by T. C. Edge
I watch him go for a brief second before returning to the room.
I find Tess lying now on Mrs Carmichael’s desk, and the old woman herself propped up in her chair. Her eyes are half closed and weak. Tess’s are the same, flickering as Zander begins searching quickly for a medical kit.
I grab it for him, knowing of its location, and he starts seeing to Tess’s wound.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I breathe, looking on as he begins wiping away the blood.
“Take this,” he says, handing me a towel. “Put pressure on it. She’s losing blood, but the wound’s not fatal. It’s hit nothing vital.”
“How do you know?!”
“Brie, just do it!”
As he sets about searching through the medikit, I do as I’m ordered, pressing hard against the injury as the blood continues to bubble up and seep between my fingers.
I look into my best friend’s face, grimacing in pain and yet no longer with the wild desire to stab me, kill me.
“What did you do? Did you get rid of the order?” I ask as my brother draws out some medical staplers.
He pushes my hand away, the towel now soaking red, and starts pulling Tess’s flesh together and stapling up and suturing the wound. He answers as he works.
“The order’s gone,” he says. “From both of them. They’ll come around soon.”
He speaks matter of factly, as if my guardian and best friend trying to murder me is just another day at the office.
“Who could have…” I start, my breathing still heavy.
“It wasn’t them, Brie,” says my brother, looking to me with his keen, hazel eyes. “Never think it was them.”
I nod silently, still staring at the wound as Zander quickly welds Tess’s flesh back together. Then he begins adding some antiseptic healing cream, pasting it on in thick doses.
He works quickly and efficiently, grabbing the dressing from the medical kit and patching the gash up. Within only a couple of minutes, he’s completed the job.
“It might leave an untidy scar, but nothing worse,” he says. “I’m just glad it wasn’t you…”
“Zander!” I say. “She’s my best…”
“Yeah, I know. Your best friend. But you’re my sister.”
He turns to look at me. His eyes are stark.
“We can’t stay here for long. We’re already overdue,” he says. “Someone might have reported the break in. I wasn’t exactly quiet when I crashed through the door.”
“Yeah, how did you do that exactly? There were about half a dozen locks and bolts…”
“I Dashed,” he says. “Busted my shoulder up pretty good but, whatever. It’ll heal.”
“Let me take a look.”
I move in and remove his jacket and shirt. His shoulder is already bruising and swelling badly. I skim my eyes over the rest of his upper body and see several scars and old wounds littering his flesh. It’s not to the same proportions as Adryan, but fairly close.
“Jeez, Zander,” I say.
He follows the direction of my eyes.
“It’s nothing. Old war wounds. Apply some of that cream, will you?”
I grab the anti-inflammatory healing cream from the table and begin spreading it over his shoulder. It barely computes in me how much force he must have put through it to crash through the barred door. Nor the fact that using his powers in public like that might just have garnered the attention of the nearest City Guards and Con-Cops.
“What did you tell the boy?” he asks as I rub the cream in.
It must be soothing, but doesn’t remove the scowl from his face.
“That it was an accident. And to go and secure the door.”
“And he’s trustworthy?”
“Definitely. And, anyway, I put an order in his head.”
As we speak, Tess begins to stir. Her flickering eyes build up some pace, and her lids start to creep open a little wider. They centre immediately on Zander, standing bare-chested ahead of her.
For a moment, as her eyes widen, she doesn’t speak. Then she seems to remember herself and mutters: “What happened?”
She tries to sit up. Zander bounds towards her and rests his hand on her shoulder, pressing her back down.
“You had an accident,” he says softly. “It’s OK. You’re all patched up now.”
“An accident?” she murmurs vaguely.
She doesn’t remember.
“Yeah, Tess, you slipped over and, um, cut your stomach,” I say.
Her brows hover lower, and her eyes turn to the floor. It’s covered in blood.
She recoils and her hand rushes to her mouth.
“That’s mine?!”
“It’s fine,” whispers Zander. “Just relax. Relax now.”
His words soothe her. Her heavy breathing subsides.
Zander turns to me. In my head I hear him say: We have to go.
I don’t want to. I’m not even sure I can.
How can I leave them like this?
He’s reading my thoughts. His voice comes again: You have to, Brie. We can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous now. They’ll be fine without us.
Tess seems to notice the silent exchange.
“Are you OK, Brie?” she asks.
My eyes are still bleaker than I realise.
“Yeah, fine Tess. Just fine.”
Mrs Carmichael starts to stir now. Tess notices her too. It looks like the truth is starting to dawn on her, some fragment of what happened edging itself to the surface like the tip of a terrible iceberg.
Zander’s face falls to her.
“I’m Zander, by the way,” he says as he begins to pull his shirt back on. “Nice to finally meet you, Tess. I’ve heard lots.”
Her eyes are drawn back to his. They stare with a similar measure of affection as when she met Rycard, first at his rippling abdomen, and then at his eyes.
She has a thing for hazel eyes. A thing for Hawk-eyes.
“Was it you?” she asks. “You saved me?”
She looks at the bandage on her stomach.
“I wouldn’t say ‘saved’. Nothing life threatening, Tess. Try to stay off your feet for a few days if you can. It’ll heal up nice and quick.”
He starts moving to the door, jacket in hand. Her hand takes his, causing him to turn.
“Thank you,” she whispers, tears starting to dampen her eyes. “Thank you so much…”
A warm smile lifts his lips, and he drops one eyelid into a wink.
“No problem. Now, we really have to go.”
“Already?!”
She turns to me and I step in, giving her a quick peck on the forehead.
“I’ll be back again soon,” I say. “I promise.”
Zander hovers towards the doorway. He’s waiting for me, but I don’t want to leave. I want to take them with us. All of them. Tess, Mrs Carmichael, Nate and Abby and everyone here. I don’t want to leave them…
“Brie!” growls Zander. “We have to go.”
I delay a second longer, and his hand reaches out and grabs me.
And out of the door I’m pulled.
145
We tumble down the corridor as a whole slew of questions and concerns begin prodding at my brain. First and foremost is my concern for Tess and Mrs Carmichael’s safety.
“They’ll be fine,” shouts Zander as we run. “The wound wasn’t that bad…”
“No! Not the wound. Someone has clearly got to them. Nate was telling me about this Savant who was lingering around, probably a Mind-Manipulator. He must have put the order in their heads to kill me when they saw me again…”
“It happens, Brie,” says Zander as we reach the spiral staircase.
I stare down to see Nate nervously standing beside the door, trying to put it back in place. It’s not going to be easy. Zander’s all but smashed it off its hinges.
“But what if they come back? What if they find out what happened and that I was here? What if they take them all away to be reconditioned?”
<
br /> My questions tumble, one after another. Zander has no time to deal with each, so just summarises his thoughts with a simple: “We have no choice.”
“No choice?! We have a choice! We can take them, now…”
He stops, halfway down the stairs just off the first floor, and turns on me. The backs of his eyes are lit in flame. He means business.
“Brie, level 4 is imminent, and they’ll probably be safer here than in the underlands or even the mines. And you know your guardian. She won’t leave this place. Neither will Tess. They have the kids to take care of. You think they’re just going to abandon them?”
“No…but we take them too…”
I know what he’s going to say.
“We can’t take them too! We can sneak around easily enough, but leading a whole troop of youngsters to the north? You’re being emotional, and you’re not thinking this through. We need to go, right now. We’re the ones in danger here, not them. OK?”
I don’t answer. His words are settling, and settling fast. My emotions are getting the better of me again.
“OK?!” he repeats. He’s not going to let it go until I agree.
I draw in a breath and nod, somewhat reluctantly. But I understand.
I know he’s right.
“OK.” I say.
“Good. Now let’s get the hell out of here before this entire mission falls apart!”
We continue on down to the main hall. Zander orders me to put on my contact lenses once more as we go, which I do. I reposition my hat, too, to ensure my face is appropriately shrouded.
I see a few other kids in the hall, staying back to the shadows. They look in in fright, clearly not knowing who Zander is and failing, at first, to recognise me. Then one girl calls out my name, and I’m forced to stop. To delay again.
Abby comes bounding over from the door leading to her dorm. Her little face is a vision of surprise and joy.
“Brie!” she shouts. She rushes up to me and throws her arms around my trunk. “You’re back! Are you back for good? Is this your new husband?”
She looks at Zander, who’s clearly unimpressed by this latest setback.
“Brie,” he growls, stepping towards the door. Nate looks at him sceptically, and adopts a posture of defence. “We have to…”
“I know, I know,” I say. I look at Abby, her eyes like little shining stars. “No, he’s not my husband. And unfortunately, I’m not back for good. Not yet, anyway. I wish I could stay, Abs, but I can’t. I’m in a real rush.”
“But…”
Her face turns from joy to misery in the sort of way only a child can manage.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I say, kneeling down and taking her cheeks between my palms. “I have important things to do. But I’ll be back. I promise.”
I smile and her face evolves again, somewhere halfway between disappointment and acceptance.
“Good,” I say, seeing the change. I lean in and kiss her on the cheek. “Take care of the place for me while I’m away, OK? Remember, you’re my little sidekick.”
Her eyes relight. Her little teeth reappear.
“I’m your sidekick,” she repeats. “Queen-Brie and Abtastic!”
My eyebrows lift.
“You’ve thought of names? I’m impressed.”
Beside the door, Zander grumbles: “Brie…”
Yes, yes, I know, I call out telepathically.
“You like them?” she beams. “Queen-Brie…like the queen bee!” A cute giggle escapes her. “I’ve been drawing a comic too,” she continues. “Like the ones I read. It’s called The Adventures of Queen-Brie and Abtastic. Will you read it?”
“I’d love to,” I say, smiling. “Keep working on it. I’ll read it next time. Promise.”
I kiss her cheek again.
And before my resolve weakens, I step away from her, and the other kids hovering in the background, and away from Nate too, still eyeing Zander suspiciously by the door.
I lay my hand on his shoulder and say: “Good job, Nate. Don’t go to Mrs Carmichael’s room for a little while, OK. Wait for her to come down. She’ll see to fixing the door.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, champ,” mutters Zander.
He and Nate share a look. By association with me, my brother appears to get some seal of approval.
“It’s OK,” the little boy says. This little boy who, only months ago, wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Now he’s staring daggers at a man who has just barged through a secure door and into his home. A man who, clearly, isn’t just any normal man.
Nate really has grown.
Those are the last words I hear or utter in the academy. Stepping through the door, now merely propped awkwardly against the frame, we take a look up and down the street to ensure that there are no patrols in the area.
We appear to have gotten lucky, the commotion doing little to draw the eye. I suppose that could well be a symptom of the times. All over the city, break-ins and other disturbances will be a common occurrence.
Looters and other opportunists will be taking advantage of the current state of the city, stealing and burgling and pillaging what they can. Gathering into gangs like the one Brandon and his cronies have joined, mere kids barely into their teens seeing the city as some sort of playground.
A very dangerous playground.
I suppose, to such people, the rewards and risks need to be weighed against each other. During a time of crisis, men can make something more of themselves. They can elevate their position if they’re willing to take the risk, stepping into the criminal underworld and staking a claim.
If caught, the likely punishment is reconditioning. Right now, that probably doesn’t seem so bad. And for these men and women, and even children, who have so little to their name, the threat of reconditioning isn’t one to fill them with fear.
In the end, if your life carries so little joy, then what do you have to lose? Reconditioning can, in fact, be a release. Something to wipe the slate clean and give a person a fresh start in a new world.
Memories gone. Poverty and isolation and loneliness erased. A person who has nothing can suddenly have it all. A purpose, albeit a terrible one. A social structure to join and adhere to. Food and shelter and all the essentials that they need.
Many here, especially when the days are so dark, will be thinking just that. And with Cromwell’s growing propaganda and promises that those who join up will be given a place in his future, so few people have the luxury of choice.
And right now, neither do I.
So away from the academy I go. I want to stay but I can’t. I want to spend more time with my friends, but I can’t. I want to nurse Tess back to health, sit and drink whiskey with her and Mrs Carmichael and tell them exactly what’s been going on in my life, and find out exactly what’s been going on in theirs, but I can’t.
All I can do right now is follow my brother as we creep up Brick Lane and away from my home, from those I love and wish to protect. Not knowing when, and even if, I’ll ever really return.
And as we go, I wonder if that’s just why Zander was willing to bring me here today. Whether his plan all along was to show me the city as it exists right now under occupation, show me the state of the academy and the feeling of concern and fear that’s etched into every youthful face within.
Bring me here to feel the dread that hovers in the air. To let my blood be infused with that endless tension, bubbling just below the surface, threatening to explode into a war that will claim tens of thousands of lives.
And among them, those I care about will lie. Dead. In heaps of corpses littering the streets. Casualties of a war that, perhaps, can be avoided.
Avoided by destroying the nest of injustice that lies only a few miles from where we are now, towering above us with its pristine edifice and shining exterior. A beacon to so many.
A vision of a more prosperous world. A more prosperous future.
Maybe, rather than just bringing me here to see my friends, that was the plan. To get me o
n board. To make me realise – properly realise – that genocide is the only way.
That unless we strike first, more and more good people will turn themselves to the darkness, lose themselves to the nothingness that awaits them in the grip of Cromwell’s palm.
Maybe Zander realises that he wants me alongside him, wants me playing a part, wants me to agree with the plot that’s unfolding.
If anything, I consider that the latter will be most prominent in his mind. He’s really only just found me, and I him. He doesn’t want to put me in danger, but at the same time, he doesn’t want me to huff and turn away from him either, turn away from this rebellion I’ve been assimilated into.
Right at the core of it, perhaps he just wants to show me that there really is no other choice. That he and Lady Orlando and all the rest, presiding over the destruction of a tower that will kill thousands, aren’t bad people. They’re just products of their environment, products of their time.
Products of a war that they’ve fought for years.
I haven’t. I’m new to this. I’m bringing a fresh perspective that no one wants to hear. A perspective that doesn’t belong in the province of war, a place where death is just a numbers game, where sacrifices are inevitable in pursuit of a greater good.
I’m beginning to see that. I’m beginning to realise that my voice, calling out for morality and echoing the childish emotions that stew inside me, isn’t relevant here.
I had a voice before, when I was tasked with ending this war before it spread. My place at the centre of the plot to assassinate Cromwell gave me undue position amongst the rebels.
But that position is gone. And aside from my siblinghood with one of their most prominent members, my voice no longer carries any weight.
It is dull, empty, ignored. Only Zander wishes to hear me out, persuade me of the good in what they’re trying to do.
He’s doing that because he’s my brother, my twin. And he loves me.
But, who else cares? To the rest, I’m an annoyance. An irritation. A pesky bug buzzing in front of a face, unable to be swatted aside.
And, in many ways, that’s just how I want it. I never wished to be part of this. I never wished to be included in such decisions. I don’t have the mind for it, or the constitution.
