The Red Tower (The Five Towers Book 2)

by J. B. Simmons

  Apple turns to me for the first time since she began her story. The intensity of her eyes makes me swallow. Her lips are pressed into a tight white line. “They took everyone I loved,” she says harshly. “I hated men after that.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. Her words make me feel shame and defensiveness, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. At least not to her. Maybe I wasn’t honest to my wife, or to Samantha, but it was nothing like what those soldiers did. Apple glares at me like she’s blaming me for it. She’s like a completely different person than who she was before this memory. She should know I’m on her side.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that here,” I say. “I will protect you.”

  “I protect myself,” she snaps. “I know what you’re feeling. You think you’re innocent. But you’re not. There’s something boiling inside you. You see, Cipher, no men are innocent. Now, tell me what you remember.”

  I shake my head, trying to protest. Her command comes through the link, squeezing like a vice, constricting my thoughts and forcing my mouth open, my tongue to speak.

  The whole story comes tumbling out.

  I tell her about how my dad left my mom and me, how much that hurt growing up. I tell her about finding my mom here in the Red Tower and losing her. Then come the harder parts: Dr. Paul Fitzroy, the arrogant neurosurgeon, the absent father, the cheater. I tell her about Samantha. She was the pretty girl in high school, the one out of my reach. So when I clawed my way to success and riches, she was the one I wanted and got. She was a conquest, a trophy. And nothing would have stopped me.

  When I finish, my mouth is dry. My soul aches.

  “See, I was right,” Apple says. “No one’s innocent.”

  She issues another command through the link. It is an order to stand and step away from her. I have no choice but to do what she wills. I move to the door, staring at her in shock. I thought I knew her. I expected some understanding. I was wrong. But she’s wrong, too, in shoving me out.

  “We weren’t meant to be alone,” I say, meeting her eyes.

  “We’ll see, Dr. Fitzroy. We’re stuck together for now.” She turns away and stares into the fire as she orders me to leave, without saying a word.

  24

  HANK GETS THE sixth Scouring spot. When we arrive in the Feasting Hall, the rock with his name sits beside mine at the front of the long table. It surprises everyone but me. For once Rahab did what I wanted. Apple watches all this across the table. She doesn’t let me speak a word to her. She doesn’t smile the entire evening.

  Pairing goes better for Hank. The next morning, the final day before the Scouring, he tells me about it on the training ground. He says his pair, Zelle, is nice and hasn’t commanded him to do anything yet. I tell him he’s lucky, but that’s all Apple will let me say about it. She’s with the other girls on the balcony above, watching us. I want to hide somewhere. Hank waves at Zelle with a smile.

  During the training Hank manages to knock Seth down twice, and Khan once. They knock him down more times than that, but it’s a lot better than I can do. No one knocks Marcus down. He hardly bothers trying with me. Normally I’m mincemeat for him. Today I’m even worse. My time with Apple makes my feet sluggish on the red clay. I want to shout up to her: I’m different now, I’ve changed, I’m not like Dr. Fitzroy or the soldiers you saw. True or not, Apple won’t let me shout. She’ll just let me fight and collect my daily bruises.

  After the training, Hank and I stay outside. The other boys leave. The girls walk away from the balcony, and no commands come from Apple. It is a rare moment of quiet. The cool breeze blowing from the mountains makes me feel more alive.

  “Nice work today,” I say to Hank. “I knew you were strong, but didn’t know you could use a weapon.”

  “Not really. Plenty of room to improve.” Hank shrugs his broad shoulders. “It’s different from digging with a hoe.”

  “Is that what you used to do?” I ask, remembering what he told me about his past when we were both in the Blue Tower. He was an American like me, but centuries earlier.

  “I did my fair share of digging,” he says. “Hey, when you paired with Apple, did you see more memories?”

  “Hers but not mine,” I say.

  “Oh.” He looks surprised. “I saw both.”

  Interesting. It had been odd when no vision came while I stared into the fire. What if Apple wouldn’t let me see? But Zelle would let Hank?

  “What did you learn?” I ask him.

  He gazes out over the mountains. “I was on the run.”

  “From what?”

  “I told you before about my traveling, city to city, teaching and preaching. Remember?”

  “Yes. You always put your horse first.”

  Hank laughs. “An itinerant preacher without a horse was a dead preacher in those days.” His smile fades. “But I didn’t remember why I was traveling so much, living such a hard life. Now I do.” He shakes his head, eyes closed.

  I’ve never seen Hank so serious. “Want to talk about it?” I ask.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind,” he says. “I figure that’s the whole point of remembering. We tell it again to expose the memory. That weakens its hold over us. Promise you’ll still be my friend, no matter what I say?”

  “Of course, Hank.” I try not to sound as interested as I suddenly am.

  “I had the most wonderful neighbor,” he begins. “We lived in the foothills of North Carolina—that was in America, where you lived, but centuries earlier, before the revolution. Our town had about sixty people, a single church with a tall white steeple, and good soil. We grew what we needed. I raised a little tobacco and was pretty good with leather, repairing shoes and saddles. But I was one of the wilder ones. I fermented the peaches and the apples, made the cider for the cold winter nights. Some didn’t appreciate it. But I wasn’t married and didn’t have any kids, so it wasn’t much harm, or so I thought.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, my neighbor, he was a better man than I was. We’d grown up together. We’d fished and set traps for rabbits in the forest. When he found himself a good young wife, I was the best man in his wedding. I helped him build a nice three-room house just down the road from mine, and he and his wife began to fill it up in no time. They had two daughters, cutest little girls you can imagine, with big brown puppy dog eyes. They’d stop by my place with their mother and I’d give them each a piece of taffy. Their mother was something special. I’ll tell you, for a single man like me in the foothills, there wasn’t anything finer than a visit from her. She was radiant and sweet as the peaches I grew. Problem was, maybe she liked to visit me, too, when her husband, my friend, was traveling. He had to go a long way sometimes. At first he’d leave for a week, but then he got into politics, being the good man he was, and he’d have to travel to the state capital for a month. You can imagine how hard that was for his young wife. She started visiting more often. It started small, like those little taffy gifts. But then it became more. We’d do anything to stay warm on those cold winter nights, you see? And a little brandy with a friend by the fire, now that was warm, too warm...”

  Cold winter nights. Like Samantha and me in Toronto. “I understand.”

  “This is all bad enough, I know,” Hank continues. “But nobody knew until a stranger came to visit our little town. It wasn’t anything unusual, just a man passing through and trading some things. I exchanged a few bottles of my strong cider for a nice hide of leather. Others made their own deals. Later that night he must have gotten into the drink, and a fight broke out. Somebody drew a gun and things ended, well, the way things ended when a gun and drinking get involved. The next morning they went on the search for the murderer. Whoever had done it was long gone. They came to me and asked, Where were ya last night?”

  “My, oh my,” Hank sighs, running his hands through his hair, “that wretched question sealed my fate. I had nothing to do with the man getting shot, and that’s the truth, but
I couldn’t tell them where I was that night. I just couldn’t. And that’s because I was in the arms of my best friend’s wife.”

  His head drops. He sniffles and rubs at his eyes. When he looks up, he surprises me with a smile. “I messed up real bad, you see. Honor and my conscience left me no option but to leave. The whole town—except for her—figured I was the murderer. So I picked up right away and rode off. I brought nothing with me but a pair of boots, the clothes on my back, a horse, and the good Lord’s book. I skipped around for a while, until I met a Methodist preacher. I didn’t tell him what I’d done, of course, and he took a liking to me. He told me whatever my sins were, they would be forgiven and that I could work for the Lord. Well that was sweet music to my ears. So I got to work. Not that I could make up for what I did. I know that now. And now you know.”

  I clasp his shoulder. “And you’re still my friend, Hank.”

  “Thanks, Cipher,” he says. “It feels good to tell it. Real good.”

  25

  “WE SHOULD EAT here more often.” Seth stands by the open window, looking out over the Scouring as night falls. A cool breeze blows into the warm room, ruffling his orange hair. All six boys in the Scouring group are here: Axe, Khan, Seth, Marcus, Hank, and me.

  “Bah,” Khan says. “We’d be too soft.”

  The other boys laugh. Khan has a point. The room is decadent, unlike anything else in the Red Tower, or the Blue Tower for that matter. The twelve chairs around the large round table have lush red cushions, and the ceiling and walls are framed in wood and lined with gold. The ceiling has a fresco painting of the Red Tower, with a dragon soaring above it and a woman with flames dancing above her hands. A twelve-armed candelabra burns brightly at the center of the table. The plates are porcelain white. The cutlery and chalices are gold.

  The door to this dining room was always locked before. Apparently we dine here instead of the Feasting Hall on the eve of the Scouring. It’s a high honor, getting to plan for battle here. For tonight, Axe and I have agreed: first we will pick teams. Three pairs each. Then each of us can plan whatever strategy he wants.

  The six girls, our pairs, arrive not long after we do.

  “Welcome!” Axe greets.

  As soon as Apple walks in, at the back of the group, she issues an order through the link, commanding me to smile. I obey, and as I meet her eyes I understand. She wants—she demands—that we reveal nothing of what happened between us. What we must convey to the others is that everything is awesome. We are a pair. Synced and happy and ready to fling fireballs. The crazy thing is that I’m actually glad to obey this time.

  Everyone finds their assigned seats, designated by the same rocks used in the Feasting Hall. Apparently the rocks follow us, or we follow the rocks. The pairs sit together. Melissa with Axe, Jacana with Khan, Amy with Seth, Boleyn with Marcus, Zelle with Hank, and Apple with me. At the round table we are equals, except that Axe’s chair, the Alpha position, has a higher back with ornate carvings of flames along the top.

  A team of boys enters the room with food. This must be their task. The feast they set before us is surprising. For the first time in the Red Tower it’s not just some variety of pork and beans. There’s roasted meat, fish, bread, vegetables, and fruit. It’s like they brought something from every tower. Which seems impossible.

  Axe raises his golden chalice. “To victory.”

  We toast with him and begin to eat. The group chats happily in small groups, as if unconcerned about what will happen tomorrow. I try to finalize my plan. It’s not complicated. Axe and I will pick three pairs each. He gets to pick first. The big question is whether he will pick Boleyn and Marcus. If he does, then I should probably take Seth. Khan is stronger, but Seth and Amy together seem more powerful than Khan and Jacana. Besides, I like Seth more. It’s risky not to pick Hank first, but surely Axe would take Seth or Khan over him. He barely knows Hank, and from what I can gather, Zelle is treated about like Apple—as if she’s weak.

  The plates are nearly empty when Axe bangs his chalice on the table for attention. Every eye turns to him.

  “You should all know,” he says, “that we’ll be doing things differently this time. Pairings will stay the same, but we are going to divide for the Scouring.”

  “Divide?” Boleyn asks. “What do you mean?”

  “I will lead three pairs,” Axe says, “and Cipher will lead the other three.”

  Boleyn’s face is still, except for a slight lifting of her brow. “Has Rahab agreed to this?”

  “She has not objected.” Axe sips casually from his chalice. “Each group of six will still try to capture as many in the Scouring as possible, like always.”

  “Even if we could do this,” Zelle says, tension thick in her voice. “Why would we want to? We’ll be weaker if we split up.”

  “Especially whoever ends up with the wind boy,” Jacana says. “I refuse to be on his team.”

  Axe looks to me across the table. I was not expecting this. Maybe I won’t get to choose my team after all, if some of them refuse to join me. Does that mean I need to give some inspiring speech? A pep talk? If that’s what it takes to win Emma back, then so be it.

  “I’ve captured many in the Scouring,” I say. “Outside this tower, I will use my power and—”

  Silence.

  It’s a command from Apple. She won’t let me speak.

  I stare at her wildly, desperately. She knows exactly how I feel, and she’s not budging.

  “Cipher’s right,” Hank says, looking at me with confusion. I nod meaningfully to Apple, and he seems to understand. “He has more power than you’d believe. I’ve seen him in action. He can stop all of your flames. He can drag people out of the Scouring without lifting a finger. Trust me, you want to be on his side.”

  “I like this plan,” Marcus says. “You’ve all heard Rahab. We need to do better. There’s no harm in trying something new.”

  “No harm? Really?” Boleyn glares at Marcus, then at me. “Jacana’s right. Some of us didn’t just waltz into the Red Tower, pick up a dragon’s tooth, and join group one. Some of us have been here for ages. We’ve worked, grown, gotten wiped, recovered again, and become stronger again. I’m not going to give that up for some half-baked experiment.”

  “Enough debate,” Axe says. “The decision has been made. It’s time to pick sides.”

  “I’m not debating anything,” Jacana snaps. “If you don’t give me one good reason why I should do this, I’m refusing.”

  “I’m the Alpha. I don’t have to explain myself.” Axe rises to his feet. “You all know the rules. Anyone who doesn’t obey me gets wiped. Even you, Jacana.”

  A slender flame begins to bounce across Jacana’s fingertips. She is quiet, watching the flame, thinking. “Fine,” she mutters, turning to me. “But if this doesn’t work, you’re going to burn.”

  I want to say it will work, but Apple still won’t let my lips budge.

  “Alright, alright.” Axe grins as he looks around the table. “I take Amy and Seth.”

  Amy and Seth? Why didn’t he pick Marcus and Boleyn? We all know they’re the strongest. Is it because Boleyn doesn’t want to join me? Whatever the reason, it’s worth the risk. Marcus is an unstoppable force.

  Now if only Apple will let me speak. When I look to her, I try to send as many good emotions as I can through the link. I’m sorry about my past and about hers. I’m hopeful about what we can do together. I’m desperate to help our team unite. I make every ounce of my expression scream to her: Please?

  Her hard stare softens, slightly. Her brown eyes blink. She looks down at her hands and...relents. The command is gone. The room is quiet.

  I point to the pair I pick. “Marcus and Boleyn.”

  “Very well,” Axe says. “Jacana and Khan, with me.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. That leaves Zelle and Hank for my team.

  “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Axe steps back from his chair. “My team, let’s go. We’ll see the rest
of you chumps in the Scouring.”

  The other two boys and the three girls on Axe’s team rise and follow him out. The flames of the candelabra flicker as the door closes. After the six of them are gone, five faces turn to me expectantly.

  “What now?” Boleyn asks. “You have a strategy?”

  “Yes,” I say, smiling toward Hank. He showed me this, whether he knows it or not. “If we’re going to fight together, then we have to know each other.” I glance around the group, then at the candelabra flames. “It’s time to talk about the past.”

  26

  I VOLUNTEER TO TELL my five teammates about my past first. I explain that I was a brain doctor in America, in the 21st century. I tell them about struggling as a child without a father and with my mom not around. Apple listens carefully, watching and judging, so I add that I was not a loyal or honest man. They get the point. Apple doesn’t make me say the parts I choose to leave out. She knows them. She must understand. It could hurt our team, because we might not like each other very much if we shared all the dark secrets of our past, summoned up by the various memory devices of the five towers.

  After I finish, no one looks at me like a villain. There’s even sympathy in some of their faces. I breathe easier. It feels good, like a boiling pot venting some of its steam. Hank is right. There’s power to this process—the telling and re-telling of our own stories. It somehow removes the past’s grip, finger by clutching finger, slowly freeing us from it.

  Apple goes next. The four others listen with rapt attention.

  “I lived in an apple orchard in Europe,” she says. “That’s why I picked my name. I don’t know my real name yet, or when exactly I lived, but it was a time of great conflict, or war. It was a hard time. I lost my whole family. It made me furious. It made me want revenge, and I got it. Many more were lost.” She looks to me, then around at the group. “I will stop there, but I confess this, and warn you all: what I have seen has made it difficult to like men or...want them to exist.”