name.”

  “Have you been there?” V’delle asked.

  Balien ran his tongue around his teeth. “No . . . but I have been close enough to see signs for it. It was last year, in the Fall. I was coming south from here.” He pointed to the knife-shaped landmass that jutted from the main continent and connected to old Scandinavia. “I do not know if any of you have been in that region before, but there is a great checkpoint wall that separates the northern countries from this one. It is usually empty, but that time we were captured and taken prisoner by a group of Calcitra. Their leader eventually let me go once she knew I was not a threat. What was her name . . .”

  “Sedry Machovec?” asked Rain.

  Everyone looked at him. Balien gave a surprised expression and nodded.

  “Who is she?” asked Farin.

  “I didn’t mention anything because last I heard, she was dead,” said Rain. “But I’m pretty sure she was the leader of a Calcitra group stationed near Urholm. A big group.”

  “When did you hear this?” Balien asked.

  “It was sometime last year, Bazek got a correspondence from one of the Calcitra camps he’d been in communication with. They told us they’d been ambushed, and that their leader, Sedry, was killed during the raid. Only a few escaped and were able to send us that message. Wasn’t long before we lost contact with them, too.”

  Balien spoke with confidence. “I met a General Machovec sometime last Fall. I saw her. She was alive. She did not mention anything about an ambush.”

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” Piers said.

  “Not much did. The checkpoint wall is a maze of stacked cars and metal. A lot of small corridors, flanking your sides fifty feet above. They ambushed us, and someone stuck a knife in my side. We were taken to a home south of the wall and brought before her. They all called her ‘General.’ We spoke, and we told her where we had come from . . . and she let us go. Apparently, we did not have anything she wanted.”

  “She believed you?” V’delle asked. “Just like that?”

  “I am saving you the details. Once she had time to think it through, she let us go.”

  “She didn’t have an angry Scot beat you up?” Rain jeered.

  “No, unfortunately. She was a woman who did not need someone like Peavey around.”

  “Please don’t tell me she’s like Peavey,” V’delle asked.

  “No, I did not mean it like that,” Balien said. “She never wasted time; she got straight to the point about everything, even with her soldiers. She was extremely intelligent from what I gathered. And she hated liars. She said she could tell someone was going to lie before they even thought of it. Could see it in their legs or something. Seemed like she had bred this culture within her soldiers that if anyone lied, they would be severely punished.”

  “Good,” V’delle said. “We need more people who can see past bullshit.”

  “Well, is she dead or not?” Farin asked.

  “I honestly can’t remember when Bazek and I got that message,” said Rain. “But it feels like it was before Fall.”

  “Even if she’s dead, you said they had a huge group,” V’delle decided. “These manifests give us more than enough evidence that something’s been happening in Urholm. We need to get in contact with them.”

  “There’s something else,” Rain said, popping another handful of nuts. “Machovec hates Breckenridge. That’ll be the biggest hurdle—if she’s still alive.”

  “She’ll fit right in then,” V’delle said.

  “That’s the least of our worries,” Piers said. “We’ve given Breckenridge what he wants; Ketterhagan is cooperating. We don’t have to work against Breckenridge, we have to work against time.”

  “I wouldn’t say Ketterhagan’s ‘cooperating’ in the way Breckenridge wants, though,” Farin said.

  V’delle had a sudden jolt of memory, and then remorse. Ketterhagan had wanted to speak with her. Then she remembered his blackened finger. She whisked away the thought.

  “We need a plan,” V’delle said. “We need to go to Urholm. Like, yesterday.”

  The room was quiet. V’delle wasn’t expecting such a drought of enthusiasm. Rain seemed disinterested, his motives probably stunted by his idea that Machovec was dead. Farin shared a couple glances with Rain, and V’delle’s intuition pricked her.

  “We’ve got some work to do,” Piers said. “I’ll get more coffee.”

  He strode out of the room, with an almost giddy bounce. V’delle figured he’d been excited to show her his findings for a few days. She was so glad he was on their team.

  Rain scooted out of his chair. “Listen, V’delle . . . Farin and I . . . we can’t come this time.”

  V’delle crossed her face. The bottom of her stomach dropped. “Why?”

  He looked at Farin. “Breckenridge wants us here for the next month. He wants us to train new recruits—kids.”

  “I know you’re training them . . . but Farin—”

  “I asked Breckenridge if I could help,” Farin said. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

  V’delle shifted her eyes around the room. She looked at Balien, then closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why would you want to pass this up? This is finally a chance for something big. This isn’t just another prison raid or scavenger
hunt. This is real progress.”

  “I know,” Farin said, standing up. “I just . . .” She looked at Rain. “I just feel like these past few field missions haven’t been the best for me. You’re far more suited for this stuff than I am, V’delle. I don’t—”

  “Bullshit,” V’delle said, putting the Urholm paper in its stack. She gave them a smug look. “You two think it’s a secret that you’re in love with each other?”

  Both Rain and Farin scoffed and tried to speak at the same time. Farin silenced him with her hand.

  “V’delle, I’m sitting this one out, okay?” she said. “That’s it.”

  V’delle glanced between the two. Realization caught up with her sarcasm. Her sarcastic attitude faded, and her voice lost its life. “Fine.”

  “I think I’ll go see if Breckenridge has any insight on Machovec,” said Rain.

  “I’ll help,” Farin said, getting up.

  “Of course!” V’delle called after them, her sarcasm reigniting to cover her true feelings. “I mean, it’s just so hard to sit through a meeting without having to suck face. I totally get it.”

  Farin stopped at the threshold. “V’delle, I’m sorry—”

  “Just go,” V’delle said, turning her attention to the stack of papers.

  Farin lingered before disappearing.

  Balien looked down upon V’delle with his arms folded. He opened his mouth to speak, but Piers walked in with a steaming pot of coffee.

  “And a fresh—where’d they go?”

  “They’re not coming,” V’delle said flatly. “It’s just us.”

  “But . . .” Piers sighed and tentatively brought the pot to the table. “Well, I guess we’ve been at worse odds.”

  “Let’s get to work. I want to leave tomorrow.”

  ——————

  V’delle awoke with a start, her forearm stuck to a page of the manifest with coffee residue. Hanging lamps baked the table.