Another vision comes.
I’m sitting in a soft brown leather chair, staring into a roaring fireplace. The mantle is a huge slab of stone. Above it there’s a large, golden-framed portrait of a family of three. My face from before has a square jaw and penetrating brown eyes. The woman painted by my side, my wife, has gentle blue eyes and graceful beauty. Our son is between us. He has her eyes.
But they’re both away tonight. It’s just me in the house.
My hand reaches for a glass of amber liquid, with two cubes of ice. A half-empty bottle sits beside it. I drain the glass and pour more. The edges of the flame are fuzzy in my vision. I hold up a glowing screen and swipe through images of smiling friends. A text pops up: Still a good time?
I respond: Yes, door’s open.
The glass empties again. My body has melted, comfortably numb, into the leather chair. In the memory I know what I’m thinking, sitting in that chair, and it was only about myself—what would make me feel good, what I deserved because of what I had achieved. There’s no thought at all of my wife and son in the golden-framed portrait.
A car door shuts outside. Then there’s a steady, approaching click of heels on the brick path around to the back of the house. The clicking fills me with dread, looking in at the memory from the outside.
The back door opens.
A smug grin crosses my adult face as I refill the glass. I try to look away, to leave the memory, but I can’t. I try shouting at myself but there’s no sound. I want to shake my own shoulders so hard that Dr. Fitzroy’s heart rattles in his chest. I want to tell my adult self to look at the portrait. To stop this. To be loyal. But I can’t change anything now. The vision and memory march forward ruthlessly.
The clicking heels enter the room. There’s a smell of perfume—exotic spices. The woman approaches and leans over me, her familiar face close to mine, her long red hair spilling down. It’s Samantha Jones.
15
“MORNIN’ BOYS! Guess who got paired last night?” A scrawny kid stands on top of his bed wearing only his undergarments and a silver collar around his neck. He points his thumbs to his puffed up chest. “This guy!”
Somebody throws a pillow at him. He dodges it. A second pillow flies and hits him square in the head.
“So what!” another boy shouts, “You got lucky ‘cause of the firewater.”
The scrawny boy doesn’t back down from his perch. “You wish, man. Zelle would never pair with you.”
The banter goes on. The commotion rouses the rest of the boys in the room.
I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. Someone found me lost in the tunnels and brought me here. He called this place the Barracks. It had been too dark to get a good look then. Sleep came the moment my head hit the pillow, after the long day of trekking through the mountains, learning my Mom is gone, and seeing another, shameful piece of the past. It’s another tumor I can’t remove.
The three suns beam morning light through an opening in the far wall, making the long room glow like an orange ember. The ceiling is low above two lines of plain white beds. There must be a hundred beds, but only about half are full, and only with boys. The room reminds me of the recovery room in the Blue Tower, after the Scouring. At least I haven’t woken up paralyzed, or wiped clean.
The boys start to gather around a large fountain in the center of the Barracks. Water bubbles up in the center and fills the large stone basin to the brim, spilling out onto the floor and draining away. The boys use the fountain to wash off their hands and faces before pulling on their clothes and boots. I stay quiet as I wash up alongside the others. I wonder if my eyes are red and puffy from crying last night. No one says anything to me. There’s no sign of Seymour or Hank, my friend from Blue. Marcus just slaps me on the back and smiles as he passes.
“Hey guys,” someone shouts, “look who’s back!”
A small group has surrounded a boy near the door. It’s Seymour, with his freckled face and round body. He waddles toward the fountain in the center. He looks just like he did yesterday before a dragon’s fire had hit him.
“Piggy!” another boy shouts.
A chant begins. “Piggy, Piggy, Piggy!”
It reminds me of the Alpha chant the night before. Apparently the Red Tower loves to chant.
Seymour’s cheeks go red, but he’s not the shy type. “I guess it fits,” he says with a nervous laugh. “My skin’s kinda pink. But you all look like a bunch of muddy pig feet.”
The boys break out laughing. “Piggy’s back!” someone says happily.
As everyone scatters and returns to cleaning up, I approach Seymour. “Hey Seymour, welcome back.”
“Seymour?” he asks. “You know me?”
“A little.” I’m at a loss for what else to say. Are there rules about this? Am I allowed to tell him that he got burned by dragon fire? That on earth he was a chef in Germany before he died? It might be better to let him start discovering this on his own, again.
“You were here before,” I say. “Do you remember anything?”
“Not a thing.” He glances around the room. “I mean, I woke up and a woman named Rahab told me this was the Red Tower and then she took me to see this awful creature and then dropped me off here. But before that, no, I don’t remember.”
Interesting. Rahab takes everyone to see the dragon first, but she had Seymour escort me straight to the Feasting Hall instead of coming to the Barracks. Maybe that’s the difference between the ones who are wiped and those who show up with memories intact. It gives me some hope that Hank will remember, since I still haven’t seen him yet.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “The memories will come back.”
“Thanks. I hope so. Where’s everyone else going?”
It’s surreal to get this question from Seymour. The little that I know about this place I learned from him. “All of us have different tasks. I just got promoted to the Scouring group. You’ll probably start at the bottom of the list, like I did.” I decide not to mention dragon’s teeth, not yet anyway. “Maybe you’ll be on pig duty.”
“Oh.” He suddenly laughs. “I guess that’s why everyone was calling me Piggy. That’s funny. At least I know what a pig is, or I hope so. It’s an animal. Four legs and a snout, rolls in the mud and eats a lot, right?”
“Yes.” I smile. He sounds just like his former self.
“Line up!” a boy shouts. He’s standing by the door. “Come on now, line up! I’m Jeff, the Barracks leader today. Everyone who knows your task, get to it once this door opens. For those who don’t, you newbies, welcome to Red. You’ll be with me today. Your tasks will be assigned later in the Feasting Hall. Above all, you better do whatever the girls tell you to do.”
As the boys form a single-file line, I make my way to Marcus near the front. He should know what we’re supposed to do in the Scouring group...other than fight in the Scouring.
“Hey Marcus,” I say. “What should we do?”
“We must train for the Scouring,” he says, quiet but intense. “I’ve been waiting for this fight.”
Train? Fight? We didn’t do much fighting in the Blue Tower. The first time I got an assignment for the Scouring I was in an underwater dining room eating squid soup. An envelope from Abram told me I would lead a group into the Scouring. We prepared in a classroom. Sarai lectured to us, and then we discussed our strategy as a team. We survived the first one—capturing Emma but losing Kiyo. I survived the second and third Scourings, too. The fourth time I let myself get caught by Red. I still don’t really understand why the towers have to fight. No one in Red seems to care about why. The boys don’t spend much time thinking, as far as I can tell.
The Barracks door opens. Boys begin filing out for their various tasks. A huge dark-skinned boy bellows out for the Scouring group to gather.
I follow Marcus to join them. There are five of us. They’re all bigger and stronger than I am. No surprise. We make quick introductions. The three boys I haven’t met before are Jafari, Khan, and Seth.
>
Marcus whispers to me that Jafari has been in the top group a long time, that he’s like Axe’s second-in-command. Marcus says this would be our chance, finally, to show our own skill. I nod along, but if I can’t use my powers, I’d rather feed the pigs. Maybe even get another dragon’s tooth.
Jafari leads us through the back of the Barracks to a training ground outside. It is perched on a terrace, with a stunning view of the mountains. The terrace is square-shaped, about fifty feet to each side. The surface beneath our feet feels like padded clay, red and soft. There’s a balcony above, where six girls gather by the railing. They are high enough that we can’t hear what they say. It is just enough to get that prickly feeling at my neck, knowing I’m being watched. Or maybe they’re doing something to me through the silver collar around my throat.
“I’m using this,” Jafari says, holding up a long staff. “Who wants the first go?”
Not me. He’s twice my size, and a vein bulges on his bicep like a snake crawling under his dark skin. His hair hangs in dreadlocks to his shoulders.
“Not without a horse,” says Khan. He has long black hair tied behind his back.
Jafari laughs and spins his staff. “No horses in the Scouring, my friend. You got lucky last time.”
“I’ll go first.” Seth steps up, gripping his own staff. Neither staff has pads. Seth’s long, freckled arms move fast, whirling the staff like a helicopter’s blade. “Somebody needs to knock you down.”
“Bring it.” Jafari motions for Seth to come.
They begin circling each other. Blue never would have fought like this. The mind, Abram once said, a far more powerful weapon. I agree. But apparently the boys in Red don’t have powers. So they train with weapons. But why try to hurt each other when we need to work together?
Still, Jafari and Seth look impressive as they trade blows, blocking most of them. Their staffs crack loudly against each other. Their shuffling steps kick up a cloud of red dust that cakes onto their now sweating bodies. The girls watch from the balcony above.
Seth is faster and smoother with the staff, but he’s not strong enough. He blocks most of Jafari’s swings, but Jafari wears him down. He slams down so hard that even as Seth blocks the blow, he falls back onto the ground.
Jafari swings at Seth’s head, but stops it suddenly. The end thuds softly against Seth’s ear. Jafari holds it there. “Nice try, sheepherder.”
He backs away and Seth rises. “We could have used a little more of that last time in the Scouring,” he says. “Save some for Black, okay?”
“Okay, whenever my girl lets me.” The boys laugh together, but I don’t know what it means. As if sensing my quiet, Jafari turns toward me. “Newbies, who’s next?”
I swallow. I manage not to step back.
Marcus steps forward. “Me.”
He goes to the rack of training weapons and takes a dull-edged sword and a small round shield. He spins the sword twice, and nods as if satisfied. When he turns to Jafari, Marcus is smiling. “Feels good to have a sword in my hand.”
“Ah, the dragon hunter,” Jafari says. “Let’s see what you got.”
Marcus surprises all of us, even Jafari, as he breaks into a sprint, sword pumping, arms swinging. Jafari takes a step back, raising his staff protectively.
But he’s too slow. Marcus charges and leaps high into the air and strikes like lightning, his sword stabbing down at Jafari, piercing his neck just above the silver band.
Marcus lands on his feet. Jafari collapses.
Seth rushes to Jafari’s side and tries to raise him. But the large boy is motionless, his dark body like a huge lump of coal on the reddish clay ground. Blood pools around him.
Seth looks up in shock. “He’s not breathing.”
“You...killed him,” Khan says, with fury and awe in his voice as he slowly approaches Marcus. “Jafari was our strongest. Now he has to start over. You will pay for this.”
Marcus doesn’t answer. He doesn’t back away, even though Seth and Khan are both coming at him, weapons drawn.
I don’t have a weapon, but I come to Marcus’s side. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend here. I can use the air if it comes to it. We’re outside, not technically in the Red Tower, or so I can argue to Rahab.
“Stay back,” Marcus says, stepping in front of me.
“Stop! Stop!” Axe shouts, racing onto the training ground. “All of you, weapons down. Down! Now!”
Seth and Khan obey, dropping their weapons to the ground.
But not Marcus. He keeps his sword in hand. The dull metal is covered in blood.
Axe glares at him. “I said weapons down.”
“Make me,” Marcus says.
“You asked for it.” Axe steps quickly to the weapon rack and pulls out a battleaxe with dulled blades on both sides. It looks too heavy to swing.
By the time Axe turns back, Marcus is already charging. Axe takes off in a sprint, directly at Marcus. Neither one slows. Just as they are set to collide, Marcus leaps like he did at Jafari. He brings the blade stabbing down.
But Axe reacts quickly, dodging right. Marcus misses and lands in a crouch. Axe spins and swings the battleaxe in a blur, so fast that Marcus has no chance to recover. The flat of the metal blade slams into Marcus’s head.
Marcus collapses onto the red dirt. He’s still conscious, lying on his back and gazing blankly into the sky.
“You’ve got guts,” Axe says, kicking away Marcus’s sword. He looks to the balcony above, and he holds up a hand with his pointer finger raised. The girls lean over the balcony as if trying to get a closer look.
Marcus’s hands suddenly go to the collar at his neck, gripping it tightly. His face floods with anger and fear.
“You’re paired now,” Axe says. “You’ll obey your mate whether you like it or not. Welcome to the team.”
Marcus rises slowly to his feet. He opens his mouth to say something, but his lips immediately press tight again. He goes rigid, his eyes wild and panicked.
“That’ll be enough for today,” Axe says. “Khan, you’re my right hand now. Take Jafari’s body to the fire. He’ll be back. We need him.” Axe turns to go, but pauses. “We’re going to need these new boys, too. We don’t have to like each other. But we have to fight together for Red.”
16
MARCUS LEAVES after the training, probably to repent and face punishment for taking out Jafari. Maybe he’ll have a little meeting with Rahab and one of her fireballs. Unless...she decides to praise his passion instead. She’s still a mystery to me.
Axe goes back to his quarters, wherever they are, leaving only Seth, Khan, and me on the red clay surface where we fight with padded weapons and, apparently, sometimes kill each other, temporarily.
Khan tries to haul Jafari’s large body onto his shoulder, but it weighs too much for him to carry alone. Seth comes to his side and starts to help. The two of them begin shuffling away from the training ground.
It’ll take a long time with just the two of them. “Want help?” I ask.
“We won’t stop ya,” Seth mutters, adding under his breath, “dragon boy.”
Maybe they think I’m on Marcus’ side. Maybe they’re right. But I’m not the one who did this.
I manage to step behind Seth and take Jafari’s feet overhead. Khan leads the way, his muscles straining under the weight of Jafari’s upper body. As we pass through the Barracks, the few boys in the room look at us with confused stares. We’re the Scouring team. We’re carrying Jafari’s lifeless body.
Khan leads us out of the Barracks and through a dozen twists and turns in the Red Tower’s tunnels, gradually making our way up. My legs ache and sweat pours. I don’t know how they could have made it the whole way with just the two of them. I’ve completely lost track of our path when Khan finally brings us to a stop in front of a large, iron door.
A girl waits there, like she knew we’d be coming. She’s tall, with short black hair and skin the same dark color as Jafari’s. “Set him down,”
she commands.
Khan turns back to Seth and me. “Do as she says. Gently.”
Together we lower the body onto the ground. All three of us lean over, hands on our knees.
The girl bends over Jafari, cupping the back of his head in her hands. They look very similar. She whispers faintly, “Brother, my brother. You will be back. You will remember. I will teach you again, little brother. We will pair and we will leave together. Our promise cannot be broken.”
She leans her forehead against Jafari’s and stays there, silent, for a long time. When she rises, tears streak down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Khan says.
“Don’t be,” she replies. “It’s not the first time. Won’t be the last. It was much worse on earth. Here he’ll be back. Here he’ll remember and get another chance. He’ll learn eventually. I’ll never give up on him.”
“You were his sister?” I ask, amazed. Other than me finding my mother, this is the first time I’ve discovered someone who found a person they knew before on earth, much less family.
“I am his sister. I’m Jacana.” The girl looks me up and down, now looking more fierce than sad. She looks like the type who wouldn’t flinch when facing a tiger. “No time or space can change that. You should know. Rose told me you’re her son.”
“Yes.” This catches me off guard. “You knew her?”
“Of course,” Jacana says. “We were in the Scouring group together for a long time, before she got taken. We’ll miss her.”
“Do you know where she went?” I ask.
“Black captured her. They’ll wipe her. She’ll need you to help her remember.”
“How can I find her?”
Jacana smiles, her straight white teeth like pearls. “You’ll find a way, son of Rose.” She looks down at Jafari’s body, large and still on the red stone ground. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this place, it’s that we all have old ties here. The kind that never break. My brother and I have been separated and found, lost and reunited more times than I know, probably more than I can remember. Not that it makes losing him any easier. He’ll come back needing to relearn all of it. And I’ll reteach it, just like before.”
The Red Tower (The Five Towers Book 2) Page 8
