“Where do you need me today?” Joseph asked Daveena.
“Rations just delivered. Everyone’s putting together sacks for delivery. You can both help me with the baking.” There was a slight questioning rise in her tone.
They followed her into the baking area.
Joseph took off his coat and offered to hang Mireya’s as well. He was a taller, lanky kind of boy. A year older than Mireya and she had only met him a few months ago, when his group had returned and he had started school again.
“My coat came in very handy with the cold weather this morning,” said Mireya.
Joseph added, “Boots too.” He glanced around, wary that someone might be spying and added, “Feels like it might snow.” He wanted the conversation to sound as normal and mundane as possible.
However, Daveena’s mouth turned in the tiniest of smiles. She had gotten her question answered. The three set to work making large batches of dough.
She kept the other youngsters busy outside the baking area. Only herself, Joseph and Mireya were allowed. She claimed it was to keep any of them from burning themselves on the hot ovens. However, most worked in other parts of the kitchen using sharp knives and woodstoves, things that children their ages should not be using. Or at the very least, needed adult supervision to use.
As it turned out, Daveena had a natural gift for making bread.
Who knew a talented baker was hiding inside the rough and tough, Daveena Troast?
She also had another knack; for hiding things inside the loaves of bread. Under the guise of baking, no one ever noticed when she accidentally dropped something into the dough.
They spent the morning baking loaf after loaf.
Conversations were kept light. Guards came inside periodically to check on them and continually made rounds encircling the house.
Daveena always kept a steaming loaf near the front of the kitchen; this kept the guard from venturing too deeply inside. The smell of freshly baked bread always stopped them in their tracks. Even the Stripers could not resist a freshly baked loaf.
It did not make them any nicer.
But it did keep their eyes from lingering too long on things Daveena, Mireya, and Joseph did not want them to see.
In the early afternoon, a cart pulled up in front of Juliska’s old house, the new makeshift kitchen, and parked itself a few feet from the front doors. It was pulled by a horse, and driven by one of the Striper guardsmen.
Daveena ordered the youngsters to start loading up the cart. One by one, they grabbed hold of the burlap food sacks and took them outside. Two of the children hopped up into the cart, gently stacking the sacks as they were hoisted up.
Daveena herself brought up three sacks that were noted as special delivery sacks. They were going to the new prison to feed the prisoners. She also had a fourth sack marked for the guards at the prison; it contained a few loaves of fresh bread. The heat made the sacks warm to the touch. She shoved it underneath the others to keep it that way.
The cart operator blew out impatient grunts as he waited for the loading to finish. After awhile, he jumped down off the cart shouting for them to hurry up. He rounded the corner and came face to face with Daveena. Her height equaled his.
She just stared into his eyes, as if to egg him on and dare her to get angry. He grunted something under his breath but backed off, huffing and puffing his way back to his seat atop the cart.
Not too long after, the ration-sacks were loaded and ready for delivery. Inside each sack was just enough food for each house it was being delivered to. Just enough.
Mireya guessed that was the point.
There may have been a new prison, but in reality, they were all prisoners. And were given only what they needed to stay alive. Only what was needed to keep them strong enough for the Stripers and Juliska Blackwell to feed off their magic.
Before the cart pulled out, Daveena barked orders to the youngsters that would remain behind. They would need to clean up the mess created by that mornings prepping, in order to do it all again the next day.
Only three made the deliveries.
Daveena. Mireya. And Joseph.
The cart pulled away, with Mireya steadying herself inside the back of it, while Daveena and Joseph walked alongside it. They stopped just a few feet later. Mireya handed each of them a sack and Daveena and Joseph stepped up to a front door, knocked and then left the sack.
They were not permitted to wait for someone to answer the door.
They were not permitted to speak to anyone that came to the door.
This went on for hours, until finally, they reached the final stop of the evening. The prison. A guard met them just outside the oversized double doors. The one thing they had left the same: the life-like statues of the Scratchers.
Mireya, Joseph, and Daveena each grabbed hold of a sack.
Daveena also grabbed the extra sack of loaves meant for the guards. It was not really warm any longer, but still fresh.
Mireya let out a soft groan. Not just because she was tired from the long day, but also because a snowflake fell, melting on her nose. It wasn’t bad enough that it was cold, and that the sun never came out over the island anymore. And that when they looked up to see if the clouds were lifting, all they saw were the silhouettes of the Scratchers, flying high overhead amongst those dark clouds. Now there would also be snow to trudge through as they made their deliveries.
“Maybe we’ll luck out,” whispered Joseph. “First snow rarely sticks.”
“Luck, what’s that?” Mireya replied in a sarcastic tone.
“Just saying,” he replied.
She couldn’t help but cast a smile at his attempt at enthusiasm. They marched up the stairs and underneath the statuesque Scratchers, into the prison.
They could not help but stop and stare after stepping through the doors. The newest prisoner, the woman from the street earlier that morning, was being dragged down the hallway to join the rest of the prisoners. She was barely conscious.
The three youngsters followed before anyone could notice them gawking. They had no choice but to do so, it was where they needed to go to make their final delivery of the day.
Rooms that at one time held classes were now session rooms.
And at the end of the hall, where once they had a gym large enough for school gatherings, was now the general prison. At the backside of the prison was a small courtyard, made out of what had once been a playground.
The prisoners were permitted to be anywhere they wanted inside the large cell, indoors or outdoors, but most were stationary, trying to reserve their strength, too weak to bother moving around.
In just over a week’s time, a trial was to be held, which all Svoda were required to attend. During which, the youngsters assumed that each prisoner would be found guilty of treason to Juliska Blackwell.
As for their punishment, one could only guess what she had in store.
Most of the prisoners had been here since the first days of the takeover. Most for crimes they did not commit. Or because they had caused a ruckus and refused to give in to Juliska in those first days. Many had just plain been confused and had no idea what was really happening until they had been dropped into the prison cell and heard the tales about Garner and Ravana Sadorus and Jae Mochrie.
Everybody was clear as to what was happening, now.
A couple of the prisoners waited near the front of the prison, where they could see the youngsters’ arrival. They were not permitted to speak to them, but were searching for any information they could pass on, with a look or a movement, about their families or children.
Mireya looked up to see the face of Dr. Stamm peering through an iron wall. His eyes begged to know if his son Oliver, was okay. She knew without him voicing the words. What else would he want to know? He had no wife. Only a son. He looked terribly sad.
Mireya tossed him a quick smile, meant to indicate, Oliver is okay.
Was he really? She had no idea. Oliver lived in a different zone and di
d not work in the kitchen, so she never saw him.
The doctor closed his eyes and walked away.
Mireya was okay with lying.
It was unsettling to see a grown man cry.
And what good would it do? If Oliver was not okay, what were any of them to rush out and do about it?
One prisoner had been selected to meet the children and take the food. He was responsible for rationing it out to his fellow prisoners. The youngsters didn’t know his name. He looked to be around forty and had a scar on his left cheek; it started just under his eye and reached his chin.
They called him Scarface, when referring to him outside of the prison.
The prison got three burlap sacks delivered every other evening, with just enough food for each prisoner to live on until the next delivery.
Joseph caught his foot and tripped.
His burlap sacks emptied onto the floor.
“Sorry!” he called out. “Sorry!” he said to the guard, while scrounging around to pick up all the food that had fallen out.
Mireya set her sack down and assisted him.
“Really, Joseph, be more careful!” she scolded.
The guards grunted their agreement in that sentiment.
Daveena had already made it to the prisoner and the moment Joseph fell, she leaned in and whispered, “Bread’s well done.” She leaned back before the guards had taken their eyes off clumsy Joseph.
The prisoner did not reply to Daveena, not even with a nod. It was too dangerous. He took the sack from her and set it down while he waited for Joseph and Mireya to hand over theirs, too. Once he had all three in hand, he turned and took the sacks to a small, makeshift kitchen.
Daveena handed the extra sack filled with fresh bread to the guards. As usual, their greedy hands dug right in.
The prison kitchen was a mockery of a kitchen. There was a table. A wood stove. A single large pot to cook with, along with a handful of bowls, plates and spoons; this is all they were permitted. Plus, one very dull knife. There wasn’t even enough tableware for all the prisoners to eat at one time. They had to eat in shifts.
A woman followed in behind the man nicknamed Scarface. She assisted him in emptying the food sacks, and set in to throwing things into the pot, to create whatever remotely edible thing she could.
Scarface cut up the bread into pre-sliced portions. This was hard to do with a dull knife, but he kept his head down and cut the best he could. When he heard the slightest clink as he cut, he stopped and looked from side to side, with only the smallest of movements.
No one was watching that he could see. The woman cooking made loud clanking noises with the pot and the lid, keeping any outside attention on her. Scarface slid his hand into the loaf and gently pulled out a vial hidden inside, tucking it under his shirtsleeve.
Two loaves this time. She had hidden two vials and a knife inside. One vial was marked, medicinal; the other was labeled with a black letter X, with the word boom, written by hand underneath.
Scarface left the slices, ready to be eaten as soon as the stew was finished, making his way to the outhouse, which was outside near the back of the courtyard. Once inside the outhouse, he kneeled down and pulled up one of the floorboards, where a hole had been dug a few inches into the hard, frozen dirt. He placed the vials inside, next to six others the youngsters had successfully delivered. He replaced the floorboard and turned on his knees to the opposite side, lifting another floorboard. In that hole, he put the knife, alongside another knife and a small pair of scissors.
When that board was back in place, he sank to the floor. It was cold. It smelled. Three-inch-wide barn spiders lined the area surrounding the toilet bowl, like gray-skinned, eight legged statues. To this day, he had never actually seen one move. And he’d been sharing space with these spiders nearly all his life.
He took in the moment, feeling thankful.
Thankful that these youngsters were putting up a fight.
That they were being smart.
That they were not just giving in.
They didn’t have much time, though. All he’d been able to pass along to the children was that they needed to escape. Children, he thought. Certainly don’t act like children, he decided. They were taking major risks doing what they were doing.
He got up and exited the outhouse. He nodded a greeting to each prisoner he passed by. The nod was meant to tell them today’s exchange was successful. To give them hope.
They had just over a week until their public trial; which meant just under a week to make their escape.
Would they succeed?
He did not know. He only knew they had to try.
He leaned up against the tall metal fence and started whistling.
Outside the prison, the food delivery cart pulled away leaving Daveena, Mireya, and Joseph to walk home on their own. They stalled, Mireya kneeling down to tie up her bootlace.
The three hid smiles cracking uncontrollably as they heard the whistle they were waiting for wafting their direction. Joseph couldn’t help but walk close enough to Mireya that he could grasp her hand and they walked.
They wouldn’t allow Juliska Blackwell to kill those prisoners. They’d keep working to freeing them, even if it was one hidden potion bottle at a time.
CHAPTER 8
The trail of magic weakened.
Colin followed it at incredible speed, nearing the destination. He knew he was close when the sweet scent of Catrina mingled with the magic.
She was close.
Colin appeared out of thin air and heard Catrina’s voice call out upon seeing him. Without thinking or even glancing around at his surroundings, he raced to her.
“Stop!” he heard her shout.
He did so, but hesitantly.
Catrina took a deep breath, one that was both a mix of relief that Colin was here, as well as that she had something to tell him; something he was not going to be pleased to hear.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
“Yes. But stay where you are. Don’t come any closer.”
“Why not?”
“Because you might get hurt.”
“How? It doesn’t even matter, I can heal myself. I’m not leaving you in there.”
“If you come in here, you won’t be able to get out!”
This got Colin’s attention.
Something scraped against the floor and he spun around. Straws of hay splayed under his feet. Where am I? A barn?
“That wasn’t there before,” he noted, upon seeing an oblong shaped mirror sitting a few feet away.
The ghostly silhouette of a man’s face formed in the glass.
“How do you like my little prison?” a coarse voice asked.
Colin raised his palm, ready to strike. “You!” he found himself sputtering out hatefully a second later.
Freyne Rothrock’s jeering smile glared back at him.
“You have the gall to kidnap my girlfriend and then not even have the nerve to show your actual face,” barked Colin.
“No need. You won’t be using any magic in here. Not today.”
Colin just shook his head in an irritated manner.
His thoughts ordered, I want Catrina by my side, we’re leaving now.
But she did not appear at his side.
He looked back at her. She was still standing exactly where she had been; inside a three walled stall. The gate to the stall was long gone. The entire barn looked as though it were barely standing. It definitely had not been used for a long time.
“I’m stuck in here,” Catrina told Colin.
“It’s not possible, I can get you out of anything,” he said, putting all of his focus onto freeing her.
“Stop,” she pleaded. She stepped forward and put her hands into the air, searching for something with her palms. “Can you see it?”
“See what?” He stepped closer, squinting in an attempt to see.
It took a moment, but then he saw it. A nearly invisible layer of what looked like dust.
> “It’s made out of Jasper’s bones,” she said in a disgusted tone.
“What?” Colin breathed out in horror and disgust.
“Yes, she’s right,” echoed Freyne’s voice. “You see, I figured if the bones of a dead Projector could steal the power of a living Projector, just perhaps, just maybe, it might also be a weapon a Projector’s powers cannot control.” He let out a hearty bellow. “Looks like I was right.”
Colin refused to believe him.
He attacked the layer of dust with every bit of will, trying to blast through it, break it apart, separate it, bring Catrina through it.
Nothing worked! It was as if he suddenly had no magical powers what so ever!
Anger billowed in his gut.
Anger that Freyne had disturbed Jasper’s body; anger that he had stupidly left Catrina unprotected, and anger that she was now a prisoner and even he, with all his power, could not free her.
No. It was not possible.
He lashed out at the dust wall again.
Blood vessels popped out on his forehead in an effort to think her free; nothing he did had any effect. He could not break it down. He could not crack it. He could not penetrate it. His magic searched for any hole he could punch through, but Freyne had surrounded Catrina in a prison built from Jasper’s bones.
Catrina begged him to stop before he took it too far and lost control.
Freyne laughed indignantly. “It appears that once dead, a Projector’s own bones turn against itself. Thus becoming the ultimate weapon against your kind.”
“What’s stopping me from just grabbing someone else and having them use non-Projector’s magic to free her?” Colin retorted smugly.
“I’m not stupid, boy! You think I’d make it that easy for you? The spell you’d have to break is ancient. No one in this time will be able to help you.”
“So why don’t you just get to the point of this already,” demanded Colin. “Why not capture me, and let her go? That’s what you really want, right?”
Control (The Blood Vision, The Immortality Stone, and The Woman in Glass) (A Fated Fantasy Quest Adventure Book 7) Page 8
