Crimson

by Ben Wise

  “Resistance,” he laughs sardonically. “This used to be place for members of the resistance to gather in safety, but these days resistance might as well just describe the friction between factions. It remains, however, neutral ground for any talented. Given the number of talented around, the government has always given it a wide berth as well. You should feel safe here.”

  Conversations pause as I’m lead through the room, faces turned towards me as all eyes watch. So many young faces, there couldn’t be many over 25. Alex leads us to a quiet corner. With relief, we’re quickly forgotten about, people going back to whatever conversations they were having, as if it is normal around here for people to come in wearing revealing hospital gowns and covered in blood.

  Alex picks up on my body language. “We have some clothes coming for you. Hopefully she isn’t too far away,” he says. “Simon?”

  “No switch,” Simon replies.

  “You can’t see anything?”

  “I can’t see anything, it’s true,” Simon says.

  “Are you able to use any abilities at all?” Alex directs the question at me.

  At that moment, much to my amazement, the semi-familiar old man, the same man shown in the earlier vision, sits down at the table with us. He nods his head toward the other two. “Like I said, she’s a Non, no switch, just like her parents,” the man says pensively to them. To me he says, “I’m so glad you got out; that these people were able to find you in time. I’m sorry about Aine,” he says in a soft voice. His eyes drop in shame. “That’s twice now I’ve let you down. I thought I’d be able to keep you out of this world.”

  “Twice? We’ve never spoken before today,” I say perplexed.

  “I guess you must have been too young to remember. You’d best all get comfortable. This is a long story.” He takes a deep breath. “My name is Uri. In the veil war, the first war, your parents had quite the reputation, considered among the most talented psychic soldiers. Certainly the best I ever knew. They were my fiercest adversaries during the first war.

  “But then the Templars turned against both sides and the war shifted. The government fell and the Templars and their government puppets took over. Your parents went on to become two of the greatest leaders in the resistance against the new government forces. I became their lieutenant, their closest guard, their protector. And in time their closest friend. Old enemies became close friends. In the time before you were born they were high among the people most wanted by the government. Of course, just like you, they were Nons and by that stage, sadly, they were among the last few left. The Templars were so good at hunting us down. But your parents were better. Always it seemed one step ahead.

  “Then your sister came along. It all changed.”

  That sentence nails me. “I have a sister?” I ask incredulously.

  “Yes. You have a sister,” he says,

  My heart drops. “A sister?” A question aimed at nobody.

  In a daze I slide down into my seat. I don’t remember any sister. He waits a moment for me to recover and then continues.

  “Then suddenly they had something more important than all that to dedicate their lives to. We tried to get all your family out, we really did. And for a while there it worked. After a while your parents dropped off the government’s radar. And it was not long after your sister was born when they were joined by you. You two were all that really mattered to your parents. By then, the resistance ceased to exist in their eyes. I don’t blame them. You girls were so beautiful.”

  “Do you know her name?” I interrupt.

  “Claire,” he says with a gentle smile. “You really were both such cute kids.”

  “What happened next?” I ask.

  “You need to know that unlike so many of the other abandoneds, your parents didn’t actually abandon you. I think you must have been four years old; or… you’d have just turned five. We – the resistance – didn’t know where they were. They’d changed everything, taken new identities and moved away from it all. We thought it for the best that we didn’t know where they were. The government seemed to have spies everywhere and so many like your parents had already been found. In the end it didn’t help, the government still found them.

  “We thought we were protecting you. Instead we failed. At the last moment we got word that the government was closing in on your parents. We found out where they were heading. A group of us hoping to protect your parents arrived just as Templars stormed the place. Your parents had hidden away on a quiet farm. On any other day it would have been quite beautiful. Today it was surrounded with government knights storming across those fields.”

  He pauses to compose himself for a moment. “Those troops got to your parents first. When we arrived it was too late, but we fought back anyway. They stole Claire away before we could stop them. We fought so hard to get to her. It was the bloodiest battle we had fought in a long while. But they got away. Everyone felt that loss.

  “By the time the battle was over, the few of us remaining held the farm and the Templars retreated. And, to my amazement, I found you. Somehow you’d managed to hide yourself unseen under a table. Maybe it was just luck that all of those troops were too stupid to look down to see you. I realised that I still held that promise to protect you, to keep you safe. And the only way I felt I could do that was to keep you at a distance from me while I watched over you. I thought if people worked out the connection between me and you…” He shakes his head. “I guess that was still a mistake. In the end I didn’t keep you safe. Twice I’ve had to learn that lesson.”

  “Do you know what happened to my sister, to Claire?” I ask tentatively.

  “The government have been keeping her captive this whole time, somewhere. I don’t know much more than that.”

  “She’s still alive?” I ask hopefully.

  “We believe she is. But we’ve never been able to find her though. They’ve hidden her too well. And I’ve always been too worried about leaving you to go looking.”

  “But you’re sure she’s alive?”

  “I don’t know for absolute sure.”

  I bite my lip. “And my parents?” I ask. I feel like I already know the answer.

  His head drops. “They were executed that day,” he says.

  My heart skips a beat. I nod slowly. “Can you tell me about them? I know nothing about them. I don’t even know their names.”

  He nods. “You’ve grown up to be so beautiful, so much like your mother, Sari. She was so beautiful, yet so very fierce. A wicked sense of humour and a sharp tongue. Crystal green eyes and vivid red hair just like yours.” He smiles, “I really wish I could show you how much you look like her. Your father, Michael, was perhaps the only person capable of balancing your mother. He was the strength behind us all. And very talented. While your mother was the fire of the resistance, the drive behind us, it was his cool head, his planning and ingenuity that kept us alive.” His voice trails off, thinking on it further. “Here comes Cara. There’s so much more to talk about, so much more I need to tell you. And I’m sure you have a lot of questions, questions about your parents, your talents. But today has been so long and you look like you couldn’t stay awake even if you wanted to hear it all. We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow to talk about it.”

  It’s true. Just the thought brings a giant yawn, as if needing to prove his point. Quickly stifled the moment Cara walks into view. You know those awkward moments when you find yourself staring at somebody for just that moment too long? It would appear that my eyes have gotten stuck. Roughly my age, her dusty brown hair falls roughly over her ears, with long bangs sweeping down over piercing green eyes, a small nose and a cute heart shaped face with skin pale and lightly freckled. She has the air of somebody who slips through life unaware and uncaring. She is simply and un-assumedly beautiful.

  “Hi,” she says with a nervous smile and a quick half-wave. “Cara.”

  My cheeks turn redder than the blood covering me. Does she notice? She looks me up and down and
says, “My clothes should fit you. Come with me. You must be anxious to get out of that.”

  She turns to the others.

  “I can’t believe you walked her through here wearing nothing more than a hospital gown,” she says angrily.

  She leads me behind the bar and up a flight of stairs. As we walk up stairs, she says, “I’m sorry they thought it was a good idea to walk you through the crowd of people like that. They don’t always think things through. You must be ready to get into some real clothes.”

  We walk down a long run-down hallway, full of apartment doors. She keeps talking. “This building is one of the safe houses available to talenteds. There’s always accommodation for those who need it. But for tonight you can crash in my room.”

  We stop outside a door near the end of the hallway. Nothing further is said. She fumbles with the key to the room as we stand outside the door; she flashes a smile at me in embarrassment as she struggles to slide the key into the lock. Finally the key cooperates and clicks as the door opens.

  Inside is a small studio filled with antique furniture of all kinds and dark earthy colours on the walls. Its appearance is a sharp contrast to the run-down apartment building that surrounds us and the effect is instantly warming. I take the chance to run my fingertips over a set of polished mahogany shelves.

  She points. “Through my bedroom is the bathroom. I’ll leave you to it. Don’t come out until you’re feeling human again. I’ll have some clothes waiting for you.”

  The hot water is exquisite. Blood washes off me and drains away the stress of the day. Have I mentioned that the hot water is absolutely divine? I close my eyes and think about nothing else but the feeling of water against my skin. Eventually the water runs clean. Finally I get a chance to switch off for a while. I spend far too long enjoying it.

  After drying off, I find a bundle of clothes on the bed, left by Cara, the door to her bedroom closed. On top a bra that’s a little small, but passable. Sandy coloured denim pants. A white shirt trimmed in deep red slipped on next. Cara’s clothes fit me as if they were my own. Next is a pair of heavy boots, a mix of soft black leather, nylon. I have no idea how but they manage to fit me perfectly, and are instantly the comfiest things I’ve ever worn. These are some amazing boots.

  Last is a soft hooded jacket and, as if to cement the ass kicking image, a pair of leather fingerless gloves, both in matching blood red. It’s almost too much.

  There’s a knock on the door as I try to work out the best way to slip the soldier’s long knife I’d taken into the belt of these pants.

  “Are you ok in there?” Cara calls in.

  “Sure, come in,” I reply.

  She opens the door and looks me up and down and smiles.

  “I thought you’d look good in those gloves, but shit,” she says. “How do you like the place?”

  I nod. “I love it. It’s definitely my style. I wish I could have had a place like this.”

  Cara’s face beams as she says that. “It took me forever to collect this stuff. It’s not an easy task to do when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder and worried about getting captured by the government.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t be,” I respond understandingly. I guess that’s the trade-off. One more moment to tie my hair up out of the way and I’m human again. Almost, at least; I can’t supress the yawn that follows.

  She laughs at me. “Tired?”

  “I guess so.” My body feels like its run out of energy.

  She leans against the door frame to her bedroom. “We don’t have to go back downstairs.” She pauses a moment too long, watching me. I follow her eyes blink, once, twice, three times.

  “You can take the bed if you want. I’ll set myself up on the couch,” she says.

  “No, really, I don’t want to impose. This is your place. I’m happy to sleep on the couch.”

  “It’s ok; you really look like you need a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll survive. It’s ok, I don’t mind,” I say.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I sink into the soft mattress. Then I feel the handle of the knife, still tucked into my belt, jab into my side. I’d already forgotten about it. I draw the knife out, deliberately holding its gleaming edge away from me. The inscription ‘EX VMBRA IN SOLEM’ is written along the face of the blade while there are some numbers, ‘32:40-42’ scratched near the handle.

  “Woah,” Cara gasps, surprised. “Did you take that from one of the Templars? Where the hell were you hiding that? I’m not sure how I missed that on you before.”

  I nod to her as I place the knife gingerly on the bed side table. Cara’s bed is so soft in comparison to the rock hard mattress I had in the cell while captured. While captured… The events of the past days, each and every little memory hit me like a sledgehammer to the face. My parents are dead. Maybe somewhere out there is a sister I never knew about. Aine is gone. I try to maintain composure, but that only lasts a second. In the end I fail miserably at trying to hold it all in. Tears flow. I’m always stronger than this. Any other day I would be. I try to apologise to Cara. It ends up sounding nothing like “I’m sorry.”

  She slides onto the bed behind me, wraps her arms around me and rests her head on my shoulder. It’s such a gentle gesture, like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Nothing is said. Nothing needed to be said. I lose all sense of time; it could have been hours I spent like this without moving, in the comfort of her arms.

  “Wake up, wake up.”

  Cara is shaking me roughly as she sits up next to me. We must have fallen asleep.

  “We’ve got to leave. We’ve got to leave now!” her voice shaking.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong Cara?” I ask sleepily.

  “I’m sorry for bringing you here. They’re coming. They’ll be here any minute. We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go now.”

  “Who’s coming?” I’m wide awake now. “Cara you’re scaring me.”

  “This place is supposed to be safe from them. They’re coming,” she says, her eyes wide open in panic.

  They? Government troops? Templars? The realisation turns a switch on in my head. “Are they here?” I ask her.

  “Soon. They’re close.”

  “How do you know they’re coming?” I ask.

  She stops and gives me blank look. “I know.”

  “Ok, ok.” I say. “What’s the best way out of here?”

  “Come on, we need to get downstairs.”

  We step out of the studio together. Cara turns back sadly. Her face says we won’t be coming back.

  I gently take her arm. “Come on, we need to warn everyone.”

  She nods slowly, building resolve. We run down the hall way, yelling for people to get out, banging on doors. We hit the stairs running, two at a time.

  We hit the bottom of the stairs in time to see the front door of the dance floor go flying across the room. Smoke floods through the doorway. Through the smoke come soldiers with guns raised. Cara is half pulling, half dragging me across the room. Guns start firing. Shit.

  The exit is only a few short steps from the stairs. To the right are the toilets, forwards through a short hallway is an exit door. Just as I place my hand against the door to push it open, Cara grabs my arm and pulls me into the toilets.

  Bang. Just outside the toilets an explosion goes off. Cara motions to me to be quiet. Steps race into the building. Her head nods in rhythm to the beat of boots outside, counting the troops passing by.

  “Go. Go now. Outside. Run,” she whispers to me.

  We burst through the door and aim for the exit. A man behind us shouts. I have no intention of looking back.

  Outside the street, only an alley really, is dark; the night not yet complete. At the end of the alley soldiers mill beside a pair of large black vehicles. The white bands on their arms identify them even in this darkness. One of them shouts out, raising the alarm. In a mad rush they all reach for their weapons, unprepared for our presence. I grab Cara’
s wrist and start running down the alley. Just as we reach the end, she shoves my head down roughly. A fraction of a second later the men are firing on us, bullets flying just inches above where my head used to be. We turn the corner of the alley and are out of their sight. Too close.

  We keep on running, running blindly, running scared.

  A Stroll through the City

  Out of breath we stop finally, finding ourselves in a small park, heavily overgrown with trees. Dawn is breaking over the city. The tree cover offers a decent place to hide for a moment.

  “Are you ok? Are you hurt?” I ask Cara.

  She shakes her head between deep breaths in.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  She nods this time.

  “Is it safe here?”

  “As safe as anywhere I suppose,” she says, composing herself.

  “We will need to be a little cautious on these streets, this is deep into government friendly territory, but there’s a safe house nearby we can head to,” she says. “Do you think anybody else got out?”

  “Maybe,” I shake my head, unsure.

  “I should have been faster.”

  “Faster?”

  “If I was better,” she breaks, “more talented, more practiced, I don’t know, I might have gotten that precog earlier. We could have gotten everyone out sooner.”

  “You don’t know that. You got me out. You got out. Who else could have done better?”

  Her look tells me she’s not convinced.

  “You don’t know.” I hug her. “How far is it to this safe house?”

  “From here? Maybe a 20 minute walk,” she says.

  “Let’s head that way then. You can tell me while we walk how it is that yesterday your friends managed to be outside of that building yesterday to pick me up.”

  We walk out the trees with a little trepidation, still not sure whether we successfully evaded the soldiers. Between the tree line and the street is a small field of green grass bordered by fence of wooden posts. A flock of crows has set up in the grass catching bugs in the morning dew. As we cross the broken fence line something catches my eye. On a wooden post not 50 metres away sits a crow looking directly at me. It’s the blackest bird I’ve ever seen. Cara must have noticed me stop because she asks me what I’m looking at.