The Enhanced Series Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  As I suggest that Rhoth doesn’t appear as bad as he looks, he offers an alternative view.

  “You don’t know him like I do, Brie,” he warns. “He looks like an animal, and can act like one too. I’ve lost good men, and women, because of him before.”

  He goes on to inform me of several run-ins he’s had with the man in the past, all of them down to crossing each others’ territory, something that they clearly disagree on.

  The best areas to hunt, it would appear, have been taken as the domain of Rhoth and his tribe of outerlanders. They know these woods better than anyone, and are far more adept at living amid their treacherous conditions.

  Traps and other devices have been set up to snare edible beasts and deter those that are more aggressive. According to Zander, some have been specifically made to target his own people in a bid to keep them out.

  It seems as though it’s been a struggle that’s gone on for a while. One that boiled over a couple of years ago when Zander took out a party to actively hunt Rhoth down.

  And here comes the true crux of their animosity.

  “You tried to kill him?” I ask, slightly shocked.

  Zander clearly isn’t totally proud of it.

  “I was younger, more wild myself. I’d just seen a friend die from one of his traps, and just snapped. We hunted him for days but couldn’t find him. For a big man, he can move like a mouse. He’s elusive.”

  “So, you’ve never been here before?” chimes in Adryan. “To this…wherever we are?”

  Zander shakes his head.

  “We never found his village. If that’s even what this is. It could well just be one of many posts he has in the forest. They might not even have permanent dwellings.”

  “No…I reckon they do,” suggests Adryan. “That’s why he’s afraid of Cromwell. If they didn’t have a home, they wouldn’t mind just leaving.”

  “These woods are their home, Adryan,” says Zander. “Whether they stick to a specific village isn’t relevant. They won’t leave these woods without a fight. God knows I’ve had to deal with his love for this place too many times before.”

  “And now?” I ask. “What’s going to happen now? It sounds like he’s got a grudge against you for trying to kill him.”

  “Yeah, that goes both ways, Brie. We’ve been butting heads for years. I was just a boy when I first met him.”

  Ah, and that’s why my brother clearly doesn’t enjoy it when he calls him ‘boy’. All part of the animosity between the two.

  “Yeah, well he’s certainly got the upper hand now, doesn’t he?” I say. “Let’s just hope he’s more amenable to our cause when he returns.”

  “Amenable…that’s not a word that Rhoth understands. He’s like a caveman from a bygone era. These people, they purposefully forgo technology and modern comforts. They take pleasure in living in the dirt and having simple lives.”

  “And is that so bad?” I question. “I’ve always wanted a simple life. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked at the mountains and wished to go live there.”

  “You don’t know these woods, or these people, like I do. And they’re far from the worst of them.”

  “The worst? Do you mean to say that there are other tribes out there?” asks Adryan, always keen to learn more about the world and the people who inhabit it.

  Zander nods slowly.

  “We call this lot the Fangs. They all wear teeth around their neck to signify position. I guess you noticed the necklace Rhoth was wearing?”

  I nod. Adryan shrugs, given how he hasn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting our host.

  “There are worse groups out there,” continues Zander. “You can talk to Rhoth, reason with him to a degree. But others…no. They have more base instincts, their minds poisoned out here. That’s where the rumours about the Shadows really come from. Some of them don’t even live in groups or societies. They live like animals, beasts. I’ve seen corpses stripped to the bone by these scavengers. They don’t even cook the flesh.”

  “Sounds more like the rumours I’ve heard,” I whisper, happy that we didn’t encounter such people out there.

  “I doubt you’d have noticed, but one of the teeth on Rhoth’s necklace was from a proper Shadow. I could tell by the shape and size. It’s often the first stage of becoming a man for the Fangs.”

  “What…you mean they hunt people to prove their masculinity?” asks Adryan

  “Not people…beasts. The real Shadows of the outerlands aren’t people anymore. They have no more humanity than the wolves or bears out here. Until a male member of the Fangs tears a tooth from the jaw of a Shadow, they’re not a man.”

  My brother notices the look of disgust on my face.

  “You see, sister,” he says to me. “They’re far more barbaric than you think.”

  I muse on the topic for a little longer, drawing a few more details about past exchanges between my brother and the Fangs, Rhoth, and the other tribes who dwell nearby from his lips. By the sounds of it, there are several similarly governed societies of outerlanders living within the wilds around Haven, each one administering their own varying degrees of barbarity in how they live and operate.

  Aside from the Fangs, my brother speaks of the Bear-Skins, who set themselves aside by wearing bear pelts. The Roosters, who tend to create their abodes in the high foliage in order to escape the misty poison. The Skullers, who wear the skulls of defeated opponents as helmets and masks and cover their bodies in white paste to mimic the looks of skeletons and protect them from the fog.

  Those four groups are most prominent in the thousands of square miles surrounding the city, with the Shadows comprising the rest of the humans in the area, albeit, in their case, mutated and drawn back to their basest of instincts and urges.

  All the tribes have their own way of doing things, and yet each lives in this harsh and unforgiving world, a world far removed from the one I know.

  Out here in the wilderness, the rules that govern the beasts also appear to govern man. It’s a more brutal realm, and the sort of place where a rogue Enhanced can rise to the summit of his or her people. I put it to Zander that Rhoth himself has some old Savants blood in him that, despite appearances, has enabled him to stave off our mental intrusions.

  “He might,” he says, nodding. “But others I’ve come across can be tricky to manipulate. It’s something in the fog, some antidote to our powers. A Mind-Manipulator can’t rely on their gifts out here.”

  “And what about others?” I question. “Have you seen any other Enhanced among the outerlanders?”

  He shrugs.

  “Aside from Rhoth, I’ve had few direct dealings with the other populations around here. Mostly, it’s the Fangs who control the closer regions. They try to keep out of each others’ way to avoid war. It’s all very primitive, and other than hunting for food, we’ve kept our distance as much as possible. We have our own war to fight that will affect them all.”

  “Exactly. And that’s the angle we need to play with Rhoth,” I say. “No one out here will have a chance when Cromwell comes rolling through with his Stalkers. They’ll clear these lands, and wipe these people away. They’re in it with us.”

  By some coincidence, or perhaps by design, our host reappears at that very moment. The door opens with its customary creak, and in walks the barbarian with his necklace of fangs and claws and his beastly countenance. His eyes drop to mine, and his own yellow-stained fangs appear.

  “Perhaps we are in it with you,” rumbles his voice. “I see an innocence to you, Brie, that your brother has long since lost.”

  As he speaks, a small host of his men come in, similarly dressed as he is. I see necklaces hanging beneath chins, each fashionably adorned with a host of different teeth and claws of varying sizes and shapes.

  None, however, have quite the collection of their leader, his own macabre jewellery never to be bettered among the Fangs.

  The men rush forward, two of them for each of us, and unchain us from the wal
ls and lift us to our feet. We’re pressed forward towards Rhoth, who towers high above us, standing a good six and a half feet. His eyes turn to Adryan, perusing him.

  “The Savant awakes,” he says. “I wonder…are you afraid, young man?” he asks.

  Adryan doesn’t answer.

  “No…of course, you’re not afraid,” continues Rhoth. “Savants have no emotion, do they? Ah, we can relate in some manner. Fear isn’t something to concern us, but we embrace it all the same. It is important, fear, in sharpening the senses. Fear for your own safety. Fear for your tribesmen. Fear for your family. Fear is good, Mr Savant. You people are lacking something in your soul.”

  “He does feel fear,” I find myself saying, defending my man. “He isn’t like the rest. He has emotions.”

  Rhoth’s dark eyes swing to mine.

  “Yes, I can see…perhaps not fear, but there’s something even stronger there. Something for you, Brie. He cares for you. You do, don’t you Mr Savant?”

  Adryan looks at me. I see a reflection of love in his eyes. It blooms in me, stronger than ever. And yet, in some ways, it still feels wrong. It feels borrowed, unearned. I feel, at times, as if he still sees his first wife, Amelia, when he looks at me. That what he feels for me is nothing but a reflection of his love for her.

  The spell is broken. It’s Zander’s voice that cuts the silence.

  “Where are you taking us, Rhoth? What’s all this about?”

  “You will see, boy. I have something I need to show you.” His eyes turn to Adryan again. “But fear not, Mr Savant, if you really can feel such a thing. You will not be killed under my watch.”

  He swivels on the spot, and stamps through the wooden door. And out into the bright light of the late morning we go.

  134

  “Masks on,” roars Rhoth as we step into the light.

  The six men under his command pull masks over their heads, fashioned from scraps of fabric and animal hides, covering up their faces and blocking out the foul air.

  They’re not gas masks, their bodies adapted now to suck in this poison without too much ill effect. Instead, they appear to be a mixture of protective masks to cover their eyes and skin, and those worn as battle-dress and to effectively camouflage themselves among the trees.

  Outside, I get my first good look at where we are. The trees are still there, surrounding us on all sides. And yet, within them are structures too, old stone and wooden buildings overtaken by the woods, settlements from hundreds of years ago that have been gobbled up once more by mother nature.

  There are a handful of them in the immediate area, and signs of others spreading through the distant trees. Yet there’s little sign of life beyond the seven men accompanying us. It would appear that this place isn’t a permanent dwelling for their people. A base, perhaps, used for hunting expeditions when away from home.

  Our arms are still chained in front of us as we go, a necessary precaution given what Zander and I can do. Rhoth is well aware of that, of course, and yet is kind enough to get his men to recover our faces with the masks that we need. Unlike them, after too long in this it won’t only be our skin that sizzles and blisters, but our lungs too. Depending on the density of the fog, you could quite easily die after a few hours of overexposure.

  With our masks back on, Rhoth pulls Zander up to the front alongside the two guards assigned to watch over him. That leaves Adryan and me behind with the rest of the contingent, four further guards flanking us as we’re pulled and prodded along.

  The prodding grows less forceful as we go. Clearly, there’s nothing we can do to escape these men’s clutches, and even if we could, I wouldn’t try it. In truth, I’m intrigued by where we’re going, and consider that, right now, we might just be safer with these men than without them.

  Each of them looks almost as fearsome as their leader. It’s not just the fangs hanging around their necks, but the choice of hairstyle – mostly, they’re sporting shaven heads or strange styles of Mohican, usually with equally odd beards to complete the look. Their dress, too, is both primitive and military in its design, fashioned from animals and old garments while being intended to help them blend in, just as a soldier might when battling in the forest.

  In this case, it serves the main purpose of hunting. Being unseen is a key component of such things, as far as I can figure, and with the forest so populated with powerful foes, blending into the background also serves as a useful defensive option.

  Not that these people would ever admit to such a thing. From my very brief time with them, and what Zander’s told me, they seem to be very much a warrior race, dedicated to the act of fighting to survive, whether that be via hunting prey, battling other predators, or expanding their territory against the other tribes that dwell here.

  I suspect it’s the Shadows that cause the most problems. They may be something of a backward step in evolution, but they’re still human at their core. And you can forget the bears and wolves and big cats, the boars and snakes and other monsters that lurk in the night. There’s no foe more dangerous than a human fighting for survival, however primeval that human may have become.

  It’s clear that the men are tense as we go. Perhaps that’s their default setting, knowing the woods as they do. I think back to my previous jaunt through the jungle after being spat out from that waterfall beyond the southern perimeter wall.

  Back then, all the woods carried were rumours. Rumours of the Shadows. Rumours of the beasts. Rumours of the dangers that lurked in the darkness.

  I was a little frightened, sure, but my main thoughts were simply aligned to the task of finding a way back into the city.

  Who knows, perhaps I was being hunted the entire time? Perhaps the appearance of Titus saved me when the creatures of the wood were circling? Honestly, I’d have never known, so efficient as they are at their work. I could have been cut down in a hundred different ways without ever having a chance.

  Now, I’ve seen first hand just how brutal the outerlands can be.

  Unless you’re with a strong troop of soldiers, you need to be perpetually on your guard. That point is proven right now. Even with these six seasoned hunters on our flanks, there remains a tension in the air, an intensity to each of them as they watch the trees with their weapons primed.

  They have guns at least. They’re aren’t so backward as to have forgone such things. But on their backs I see spears too, cut and carved from the trees, and other blades that are, presumably, more useful during close quarter combat.

  Each man seems to carry at least half a dozen weapons. Rifles, pistols, daggers and knives hang from belts and sit fastened to holsters.

  They are, by sight, a formidable outfit. And yet, unchain my brother, and hand him a knife, and he’ll cut them all down in seconds, strike them with his lightning. There is no greater weapon here than a hybrid, even one of 18. And Rhoth should keep that in mind for when Cromwell sends his Stalkers out here to cleanse the woods of all these folk.

  Right now, he’s in quiet conversation with Zander. From the rear of the pack, I watch them, note the intensity of their voices, the body language they portray. In some manner, they appear as old friends, the boy and the beast chatting over past battles.

  It’s yet another reminder that the world we’ve been presented in Outer Haven isn’t the reality. That there’s far more out there than Cromwell would care to let on. That, despite what we’ve been told, despite the propaganda we’ve been fed, we aren’t as alone as we thought.

  It’s an exciting concept for me.

  Growing up, even with someone like Mrs Carmichael, with all her scepticisms and world-wisdom, we were taught that Haven was the centre of the world. That it was the final shining light in a world of darkness. That it was our duty to do whatever we could to serve, to make sure that future generations didn’t have to suffer the same fate as us, consigned to that single city, stranded on that island in the vast ocean, that oasis in the desert.

  We were never taught of a world beyond our bo
rders. We never knew of these different tribes, all living their lives in this harsh land. And that’s just beyond the city.

  What else is there? Are there more cities populating this landmass we once knew as America? And what of other places, across the seas and oceans? How much has been kept from us? Is the world truly as desolate as we’ve been led to believe?

  The last few weeks and months have shaken apart my trust in just about everything I know. What were once small rumours have blossomed into truths beyond what I could possibly have expected. Things have been hidden from me and exposed at opportune moments. And still, many other secrets lie beyond my current reach.

  So, what am I to believe?

  My entire life was always spent in the knowledge that I am nobody, and that the streets of Outer Haven would be the ones I’d spend my entire life walking. I’d been born into a world where people fit their roles, where the lowly among us had no control whatsoever over their destinies.

  I’d been groomed, like just about everyone else, to be unable to see the wood for the trees. To only see what was presented before my own eyes and leave the rest to those in places of power.

  But now, that’s all changed.

  I’ve changed, my life has changed, the city has changed.

  And each day, something else happens, some new revelation dawns.

  And here, now, standing in the wilds, my mind is opening to the possibility that the world isn’t as small as I once thought. That there’s so much more out there that has been kept from us, simply to condition us to stay ordered.

  It all fits.

  If there’s some other option, some other place for the people to move to, some other city free from the class systems of Haven, then the people will go there. And should that happen, the structure of Haven, the very foundation of the city, will fail.

  That’s something that Cromwell and the Consortium cannot abide. He intends to use us all up and then toss us aside. To spread his reach elsewhere, beyond the lands we know, and repopulate the world to his own design. And, truly, if there’s already more out there, he’s going to need to be strong when he sets out from his high perch.