by T. C. Edge
Oh, I've gone between the two camps myself ever since he was brought here under his own volition. In those fateful days during the aftermath of the war, when Zander's death was so fresh for me, his loss so profoundly debilitating.
Yet lately, I've fallen into the latter camp. I can see how he's changed. I can see the deep regret and contrition. Oh, I can see it.
This isn't my first time here.
I step towards the central building, where I know Artemis to reside. There, within the office of the man who once ran the facility, he has made his nest. A simple place, cold and austere, empty now of almost all furniture but for the dirty mattress on the floor, the desk and chairs, a old cupboard in which he keeps his rations and what clothes he has. There are simple cooking facilities in an adjoining room too, and a bathroom that runs cold water from the taps.
A place, if he so wished, that he could bring some life to. Brighten up, make a little more homely.
But he doesn't. It is, I believe, by purpose and design that he has fashioned this cold, unwelcoming place. A place for repentance, where he can suffer for his sins.
I move down the corridor, heading for his room. Twigs and old leaves crunch beneath my feet, nature just beginning to creep back over the walls, retake what was once rightfully hers. I see a faint light glowing, behind the window, the single gas lamp under his possession. At night, it provides only limited light. During the day, locked back here where the daylight cannot penetrate, it is exactly the same.
I reach the door, and knock quietly. I sense movement immediately beyond, a shuffle of feet as he approaches. The handle turns and the door creaks on rusted hinges. Within, the face of my grandfather comes into view.
He looks...even older than ever, his health deteriorating more quickly now. His hair sits grey and lank down his head, his once pristine appearance drawn out, deeply wrinkled. Those eyes of his, once so cold and detached, now harbour such sadness, an emptiness left behind after everything he's done.
The emotion that all Savants struggle to feel, now runs strong through his blood, through his heart and soul. Set free when Zander saved his life, changing him for the better, and yet cursing him to this dreadful, lonely vigil, with only his dark thoughts for company.
"B-Brie," he says, his voice a croak. His lips work into a smile. He shuffles backwards, awkward, nothing but an old man now. It's hard to think of what he was. It's so hard for me to hate him as I used to do. "Come in. Please, come in."
He steps aside, trying to straighten out his clothes, make himself a little more presentable. He must have known, when he heard the knock at the door, that it was me. No one else comes here. He gets no other visitors.
"Um, coffee?" he asks, hurrying to a small side table. There's an old portable gas stove there, a dirty looking pot on top of it. "It won't take a minute to heat up."
"It's...a little early for me," I say.
"Right, right." He turns. "Something else, then? I have an old bottle of wine around here somewhere. Scavenged it from the mess hall on the lower floors. There's some interesting things down there..."
"A little...late," I say. "But thank you."
He nods. "Of course. Anything else? Water?"
"I'm fine, really. I hope I didn't wake you?"
"No, no, I...I was up, don't worry."
I know he wasn't. I can see it on his face, the fatigue, the light film of drowsiness there.
I turn my eyes around the room. It looks about the same as the last time I came here about a week ago. Though, the mattress looks to have moved. "Changing things up?" I ask, gesturing towards it.
"Oh, that. Yes, there was a leak during a storm recently. Had to move things around a bit."
"It's that bad?" I ask.
"No, not bad. Just a ceaseless dripping, really. They once used it as torture, you know? An endless drip to the forehead."
"Doesn't sound too bad," I say. "There are worse kinds."
He nods, dipping his head a little. A discussion on torture isn't something that's going to go down particularly well right now.
"So, I imagine you're here for the usual reason?" he asks me. "Why don't you take a seat, Brie. We can get started."
I move across to the desk, dropping into a chair ahead of it. He shuffles around, taking the opposite seat, the very one the facility manager might once had adopted. It's...quite a demotion for him.
I watch him a moment, wondering how this could have been the man who caused so much pain and death. He's so very different now in every way. His appearance, his mannerisms, the way he speaks and addresses me. Were I to put him side-by-side with his original persona, I'd have trouble finding any similarities at all.
He has, quite simply, broken free of the shell, the detached, inhumane Savant ruler whose sole focus was on the betterment of the species as a whole, often at the cost of the individual beneath his heel. Now, he is what was locked inside. An old man, quite aware of the evil of his actions, paying the price for, essentially, what someone else did.
Because this isn't Director Artemis Cromwell before me. It is his shade, his shadow. It is the honest man, even good man, who lies within.
"So, tell me Brie, how have you been?" he asks, settling into his chair on cold, aching bones.
"I'm...fine," I say. "I'm..." I shake my head.
"Confused?" he asks. "Still?"
"A little, perhaps," I admit, my voice soft and small within that cold, dim space.
I go quiet for a moment, thinking.
"Have you seen him again?" he asks. "Have you spoken with him?"
I nod, my eyes still low. "We speak at night sometimes. In my dreams," I say, breathing lightly. "Sometimes I still hear him in my head."
"And you speak back? It remains a dialogue?"
"I do. It's not often. Just...occasional. I'm worried he might be...fading."
"His presence? His life-force inside you?"
I nod again, troubled by it all.
It's why I come here, at least partly. I can't speak of Zander with others, not really. They know bits and pieces, but not much. Only here, isolated from everything else, can I speak with full candour. To a man who, I have come to realise, helps ease the burden. Helps me understand what I'm going through.
"These dreams you have, when you speak with Zander. Are they always in this...spirit world you speak of? Outside the city by his grave?"
"Every time," I say. "He tells me his life-force is strongest there. It's the only place he can take form."
"And what do you speak about?"
I shake my head, shrugging. "Everything, I guess. Some normal stuff. Life. You."
"You talk of me?" His eyes brighten a little bit at the prospect. "It's...bad, I suspect."
"No, Artemis, it isn't bad. He understands you've changed. He's thankful that he saved your life."
My mind turns to the river, rushing beneath the city. The man who was Director Cromwell died that day, flung out over the waterfall into the outerlands, drowning in the lake below. Zander brought him back to life, stripped of his callous detachment, his inhumanity.
That day, this new man before me was born.
"And I'm eternally grateful to him," he says. "You will...tell him that, won't you?"
I nod. "Of course. I already have."
"Thank you, Brie." He looks at me with a grandfatherly affection. Sometimes, I return the same expression, though remain so conflicted when I do.
"I've been hearing him whisper," I continue on. "It's always so quiet, coming at random times. He tells me that someone is coming. That we need to prepare."
Artemis frowns, reaching a hand to his white-bearded chin. "Who is coming, Brie?"
"He never says," I tell him. "He's evasive sometimes. Things are never that clear. I still don't know for sure how real it all is. Whether it's just a figment of my imagination. Sometimes...sometimes I think that his death just...broke me. That he isn't really there. That it's just me. Just...wishful thinking."
Artemis nods sagely, listening,
not judging like others might. Yes, perhaps he's doing it only because he's trying to make amends somehow, trying to build a bond between us. But either way, he has become the only person I can talk to about this.
"Do you want to know what I believe, Brie?" he asks.
I nod. My voice is small. "Yes."
"I believe that he is with you, and will always be with you, in some form or another. Your bond was unique. And now, your powers are growing unique too, your telepathic abilities opening up, expanding to new horizons. I believe that can only be down to Zander's presence, his influence, his aid."
He smiles, leaning back a little in his chair. "In truth, Brie," he goes on, "we may never get a definitive answer. Really, it only matters what you believe. If you truly think he is with you, then he is. And no one, not me, not your grandmother, not anyone else in the city, can tell you otherwise."
"Thank you," I whisper, after a short pause. "I...I know you're right, but it's hard to convince people. To even talk about it."
"Then don't. I am here to listen, to help wherever I can." He looks around. "I'm not going anywhere, as you know. No one else needs to be involved, if you don't want them to be. You can unload and vent with me. There is no reason to speak of this with others, if you don't want."
"I...I guess. I suppose it's something I want to share sometimes. I want to be able to tell grandma, especially. Tell her that Zander asks about her, that he is OK. I just...I don't want to hurt her either. I don't want to open up old wounds that are still healing."
"I understand. It is a difficult choice. But...you spoke of something coming?" he asks. "You're certain this was Zander speaking to you?"
"I think so," I say, not entirely sure. " It sounded like his voice, but sometimes it's indistinct. Sometimes I think it might just be my own voice from afar, warning me of something."
"Something?" he queries.
"Some...someone." I shake my head. "I think they're coming, Artemis. These people, this Cult of Awakening. I know they are interested in conquest. I know they have their eyes on us. I just...I just feel wrong, somehow. Like I've got a radar in my mind, warning me of danger."
"A sense," Artemis says, nodding. "A form of foresight and divination. Could it be one of your new gifts, perhaps?"
"I don't know. I think it's just...me. My own paranoia, maybe, after what I saw, what I went through with Herald Nestor. It's probably just nothing."
His eyes change subtly, looking suddenly distant, in deep thought. His eyebrows begin to fall just a little, knit a little tighter.
"Do you...know something?" I ask, peering into his eyes. "I never really asked you before. Do you know about these cultists?"
He pauses a second before answering. "They aren't cultists, Brie," he says, his voice grave. "They are much more than that."
"You do know..."
"A little," he says, raising a hand, "but not much. Not much more than you, perhaps, and probably a lot less. They were never considered a threat to us here, not being so far away. Yet, like the Cure, we were always aware of them, if only loosely. We always monitored threats, Brie, as you know. Olympus was never deemed as one to be overly worried about, despite their obvious power."
"Olympus," I nod. "Their city?"
"Yes. We captured several people over the years who had lived far to the north. They had seen their lands taken by these people, these Children of the Prime. Their territory is vast, and works off a sort of feudal system, where the poor worship the strong, where the population are segregated between the Enhanced Olympians, and the regular, Enenhanced people of the Fringe..."
My eyes flatten out. "It sounds familiar," I say.
His expression drops like a stone, almost overdoing the contrition and shame. "Yes..." he says dourly. "Well, I..."
"No time to tread over old ground now," I say, moving right past it. "What I want to know is, have things changed? Would you consider them a threat now?"
He thinks for a few long moments. When he speaks, he does so slowly, with a mind trained for deep analysis. "Your experience in the north may," he says, "have precipitated military action. It is one of many possibilities. But, it is possible."
"Why?"
"Because, Brie, they will no doubt know of our recent troubles now and may, like the Cure, seek to take advantage. Under my...dreadful rule," he bows his head a touch, "We concluded that we'd be far too strong and secure as a society for a conflict between our two peoples to take place. There was no reason for it at that time. Now, perhaps, there is. With this change in regime, they may even consider Haven..."
"New Haven," I correct.
"Um, yes, of course. They...they may consider New Haven to be a threat. In such a case, they may march to these lands to assume control. Or, at least, send a force to come to some mutually beneficial arrangement to suit both cities."
"I'd never come to an arrangement with them," I growl, my eyes, my voice, suddenly darkening. "After what I saw. No way."
Again, he pauses a second, inspecting my reaction. "And that, right there, might be another reason," he says.
"What?"
"That reaction. That hate in your eyes, the disgust. They will be fully aware of what reports you and Kira brought back here. If they have performed a thorough investigation, they'll know. They may, now, consider us a threat. Us an enemy to their own security."
"But how?" I ask, my voice rising in pitch. "How could they know? We killed every last one of them."
"And the slaves you saved?" he asks, swiftly, that keen mind of his clearly still there. He may have grown a conscience, but it hasn't pushed his genetically augmented intelligence to one side. "Weren't they there the entire time? Didn't they witness everything too?"
"We...we took them back, helped them home," I say, feeling increasingly uneasy. "We didn't leave them there at the fort."
"And you think they can't be tracked and traced. Do they not have their own soldiers capable of such things?"
My mind turns back.
They do, of course they do.
I witnessed a wealth of strange powers among them. Unlike here in New Haven, with relations between different classes of Enhanced being outlawed for so long, out there...well, there are probably no such restrictions. Strange combinations lead to strange results and powers. Kira has said the same about Neorome, the Imperial Games there bringing together men and women with a variety of wondrous, fascinating gifts.
Here, we seem truly dull by comparison, only the illegal hybrids, and my grandfather's own Stalkers, having a variety of gifts and, occasionally, outlandish powers like my own telepathy, or Kira's ability to use 'the sight'.
I feel my heart drumming as the thoughts barrel through my head. Artemis can clearly see it, watching me, the shape of my eyes as they change, as the realisation dawns.
"You see," he says. "It is quite reasonable to assume that they know everything, Brie. And now, after the year that's passed, everything between us and them has changed. If you are having these thoughts, these whispered words in your head, then I wouldn't put it down to mere paranoia. You may well have sensed their coming, Brie. You may well have caught a glimpse of their intentions."
His words settle within me, delivered with a profound conviction and wisdom. And oh, I'd be wise to listen to him too. No one in this city, perhaps, has the knowledge stored in his head. No one else knows quite how dangerous and destructive the world out there can be.
"I...I should probably go," I say, checking my old watch. "It's getting early. Adryan will be waking soon. I'd rather be back before he does, if I can."
He nods, knowing it's my usual excuse to leave. The reality, of course, is that I'll be unlikely to get back by the time Adryan rises, heading off on his morning run around the core so early as he does. I have my own excuses, of course, telling him I like to walk, sometimes, when I cannot sleep. That, sometimes, I enjoy that time alone, during the quietest ebbs of the night, when the rest of the world is sleeping.
I don't think he believes me. In f
act, I'm certain he knows I'm lying. Yet, he doesn't know this. He doesn't know I'm here. And for the time being, at least, I'd rather that remained the case.
Artemis stands from his seat as I do, moving quickly back towards the door. He opens it, not a word of complaint that I came so late, only to pick his mind and dump my troubles, before rushing off again so swiftly. I can see that he wants me to stay, wants to continue talking for a while longer at least, before I leave him again, alone, stuck here in his eternal solitude.
Just waiting to die.
But, I can't. I can only stay so long before I feel that urge pull me back. Before I feel myself beginning to care too much for the old man, pitying him, wondering, perhaps, if I might even petition my grandmother to see him brought back into the city, returned to some semblance of a comfortable life.
I can't allow that thought, that feeling, to breed. Oh, he's changed, and he isn't the same man anymore, but so much has happened now. Things that he'll never be able to take back.
"It was...lovely to see you again, Brie," he says, his words a little croaky, his posture a little vulnerable. "I do hope I was of some help."
"You were, Artemis. Thank you. It was...good to see you, as well."
His lips work into a smile, warm, almost sad. "You know," he says. "One day you just might start calling me grandfather."
His eyes look away, nervous as to my reaction. I can't help it, I have to give him something.
"Maybe," I whisper. "One day...maybe."
With that, I turn and leave, ready to endure the long trek back to the city.
4
Kira
I'm surrounded by colour.
Colour and the sound of squawking women.
They rush about me, a variety of garments and fabrics of various hues in hand, placing them to my frame, shaking their heads, hurrying off and returning with something else. Occasionally, someone will hold up something, a specific shade or material, and her eyes will brighten, the rest of the swirling group stopping and marvelling and squeaking excitedly, all saying 'ooooh' together, before continuing as they were.
