by T. C. Edge
And as all hope seems to fade, and the already pale skin of Cromwell appears to lose all remaining colour, I lean back and accept that my grandfather is no more. I can barely think of the victory of it all, of the joy this moment should bring. It’s something I want so dearly, more than anything in the world. To see it rid of the man who took away my family. The man who has caused so much suffering and grief.
But there is no joy there for me. There’s just an emptiness as I watch him continue to fade, Zander’s efforts now fading too. I reach over, and lay my hand on my brother’s back, and say softly, “It’s over. You did all you could…”
He leans back, eyes narrow, teeth tightly clenched together. And for a second, all goes quiet and still, and I barely even think of the wailing machine nearby, and the chattering gunfire much further away.
We sit there, locked in time, next to the body of Director Cromwell. And what must only be a second or two seems to last an age.
With my hand still on Zander’s back, I feel him move away again. It’s sudden, his hands reaching out one final time, pressing at Cromwell’s chest in a final surge, breathing through his lips with a final blow.
I consider the effort wasted. But what do I know?
As if by some awful miracle, Artemis Cromwell stirs. His body and neck seem to convulse, and his mouth opens wide as a gush of dirty water comes pouring out. Zander leans back in surprise, and Cromwell’s lungs pull in a breath sharp enough to cut steel.
His eyes open, pale and cold, and a trickle of colour returns to his sallow cheeks. He looks to Zander above him, and I see a brand new emotion in his eyes. I see something he’s never displayed.
I see thanks. A deep and very real gratitude.
His lips open, quivering a touch, as if such an experience is enough to cause a break in even the most cold and callous of minds. They try to speak, his stare refusing to leave Zander’s face, a few inaudible croaks breaking from his throat.
“It’s OK, Director Cromwell,” says Zander, smiling and panting hard. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Yes. Unfortunately, he is.
27
Director Cromwell’s state of consciousness appears to be a false dawn. As he lies there in the mud, staring at my brother, his eyes fade off again, flickering before falling shut.
Zander’s quick to do his checks once more, ensuring the old man is breathing and has just passed out. He has. Again, I’m in two minds about that.
Only once my brother’s confirmed that Cromwell is still alive does he now fall back onto the bank, breathing heavily and expelling all the tension from his body. He shakes his head in relief and croaks, “That was far too close for comfort.”
I allow him a few moments in the mud to regain his energy as I stand and perform a quick check of our surroundings. It’s still smoky here, yet not like in the city. The smoke is thinner, billowing about on the breeze and being coughed up from fires still burning not too far away. It appears, too, to be flowing somewhat in the direction of the city, as if drawn there by some invisible force.
And all I can think is that he’s out there. Someone, some wind manipulator, is out there keeping the city shrouded and hidden. Maintaining the veil for his soldiers to use for cover.
Over the rushing waterfall, the sound of wailing is also close. A little through the burning woods, away off to the east along the ridge. That’s where the horrible noise is coming from, closer now than ever, drawing us in. We cannot delay too long. We have to take it out.
I move back to my brother and find him sitting up. He’s checking his pulse rifle to ensure it’s still operational. I do the same and find mine in good working order. We check our other firearms too. They all appear to be just fine, undamaged by the water and violent journey down the river.
Finally, Zander draws the radio from the pouch in his belt. The pouch appears to be waterproof, though I think I see a rip in it. He begins fiddling with the settings, trying to get in touch with Colonel Hatcher away on the other side of the outerlands beyond the city. It’s no use. The radio fizzes and spits sparks, dripping water.
“Damn,” growls Zander, tossing the radio to the mud. “It’s broken.” He sucks in a breath and shakes his head, standing to his feet. “It’s OK,” he says, as if trying to reassure himself, and me. “It’s fine. Hatcher will get the job done. We need to focus on ours.”
“And what about him?” I ask, glaring at Cromwell.
Zander looks around. As far as I see it, we have to leave Cromwell here. There’s no way he’s coming with us.
“How about there,” I say, pointing towards a collection of rocks near the cliff. “We put him there, do the job, and then come fetch him after…”
Zander looks to be having a more difficult time than me making this decision. He’s anything but indecisive, but right now that unwanted trait appears to be creeping into his character.
Usually, it would be him quickly making decisions. But, in this case, I’m of a very clear mind about what we need to do.
“Look, Zander, we don’t have time to consider this,” I say. “We can’t take Cromwell with us, right?”
He shakes his head.
“No…”
“Good,” I go on. “And we’re here now, so there’s no getting him back to the city yet. Priority one is disabling that machine and seeing what else is out there. The Director will have to wait.”
He starts nodding.
“OK, you’re right. Let’s get him over by the rocks. Help me out.”
Together, we lift Cromwell to his feet, dripping water and mud and looking quite unlike his old self, and drag him over to the cliffs. During my first time here, I was quite aware that the toxic fog wasn’t an issue around the water’s edge, only collecting by the trees and not on the shore. It seems, right now, that it isn’t an issue at all.
By the looks of things, the fire that consumed the woods has eaten the poisonous fumes as well. Perhaps that was yet another benefit for the Cure in setting the forest aflame. Now, replacing the toxic smog is a smog of smoke instead. It’s quite unpleasant, but seemingly far less potent and dangerous than what came before. And hidden here, Artemis Cromwell should be perfectly safe.
Reaching the rocks, we haul him through a narrow gap and into a small cave-like formation. It has a low ceiling and tight walls, the space hardly big enough to accommodate the three of us as we tuck the old man in.
“Right, we need to tie him up,” I say as we lay him onto the cold stone.
Zander frowns at me.
“Tie him? Why?”
“Because,” I say, as if the word is explanation enough.
“Because….what?”
“Are you being deliberately obtuse, brother? We need to make sure he stays where he is.”
“He will. Why on earth would he leave this place alone and try to get back to the city? He’d die a dozen times before he got there. He’s not a stupid man, Brie, however much you seem to think he is.”
“And what does that mean?” I query.
“Just what I said,” he tells me. “You have a hate for Director Cromwell that seems to go well beyond all others. You still let your emotions direct you more than you should…”
I feel my blood boiling, my nerves frayed. I shake my head and mutter, “Yeah, but you don’t know what I know.”
I immediately regret the words, and my following expression and mannerisms probably make it clear I’m hiding something.
“Enlighten me. What do you know, Brie?”
He peers into me through the darkness in that small, claustrophobic cave. I turn my gaze from him, refusing to connect, hiding my thoughts. Yet my feelings are enough for him gauge regardless. My guilt, my shame. It’s all there for him to sense and feel. He knows that I’m not telling him something.
“Look, we need to get going,” I huff, moving for the opening.
He steps in my way.
“No, not yet,” he says.
“Zander! What the hell are you doing? We�
�re in a fight for our lives here. We don’t have time for this.”
“Make time,” he growls. “Tell me what you know.”
His words are intense, his eyes equally so. I stand ahead of him, still peering everywhere but into his keen eyes. That in itself is a clear sign of guilt.
“Zander,” I say again, more calmly this time, drawing a breath. “I just think that it’s best to tie Cromwell up, that’s all. I don’t think it’s sensible to leave him here alone without taking precautions…”
“Stop,” he says flatly. “Don’t change the subject.”
“But this is the subject! The only one that matters right now…”
“No, there’s something more going on.” He stops a moment, and then says, “It’s…it’s about our mother, isn’t it?”
I flash my eyes to his and smile awkwardly. I have no idea how to behave in such situations. My ability to hold the truth, to lie, when thoughts of my mother are swirling through my mind, is non-existent. I’m not skilled at this at all. My emotions, that I apparently can’t control, are starting to get the better of me.
“Our mother? What…what are you talking about?” I stammer.
“I heard you, Brie,” he says. “I heard you talking with West in the Fangs’ village a few days ago. He said our father’s name, Maxwell. And…our mother’s too. He called her Elisa.”
He draws his hand forward and raises my chin, lifting it. I continue to keep my eyes elsewhere.
“You know her name,” he says softly. “How do you know her name?”
I recoil from him, pressing back towards the rock and shaking my head. Thoughts of her past and our father’s past flow through my head. Here, in this small cave, with the culprit unconscious at our feet, and the war raging outside, I only have thoughts for them.
“I don’t…you must have misheard…”
My eyes glance down at Cromwell, a ripple of anger working across my face. My brother moves forward a pace. He sees. He sees everything.
“The truth, it must be hard for you to tell,” says Zander, his voice flattening out. “It’s him, isn’t it?” He looks to our grandfather. “This is about him.”
I look at the old man too, and then turn my eyes up to my brother’s. He’s suddenly calm and relaxed, not trying to force the truth from me, not compelling me to speak. He deserves to know. He’s always deserved to know.
And I can’t keep it from him any longer.
I’m sorry, grandmother. I’m sorry…
I begin to nod, my heart-rate starting to flare.
“It’s about him,” I confirm.
My words seem to be all Zander needs. The pieces begin to gather and form into a clear picture in his head. I look right into his eyes, and see the calm frown lower, and see behind them into his mind as the truth begins to settle. He looks at Cromwell, and then up at me. He takes a breath and speaks.
“Say it,” he whispers.
He knows. He knows now.
“He’s….he’s our grandfather,” I say, still reluctant.
Zander draws a breath, quite sharp. He shuts his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, he stares right at me.
“And Lady Orlando,” he whispers. “She’s our grandmother.”
“Yes,” I say weakly. “She…she wanted to tell you.”
He lifts his hand and gestures for me to go silent. I do so immediately. His head starts shaking.
“If she wanted to tell me, she would have done,” he says plainly, calmly.
He looks again at Cromwell, staring at the old man’s face. I know just how hard this is. I’ve experienced it before. But, for him it must be harder discovering the truth. He’s lived this life for so much longer than me.
Yet, he’s taking it well. He isn’t like me with his emotions. He will be working through it in his mind, letting the truth sink in. I wonder - has he suspected it for a while?
So I ask, tentatively, and he withdraws from his brief reverie and looks at me again.
“I thought…something. I believed Lady Orlando was hiding something. She never let me look in her head. She knew there were things I couldn’t see.”
“Couldn’t see? You understand why she hid the truth?”
He nods slowly, so mature in taking the news.
“I trust her,” he tells me. “I always have. I trust her to make the right decisions, to do what’s best for me. She’s…she’s my grandmother,” he says, a smile beginning to burgeon.
Then he drops his eyes and sees Cromwell again, and the smile disappears, replaced by a frown.
“And he’s my grandfather,” he whispers, voice dull and low.
I leave him to his thoughts again for a few moments, until another question rises on his lips. A question I don’t want to field right now.
“How did you find out?” he asks me. “Elisa…our mother. She was their daughter? Daughter of Director Cromwell, of Lady Orlando…”
He’s speaking as though to himself, as if he needs to vocalise it now to believe it. To fully believe it.
“I…found his files in the archives,” I say. “I was looking for information on our father, Maxwell. I found Director Cromwell’s file instead.”
“And that revealed his next of kin?” he asks.
I nod.
He considers it once more, taking a moment to himself. I can see the many queries bubbling up inside his head, this conversation one not to be had now. We have work to do, people relying on us. We need to get moving.
But I have to be careful now. I can’t rush him. I need his mind to be clear and on point for the fight ahead.
“We should think about getting moving, Zander,” I whisper gently but with a note of urgency. “We don’t have much time.”
Once more, he pulls away from his daydream, from his internal considerations. He steps a little closer to me, and takes hold of my cheeks.
“I need to see,” he says. “I need to know it all.”
I work up a reply but don’t express it. Time is too short for words, and my mind holds all the answers that he can quickly find for himself.
So I don’t speak, but merely open my eyes wide, and take a breath as he sets his gaze to them. He darts inside, and I feel him immediately searching for all my knowledge of our parents, of what happened to them. And as he does, I see the memories flooding back, the recent reveals, the truths told by Lady Orlando, happening right before my eyes once more.
It happens so quickly. There’s so little to really see. So little that I actually know. But I know enough. I know that it was Artemis Cromwell, our grandfather, who ordered the executions of our parents, and of our grandmother. I know that only the latter escaped, freed by a final act of bravery by our mother. I know that our parents will have suffered terribly, if not physically, but mentally, knowing that they’d never be able to see us grow, become the people we are today.
I know it all. And now, so does Zander.
And pulling away, I see the cracks appearing in his façade. I see the same hate that I hold for our grandfather starting to brew. I see a shimmering vein of anger set in his bloodshot eyes.
He turns, one final time, to look at Cromwell. And drawing a sudden, fierce breath, he looks set to strike.
I reach out quickly, seeing it coming, seeing him about to lose his cool, and take hold of him. I wrap my arm over him in a manner to both restrain and calm. And I whisper softly, cooling his burning ire.
“Don’t, Zander,” I say. “Don’t do it. You’re stronger than that.”
I find my own words slightly ironic. Only minutes ago, I was wishing Cromwell dead, and Zander was trying his very best to keep him alive. Now, it appears my duty to hold back the storm myself, to save my grandfather’s life as I already have this night.
As we both have.
His madness quickly settles, suppressed beneath the surface. He turns away from Cromwell with a snarl and shakes his head.
“I saved his life. You saved his life. And he…he killed our parents.”
�
�I know, I know,” I say soothingly. “We’ll get our revenge, brother. We’ll get it together. But not now. Not yet. We have something more important to do.”
I look right into his hazel eyes and show him we’re in this together. All the way, the two of us against the world. We’ll save the city. We’ll make Cromwell pay. We will. We have to.
He fills his lungs once more and I see the change in his eyes. Then he guides them down to our grandfather, still unconscious on the floor.
“You’re right, Brie,” he snarls. “Let’s tie him up. Nice and tight.”
He drops a wink for my benefit, and I smile. And together, we bind the old man so he cannot move in inch.
28
“Are you sure you have your thoughts straight, brother? You need to focus now.”
Zander smiles at me as we move from the cave and little network of rocks near the cliff. The rushing of the waterfall grows louder, as does the wailing not too far away. And through the smoke, the burnt out woods become clear.
He nods, loosening up.
“I’m fine, Brie, really. I…in a way I’m glad.”
“Glad?”
“Glad I know the truth now,” he explains. “I told you once before that I didn’t think about our parents much. I told you that I’d probably never know the truth, so there was no point in worrying about it. I guess I lied to you. I’ve never stopped wondering, hoping to know who they really were, what happened to them. It sounds awful, because of what they had to go through…but I’m happy I know. I feel…lighter somehow.” He shakes his head and looks away. “That probably makes no sense…”
“No, no, it really does,” I say, pulling him into a sudden hug. “It makes perfect sense, Zander. I felt the exact same thing when I found out.”
He smiles at me again.
“Well, we are twins, after all.”
“Yeah,” I laugh, before frowning and realising laughter has no place here. “So you’re definitely OK?”
