by T. C. Edge
As we walk, I find myself whispering to Adryan: “Did you know about this?”
He turns to me and frowns. His expressions and words and body language remain muted, as if he’s still exhausted and recovering from his recent trials.
“About what?” he asks.
“All this. These people. These tribes,” I whisper, darting my eyes to the brutal looking men at our flanks.
“Such things aren’t really spoken about in the High Tower,” says Adryan. “I knew that there were people beyond the borders of the city. I wasn’t aware of specific tribes, though, or their names.”
“And beyond that?” I ask. “What about five hundred miles from here? What about five thousand? Do you know what’s really out there?”
He shakes his head.
“More nomadic tribes I suppose,” he suggests. “I’ve long suspected that there are plenty of other populations dotting the world.”
“Oh, there are, young man,” booms a voice from ahead.
Our eyes switch up and see that Rhoth has stopped in his tracks. He turns to us, with Zander by his side, and takes a long stride in our direction.
“There are many other people out there,” he says. “You think this is it? You think your big city with all the lights is all there is? You underestimate the human capability of staying alive. We have made our home here in these forests. Others have made their home far beyond these borders.”
“How do you know that?” I breathe.
He looks to his left and our right, to one of the hunters flanking us. The man is youthful, perhaps Adryan’s age, with staring blue eyes that appear quite striking amidst his rough visage.
“This here is West,” says Rhoth. “He isn’t from around here…”
I turn to the young man, who continues to stare silently.
“He doesn’t speak much,” continues Rhoth. “But he’s said enough. West came from the far west. We didn’t get creative with his name…”
“He’s not from around here?” I ask, repeating Rhoth’s words.
“Oh no, he came here as a boy with his brother. His brother didn’t make it, but he did. We took him in. I’ve met many, girl, who have come from other places, other lands. You need to open your eyes. There’s a whole world out there.”
“But…a toxic world. A dead world,” mutters Adryan.
“Dead? No, living. Look at us here. There are many living in the wilds. Here in the forests, up in the mountains, away to the north and south, to the east and west. I’ve met travellers and vagrants from far and wide. Out here, we adapt to survive. We can live in these conditions, and so can many others.”
“Did you know about this?” I ask, looking to Zander.
“We know about the lands around here,” he says. “Nothing else concerns us.”
“Ah yes, ‘us’,” says Rhoth. “You and your precious tribe of Nameless. Oh, yes, girl,” he says, looking to me, “the Nameless are just a tribe too, just like any other.” His eyes return to Zander. “You fight to protect your big city with all the lights, to set it free from Mr Savant here and his people.” His eyes flick on Adryan. “Well,” he goes on, “perhaps one day you’ll see that you’re just trapped there. The wilds may be dangerous, but they offer freedom at least.”
“That’s what we’re fighting for,” I counter. “Freedom for all of Haven.”
Rhoth bares those yellow teeth in a grin.
“Yes, I see that. But is that what all your people want? Do they not consider themselves to be free already?”
“They don’t know any better,” I say. “They don’t know what the Consortium are doing.”
“Perhaps not. But you do, yes? You’re going to save the day, are you, girl. You and your boy brother here?”
Zander scowls. I set firm my eyes.
“We’re going to try,” I say coolly.
He smiles.
“Then…good luck to you,” he says. “Now, we’re not too far away.”
“From what?” I ask.
“From something you need to see…”
135
We trek on for another 45 minutes through the tightly knitted woods, shifting along pathways often travelled by these people. The morning sun continues to climb as we go, and so does the ground, steadily increasing in gradient as we begin to go a little higher.
Through occasional gaps in the canopy, I spot the mountains, no longer quite so far ahead. It appears that we’re moving towards the lowest valleys at their base, away to the northwest of the city, which also comes into view in the distance. As always, it’s the High Tower that rises highest of all, the brightest of the lights in the city referred with some regularity by Rhoth as ‘the big city with all the lights’.
But it’s away from the city that we’re moving, now far enough from the REEF to the south to have rendered the chasing pack no threat at all. In the company of these Fangs, these wildmen, these outerlanders, I actually feel quite safe. I get no sense that they mean us harm, and aside from a few choice words spoken between Zander and Rhoth, they don’t appear to have much animosity towards us.
Yet, our wrists remain cuffed just in case, a feeling I’m starting to grow accustomed to. It’s the only thing that shows us to be their captives, although I’m getting the impression that, in actual fact, they’re aiding us in providing us safe passage across these dangerous lands.
Rhoth, for all the roughness of his appearance, seems to be a sensible leader. One whose main goal is, simply, to ensure that his people remain safe. To that end, he appears to be thinking along the same lines as I am: that we need to work together, or at least not get in each others’ way, if we want to make sure that Cromwell and his cronies don’t spread their dominion over these lands.
It’s a symbiotic relationship really. If Cromwell is victorious, everyone will suffer.
The quiet of the woods begins to be broken as we slow our pace. Setting it at the front, Rhoth begins to slow, and the rest of us follow. It comes in communion with the sound of engines, audible off in the distance and moving up and down through the woods.
We creep slower, and soon emerge from the edge of the forest looking down into a valley below. Right ahead, cutting through a patch of open, undulating space, I see a wide road spreading left and right.
To the right, way off in the distance, the city of Haven is just about visible. To the left, much closer, some sort of large facility has been constructed. And ahead, rising higher and higher the further my eyes go, the grand mountains fill the horizon.
Crouching low at the summit of the hill, right on the edge of the woods, we look down at the road and see trucks grumbling along it, moving to and from the city in the east.
I stare in with my Hawk-eyes and see, though the little windows in the flanks of the trucks, groups of people sitting inside. Looking west, I watch as the trucks pass through the large gates of the facility. The people step out, greeted by administrators with clipboards who set about arranging them in order, and sending them off to the various buildings spread out within the compound.
I know exactly what this place is. It doesn’t carry that same air of intimidation as the REEF. It’s newer, less drab and grey, the buildings more pleasing on the eye. Not beautifully designed by any stretch, but certainly far from daunting for those who come here.
Because, this place isn’t designed for such a thing.
It’s meant to be more welcoming, a place where people come to have their fears muted, their emotions doused, their lives improved. A place where miracles can happen, where someone living in misery can have their entire world turned around with little more than the flick of a mental switch.
It’s a facility designed for ‘optional reconditioning’. A place touted by the powers-that-be as the answer to all questions of doubt and fear, where memories can be expunged and replaced. Where all pain in someone’s heart can be erased.
Yet, really, that’s just the façade, the dressing. Beneath all of that, the true purpose of this place is just as dreadf
ul as the REEF.
Down there, thousands of people are being turned into slaves. Driven to the edge by the terrible attacks by the Fanatics, and by the looming war, and the panic that’s now spreading through the city as its stores of clean water are depleted.
Now, the people are coming here in their droves to escape it all. They are joining Cromwell’s cause without even knowing it.
I can see them now, pouring from the trucks, happily being led into the buildings where their entire inner workings will be rewired.
What else have the Consortium offered to get them here? The promise of water? The promise of safety? Commander Burns told me just that. That those complying would be given priority as the war looms, guaranteeing their survival as the city continues to tremble in the grip of terror.
Looking down alongside Zander and Adryan, we all just stare at the place for a good few minutes, all thinking the same thing. It’s a sight that makes things even more real, the sheer scale of the operation casting a bright light over the task that lies ahead.
Every single person down there is another to join Cromwell’s cause, another to retreat from the war to come. Soon enough, when the Nameless have no choice but to incite civil war, they’ll be no one left to fight with them.
No one to take up arms against the Consortium.
No one left to oppose them except the force of hybrids and outcasts who have lingered in the shadows for so many years.
And looking down upon the facility, Zander finally speaks.
“I need to get back. Immediately,” he grumbles.
He may have seen this before, but he’s clearly shocked by the scale of it all. And with the delays we’ve faced over the last day or two, Lady Orlando is no doubt wondering just what’s become of him.
Zander turns to Rhoth, who looks at him for a few moments with those piercing, dark brown eyes. He understands. Reaching forward, he unlocks my brother’s wrists. Two other hunters do the same for myself and Adryan.
“You see,” says Rhoth, looking over us all. “People don’t know what freedom really is. They’re coming here to be set free. Your tribe of Nameless aren’t the answer they’re looking for.”
“They don’t know what they’re looking for,” counters Zander. “They’re sheep, and they follow their shepherd. They just need a new one.”
“And that’s you, is it boy?”
Zander shakes his head.
“Not me, old man. I’m just a soldier.”
“And a good soldier you are. I can’t say I care much for your cause, but I understand. And I know, too, that the fate of the Fangs may rest with you. Come, I will escort you back to your northern stronghold. It looks like you have no time to waste.”
Rising to his full height, Rhoth reaches out his arm, and Zander takes it, their palms gripping each others’ forearms and shaking once.
“Thank you, Rhoth,” says my brother. “I won’t forget this.”
“Make sure you don’t, boy,” smiles the barbarian. “I like these lands as they are. Just make sure they stay that way. Too many changes already…” he adds, nodding towards the large facility, cut into the woods.
And it’s into the woods we go again. Down through the trees, working our way eastwards through the valley until we reach a part of the road where we can cross without being seen.
Reaching the other side, we journey on for another couple of hours, the going slow as we navigate the trails and hills that pepper the northern outerlands.
Here, the marshes no longer exist. Instead, the lands are sturdy and, while wooded in many places, also have various areas of open ground, hills, rocky outcrops, rivers and ancient towns.
It’s the latter that most interest me, the remnants of an older time. Some lie hidden in the forests, overgrown and retaken by nature. Others are merely bare bones, husks of a former beast, decaying in the dirt. Mostly, the old cities and towns were blown away by the winds of war, the tornado that swept across the globe altering its structure forever.
What remains are the skeletons of the places left behind, the sight of mostly intact buildings a rare sight to see.
Rhoth accompanies us as far as he’s willing to go. At this time of day, passing through the wilds isn’t quite so dangerous, and yet without weapons it would have been too risky for us to travel alone without our new escort.
Leaving us at the edge of his territory, in an area long disputed between the Fangs and the Nameless, Rhoth pulls out Zander’s pulse rifle, confiscated when we were taken.
Admiring the weapon, he asks: “You don’t mind if I hang on to this, do you?”
Zander, for the first time since our latest incarceration, smiles.
“Sure. Just be careful with the settings. It’s a powerful gun.”
Rhoth nods knowingly. Such weapons have probably been used on him and his people multiple times before.
Then, with a swish of his head, he looks to the distance.
“Good luck,” he grumbles. “And don’t let me see you hunting my grounds again. Do you hear me, boy?”
The smile doesn’t slip from Zander’s face. They shake hands as old enemies turned friends, and our two groups separate.
And less than an hour later, as the winds pick up, and the fog begins to weaken, I spy, though the mist, a rare intact building surrounded by broken down ruins and half-destroyed forms of others. A church that continues to stand, even after all these years, bolstered and fortified and called home to the Nameless.
The old street outside is empty, yet there’s a buzz coming from within. We rush towards it at some pace and Zander’s fist hits the wooden façade of the door.
The buzz within stop abruptly.
A hush fills the air, broken by a sudden wisp of wind fluttering through which blows my hair sideways towards the city, way off to the south and only visible as a haze of light through the fog.
Zander’s knock carries a distinctive pattern, and I’m reminded of the first time we came here. A secret knock to give entry, to show friend from foe. On the other end of the door, a scraping sounds as the door is unbolted.
And then, it opens up.
A soldier stands before us, a man of the Nameless. Behind, many others gather, all looking to the entrance, all dressed in their armour and armed with all manner of weaponry. Upon seeing Zander, they relax a little, and the dozens of raised weapons fall.
“Zander, you’re back,” says the guard who gives entry.
My brother steps right in. I follow beyond, with Adryan to my side. All interest passes from Zander to us, to the two who failed at their mission to end Cromwell’s reign, to put Burns into power.
Do they hate me for that? Are they angry about that?
I can’t tell. I might be able were I to look into their eyes and see their minds. But I don’t. I don’t want to lock eyes with anyone.
Zander looks around at the assembly. The gathering is far greater than what I saw when I first came here. Then, perhaps a dozen or so soldiers littered the main interior of the church. Now, there looks to be over a hundred of them, no space going to waste in the once holy space.
“Is she here?” asks Zander, looking to the guard.
He nods.
“She expected you back yesterday, plus one,” he says, looking at me. “We didn’t expect you to have two companions…”
The manner in which he looks at Adryan – that of suspicion and confusion – suggests he doesn’t know who he is. If he does, then it’s appalling to look upon my husband in such a way.
After all he’s done…
“Plans change,” says Zander. “We were delayed.”
“And the others?”
My brother shakes his head. The guard knows what it means. Dead.
He takes a breath and we begin moving down the centre of the church. Adryan looks about the place with a sprinkle of awe scattered over his eyes. He’ll never have seen a building like this, so old and beautifully built. It’s far from the uniform, grey streets of Inner Haven.
At the back of the church, beyond a stage, we reach a door that links to a short corridor. Beyond, and through another door a half dozen metres further back, Lady Orlando’s private quarters await.
My heart thuds a little harder. There’s a lot I’ve wanted to say to this woman for many, many weeks now. I set myself firm with the idea that I won’t be kept in the dark anymore.
Reaching the first door, the guard opens it up.
“She’s in a frosty mood,” he says. “You know how she gets when you’re out of contact.”
“Thanks, Burton,” says Zander. “Now back to your post.”
The man, much older than my brother, defers to his position. Despite his callow years, Zander’s unique gifts have given rise to a prominent position here among the Nameless. And while he can move at lightning speed, see vast distances, and control people with his mind, the art of leadership is something he’s developed himself.
We move through the door and shut it behind us. I find myself looking to Adryan and whispering: “Have you met her in person before?”
He shakes his head.
I wonder how he feels, after being abandoned by her. And I wonder, too, just where they’re keeping Agent Woolf, the woman who foiled all our plans.
In a tiny cell, locked in a stress position, starved and preferably beaten…
I dismiss the hateful woman from my mind, prone as she is to draw in hateful thoughts, and fill my lungs with a steadying breath as Zander knocks at the second door.
A croaky voice calls us in.
The door opens. Zander steps in first. Ahead of him, sitting by the fire in an old wooden chair, I see Lady Orlando. A woman I now know to be called Cornelia. A woman I know to be a Savant, a former member of the High Tower, known to Artemis Cromwell.
She sits, her back slightly bent, her frame even more withered than when I first saw her. She appears ancient, and yet her neck swivels at speed to guide her eyes to the door at our arrival. From narrow slits, those greying eyes look upon Zander first, then me, and finally Adryan.
She peruses us with the calm authority that all Savants possess. Yet there’s more to her, like there is with Adryan.
