Strands of Fate

by R F Hurteau

  “We have to hurry. We need to hide!”

  Instinct kicked in and Gavin felt himself running, all three of them racing around the bend in the road. They were no match for Cyclers, but if their pursuers stopped to examine the crash site for long enough, maybe—just maybe—they could find a place to disappear.

  They emerged from the gully on the opposite side and Gavin could see Levandire in the distance. They’d never make it that far on foot without being spotted, but there were trees here, at least. Not a forest, but individual trees with wide trunks and small groves dotting the landscape between rows of crops.

  They made for the nearest of these groves, stopping only once they’d concealed themselves from the road.

  “I don’t think that will buy us much time,” Gavin warned, wincing as he regarded the backs of his hands. They were raw and bleeding, specks of gravel ground into his flesh. But he’d dealt with far worse. “If they stop long enough to inspect the wreckage they’ll figure out we weren’t in there when it hit.”

  “I know,” Onyx agreed. “But it’s better than nothing. Come on. We can rest when we’ve found the Weaver.”

  “No, wait.”

  Gavin pulled her down, motioning back toward the wreck.

  A few of the Cyclers had reached it and several of the riders had dismounted, poking half-heartedly at the rubble. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but as they returned to their vehicles he breathed a silent sigh of relief. It appeared that the three of them had just been presumed dead.

  The Cyclers stayed near the wreckage, idling as they waited for the slower moving transports to catch up.

  Large and lumbering, the transports appeared several long minutes later.

  Ollie was whimpering at Gavin’s side but he did not offer words of comfort. He was transfixed by the sight of the caravan as it moved steadily toward the city, once again being escorted by the Cyclers.

  Gavin wondered if the Weaver was on one of those trucks, though it was doubtful. It was much more likely that the Weaver was in the city somewhere, and that this was just a second wave.

  He counted ten transports, each capable, he knew, of carrying twenty-five soldiers.

  “Those must be troops for the fleet.”

  Ollie’s guess was unnecessary—Gavin had figured as much.

  “Just how many ships are there?” asked Onyx, keeping her head low.

  “I don’t know,” Ollie replied. “A lot, I guess.”

  Onyx and Gavin exchanged a look. “Are we too late?”

  “There’s no way to know for certain,” said Gavin. “But we can’t give up hope. Not until we know for sure.”

  “Only one way to find out!” Ollie forced a brave smile onto his dirty, bloodstained face.

  “Right.” Onyx stood as the last transport moved off. “Let’s go.”

  Keeping out of sight of the caravan was tricky and slow, but they managed. And in their current state Gavin was certain that none of them were up for much of a faster pace anyway.

  Once all of the vehicles were within the city limits, lost behind the tall buildings and city walls, they were able to move more freely.

  “How will we find him?” Onyx asked, looking around as they entered the enormous city gate. Why it was unguarded was a mystery that Gavin did not have the energy to ponder. “It’s no Imradia, but it’s still huge. We can’t exactly go door-to-door.”

  “No, but just like Imradia, there are safehouses here,” Gavin explained. He looked to Ollie. “Would you be able to find us one?”

  Ollie looked shocked, then recovered. His eyes shone with pride at the idea of being useful for the team.

  “Sure!”

  “We need to be cautious,” Onyx warned him. “If Nero’s having tiny penal villages raided, it’s possible he’s already turned this place upside down searching for Tapestry insurgents.”

  Ollie gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Onyx. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Gavin snorted as he caught sight of her incredulous expression. Then he nodded to Ollie.

  “Lead the way.”

  Their ragged appearance made any chance of attempting to appear normal impossible. If they were spotted, they were done. They stuck to back alleys and tiny streets, skirting around open windows and keeping to the shadows like scavenging animals.

  Levandire did not share the ostentatious grandeur that had earned Imradia its fame. The buildings were large, but they were built in a more traditional way. The homes had an organic feel to them, the larger metal framed factories easy to spot over the flat housetops. The common areas were home to lovingly tended gardens and ornamental trees, beautiful quartz fountains that gurgled pleasantly and shaded seating where a weary traveler could stop to rest and enjoy the scenery.

  It reminded Gavin more of Solara than of Imradia, on a much grander, and more complex, scale.

  One building in particular stood out, towering eight stories above any of the others.

  This, Gavin knew, was the military facility where Nero’s ships were being manufactured. The hulking behemoth of a factory stretched out along the northern border of Levandire.

  Ollie stopped at the end of a long alley, looking in both directions, his face uncertain.

  “What’s the matter?” Gavin asked, coming up alongside him. “Are we lost?”

  “No. It’s just that...my parents’ house is that way. I haven’t seen my mother in a long time.”

  Onyx made an exasperated sound.

  “Unless your mother is a part of the safe house network, this isn’t the time for a visit.”

  Ollie looked somewhat hurt.

  “I—no. She’s not. She didn’t approve of my joining Tapestry. Not after what happened to my father. She doesn’t want to be involved.”

  He gazed that way for a moment longer. Then, “Come on.”

  He turned the corner and walked briskly to a nondescript door, Onyx and Gavin close on his heels.

  Ollie knocked three times, waited, then knocked once more.

  There was a long moment during which Gavin feared no one was there, but then he heard footsteps approaching from inside. There was the sound of a bolt sliding back and then the door opened just a crack.

  “What is it you seek?” came a distrustful voice from just inside. Only a sharply pointed nose and a single blue eye were visible through the crack.

  Ollie cleared his throat before responding in a hushed tone, “Only the truth which is woven into the fabric of the universe,” he breathed reverently, perhaps the first time he had ever had the opportunity to use the Tapestry passphrase himself.

  The door opened wide and the man peered down the street in both directions before gesturing for them to come in.

  “My name is Cyril.” The young man’s tone was haughty, and Gavin took an instant disliking to him. “Sweet Evenmire, you all look awful. What happened to you?”

  “We were in a Floater,” Ollie began, “And—”

  “And we’d rather not talk about it,” Gavin finished for him, looking around. “Thank you for letting us in. Is there a place where we could get cleaned up?”

  “Certainly.” Cyril gestured down the hall. “Just down there.”

  “Thank you again,” Gavin said. “I’m Gavin.”

  He took a towel from Cyril’s outstretched hand before inclining his head toward Onyx. “And this is Onyx. We need your help.”

  “Gavin...” Cyril’s mouth fell open. “The Gavin? Ex-Envicti and co-leader of Tapestry? Sweet Evenmire...”

  Cyril looked as though he might faint. “And Onyx? As in, the Onyx who worked on—”

  “And this is Ollie,” Gavin interjected.

  Cyril hardly acknowledged Ollie’s presence with a quick glance. “Yes, we’ve met.”

  Then he looked at Gavin again and opened his mouth to continue.

  Onyx cut his next words off so sharply that Ollie gave her a startled, curious look.

  “We need to know how to get inside the military factory.”
/>
  “Inside the...b-but why?” stuttered Cyril, still gaping. “It’s just not possible.”

  Gavin felt a momentary jolt of disappointment.

  Or perhaps it was the sting of the wet towel against his ravaged shoulder.

  “Nothing’s impossible.” Onyx’s face was set as she leaned over a basin and poured water over her arm. If it hurt, she didn’t show it.

  Gavin watched as she tore the ragged cloth of her sleeve away, revealing the rash of small abrasions beneath. “Difficult, maybe, but not impossible.”

  Cyril was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but our people in the factory went dark almost a month ago. It’s locked down tighter than ever before, they’ve even brought in troops from Imradia to help keep it under guard.”

  Gavin sighed. “It’s the same there. Nero’s cut us off at every turn. What good is a clandestine network if there’s no way to reach anyone inside?” His fist clenched, squeezing the towel so hard that red-tinged droplets appeared between his fingers, sliding over his knuckles and falling to the floor.

  He thought about Kestrel, wondered if she’d made it to her destination in time to save anyone. They could really use some backup right about now. Would she be here soon?

  Unlikely—thanks to him.

  “We know he’s in there,” Onyx said. “That has to count for something.”

  “Who’s in there?” asked Cyril.

  “The Weaver,” supplied Ollie. “Nero has him.”

  “The Weaver?” Cyril ignored Ollie to address Onyx instead. “The Weaver is here in Levandire?”

  “Yes. He was captured in Imradia and transported here.”

  Cyril glanced around anxiously, as if expecting someone unwelcome to overhear.

  He seemed too nervous for this type of a position. The lofty idea of being a safe house had probably appealed more on a theoretical level than a practical one.

  Gavin gave him a critical once over. He appeared young, perhaps around Ollie’s age. He lacked any real-world experience, that was for sure. His wiry blond hair was cropped short, and he had a round face that did little to offset his narrow, sharp nose.

  He had greeted them with an almost pompous demeanor, as if prideful about his position in Tapestry.

  At the mention of their names, however, he had done a one-eighty. He kept brushing off his sleeves self-consciously and looking around to make sure nothing was out of place.

  He’d probably never opened his home up to battered and bruised comrades before, let alone two as well-known as Onyx and himself. Gavin regretted giving Cyril their real names and felt a twinge of bitterness at the way he kept brushing off Ollie.

  Gavin had spent so many years as a nobody in the quaint, secluded village of Solara that he’d forgotten that within Tapestry’s ranks he was still viewed as something of a hero.

  Gavin hated it.

  Hated the attention and the title.

  He was no hero.

  “How often have the transports been arriving?”

  Gavin was eager to hear something he could use to their advantage.

  “Every few days. Several of us have attempted to get inside during the offloading, but each truck is scoured top to bottom before being allowed entry and scoured again on egress. No one is getting in or out that way.”

  Gavin thought long and hard, tuning out the whimpers of Ollie as he plucked gravel from his flesh and the chastisement of Onyx as she helped him.

  He centered himself, considering every fact they had, undeterred by the lack thereof.

  When he opened his eyes, he found three faces staring intently at him.

  “There’s no way we can sneak in,” Gavin pronounced, and Ollie’s face fell. “And there’s no way to sneak someone out.”

  Onyx scowled.

  “There has to be a way,” she argued. “We didn’t come this far to—”

  “There is a way,” Gavin said. “It just doesn’t involve sneaking.”

  “What is it?” Ollie said, eyebrows raised in eager anticipation. “I want to help. Whatever it is, doesn’t matter. Count me in!”

  “You’re going to help, all right,” Gavin said, turning away from them and walking to the window.

  He drew back the curtain, looking out onto the dark, empty street. “And you’re going to get caught.”

  Eleven

  The Cost of Progress

  POWERLESS was too weak a word for what Eli felt.

  The fiery trial of “step one,” as Reggie called it, had been just the beginning. These new experiments were harsher, and though they left Eli feeling stronger each time, he was also exhausted.

  The cost of the trials on his body manifested in streaks of icy white hair that slowly began to eclipse his once brown locks. Twice more they had put him through the fire chamber, and even as he had gritted his teeth and bore it, his main concern had been his sister. The treatments were short, but how much could she endure?

  He was able to power through each day, but Mabel was not so quick to recover. Eli’s sole consolation was that her sentence had not been permanent.

  If she could just stay strong, forestall the progression in whatever way she was able, she would be free of this place.

  As far as Eli was concerned, the day of her release could not come soon enough.

  During the long periods between experiments, Mabel would no longer come to visit Eli. He would go to her instead, always finding her in her cot, staring into the distance with a blank expression.

  This time when he entered, he found Shane had beat him there. The recruit was sitting on the edge of Mabel’s bed, one foot tucked beneath him, speaking in hushed tones.

  Mabel did not look up at Eli’s approach, though he knew she heard him coming. Shane glanced up and caught his eye.

  “Hey, Eli.”

  He looked to Mabel, then back again. “I’ll leave you two alone. I have to get back to work soon, anyway.” He leaned over as he stood, placing a hand on Mabel’s leg and giving a gentle squeeze. “Hang in there,” he told her, his voice tender.

  Eli watched him go, then took his place on Mabel’s bed.

  The two of them sat in silence for a long while.

  “Lydia didn’t come back.” Mabel turned to look at him, searching his face. “It’s just like Reggie told you, isn’t it? It’s happening again.”

  Eli gave a tired sigh. “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “I do,” Mabel argued. “I can feel it. I can feel the emptiness where Lydia used to be. And she’s just the first, Eli. They must have stopped these trials for a while, but now that they’ve started again, it’s only a matter of time.”

  She turned her golden eyes to the ceiling, tipping her chin back until the crown of her head leaned against the wall. “Eventually, it will be our turn.”

  “Don’t say stuff like that.” Eli hated hearing her talk like this. It made his chest ache. “You don’t know! We’re going to make it through this. Just because no one did last time, or the time before that...so what? We just give up hope? That’s not like you.”

  He stood and began pacing back and forth in the small space between the beds. “We have to assume...we have to figure they’re getting better every time, right? That’s what their goal is. They don’t want to keep failing, do they? I mean, the stakes aren’t as high for them as they are for us, but still... they want to succeed. So why not now? Why can’t it be us?”

  “And even if they do?” Mabel sounded as drained as she looked. “What might it cost us, Eli? What will we have lost in the process?”

  He frowned at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  She reached up, tapping her ear with one finger. “They improve our senses. They make us stronger. They build our endurance. How many more mysteries will they delve into? Twisting and splicing the inner workings of our bodies as they unravel what makes us human...maybe until we’re not human anymore at all.”

  He sunk back onto her bed and grabbed her hand, pulling it into both of his and squeezing
hard. She winced, and he eased up on his grip, forgetting that he was not yet used to his own strength.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he told her firmly. And he meant it. “It doesn’t matter what they do to us. You will always be my sister, and I will always be your brother, and we will always be there for each other. Always.”

  Her eyes glimmered with tears and she shook her head sadly.

  “That isn’t enough,” she told him after a moment. “I wish it was, but it isn’t. Not this time.”

  He offered her a weak grin, trying his best to lighten the mood. “We’ve always been an okay team before,” he whispered.

  “Eli, I will always love you. But we aren’t going through this alone. All of these people...we are all suffering together.”

  She sighed deeply, drawing her legs up to her chest and pulling her hand from his to wrap her arms around her knees, interlocking her fingers in a tight embrace.

  “Before this place...before the incident at the park...you remember that morning when you came in and I told you I was working on something, but I wasn’t ready to share it yet?”

  He nodded, thinking back. It seemed like a memory from another life, from someone else’s life.

  But he could vaguely recall...a green coverlet and a tray of breakfast.

  Peaches.

  “I was trying to come up with a plan. For the corporate orphans. I was tired of the way things were. The way Val Int had us all pushing others away, scrambling to protect ourselves instead of realizing that we were stronger together.”

  She looked up at him and gave him a long, sad smile.

  “We might not be corporate orphans anymore, but it’s the same as it always was. You’re trying to protect me, protect us, and you’ve failed to see that the others are just as worthy of that goal.” She let go of her knees and leaned forward, bringing her face close to his.

  And in her eyes, Eli could make out a spark of the old Mabel. The one with a zest for life and an unquenchable thirst for joy.

  “Eli, the other volunteers...you can’t shut them out. This is our family now. They’re all our brothers and sisters. I want you to promise me that you’ll see them that way, too. From now on.”