by Lynette Noni
Kael says nothing more, and I cross my legs, uncross them. Cross them again. The whole time, he watches me silently.
When I can’t handle waiting further, I say, “How did he plan on doing that? Didn’t they get rid of all the Xanaphan research? And didn’t Jeremiah wipe the memories of anyone who knew anything about it?”
“Yes, to both,” Kael confirms. “But Vanik didn’t intend to recreate Xanaphan and replicate it for mass development.”
“Then what —”
“Insane or not, he was still a genius,” Kael interrupts. “He’d had years to read the minds of everyone he had contact with, acquiring more information than you could possibly imagine. Information like complicated, experimental medical practices and dangerous, risky procedures.”
Still unsure what he’s getting at, I just look at him and wait for him to explain.
“When two weeks went by without anyone seeing Vanik, Falon and Jeremiah went to visit him in his lab,” Kael says. “What they saw …” He shakes his head and tries again. “On one side of the lab were Speakers lying on examination tables, and on the other side were some of the non-Speaking military guards who had been captured in the coup but were offered positions in security after their memories had been wiped. Each of the bodies Vanik had in his lab were in various stages of … testing.”
I narrow my eyes. “Testing?”
Kael’s expression is hard, like he’s repulsed, horrified and enraged all at once. “They were his lab rats. Whatever you can imagine he might have done to them, it was worse. Dead or alive, the tests were —”
He doesn’t finish. It’s almost like he can’t finish.
He swallows and simply says, “Only a few remained alive, but by that stage, they would have been wishing for death.”
My overactive imagination fills in the gaps of everything Kael refuses to share, as I vividly picture the horrors that occurred within Vanik’s laboratory.
“Jeremiah and Falon were horrified when Vanik tried to explain himself and his desire to share the ‘gift’ of Speaking with the world. Stem cell cloning, he said. That was how he was going to make it happen. But he didn’t know enough about where the genetic anomaly was rooted in the DNA of Speakers, so he had to experiment with different … tissue samples … until he figured it out. It was all in the name of the greater good, he claimed. In his delusional mind, he considered himself a hero of the people. The Speakers’ savior. He was going to bring them freedom.”
I’m shaking my head, appalled, yet morbidly engrossed in the tale. “What did Jeremiah do?”
“He did the only thing he could,” Kael answers, his tone almost regretful.
My eyes widen. “He tried to kill him?”
Kael jerks back in shock. “Of course not.”
“It would have been better if he had!” Sneak cries, managing to get the words out around Dante’s hand, which is still clamped over his mouth. “And then he should have done us all a favor and killed himself, too!”
I don’t understand Sneak’s vehemence against Jeremiah, when clearly Vanik is the villain of the story.
“Shut it, kid,” Dante says, giving Sneak a warning shake. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The look on Kael’s face arrests me, since it’s like he’s been physically struck. But he rallies and continues with his story.
“Caught up in the trauma of what he was seeing, Jeremiah tried to Speak too many things at once, and he lost control,” Kael says.
I dig into my palms to stave off my own similar memories.
“He tried to save them all — Speakers and guards alike. But instead of healing them, somehow he managed to heal Vanik, curing him of his insanity. However, in doing so, Jeremiah also took away Vanik’s Speaking ability.”
I gasp, not realizing such a thing was possible.
“It’s true,” Kael says. “Vanik hasn’t been able to read anyone for ten years.”
I can’t believe it. I’ve never once considered that I might be able to get rid of my Speaking ability. I wonder —
“I can imagine what you’re thinking, princess, but don’t bother. Speakers can’t use their power on themselves. At least, not in that way.”
Cami already told me that. But, oh, how I wish it weren’t true. Because other than saving Abby that one time, nothing else about my ability seems worth it.
“What happened next?” I ask, glossing over Kael correctly guessing my thoughts.
“Knowing something had gone wrong with his intent, Jeremiah — with Falon — tried everything possible to save the victims,” Kael says. “But Lengard’s only Speaker with healing abilities was lying unconscious on one of the lab benches, and Jeremiah refused to use his Creator ability again in case he caused more damage. Vanik, back in his right mind, was calling out instructions but also saying it was better to put them out of their misery, and Jeremiah believed him. Before he was willing to admit defeat, however, he tried for one last-ditch miracle, asking for assistance from the healer’s young daughter.”
My entire body stills at the mention of a child. And then the air rushes out of me with Kael’s next words.
“A girl you know as Camelot Ward.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Sometimes Speaker-born children manifest the same ability as one of their parents,” Kael tells me while I struggle to regulate my breathing, “so Jeremiah hoped Cami had inherited her mother’s healing affinity. But at only eight years of age, Cami hadn’t yet awakened her Speaking gift, and all she could do was watch from Falon’s arms as the life drained out of her parents. All the while, Vanik stood over their bodies, remorseless, cold and analytical until the end as he helped expedite their deaths. To that little girl, he was the stuff of nightmares, and in one swift moment, he effectively ruined her life.”
I now understand my friend’s hatred toward Vanik, and my heart breaks for what she went through.
“Jeremiah begged for her silence, but Cami ran from the laboratory, screaming at the top of her lungs. The news spread throughout Lengard, but it also became twisted, until everyone believed that Jeremiah, their benevolent leader, had sanctioned the experiments and allowed a well-known madman to carry them out. Not only that, Jeremiah hadn’t used his all-powerful Creator ability to save the victims. Instead, he helped kill them.”
I’m seeing now how Keeda, Crew and Sneak might consider Jeremiah a power-obsessed psychopath. Their reactions to the mere memory of a Creator are beginning to make sense.
“Jeremiah didn’t defend against the accusations thrown at him. In his mind, he was guilty. As leader of the Speakers, he was responsible for Vanik. That meant Vanik’s actions and the resulting deaths were Jeremiah’s burden to bear. He also failed to regain control of his Creator ability, which meant he couldn’t protect his people anymore.”
That’s a lot of guilt for one man to hold, especially when, from my perspective, it wasn’t as if Jeremiah had experimented on the victims to the point of torture and death — that was all Vanik.
Kael slides his chair back and leaps to his feet, startling me. He begins pacing like an agitated panther.
“With half the Genesis Speakers afraid of him and the other half unsure what to believe, Jeremiah knew Lengard needed a smooth change of leadership and that the best thing for everyone was for him to leave and let Falon take over. So he readied his family, and with Falon’s help, they disappeared.”
Clenching his hands as he continues to pace, Kael says, “The idea of a sadistic Creator being loose in the world brought alarm to the Speakers, so Falon enlisted a trusted Speaker with manipulative abilities to convince everyone that Jeremiah had somehow absorbed Vanik’s insanity and he’d accidentally Spoken words that ended his own life, as well as the lives of his wife and only child.” Kael’s voice turns bitter. “They all believed the lie. What’s more, they celebrated. Lengard was safe again, with a new leader, and they were content to stay cocooned in their underground utopia.”
“I’m sensing
another ‘but’ here,” I say quietly, feeling uneasy. “Can you sit down again? You’re stressing me out with all the pacing.”
Kael halts mid-step and seems surprised for some reason. Then the impossible happens, and I swear his eyes lighten just a shade and the corner of his lip twitches.
“As you wish, princess,” he mocks.
I blow out a huff of annoyance.
“You’re right about the ‘but’ — and it’s Vanik again.”
Of course it is.
“In the aftermath of the lab incident, the Speakers ended up pardoning Vanik, since their fear and ire were mistakenly directed toward Jeremiah. Amid all that, it took a while for Vanik to realize his Speaking ability was gone for good and not just a temporary lack of control. More than ever he was determined to identify the genetic Speaker anomaly — this time so he could replicate it for himself. His experiments started all over again, with him spending every spare moment in his lab.”
My body shudders as I think over all the experiments Vanik has carried out on me. But none of them were as invasive as what Kael implied. As far as I know, he hasn’t taken any … tissue samples.
As if reading my thoughts, Kael says, “He had to be careful to not let anyone know what he was doing, so there was nothing outwardly intrusive, nothing resulting in more fatalities. But over the next few years, he had Speaker friends summon specific and complex medical equipment for him, as well as anything he needed to carry out more tests. On the surface, the tests seemed reasonable enough that they became standard protocol for any new Speakers who arrived at the facility, considered as part of their initiation.” He pauses, then clarifies, “The noninvasive tests, at least.”
They call it an “initiation.” Cami’s voice travels across my mind. The potentials are tested, mentally and physically, until they break.
I swallow, thinking of my years spent in initiation, but before I can muster my next question, my attention is caught by Sneak and his haunted words.
“I was four years old.”
The young boy’s voice trembles as tears pool in his eyes. Dante moves to cover his mouth again, but Kael shakes his head, allowing Sneak to continue.
“Four,” he repeats, a whispered breath of sound. “But I remember all of it. I remember Cami running through the halls, screaming for help, more scared than anyone I’d ever seen. I didn’t know you could be that afraid.”
Sneak’s voice is barely audible when he repeats, “I was four years old.” Then he says, “Cami was eight. Landon nine. And Keeda seven.”
The look on his face hurts my heart.
“We lost our parents that day. The four of us, instant orphans.”
Understanding hits me — the tragic lab accident ten years ago that killed all their parents in one fell swoop. Now I know it was all because of Vanik — that those people were all killed by him. And it was no accident.
“We lost our parents,” Sneak says again. Then his voice hardens and his teary eyes narrow into slits aimed at Kael. “And it’s all his dad’s fault.”
I feel as if I’ve missed a step, but no one else in the room seems surprised by Sneak’s accusation.
“I thought I recognized you, kid,” Kael says to him. “You were really young back then. Sylvia and Pierre’s son, right?” At Sneak’s tight nod, Kael softly says, “I liked them. I’m sorry.”
“D-Don’t you dare!” Sneak cries.
His teary-eyed fury startles me. I can see he’s barely holding on to his emotions, so I whisper, “Sneak,” but I have no idea what else to say.
He moves his fiery gaze from Kael to me. “I was trying to tell you earlier, Jane,” Sneak says, desperate to get his words out before he’s silenced again.
But Dante makes no move to stop him this time.
“Jeremiah — as in Jeremiah Roscave — is Kael’s dad.”
I sense that this is supposed to affect me more than it does, but the reveal about Kael’s heritage isn’t all that shocking compared with everything else I’ve learned today. Next they’ll be telling me that since Jeremiah had a Creator ability, which had the potential to be passed on genetically, I’m actually his illegitimate child, and Kael is my brother. On that thought, I can’t help peering at him curiously, but I already know there is little resemblance between us. And besides, my family …
Stop.
I can’t go there. Instead, I focus on Sneak and try to understand his biting accusation.
“I don’t get it,” I say. “Why do you blame Jeremiah if you know it was Vanik all along?”
“Because Vanik was crazy back then, but Jeremiah wasn’t,” Sneak spits out. “Jeremiah should have paid more attention to him. He should have known. He should have stopped him. And when he couldn’t, he should have — he should have been able to heal them. He had the power. Why didn’t he use it? He could have saved them!”
Ah. There it is. A four-year-old’s perspective is hard to argue against. But I more than anyone know that having an ability and controlling it are two entirely different matters. I could no more justifiably blame Jeremiah for what happened — or didn’t happen — in that lab than I could blame myself for —
NO!
STOP!
I’m breathing heavily from my turmoil, choosing to ignore the wary glances being passed around the room as the others take in my wavering composure. I briefly wonder how Dante’s reading ability works and if he has to be touching me to hear my turbulent thoughts. Then I wonder if Liana has seen what future lies in store for the next few minutes, and whether I’ll survive it.
“Give us a moment, guys,” Kael says. Other than Sneak, who struggles against Dante’s hold on him, they leave the room without objection.
“You okay?” Kael asks me once they’re all gone.
Not in a sharing mood, least of all with him, I say, “I’m fine,” and I jump to my feet. I’m now the one pacing, needing to release some restless energy.
“Good,” he says, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe me. “Because there are a few more things you need to hear before we’re done here.”
My temples pound, and I let out a quiet groan, not sure how much more info dump I can take right now. But still I say, “Go ahead.”
“You might want to sit back down for this,” Kael suggests. I ignore him, and he adds, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I let out a deep sigh and take my seat again.
“I’m hedging a guess you know from personal experience that Vanik is pushing the boundaries with his experiments, right?”
I can only nod at his understatement.
“Well, what you don’t know — what we think even Falon doesn’t realize — is that Vanik hasn’t stopped his invasive practices. He’s just hidden them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Not understanding Kael’s declaration, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“Vanik is still experimenting on Speakers today, just like he did ten years ago,” he answers. “Only, now he’s more careful about how he does it. He makes sure to cover his tracks so that no one knows.”
My eyes narrow in question. “If that’s the case, how do you know?”
Kael chooses his next words carefully. “I’ll admit, most of it is guesswork. We have a few people on the inside, but even they can’t get close enough to confirm anything.”
“Then how —”
“Because I’ve seen the failed attempts,” Kael interrupts. “I’ve seen the non-Speakers he’s practiced on and what’s become of them. I’ve seen the results of him needing ever more Speaker test subjects to experiment with. And I’ve seen what happens when he’s close, but not close enough.”
“What —”
“Ebola, 2014,” Kael interrupts again. “Did you hear about the outbreak that happened back then?” He swivels his chair around and clicks away at a keyboard until the screens fill with news footage of the hazmat-suited medics and the rising numbers of dead. “That wasn’t an organically occurring event. For decades, Ebola was contained w
ithin the small pockets of Central Africa, but suddenly it was crossing state lines and international borders. Hardly anyone knows this, but it was all because of a non-Speaker guard named Quentin who Vanik was convinced he’d transferred a healing-ability gene to. He thought being in the wilds of Africa with the worst kind of infectious disease imaginable was an ideal testing ground for Quentin to prove himself, but he was wrong. Quentin’s DNA had taken on some small part of the Speaking anomaly, but it wasn’t that of someone who could heal. Instead, it was a mutated gene that degenerated exponentially. Within days of his arrival at the isolated little village where, at that stage, the virus was contained, he managed to Speak the wrong word at the wrong time with the wrong intent, sparking the pandemic that sent the world into a panic. He himself caught the disease and died a horrible death before Vanik could even try to extradite him to the safety of Lengard’s walls.”
I know my face must be showing my dismay, but I can’t help it. What he’s saying …
“That’s just one case of Vanik’s failed attempts at cloning Speakers, but it’s nothing compared with the times when he more or less succeeded,” Kael says. At my perplexed look, he explains, “Vanik did correctly isolate and replicate the Speaking gene, eventually. But while he could make normal people gifted for short amounts of time, it always wore off. Even so, he still utilized their abilities while they had them, with terrible consequences.”
A few more swipes of his keyboard and the screens change to show more news coverage, this time of planes vanishing off the face of the earth, missing without so much as a hint to their whereabouts. Earthquake victims never found among the rubble. Trains derailing. Nuclear reactors failing. Tsunamis, volcanoes, super-cell storms — all headlines from the past few years that I missed while being locked away from the world. Everywhere, people missing, missing, missing.
“There are only so many brainwashed, non-Speaker guards at Lengard,” Kael says quietly, likely noting my horrified expression. “Vanik needs a constant supply of … fresh subjects … and he also needs opportunities to test his genetically modified Speakers. To him, it makes sense to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. His temporary Speakers cause the catastrophes — accidental or not — and any live casualties are collected by Vanik to … recycle.”
