by Sharon Hinck
Now what? Did he still plan to kill me? Was it something in my memory or emotions that had interrupted his plans? Maybe the One had stayed his hand. But what would he do now? What could I do?
Pray for the people of Rhus.
My teeth ground together at the familiar prompting.
“I have,” I said into the emptiness. “And what about me?” But the habit of obeying that call was strong. I pushed my wet hair back from my face and grabbed the blanket off my pallet to wrap around my shoulders. Sitting at the bare table, I bowed my head and returned to my prayers.
The brief time in open air—connecting to a world beyond my cell—had cleared my mind. The smell of wet earth, the sight of lofty trees towering overhead, even the texture of moss under my hands when I fell had awakened me. I prayed for Rhus and tried again to develop a framework for understanding Nicco or Medea or the rest of the Rhusicans. What drove them?
Considering the conversations I had overheard, Medea and Nicco barely regarded me as a person. To them I was an experiment or an unwanted pet or a source of energy. They ignored any of my questions or attempts to converse. But I’d still been able to collect jigsawed pieces of information. As I prayed, the bits of knowledge shuffled around, revealing some cohesive clues. Hoping the ideas were inspired by the One, I began to formulate a plan.
My meal that night tasted odd. Maybe they planned to poison me. I didn’t eat much of the lumpy gruel, and I lay awake for hours afterward, waiting for some unknown drug to take effect. Nothing happened. Eventually I slept, dreaming of a smooth green road and the scent of wintergreen.
The next day, I wasn’t surprised when, shortly after morning rations, the door opened again.
Nicco prowled the small room, conducting a cursory search as if I could be manufacturing and hiding weapons. I generally did all I could to avoid drawing his attention, but today I had a plan.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, startling myself with my boldness.
Nicco half turned, eyebrows lifted in mild surprise.
“Did you get in trouble for letting me out?” I added when he didn’t respond. I bit my lip as I realized how taunting that sounded. He could still change his mind and kill me. I needed to be careful.
He just grinned. “Why?” He turned the other chair and straddled it, crossing his arms across the back. “Worried about me? How considerate.”
I returned his gaze calmly. His eyes narrowed. In a second he would be burrowing into my mind, igniting disturbing pictures and twisting memories. Soon I’d be left with no capacity for rational thought. He rested his chin on his arms, and his eyes took on the illusion of spinning light. I didn’t have much time.
“Wait.” I held up my hands as though they could shield me from his mind and talked fast. “You asked me a question yesterday. I know you were curious. Maybe I can explain.”
Only a hint of interest flickered across his face. I took a quick breath. “You’ve been digging around in my memories, triggering emotions, looking for . . . something. I promise you’ve missed some things. I’ll show you.”
He lifted his head, and a skeptical smile glided upward. “Your point?” After all, so far I’d found no real way to resist his intrusions into my mind. Offering to cooperate was rather moot.
“You don’t know where to look.” I met his eyes. “There is more. You asked what was happening, back at the fountain when you . . .” I couldn’t force myself to talk calmly about my own execution and looked down at my hands. This was a far too dangerous game. My plans of last night now seemed silly.
“Assuming you’re right—that there are things I haven’t found yet—why would you want to show them to me?” He sat with a new level of stillness that made the rest of the room seem to twitch.
I’d caught his interest. My plan was working. The intensity of his focus made it hard to breathe, but I had prepared for this.
“I want something in return.” My voice was quiet, but at least I didn’t stutter.
“Freedom? I’ve been offered more interesting things in trade from other guests wanting freedom.”
I shook my head. “I know you won’t let me go. I only want an exchange of information.” His forehead wrinkled, and I hurried on before he could say anything. “Let’s just say I’m curious. I want to understand your people.”
It was the truth, as far as it went. I leaned back. “What do you have to be afraid of? Think of it as a dare . . . a challenge to your courage. Will you let me show you real truth? And will you tell me about Rhus?”
“I’ve already seen the truth of what’s inside of you.” He watched me, unmoving.
“No. You twist things and—”
“And I have no interest in your opinion of my courage or lack of it.”
Sweat prickled my skin. I’d played my best card, and I’d only delayed the inevitable. He’d invade my thoughts, control and torment me until he lost interest and killed what was left of me. My problem was, I didn’t have enough to offer.
I slid my chair forward and gave him my best “double-dare” look. “But you are curious, aren’t you? You want to know what happened inside of me when I was facing death. You wonder if there are doors you haven’t found.”
“All right. Explain what you were seeing. Tell me what you felt. What was it?”
My head felt heavy, and I realized he was slipping a compelling force into his words. I fought the cloudiness.
“I will. But tell me about your people. Your families.”
“Irrelevant.” He glared at a point on my forehead, and it began to throb.
“No it’s not. It’s important to understanding.” The pain grew, and I gasped. “Nicco, just try to have a normal conversation.”
His eyes flared wide, seeming shocked at my use of his name. It broke his concentration, and the pain stopped drilling into my head. I know how to be earnest. That’s why I did a great job fund-raising for the school library. Mark always said my basset-hound eyes were lethal to anyone trying to say “no” to me. I used every bit of my sincerity now.
“I saw two things when I was about to die. First, I remembered my family. I can’t show you what those feelings mean until I know what you feel about family. Medea told the Council in Lyric about her husband—how he was the Rhusican that Tristan killed. It helped me understand . . .”
My words trailed off because Nicco threw back his head and laughed.
I waited for him to calm down.
“Fine. I’ll explain that much. He wasn’t Medea’s husband. We don’t have bonds like the people of the clans.”
“But she told them . . . Why would she lie?”
He smiled. “Why would she tell the truth? She needed their sympathy. She knew how important links like that were to them.”
I struggled to stay on track. “So you don’t marry? But you have children. I’ve seen them. Who cares for them?”
He shrugged. “Everyone, no one.”
“But how do they learn love, compassion, commitment?”
Nicco was amused at my dismay. “Why wouldn’t they feel loved? Everyone in Rhus accepts everyone else. We would never banish someone the way the clans do or drive them to run away like some of the Hazorites we’ve taken in.” He shifted his chair, growing bored with this conversation.
“We look at family life a little differently,” I said slowly. “Mark and I committed our lives to each other. Wait.” I lifted a hand when he was about to interrupt. “It’s important for you to understand. Our children know that no matter what happens to them or to us, we love them. That’s why I was thinking of them in that moment.”
Nicco’s small store of patience was gone. “Show me.” His eyes grabbed mine, a deep vibration beneath his words.
I resisted for a second. “You don’t have to do that. Let me concentrate.” I closed my eyes and took my mind back to the images I had seen in the clearing by
the fountain. I let my feelings well up again—sweet emotions of love and longing. I lingered on the scene of our family at supper. Then I deliberately steered my memory to another scene from four years earlier. Mark’s arm wrapped my shoulders as we leaned against the familiar couch cushions. Anne’s head rested in my lap, and one of her blonde curls encircled my finger. Jake sat across from us, looking earnest. Karen stared into the distance. She was only about twelve back then but already had compassionate eyes. Jon sat on the floor by Mark’s feet, and Mark rested a hand on his shoulder.
“The best thing we can do is pray for her,” Mark said. We bowed our heads and awkwardly joined hands. Anne spoke first, lifting her head an inch off my lap.
“Please make Grandma better.” Her words lisped through baby teeth, and she settled back down with the satisfaction of prayer well prayed. I felt the sweetness of the moment again as each of us spoke. We’d spent a grueling evening outside the ICU, and when the doctors had my mom stabilized, we came home reeling with fear and questions. As had become our habit when life’s concerns overwhelmed us, we huddled together in this circle of support.
I opened my eyes and looked at Nicco. His head angled in concentration and confusion. That had been my plan: to shake his complacency, let him see beyond the strange emotional torrents that he and Medea played in; to show him truth; if nothing else, to keep him curious and gain more time.
He took a slow breath, and his eyes came back into focus.
“All right. Let’s look at your family some more.”
And suddenly, with the same skill as Medea, he found memories behind barricaded doors. Exhausted days of chasing toddlers with my voice raised in aggravation. Mark’s revelation that his past had been a lie and my shock and betrayal. Children quarrelling, Karen’s disdainful turning away when I asked her about her day. Painful snapshots of the worst moments of family life shuffled past at lightning speed as I tried to stop them, explain them. Then they began to twist. The pictures distorted. The arguments and petty rages built and covered over all other memories. Repulsion grew for the entwining bonds that forced these six humans to live together, interact, and hurt each other over and over. It was Sartre’s “No Exit” in a suburban family. Eternal misunderstandings, eternal irritation, eternal prison.
“No!” I fought what Nicco was doing but couldn’t push him away from my mind. “You’re lying. You’re changing it.” I could barely gasp out the words. The worst agony was in knowing I had invited him to see this part of my heart. I thought truth, beauty, and goodness would have the power to make him question—search for meaning in his own strange, capricious life. But it was just another toy for him.
He rummaged through my mind, a thief upending drawers and tossing family treasures over his shoulder in utter carelessness. “Stop!” I pressed my hands against the sides of my head and tried to shut out the images he was creating. At some point, I slipped to the floor, my muscles incapable of holding me in the chair anymore. I curled into a ball, distantly aware of tears, of my shoulders shaking with sobs. I couldn’t form words anymore—couldn’t even think coherently enough to pray anything beyond a desperate “Help me!”
At last he lost interest and stopped his assault. The churning of my thoughts died down like a lake after a storm has blown over. I was numb, broken, empty.
Nicco stood up and pushed his chair against the table with a scrape. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He sounded positively happy. My plan was in shambles. I couldn’t take more of this, and it hadn’t changed him at all. “Tomorrow you can show me the second thing.”
What was he talking about? My battered mind struggled to remember. I had told him that I saw two things when I was about to die. The first was my family and their love. He’d so poisoned that, I couldn’t even think about them without shuddering. I lifted my head and focused bleary eyes on Nicco’s back as he left. The door slammed down.
Tomorrow he’d be back to destroy what was left. The second thing I had seen beyond the specter of my own death.
The face of the One.
Chapter
17
Jake
Wade might have the bulk of a linebacker, but he moved with the speed of a wide receiver, charging through brush and around any obstacle between him and the band of guardians camped at Blue Knoll. We wouldn’t rest there, either. After this blitz, I’d have another long hike as we fled Blue Knoll and the threat of ambush by Cameron’s guards. I looked up at the tall pines so prevalent outside of Braide Wood and tripped on one of the rocks that dotted the trail.
Wade finally took pity on me and stopped near a stream for a drink. “Thanks for letting me see Lukyan before we left.” I wiped my sleeve across my mouth. “He and Linette are—”
“Linette? She was in Braide Wood?” Wade sat up straighter. “Why didn’t you tell me? Was she staying with her family? How did she look?”
I blinked at the onslaught of questions. Wade ducked his head with a shrug. “She was engaged to Dylan. He was a good friend. I’ve tried to look out for her since he was killed.”
My mouth tasted sour, as if I’d bitten into a lemon candy. “She seemed okay. She wasn’t planning to stay. Just wanted to find out what was happening in the clans.”
Wade nodded. “Good. I wasn’t happy when I got back from the River Borders and found out she’d left for Hazor. But it’s safer than Braide Wood right now.” Wade swooped up a large pinecone and tossed it at a low-hanging branch. “Did she still seem . . . you know . . . sad?” He was staring at the stream, and his voice grew quieter. “Do you think she’s getting over Dylan?”
I jumped to my feet, my face turning warm. I did not want to be having this conversation. “I wouldn’t know.”
He hefted himself to his feet and slapped a heavy hand against my back. “Not your concern, boy. I was just thinking out loud.”
“I’m not a boy.” I shouldered past him toward the trail. “I’m almost nineteen.”
“Really?” Wade’s voice was friendly, oblivious to my mood. “You look a lot younger. Must be your size.”
I hunched my shoulders and stormed ahead on the path.
A few miles farther, the rocky terrain leveled out. We emerged from a thick growth of spice trees to see a cluster of log buildings spread out on rolling hills.
“Blue Knoll.” Wade pointed ahead. Waves of blue ferns rimmed the forests like the wide circle of one of Anne’s chalk drawings on our driveway. The fronds bobbed as rain hit them. The mid-afternoon downpour was beginning, and we’d never even stopped for lunch. I adjusted the hood of my cloak and followed Wade as he skirted the edge of the clearing. We moved back under cover of the trees, and Wade pulled up short.
“Jake, about what you said to Lukyan.” He fidgeted with the ties of his pack, careful not to look at me. “Do you really think the One told you those things?”
I bristled. He sounded like he thought I was a crackpot who claimed to be Napoleon. Then again, if Wade had made the same declarations, would I have believed him?
“I know it sounds crazy, but yes, the One wants me to tell people that Cameron’s new Records are a fraud. Lukyan is already contacting the other songkeepers.”
Wade’s head snapped around. “He agreed to that?” I didn’t like the horror in Wade’s expression. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble that will cause? And what Cameron will do?”
Cold cleats tromped up and down my spine as I thought of Lukyan. Was he in danger now too?
I drew myself up. “Yes, he agreed. And the One also showed me we need to reclaim Rendor.”
Now Wade thudded his meaty hand onto my shoulder. “Jake, I know you mean well. I’m sure you have a good heart, like your mother.” His face drew closer. “I’ve sworn to protect your father’s house, but I can’t protect you if you make claims like that.”
And he hadn’t even heard my most outrageous claim: that I had Restorer
signs, at a time when the new Records declared there would be no more Restorers. I sputtered a protest, but he squeezed my shoulder. “Listen”—he was whispering as if the feathered moths and ground-crawlers would eavesdrop—“I’m not saying that things won’t head that way in time. I’d like to get Rendor back more than anyone. I was at the River Borders when we held back the Kahlareans. But for now you must promise to keep your mouth shut about the One talking to you, all right?” Another squeeze.
He took my silence for assent and gave me a wide smile. He released me with a last hearty thump and lumbered forward. I followed, massaging my sore shoulder.
Deeper into the wood, Wade stopped and cupped his hands by his mouth to make a chirping sound, something halfway between chipmunk and tree frog. We listened in silence, and then a call answered. Two cheeps, a pause, and then a third. Wade nodded and led me forward.
It took some maneuvering and a clamber under thick brambles to reach the hidden clearing. The size of the group had grown—more than a few dozen now—or else the numbers seemed larger because the space was smaller. Men sat in tight knots, speaking very little. Some whittled with boot knives, others stitched repairs into gear, and a few were engaged in a game with black and white stones spread in obscure patterns on the packed earth. I spotted Arland right away. He turned from a low-voiced argument with a young guardian and saw us. Relief lit his face for a second, but he masked it and stood to make his way toward Wade. Scanning for other familiar faces, I noticed Ian scowling in my direction. I jerked my gaze away.
Arland joined Wade with feigned casualness. Barely moving his mouth, he asked, “What word?”
“Council guard on the way,” Wade answered him in the same undertone.
“Do we stand now?”
