by T. C. Edge
She glares at me and returns the word, her tone very different from mine. Dark and empty.
I move towards my bed and settle in, desiring for the first time in many years that I could have a room to myself. I sense her watching me as I wearily undress and creep under the covers, wishing for sleep. Wishing for this pain in my head to go away.
I wish, too, for her to speak again. To ask me, perhaps, how the ball went. Or why I have little cuts all over my forehead.
No questions come. Definitive proof, if ever I needed it, that she has no feeling for me right now. No caring. No sympathy. No interest at all.
I lie there for a while, feeling swamped by the silence, wanting to draw her from her shell as I once did. Questions form and fade away. My voice begins to rise before being doused.
Then, lying with my eyes to the wall, to the empty space where the picture of my parents used to be, I hear the door click open, and then click shut. I let out a long breath, let my eyes relax and shut.
And fall into a long and dreamless sleep.
When I wake, I check my watch to find that a new day has dawned. I turn over and see Tess’s bed empty, a sight that gives me some relief. I sit up, and reach to my forehead, sliding my fingers across the skin.
It’s mostly clear, with only the lingering signs of the cuts remaining. The healing cream that Mrs Carmichael administered has worked its magic.
Behind the cuts, and the skin, and the flesh and skull, however, my brain continues to hum and drum. The unyielding cacophony refuses to relent, my mind being twisted and turned inside out, stretched this way and that as it battles to bring forth my true self.
I sway my eyes around the room, and find my vision struggling to focus. My heart thuds hard as I turn to the door, and my eyes shoot forward and centre on the handle, over five metres away and yet appearing as if it’s right in front of my nose.
I shake my head, my brain rattling, and blink hard. When I open my eyes my focus has drawn back again, the full picture of the room coming into view. And yet, it’s different than before, my eyes offering a wider profile. Staring forward, I can see further left and right, my peripheral vision altered and improved.
Once more, I blink, and find my eyes zooming in again against my control, shooting forward and forging a path right for a little crack on the wall. In mere moments the crack grows into a giant crevice before my eyes, like a canyon cut into the dried earth of the desert.
I take a sudden breath and push back against the wall behind me, clattering hard against it. Such is the force and speed of my movement that the room seems to shake a little, dust drifting down from the ceiling above.
I cough as it swamps me, and my focus pulls back again, returning to normal. I shut my eyes tight, blocking everything out, and feel the tingling, buzzing feeling in my limbs. They shake and tremble, my muscles so sore and stiff.
What’s happening to me? I groan to myself.
It’s a foolish question, and I know the answer. Yet this is more than I could have imagined, my body altering so fast, my physical make-up morphing and evolving at a rate I could never have expected.
Then, deep inside my head, echoing from the distant recesses of my consciousness, I hear a voice calling out.
“Brie…Brie…” it comes, ethereal and otherworldly, like no sound I’ve ever heard. “The shelter. Come to the shelter…”
I grimace and squeeze my eyelids shut as tightly as I can manage, and let my throat grumble to drown out the voice in my head.
It fades away like a wisp of mist on the wind, evaporating into the back of my mind.
I lie down again, still as I can, trying to stay calm. Gradually, my body settles, and my shallow, abbreviated breathing begins to soothe. And as my pulse settles too, I hear a sudden knock at the door.
I nearly have a heart attack.
My eyes flash open again and lock quickly on the door handle.
“Who is it?” I stutter anxiously.
The voice on the other side is too quiet I can barely hear it.
I ask again, calling louder this time.
The door opens, and I watch as the little face of Abby tentatively slips through the opening.
I immediately relax upon seeing her, my frame deflating back onto the bed.
“Abby,” I breathe. “What are you doing up here?”
She stays half in, half out of the room.
“I’m sorry, Brie. Did I wake you?”
“No, no. Come in.”
She slides her skinny little form through the gap, before pushing the door shut. I scan her quickly, my vision still threatening to thrust forward at any moment, before shutting my eyes tight to calm the beast within.
Was that a letter I saw in her hand?
When I open up one eye and peek through, I see Abby looking at me curiously.
“Are you OK?”
“Fine. I’m just fine.”
I open the eye fully, and then the other. My vision is just about playing ball.
She creeps forward and lifts her fingers. She does have a letter.
Zander…
“Is that for me?” I ask.
She nods and holds the letter out with both hands.
“It was the same boy as before,” she says. “No one saw me. I promise.”
“Good girl. Remember, you’re my sidekick.”
Her little cheeks swell and brighten.
“Always, Brie!” she says.
I waste no time in tearing the letter open and unfolding the contents. I frown as I look upon the words. There are only four of them.
The last shelter. Midnight.
The last shelter…he must mean the last one we were in. The one in district 6 here in the western quarter.
My eyes lift again to Abby, who appears to be waiting for some confirmation that she can leave.
“Good job, kiddo,” I say again. “You’d better get back downstairs before Mrs Carmichael catches you.”
A cheeky grin swamps her diminutive face. Like all children, the idea of being naughty carries some appeal.
“OK, Brie. Let me know if you need me to help you fight any crime!”
She performs a dramatic little turn, swishing an imaginary cape as she does so. With her fist pressed into a ball, she thrusts it out ahead of her and pretends to fly to the exit, scuttling off and simulating the sound of rushing wind as she goes.
It draws a melancholic smile to my lips. How simple, how innocent, things must be in her head.
The advancing years only make life more complicated.
Alone again, I look at the letter and check the time. It’s still mid morning. The following hours are going to be a torturous wait.
How best to pass them?
My head answers with a fresh thump, and my eyes begin to dance out of focus again. I drag my eyelids shut and rest my head back down on my pillow.
And back to sleep I go.
37
The game is up with Tess. The last time I snuck out to meet Zander, I’d made sure to offer some excuse, to conceal my true intentions. This time, I have no such inclination. She knows something’s going on. There’s no use in trying to hide it.
I leave the academy at 11.30PM, creeping into the quiet night with my body wrapped up warm and my head covered in a cloak. I give myself plenty of time to get to district 6, the Con-Cops prowling as they are, and the sky so filled with hovering drones.
By now, however, I’m used to slipping down the alleys and tiptoeing through the shadows, my senses more alert than ever given what would happen to me should I be captured.
No longer am I just a normal girl breaking curfew. No longer would I be taken off to holding on the edge of the city, my fate likely to be no worse than a severe dressing down. Given my recent fame, I doubt they’d do any worse than that.
Then again, knowing what I do now, I can’t be so sure.
Now, however, I can be sure what my punishment would be. I’m a hybrid. I’m a member of the Nameless.
Death
would be the only sentence.
The going is slow. More and more, the streets fill with the reconditioned slaves of the Savants, the Con-Cops drifting about like ghosts in their little packs of three or four.
When the next attack from the Fanatics comes – and surely one is imminent – their numbers will only grow larger.
Already, Outer Haven is being strangled by fear. Slowly but surely, the Consortium are stretching their tendrils to all reaches of our world. Before long, the people will cede to anything they suggest if it will make their lives more bearable.
And then we’ll all be slaves.
The further north I travel, the less I have to hide. It appears as though the slaves of Inner Haven are being posted around the most populous districts, most likely to make them more obvious and prominent to anyone who might see them floating about outside their doors and windows.
The Consortium know full well that rumour is a popular pastime across Outer Haven, and that word about anything of interest will quickly spread. Stories of the proliferation of the Con-Cops and sentry drones are already being told in the streets.
Those who never even see one will be well aware that they’re out there, supposedly keeping us safe but, in reality, doing little more than closing us in a vise. Drawing Outer Haven deeper into their web of control.
To the northern districts of the western quarter, however, the population begins to thin, and therefore so do the creepy eyes that watch us. With five minutes to spare before the arrival of midnight, I reach the acid rain shelter in district 6 and quickly slip inside.
Turning on the light, I expect to find the place empty. I don’t.
Sitting in the shadows awaiting me, I see the shining hazel eyes of Zander. They grow brighter at my presence, and he lifts himself from his chair.
The first words to come from his mouth are those of concern.
“What happened to you!” he gasps, rushing forward.
His fingers brush my forehead, which has now completely cleared of cuts and left no scars at all.
Yet that’s merely what the human eye can see. Zander’s are able to penetrate deeper. To him, perhaps, the wounds are still entirely evident.
“Oh, I collapsed at the ball,” I tell him casually. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”
His eyes move from my forehead to my eyes. He’s only a foot or so from me. His usual intensity seems to be heightened.
“It’s already begun, hasn’t it,” he deduces. “You’re changing rapidly, Brie. That’s why you collapsed.”
I take a little step back.
“Are you reading my mind?”
“I don’t need to. But, it would be easier if I did. Rather than you telling me what happened…”
“No,” I say firmly, thinking back to the last, and only, time my mind was infiltrated. I didn’t much like the sensation as Deputy Burns looked into my thoughts and memories. I’d rather not experience it again.
“Fine, suit yourself. We can do it the old way if you wish. So, go ahead, start from the top…”
I quickly recount what happened at the ball, giving him the shortest version I can manage without leaving out anything of importance. Frankly, there’s nothing to tell him that he won’t know already. I’m sure that Adryan has already filled them in. Although, given how he was surprised by my forehead, perhaps not…
“So, sounds like you’ve had an interesting few days, sis,” he says with a wry smile.
“Cut it out, bro,” I counter. “Are we going to do this or what?”
He tilts his head to one side and guides his fingers to his chin.
“Um…do what, exactly?”
“Um, I don’t know, train…or something. My abilities are manifesting, and it’s driving me crazy. You’re meant to be taking me through this!”
“I already am,” he says cryptically. “Surely you heard me earlier?”
“Heard you? What do you…”
And then it hits me.
The voice. The ethereal voice in my head. It was him…
“There it is,” he says, seeing the truth dawning in my eyes. “I thought you’d have figured it out straight away.”
“Figured it out! Give me a break, Zander. You may have been doing this since you were a kid, but it’s all new to me. Hearing voices in my head wasn’t something I expected. I didn’t even know Mind-Manipulators could do that!”
“They can’t, mostly. But we’re different, Brie. We’re unique. I’m surprised your powers have manifested so quickly. I thought it would be another day or so. But this morning, I felt it. I felt you. I’d hoped you’d hear me. It’s a good sign that you did.”
“Why?”
“Because it means your powers are rising quickly. And we need that to happen. We can’t wait on this, there’s no time for that. The stronger you become, the better chance we have.”
“To find out what the Consortium are up to?”
“To find them, yes,” he says, nodding. “And…to stop them.”
He turns to the back wall, and lays his fingers onto the brick. Pressing in, a secret lock clicks loudly. The brick wall coughs dust and opens.
The tunnel stretches into the darkness, black as empty space.
“After you, dear sister,” he says, stepping to the side.
I move into the shadows, entering the same tunnel I emerged from only days ago.
“So, we are training then?” I ask.
“We, no,” he corrects me. “You. Now come on, the night’s just getting started.”
A fizzle of annoyance burns through me at his pedantry. Perhaps that’s another measure of his Savant side coming to the surface.
I let my irritation fade as we enter into the darkness, the tunnel curving down at a fairly steep gradient as it digs deeper towards the large caverns and caves and wide passageways beneath the city.
Moving ahead of me, Zander lights up a torch and illuminates our way. Yet the further we go, the less I feel as though I need it.
I turn to him, and place my hand over the light.
“Turn it off,” I say.
He does so without hesitation.
I turn back to the darkness and wait a few moments for my vision to settle. At first, the loss of light plunges it into total blackness, no natural illumination from above penetrating this deep. Then, gradually, the shape of the passage begins to form, the jagged rock walls becoming clearer to my left and right, the low ceiling visible without the need for light.
“I can see,” I whisper. “I can see where we’re going…”
I turn to Zander, and see the outline of his body clearly. He nods as I stare at him.
“Impressive,” he says quietly, his soft voice spreading down into the deep darkness. “Your vision is improving rapidly.”
“I can see in the dark,” I say, still hardly believing it. “I never knew Hawks could…”
“Some can, some can’t,” he cuts in. “Our father was a member of the City Guard. He must have been a talented Hawk. We’ve inherited that gift.”
“It’s…amazing,” I say, reaching out and touching the walls. “I mean, I can’t see everything. But still.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Soon enough, the darkness won’t hinder you at all.”
“You can see it all?” I take several steps down the tunnel, moving away until his outline fades to little more than a faint silhouette, only just visible. Then, holding my hand in front of my body, I extend out two fingers and a thumb. “So, how many fingers am I holding up?” I call.
I wait for an answer. His form remains perfectly still.
“Two,” he answers calmly. “And one thumb.”
Jesus…
From the darkness, the light of his torch suddenly blazes again. It comes marching at me, causing a vast degree of discomfort to surge into my eyes and head.
I grimace and groan and turn away.
“Do you have to!” I shout.
“Oops. Sorry,” he chuckles.
I shake my head and
point my eyes back down the shaft. And with an excitement brewing I begin striding on, calling back as I go.
“Come on, brother, no time to lose!”
As we continue our journey through the underlands, the subject of Adryan draws itself into my head. So far, information on the man has hardly been forthcoming. Before Zander distracts me with more magic tricks, I take the opportunity to interrogate him as we enter into a large cavern with the flowing, crashing sound of rushing water not too far away.
“So, why exactly didn’t anyone tell me that Adryan was a Savant?” I ask, stopping by a little collection of rocks covered in old vines and moist shrubbery.
“You didn’t ask,” comes my brother’s marginally annoying response.
“Well, I’d say I’ve constantly got about a million questions battling for attention in my head. So you’ll excuse me if some of them fail to get picked up by my tongue. Come on, Zander, surely telling me he was a Savant was something I should have known.”
“Why?”
Silence. Is he being intentionally obtuse?
“Because…he’s a SAVANT! He’s one of them.”
“Them? Brie, I’m sorry to break it to you, but we’re half Savant. You are aware of that, right?”
“Oh…spare me your condescension, Zander. You know what I mean. He’s a proper Savant who’s grown up in Inner Haven. Don’t you think it could be…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Some sort of trap, maybe? I’m just spitballing here, but surely that concerns you?”
“I can’t say it does to be honest. Look, I do as I’m commanded. If Lady Orlando thinks Adryan is trustworthy, then that’s good enough for me.”
“Well, you’ll excuse me if I’m not so easily convinced. I don’t know Lady Orlando like you do. And I’m not a soldier.”
“You will be, in time. Or, a spy at least,” he says with a little smile. “Not all Savants are part of the Consortium’s plot, Brie. Have you ever thought that, maybe, they’re just slaves as well? They have powerful minds, but struggle to think for themselves. The High Tower…it’s like a beehive. All the worker bees just get on with their jobs under orders from the queen. Most of the Savants don’t question their place in the world.”
