by T. C. Edge
“She’s a wonderful woman,” smiles my grandmother. “I will forever be in her debt for what she’s done.”
“Just keep her stocks of whiskey up and she’ll be happy,” I say, laughing through my nose. “She’s a woman of simple pleasures.”
“I’ll do just that. And I’ll look forward to sharing some stories with her once all this is over. I trust you, Brie, not to mention any of this to anyone else, though. Like your brother, I wish for your focus to remain on point. Until it’s all over…”
Again, I reflect silently, knowing what I’m like. It’ll be hard for me to keep this to myself, but I’ll try my best.
“OK. I won’t tell anyone,” I say. “And, I suppose I should continue to call you Lady Orlando around everyone else? That will be feel sort of weird now, knowing you’re my grandma.”
She smiles at the title once more. And I sense that, above all other titles she’s had, including that of the Lady of the Nameless, the one she’s most proud of is mother to Elisa, grandmother to Zander and Brie. The joy sprinkled across her face as I name her my grandma is something that warms my heart. And while I’ve had my doubts over her in the past, I feel so drawn to her now, so close, like I could tell her anything.
She’s thawed before my eyes, that cool, calm, Savant exterior of hers giving way to a kindly old lady who shares my blood. A woman who spent so long at the empty, black heart of this city but who managed to break free. Who sought out her daughter and felt something that so few of her kind ever feel. Who learned, through her affection for her child, to fight against injustice.
And then, on the other side of that coin, there’s her old husband. My grandfather. A man I once sat with, face to face, neither of us knowing who the other really was.
He was all set to recondition me, turn me into one of his mindless agents as he has with so many others. And yet, that’s merely the tip of the iceberg for a man who has seen to the death of his own family. A man who ordered the execution of his wife for helping their daughter, who killed that daughter too and left her children to grow up without any knowledge of their parents.
I’ve hated him all along. I’ve wanted him dead, wished to see his tyrannical rule of this city end. But now…now that seething hate has morphed into something far, far more potent. There’s a wrath in me that causes a boiling reaction in the pit of my stomach, the depths of my chest, every time I think of him, every time his name it uttered.
I wish him dead in the most terrible manner my mind can conceive. For all the lives I’ve now taken, and the sometimes gruesome ways in which I’ve seen them to their graves, nothing compares to the ways in which I want my grandfather to suffer.
I desire nothing but vengeance now.
Revenge for my mother and father, for my grandmother sitting before me. Revenge for the people of this city, for the thousands, tens of thousands, who have died by his hands or become his slaves.
I want to destroy him in a fashion befitting his crimes, to draw up as much fear and pain I can from his cold, black soul.
I want to be there when it happens, watch it all, enjoy it all, play a part in it all.
I am not a cruel person at heart, far from it. But when I think of him, I become a devil. He has drawn up the darkest parts of me from the depths of my being, the basest of brutal desires. He has made me a monster; unforgiving, unyielding, unwilling to let him receive just a simple death.
And now, the idea of making peace is too unpalatable to contemplate. We will have peace, but only once he’s gone.
I will not stop until that man is dust.
201
I return to my room as Tess stirs.
She comes out of what seem to be a pleasant dream, a little smile dawning on her face as she sees me standing above her.
Then, in a flash, she drops a frown and returns to the snarky girl I so adore.
“You watching me sleep?” she asks. “Creep.”
Her innocent smile turns to a playful grin. She sits up and rubs her eyes.
“What’s the time?” she asks.
“Bit past 7,” I say. “You sleep OK?”
She nods, yawning.
“Actually, yeah. Better than I have in a while. I guess it’s just familiar to share a room with you. I haven’t slept so well since you left.”
Typical Tess, turning from playfully insulting to downright sweet in the blink of an eye.
She stands from her bed and pulls on a couple of layers, telling me she should probably go check on Brenda and the kids.
“You should come too,” she adds. “Unless…you’ve got more fighting to do?”
After the day and night I’ve just had, the thought repels me. I’m just too tired, mentally, physically, and emotionally, to consider going hunting for Con-Cops again.
Thankfully, my grandmother agreed, telling me to take the day off and rest before I left her office. Given I have a minor concussion from the wound I suffered to the back of my head yesterday, that’s probably a good idea. I’ve learned that, in battle, you need to be in tip-top shape. One false move and you might just get yourself, or someone else, killed.
I return to the atrium with Tess, finding it typically busy. Right now, there are still plenty of rogue Con-Cop units littered around the city, and City Guards loyal to Cromwell too. Yet, the numbers of refugees flooding to our new walls have begun to slow, with most of those attempting the journey already having arrived.
The same goes for the City Guards, with over half of them either choosing to join our cause completely, or declare themselves neutral and unwilling to engage. And while something of a stalemate seems to have fallen, we’re still sending out our hunting parties and death squads to continue to remove as many of our enemies from the equation as possible, while at the same time easing the passage of the remaining civilians wishing to join our ranks.
Not all have come, of course. Many remain in Outer Haven, sticking to their homes and waiting things out, often too afraid to venture onto the streets for fear of what may happen.
When you look out of your window and see such death and destruction, that’s an understandable response. And given the vastness of the city, and in particular the large populations of the western and southern quarters, it will take a long time for our people to sweep every tenement block and residence in order to locate any frightened stragglers.
Then, of course, there’s the small matter of dealing with those who have come here to Inner Haven. Mercifully, the local population of Enhanced, as well as the Unenhanced who now live here, have continued to show their support.
At times of such need, the good in people will often show, a necessary counter to the bad. For every person killed, another will stand up and do what they can to help. For every life that gets taken, another will be saved by some good deed.
It is the dichotomy of war, when the worst of humankind comes forth, and the best comes right along with it.
And here, in Inner Haven, it’s the latter we’re seeing as the people continue to pick at the remains of the High Tower, or manage all those from Outer Haven coming to our door. They will be housed, fed, watered, and protected. And everyone is doing their part.
We venture out onto the streets, that perpetual, dusty fog still hanging above the carcass of the high Tower. Looking upon it, however, I notice that much of the outer rubble has been swept away, the giant industrial machines working all hours to clear the area.
As we wander down the road towards Compton’s Hall, Tess remarks that she heard a few people were saved from within. I haven’t been caught up on such rumours yet, and immediately my mind springs with the very vague hope that it was either Mary or Lucy, my Unenhanced friends from the High Tower, who survived.
“How many?” I query, as if Tess has all the answers. “Were they Savants?”
“I think so. I heard at least four were found. They were lucky, got trapped under a sturdy support that managed to block the falling rubble.”
I realise as she speaks that I’d rather n
ot talk about it. There remains in me a guilt, once or twice removed perhaps, but a guilt nonetheless, at what we’ve done. OK, so I rallied against it, and wasn’t directly involved, but still, I can’t wash my hands completely clean of it all either.
Yet, it is to the few Unenhanced living there, and the City Guards who were on duty, that my mind turns to. I feel ashamed for even thinking such a thing, but if a large group of civilians in this city were to die, the Savants would have to get my vote.
Frankly, very few of them even feared death. They didn’t have families, and most didn’t have friends, or close ties to anyone. The very essence of loss would be lost on them, and any survivors will be unlikely to spend much time grieving or mourning the downfall of their people.
You can see it already. See the faces of the Savants who weren’t in the High Tower when it fell. See them continuing to get on with their appointed lives without the burden of grief and sorrow to wear them down.
When the attacks occurred at Culture Corner, or in the market in district 5 of the western quarter, the reaction was so very different. The people would come and mourn, wailing to the heavens for those they lost. You could feel the heartache in the air, the collective pain and suffering that spread through the streets and right around the city.
It wasn’t just those directly affected, those who lost loved ones or dearest friends to the attacks, who suffered. Everyone did, every single Outer Havener gripped by grief and the brewing fear at what might happen next. They worried, night and day, not only about themselves, but about those they loved and cared for, those they simply could not live without.
The Savants aren’t human in the same way. Yes, they look like us and talk like us and walk like us, but they aren’t us. And right here, at the scene of such a terrible, devastating attack, their faces say it all.
Impassive, cool, and inhumanly detached, they’ll get on with the lives they are now assigned without breaking stride.
And, though terrible, when I think of things like that, a part of me looks at this site of such destruction with a simple thought…
Maybe it was good that so many of them were killed. Maybe, now, we’ll all be better off.
Around us, more hunting squads continue to come and go from the city. Around the City Guard HQ, the main centre of operations has been established, with Rycard still managing the many City Guards who choose to join the cause.
There’s a militaristic feel to it that I haven’t yet experienced, everything grander and better organised than before. What was just a rag-tag group of rebels when I first got involved has morphed before my eyes into a far more cohesive fighting force.
Bolstered by our new recruits, we now command a force that outstrips Cromwell’s army. Over the last few days, he’s suffered several significant setbacks, and while still dangerous, my fears that he may strike at the city, or even send a unit to the mines to kill our people there, have started to fade just a little.
Yet, while our numbers have increased, there is an argument to be made for quality over quantity. His most potent agents, the Stalkers, remain in operation. And, while we don’t know how many he still has, we can be sure that it’s quite a lot.
I’ve seen what a powerful hybrid like Zander or Kira, or even myself, can do in single combat, even when faced with a host of City Guards. And in all likelihood, my terrible grandfather will still control more hybrids than we do; men and women who can have an inordinate impact on any major battle should they be fully unleashed.
Yet, the evolution that I’m seeing at the centre of Inner Haven is quite staggering. To see the place, no longer dominated by Savants, but filled with a mixture of Enhanced, Unenhanced, civilians and soldiers, City Guards and rebels, all fighting together…well, that’s something that lights a fire in me. That makes me believe the momentum is very much with us.
And, as we continue towards Compton’s Hall, and I look across the hunting parties gathering to return to Outer Haven, I see through the mist my brother.
He stands alone, his left eye blackened and left cheek badly bruised, steeped in armour and carrying enough weaponry to lay waste to a small army. He isn’t with another band of our men. He isn’t leading a party to sweep the streets.
No, not Zander. Not today.
I see his eyes, still weary, yet burning bright with the light of war. It’s a look that makes me nervous, and seeing him there alone makes me nervous too.
“I’ll be back in a second,” I tell Tess, rushing straight over to him as he prepares to step into a car.
I reach him before he does, and grab his shoulder. He spins around, those hazel eyes of his, just like mine, just like our father’s, darker than usual.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
It’s a stupid question. I know what he’s doing.
He doesn’t smile, or present any expression to put me at ease. He knows I’m worried about him, but he doesn’t attempt to calm my concerns.
With his jaw set to stone, and his chin and cheeks dusted with stubble, he merely grunts out a few words, before stepping into the car and driving away.
“I’m going to Outer Haven,” he growls. “I need to let off some steam.”
202
“What’s the matter with him?” asks Tess as I trundle back over to her.
I didn’t like the way he looked. There’s a rage in him that he’s always trying to suppress, one that crawled its way into his mind when his guardian, Linda, was killed all those years ago. When he saw her die in front of him, and could do nothing to save her; an anger, a wrath, an endless, unquenchable thirst for revenge grew that he’s battled ever since.
It simmers below the surface mostly, kept in check by his own ability to suppress his thoughts and feelings, to work his mental magic.
But, right now, the loss of Kira has broken something in him. It’s opened a fissure for that rage to burst free, pouring like a spout of fire from an erupting volcano.
And while Zander isn’t a young man you’d ever need to worry about, I can’t help it seeing him like this. Right now, he’s liable to do something stupid, to push himself too far. Right now, he’s walking a little too close to the edge, that endless precipice just a tempting leap away.
I watch his car disappear up the street, driving faster than it should. Even that worries me. The fact that he’s clearly saving his Dasher energy means he’s itching for a fight, itching to test himself.
“Brie…he’s OK, right?” comes Tess’s voice again.
I’m forced to answer this time, turning to her as his car leaves my field of vision.
“He’ll be OK,” I tell her, more for me than anyone else. “He was very close with Kira, I think.”
Tess’s eyes drop a second and then lift.
“Were they together?” she asks softly.
“I don’t think so. Just close friends. They’ve fought together with the Nameless for years.”
She seems slightly happy with the answer, although equally guilty about it given Kira’s mysterious fate.
I don’t need to read her mind to know that she likes him, to know that she’s happy he’s unattached and currently available. But, as with everyone else, this war has changed Tess, and despite her amorous inclinations, she quickly turns her mind from the idea of romance with my brother, knowing now really isn’t the time.
Instead, we move straight into Compton’s Hall and find the place beginning to wake. It’s busier now, all the available space being filled with the people from Outer Haven and well managed by the many local volunteers who have put their hands up to help.
There are now many similar places around the centre of the city, with other larger buildings and halls being used for the purposes of housing the refugees.
Here, though, is where Brenda and the kids will be housed, for the time being at least. We find them at their assigned spot, Brenda already up and running and rousing the kids from their little, lined up beds.
“Ah, I wondered where you were,” she says as Tess appe
ars. “And Brie, how are you? How’s the head?”
“It’s fine,” I say, rubbing the base of my skull and immediately feeling a bit dizzy. “About the same as when I fell over right here.” I look around the large hall, trying to remember just where I was standing when I collapsed right in front of Adryan the first time I met him. “Over there,” I say. “That’s where it was.”
“Yes, you always seem to be getting patched up, Brie,” remarks Mrs Carmichael with a shake of the head. “I do hope you’ll be taking some time off now.”
“Um, yeah, today at least,” I say.
“Good. And where is your husband? I’d love to meet him.”
“Oooo, me too,” says Tess. “I forgot about him.”
“Well, um, he’s not really my husband,” I say. “Given everything that’s happened, our marriage doesn’t exactly stand.”
“It stands if you want it to stand,” asserts my guardian. “So…where is he?”
Tess seems to remember something as she asks the question.
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “He was on the radio last night…he’s back at your old headquarters isn’t he? Where is that, at some church somewhere isn’t it?”
“In the outerlands, yeah,” I say. “Just a few miles north of the city in an old town. He’s still there, running the intelligence team and trying to placate Rhoth.”
“What good is he doing out there?” questions Brenda. “I think it’s safe to say that the Nameless have taken Inner Haven now. He should come here. A husband should be with his wife at times like this. You never quite know when you’ll next get to see one another…”
“Brenda, he’s not my husband. I just said that.”
She inspects me with that quizzical eye of hers, then shakes her head.
“There’s no pulling the wool over my eyes, my darling. I know you better than you know yourself. You’d like him to be here too.”
