New World Rising

by Jennifer Wilson

  I HAD FOLLOWED Triven’s broad shoulders through doors I had never seen before, through rooms that spanned from the size of my cell to the huge size of the laundry room. Everything looked the same. Grey walls, grey floors, no windows. Everything was the same. I supposed that should be expected of an old bunker. What I didn’t anticipate was the number of rooms and how self-sustaining the compound was. There were water filtration rooms that generated power while cleaning the water, and grow rooms filled with soils and artificial lights. Strange vegetation grew in those rooms, some I recognized like the apple trees, but others were foreign to me.

  People lingered, watching us with curious eyes. Some even turned, whispering to each other as they eyed me. Apparently I already had a reputation here and from the nervous twitch of their lips it wasn’t a good one. I shouldn’t have, but I smiled at them. Not in the friendly, “we should chat sometime” kind of way. But in the “yeah those stories are true, you might not want to get too close to me” kind of way.

  My mother never said make friends, she said survive. And in my experience that did not include making friends.

  The mess hall was empty by the time we reached it and I worried about Mouse. Now that my impending death had been put on hold, I felt horrible for lying to her. I was sure those tiny hands would be wringing over one another, anxious and alone. Once our tour was complete I would have to find her. It wasn’t the same with her. I wasn’t looking for a friend or a little sister, but while I sought no comfort in her, I sought to comfort her. I needed no one, but Mouse? She needed someone. She needed me.

  As we marched through what felt like the hundredth tunnel that looked like every other tunnel, I began to lose my patience.

  “So what is this then, some weird colony thing? Are we like married now or something?” I asked Triven’s back.

  He scoffed. “This is a trial to see if you would be a good fit for us and us for you.”

  “And when it doesn’t work out?”

  He shrugged, “If that happens you will be free to go. I will see to that myself. But maybe you should give us a chance before writing us off. You may actually like it here.”

  It was my turn to scoff. “I highly doubt that.”

  Shrugging off my negativity, he smiled. “You might be surprised.”

  He had paused outside a metal door with faded blue paint peeling off. Pushing the door open, he gestured for me to enter first. As I entered the dark room, my fingers fluttered automatically to where my holster used to be, finding only linen fabric instead of cool metal.

  Old habits die hard.

  It was darker in the small room than it had been in the hallway. A lonely bulb hung from the ceiling without a shade, its black cord disappearing into the darkness above without revealing a ceiling. I could see the floor, the outline of what looked like a bed and dark looming walls that were covered in some sort of lumpy texture, like mismatched bricks.

  “Watch your eyes.” Triven warned.

  I heard a switch flip and the bulb intensified, throwing the room into brightness. I gasped. I couldn’t help it.

  The walls were not bricks. They were books, hundreds and hundreds of books.

  The worn covers lined every curved wall. Some stacks came to my knees while others scaled high above my head. A neat pile was stacked next to the bed, the top one open, face down to hold a page. I touched the leather bindings closest to me.

  Without thinking I leaned in and took a deep breath. The perfumed scent of aged paper and ink swirled around me. I closed my eyes, reveling in the smell that made me think of my father. Tracing my fingers over the rows, I scanned the titles. There were books I had read, ones I had never heard of and authors whose names I recognized. I would have thought this was their library except for the bed in the corner.

  I turned to Triven. He was leaning on the doorframe watching me, his hazel eyes bright.

  It clicked.

  “You’re the one who read to me in the infirmary.”

  He actually blushed.

  “I didn’t think you would remember that.” Triven toed the concrete.

  Shifting awkwardly I changed the subject.

  “So is this your room?” I went back to reading titles.

  “Technically it’s our room now.”

  I whipped back to him, my neck cricking a little with the speed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Normally a trial candidate is paired with someone of the same sex, but in your case I figured you would be most comfortable with me.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him.

  “I have seen how you are with other people and to be honest I think quite a few of them are afraid of you. But with me you don’t seem quite as… tense.”

  I stared hard at him looking for any sign of ruse. My gaze shifted to the only bed in the corner of the room. His eyes followed.

  “You and Mouse can have the bed. Arden is bringing me a cot. Don’t worry, we won’t have to share.”

  I continued to stare blankly at him.

  “I know it’s not ideal…” He looked hurt.

  Somehow I had offended him. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. A month ago I wouldn’t have cared, but today guilt seeped into my emotions.

  “Mouse won’t sleep on the bed, so I will take the cot. There is no point putting you out any more than I already have.” I didn’t want to owe him anything. He had already volunteered to be my sponsor. I didn’t need to add taking his bed to that list.

  He opened his mouth to protest but seemed to think better of it, simply shrugging. I had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last of the conversation.

  Throwing my bag next to his bed, I sat and picked up the splayed book. It was a novel by Charles Dickens. I repressed a smile as I turned to him.

  “I’m surprised you can read, not many can anymore.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  I thought he was teasing me.

  “My mother taught me to read. She thought it was important that our generations’ educations not be lost. I now teach other defectors to read as well.” He picked up a random book from the pile, running his fingers over the title. “I guess you could call this The Subversive library.”

  I smiled at him. I am not sure what came over me but I actually smiled at him. His returning grin was equally surprising. Not wanting this strange moment of comradery to go too far, I began to press for more answers.

  “So, my being here was a setup from the beginning. Your people have been testing me since the moment I arrived.”

  That wiped the smile from his face.

  “Yes.” He put the book back, the moment gone. “You know better than anyone else how hard it is to trust someone in Tartarus. We must take every precaution possible before exposing you to our people.”

  “You still don’t trust me though.”

  He sighed, folding his arms. “You’re different than anyone else we have come across. The people we rescue from the streets always come from a Tribe. Everyone defects for his or her own reason, but ultimately they chose to leave. You on the other hand were a loner. You weren’t disengaging from allegiances to free yourself, you were already free. Your only alliance was to yourself.”

  I stared hard at a crack in the floor. “No one is free in Tartarus.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I agree, but unfortunately not everyone sees it that way. They see you as an anomaly to the system, and people fear what they don’t understand.”

  He was right. If I wasn’t one of them, then I was against them. Even if this wasn’t a Tribe, the “Join or Die” mentality still lived in their every breath. I suddenly felt like a rodent trapped in a very large cage of hungry cats.

  “How would you feel about letting off a little steam?” Triven was watching my left leg that had begun to bounce rapidly.

  My body went rigid as he stepped toward me, his hand raising. He stepped back immediately. Without saying another word he turned and walked out the door. I sat for about two h
eartbeats before going after him. I caught up just as he turned the corner.

  “Don’t we have work we should be doing or another pointless meeting with Arstid?” I actually felt bad for my reaction to his friendly overtures.

  “Today is my free day and since you are now in my care, it is also your free day.”

  “Shouldn’t we go find Mouse then?” I said, the little girl still on my mind.

  “We will meet her for dinner, but in the meantime I figure it might be nice to stretch your legs.” He pushed aside two large doors as we entered a cavernous room that had not been on the tour.

  The walls were lined with weaponry from training batons to hand guns, even tiny silver throwing knives hung neatly in a row next to a larger blade resembling a machete. Huge bags, larger than me, hung from the arched ceiling and stalls lined the far end of the room, forming some kind of shooting range. In the center of the room was an elevated black mat, where two men now stood watching us. In fact, everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at us.

  “This is our training room.” Triven ignored the stares and continued to speak. “All residents are encouraged to train here once they are of age. Weapons must stay in this room at all times. Removing one will have dire consequences.”

  A darker skinned girl at the firing range twitched the gun in her right hand as if she would have liked to use me for practice.

  Or maybe it was just a nervous spasm.

  As if reading my mind, her eyes narrowed. Raising the hand with the gun she fired at the target making five clean tightly placed shots.

  Not nerves then.

  After a moment, I noticed why she had fired with only one hand. Dangling where her left hand should have been was a gnarled stump. Apparently Doc Porter’s cell regeneration stuff could heal but not re-grow lost limbs. She must have been a Wraith or at least crossed one. Too bad for them she appeared to be a righty.

  She laid down her gun and approached us with long strides. She might have been my age, maybe a little older, but she had almost a foot on me. Her long slender body was nothing but muscle. Her eyes were a rich brown. To any man she would have been attractive but to me she looked like a threat. Her expression was far from friendly.

  “Do you really think this is a good idea?” She was nearly as tall as Triven and more intimidating.

  Triven merely shrugged. “Does it really matter? It’s my head not yours if she screws up.”

  “You’d be wise to remember that.” Her chocolate eyes shifted to mine, sizing me up. “Hurt him and I will kill you myself.”

  “Duly noted.”

  She slammed into my shoulder as she pushed past us. It took all of my control not to jump on her back as she walked out. Several others followed closely behind her.

  “Girlfriend of yours?” I glared after the tall girl.

  “Archer? No, she’s just a good friend.”

  “Nice friends.” I mumbled.

  “Coming from the girl who has so many.” He laughed.

  That brought me up short.

  “So, what sounds good?” He raised his hands offering me the entire training room.

  Was this another test? What better way to assess my skills than make it seem like basic training.

  And I was skilled.

  I had not survived Tartarus without training. Training I had traded a good deal for. But no one needed to know the full extent of my capabilities, not even my tender book-reading guardian.

  “Knives?” I needed to prove I wasn’t afraid to touch the weapons here and that I wouldn’t turn on him. Besides, if he witnessed the incident in the alley when I saved Mouse, he probably already knew my skills with a knife.

  Triven gestured for me to lead the way. Choosing the throwing knives, I collected six, offering him three.

  “Ladies first.” He pointed to the target at the end of the room. It was nothing more than a block of wood with chunks carved out of it from repetitive target practice.

  Cringing internally at his remark, I stepped in line with my target. I flipped the blade in my hand, feeling its weight, testing its balance. It was larger than the knives I usually carried. The hilt was heavy and unfamiliar in my hand.

  Triven cleared his throat.

  Resisting the urge to glare at him, I drew back and at a calculated interval snapped my arm forward at the elbow releasing the knife. The hollow thunk as it penetrated the wood was satisfying, but my aim was rusty. The handle quivered as the blade stuck in the left top corner. I had been aiming for the center.

  Triven mirrored my stance and let his knife fly. It connected with the center of the board.

  To my frustration he was suppressing a smile.

  If this was a game, I was losing.

  My next throw was more on mark, landing less than an inch from his. His next throw fell wide, barely hitting the post.

  My turn to smile. Maybe that first throw was just lucky.

  We didn’t speak as we practiced. Each time we finished a round Triven would collect the knives and we would start our silent challenge again. After realizing I wasn’t going to go on a killing spree, people began to continue with their own training.

  It was eye-opening.

  Every time Triven left to retrieve our weapons I watched them.

  There were men and women alike, and to my surprise they were all skilled. I was particularly interested in the two men sparring. Hand-to-hand combat was something that had been nearly lost in the past century. An ancient art traded in for modern weapons. But both of these men moved with sinuous control. Their bodies were the only weapons they needed. When your body is your weapon, you don’t need to rely on guns for protection.

  That’s the funny thing about guns; even untrained hands can feel powerful using them. But take that gun away and you’re left with nothing but a coward whose only skill is how to blindly pull a trigger.

  But men like these— men trained to defend themselves, to defend others— take the gun from their hands and they could still kill you.

  I knew how to move like they were and I had paid handsomely to do so.

  Triven placed a knife in my hand. “Care to make this interesting?”

  My eyebrows rose, “What did you have in mind?”

  “Whoever gets closest to the center of the X gets the cot. Loser takes the bed.” He thrust his open hand to me offering a deal.

  I glanced at the X he had carved into the post. This would be easy.

  I took his deal, putting my hand in his. It was the first time we had ever touched. I was surprised how warm his rough hands were, how easily they fit over mine. I snatched my hand back, wiping my palm reflexively against my thigh.

  I turned to the post, not to be out-done.

  “Ladies first,” I reminded him. A smug smile crept to my lips. The tip of my blade was imbedded in the whittled surface less than an eighth of an inch from the center of the X.

  I win.

  I turned to Triven, my smile still lingering.

  “Nice throw.” He nodded, impressed, turning his hazel eyes on me. “But you could work on your stance a bit.”

  Without breaking eye contact, he whipped his arm forward. My eyes naturally followed the knife as it left his hand and the smile fell from my face. A small spark emitted as the tip of his blade grazed mine and rooted itself dead center of the X.

  “I guess I will be taking the cot tonight.” He said, with a smile.