The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1)

by J. C. Staudt

  Merrick frowned. The way he was looking at Raith made him feel like a perfect stranger. “Because this place is my life. It’s always been my life. I can’t just leave everything behind because I suddenly found out I’m some kind of freak accident from a Ministry experiment. If anything, this is gonna make life better. I have something to offer now. Something I can use to get somewhere. Something besides just being plain old… me. The failure. The mistake. The disappointment.”

  “You can leave Belmond behind, and you must,” Raith shouted. He felt the steel bars begin to soften like wet clay between his fingers. He released them, hoping they would cool down instead of turning molten and dripping to the floor. When he turned his back to the younger man, the walls of his cell blushed orange. He extinguished himself and faded into shadow. Footsteps approached, and someone else was outside his cell.

  “Some kinda problem over here, Corporal?”

  “No problems,” Merrick said. “This prisoner was trying to provoke me, but I’ve got it handled.”

  “Alright. Just holler if you need anything.”

  Raith heard the other soldier clunk off down the cell block. He tried sitting on the lower bunk, but the upper was so low he had to lean forward until he was almost bent in half to fit between them. The mattress was so thin he could feel the springs poking up through the padding. He stood and came to the bars again. Merrick had retaken his post at the base of the concrete pillar, rifle in hand.

  “Come with us,” Raith said.

  “No,” Merrick whispered. He whirled, anger dancing like fire in his eyes. “I can’t. I’ve made too many mistakes to just abandon my life like a sinking ship. I can fix things now. You might be into quitting, running away from whatever you left at home, but I’m not. If I ever learned a coffing thing from my dad, it’s that when people give up on what they’ve got, they lose it forever. My mom gave up on us, and then my dad gave up on me.

  “The way you looked at me when I reminded you of her—my dad used to look at me that same way. Every day of my life, right up until the day he died. She left us, he’d say. I’m used to people looking at me and wishing I was someone else. When he was angry, he’d tell me how much I reminded him of her, like it was my fault. Like I’d driven her away just by being alive. You said you used to know her. She probably left you too, didn’t she? Now I finally know it wasn’t my fault. She just liked leaving people. I’m not like her. I’m not quitting my life like she did. Not while I have the chance to get it right.” Merrick’s voice was strained, like sand through a sieve. By the time he finished speaking, his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, though he hadn’t shed a single tear.

  “This isn’t quitting,” Raith said. “To leave this city behind is to leave nothing. This army, this man, Wax… they’re a fabrication. A myth, built on memories of a past that everyone seems to think was so grand and magnificent. They had electricity before the Heat, and water, and industry, yes. But the Ministry broke because it was a broken thing to begin with. My father worked for them; I know what the Ministry was like. I can understand your dedication to this place, just as I understand your belief in a man who tells you he has all the answers. The Ministry told my father the same thing before it crumbled. We all need belief in a world like this. But this Wax sounds like the kind of man who answers his own questions and then makes you believe they were yours in the first place. He’s furthering his desires under the guise of caring for yours. All he wants is to form a new Ministry where he’s in charge. I know the type; there are men just like him in Decylum.”

  “Wax takes better care of the city north than my own parents ever did for me.”

  “I understand that. You’ve been let down; it’s only natural that you’d cling to the one thing in your life that’s been constant. There’s nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is blaming those who’ve wronged you instead of taking responsibility for yourself; giving over to this life as if it’s the only choice you have. Your parents might not have been the greatest people, but let me tell you what my parents taught me. They taught me that as long as life goes on, there will always be another path to take. Sometimes there will be many, and oftentimes you’ll choose the wrong one. But there will always be another.

  “You’ve made mistakes. You’ve been slighted. So have we all. But we all have the choice to live every day either selfishly or with compassion. I doubt there’s a person in the Aionach who’s lived all one way or the other. We’re now-oriented. What we do, how we feel… it changes every second. If you want to stop finding people to blame for how you feel, now’s the time. You’re one of us. Don’t you see that? Our people are suffering and dying in this room, and they need you. Heal them. You’re the only one who can do this. Your gift is going to be with you forever, even if you don’t want it. Choose the right path, and use it for the good.”

  In the midst of his speech, Raith had become dimly aware of the rhythmic click-slam of the gates opening and shutting down the hallway. Round little Lieutenant Algus appeared at the final gate with his mask of white hair and a complement of armed guards bearing the blue shield insignia. By the time they appeared, Merrick was back at his post. Raith wasn’t sure now how much of his plea the young soldier had heard.

  “Hands,” Algus said as they approached Raith’s cell. A guard came to the door and gestured, holding up a pair of chromed metal handcuffs. Raith offered his wrists, and the guard secured them. Two of the thick steel bars on his cell had portions molded into the shapes of his hands, but the soldiers didn’t seem to notice. If he wanted to escape now, he could wait until they opened the cell door and dispatch with the lot of them. The chain between the handcuffs wouldn’t take longer than a blink to destroy.

  “Are you the one who vouches for these dways?” Algus asked him, waving a finger at the other cells.

  Raith nodded. “I will speak on their behalf.”

  “Good. I’m not in the mood to drag two dozen of you through the streets. You’ll be lucky to get to the Hull unharmed as it is. Everyone knows what you did. People have been trying to get in here all day with a mind to get a piece of you. I believe these walls are the only thing that’s kept you and your friends alive.”

  “Some of my friends hardly are alive. They need medical attention.”

  “You think there are doctors and medical supplies to spare for war criminals when we’ve got our own wounded? That’s a bold thing to say. Even if there were, it’s the Commissar’s decision, not mine.”

  Lieutenant Algus slid open the cell door, and for an instant there was nothing but clear air between them. Raith envisioned himself reaching out to extinguish the man’s life, as if he were snuffing out one of the lightbeams back home. Perhaps that sentiment was showing through on his face, because Algus flicked a nervous tongue over his lips and stepped aside.

  They arrived at the Hull Tower almost an hour later, having taken a roundabout route through sewers and cellars and secret passages to stay hidden from all the ravenous cityfolk who were apparently so intent on tearing Raith apart. The tower’s back door was a heavy slab of dented metal that scraped open to reveal the inside of the building’s warm, damp utility room. Hulks of rusted machinery stood beside walls overrun with mold and cobwebs. An access stair took them to the ninth floor, where a pair of soldiers ushered them into Pilot Wax’s offices.

  An attractive dark-haired woman sat at a desk in the waiting room, reading an old paperback novel with a faded purple cover and a creased spine. The pages were rippled with water damage, and the front cover showed a woman in a black corset clinging to the bare-muscled chest of a male who was only visible from the neck down.

  “Pilot’s waiting,” said the woman, without looking up.

  “This way,” said Lieutenant Algus, pointing them down the hall.

  Raith’s footfalls made the furniture jitter, and the secretary glanced up, lifting her brow as she took in the sight of him.

  If you were expecting that man on the cover, I’m twice as old and half as romantic, Rait
h wanted to say.

  Pilot Wax was waiting in the first chamber they came to, an elongated conference room with a boat table and enough black leather armchairs to seat everyone. Instead, Wax left the soldiers standing in a press near the doorway. He sat at the head of the table and bade Raith occupy the chair at the foot.

  Spread across the tabletop was what looked to be a small-scale replica of the entire city of Belmond. Not a map; a model, with the position of certain buildings and landmarks laid out in distinctive detail. Yellow and black markings criss-crossed the streets.

  “Do you like it?” Wax asked.

  “What’s it for?”

  “I like it,” Wax said, as if Raith’s question had been rhetorical. “I didn’t make all this, in case you were wondering. I found it here. I think it’s one of the original mock-ups of how the city was supposed to look. That was back in the planning stages, when cost was no object. What they actually ended up building is a much-economized version of this. The city on a budget, you could say.” Wax paused. “Does this feel awkward to you? Us sitting so far apart like this?”

  Raith shook his head.

  “Oh. I was hoping it would. I enjoy making people squirm… leaving them hanging. Anticipating. Know what I mean? You’re a big dway. How tall are you?”

  Raith wasn’t interested in small talk, so he said nothing.

  “Don’t know? Me neither. I haven’t checked my height in who knows how long. My weight, either. I figure as long as I’m still taller than I am wide, things can’t be too bad. Am I right?” Wax chuckled, a moment that lasted so long it was as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t the only person in the room.

  Raith decided to maintain his silence until this Commissar fellow said something substantial. To speak any sooner would’ve been a waste of breath.

  “It wasn’t hard to get it like this,” Wax said, bowing his head to the replica. “Just made some improvements on the original. Now it’s closer to the real thing. Ripped out some stuff here and there, added in where it needed it. See, there’s where you just were. The jailhouse. And right across here is where we are now, in the Hull Tower. I know this city like the back of my back.” He chuckled to himself again, amused with what he must’ve considered humor. “Oh, boy. Anyway. The black means we occupy it, the yellow means… we’re in the market. Any section that isn’t marked, well. Now I look at it, there are no sections that aren’t marked. Not sure when that happened. I guess I want the whole thing.

  “Four million. That’s how many people lived in Belmond in the old days. Did you know that? Now there are less than twenty thousand in the city north, and the best estimates my advisors can come up with is another thirty-five or forty in the south. They’re all wasters though. Not worth my time. You’d think a city this size would’ve been plundered by every scavenger for miles, wouldn’t you? Well, it has, and the way things are south of the Row, I bet there isn’t a tin can there that hasn’t been picked cleaner than a Mouther’s underpants. I’m color-blind, you know. Can’t see the color red worth shit. But I do know a good patch of concrete when I see one. Plenty of good patches of concrete south of the Row, yes sir.

  “That’s the element people miss. They say in the city south, everything is wasted out. Everything that was ever useful got tainted or soaked up or carried off by junkies and mutants. They keep telling me all the resources are depleted. Coffed-up thing is that for years, I believed them. Lived here half my life and I never even set foot south of the Row since the day I started this little organization. See, I used to think I had no choice but to believe what they told me, or else I was too lazy to wonder about it. Too successful, too busy resting on my laurels. That’s me, always one good deed away from complacency. Know what I mean? All of a sudden, one day I woke up and realized the city south isn’t empty. It’s not about whether there’s food or ammo or an Infernal-forsaken power cell left. We all know there isn’t. It’s about potential. I’m talking factories. Shops. Vehicles. Infrastructure. It’s all still there, waiting to be tapped. Those resources aren’t depleted; they’re entirely undiscovered. Unused. It’s like the southers are the color-blind ones, instead of me. Like they can’t see the color red, and I can. I see the coffing red and I want it. Yellow and black are not the two colors you’d think of first, are they? That’s the color-blindness, that’s why I marked up the map that way. I need sharp contrast. I need things that stand out. Like you.”

  Raith tried to fold his arms before remembering he had handcuffs on. He folded his hands instead and leaned forward, waiting to hear the Commissar’s offer.

  “Despite what some people say about me, I don’t believe in squandering good resources, and I don’t like the idea of turning away a potential ally. I’m willing to offer you a position within my organization and guarantee your safety here in Belmond. I’ll forgive your crimes, and I’ll forget that you tried to wage war on us. In short, we can start fresh.” Wax lifted the carbon paper, glossed over the various charges Sergeant Tym’s aide had scrawled there, balled it up, and tossed it against the wall. “There’s no reason for us to be fighting with each other. You seem like good, decent folks. I want to welcome you here, along with the rest of your people. Let’s move forward from this. I think we’ll be much stronger together than we ever would’ve been apart.”

  The Commissar finally kept his mouth shut for more than a few seconds. Raith waited a few more still.

  “We don’t want to fight either. We only want to leave. We came here as the very scavengers you speak of. We never had it in mind to do violence to your people. The unwanted debris of vacant buildings are the only things we ever meant to take. I can’t accept your offer, though I do thank you for it. If you’ll have your men escort us to the city limits, we’ll gather our things, along with whoever else we can find, and go at first light tomorrow.”

  Wax stiffened. “That’s not the deal I’m offering you. Your animals and vehicles have already been absorbed into our inventories. There’s no return trip for you, my friend. You can live or die; my only requirement is that you do it here in Belmond.”

  Raith felt the words slam home, solid and heavy as the steel bars of his cell. Wax is too self-important a man to endure being refused. Getting away from this city was more crucial now than ever; it seemed only a matter of waiting for the right moment. But how could Raith know when that was? If he sat here and did nothing, and accepted the Commissar’s demands, a dozen men would never see their families again. Hundreds more in Decylum would never know the fate of their loved ones.

  “I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer,” Raith said. “But I’ll make you another.”

  Wax looked bored. “What’s that?”

  “I’ll let you live to see another morning. And when you see the light-star rise tomorrow, you will fall to your knees and kiss the ground, and send me your silent thanks, wherever I am, for sparing your life instead of watching you burn like you deserve.”

  Wax balked. “Excuse me? I don’t think—”

  “I’m not finished,” Raith said. “You will release my people. You’ll give us free reign of this city to search for the brethren we’ve lost. You will provide access to your medical facilities for those of us who require treatment, thanks to the wounds they’ve sustained at the hands of your soldiers. Then, you’ll send us home with the animals, vehicles, and equipment you stole, plus enough food and fresh water for the return journey. Do all of these things, and we’ll part as friends. Don’t, and the light-star will set on your remains tonight.”

  Wax seemed to have found humor in Raith’s words. “So let me ask you why, instead of having all those charges dropped and getting a second chance at a good life here, you would want to threaten me and ruin everything—not just for yourself, but for the people you care about. Don’t you know a good thing when you see it?”

  Raith looked him in the eye across the long table. “I haven’t seen a good thing since the day I left home.”

  “What do you think you’re going to do? Come all the way
across this room and strangle me with those handcuffs before my men cut you down like a stray hound? Good luck.” Wax had begun to slur his speech, as if inebriated.

  Raith placed his hands on the table and stood, handcuff chain jangling, armchair spinning as its wheels squeaked across the carpet. “I guess that means you’ve chosen not to accept my offer.”

  Wax made an obscene gesture.

  “Very well,” Raith said. “I suggest you arm yourself. As soon as possible.”

  Behind him, Raith heard half a dozen rifle rounds slide into their chambers.

  “Oops, I’m armed,” Wax said, wringing his hands in mock surprise.

  “Not nearly enough,” Raith said. His fingertips began to glow.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Healer’s Grandeur

  After the guards came to take Raithur away, the cell block grew quiet again. Quiet and boring, the way Merrick was paid to like it. Without Raithur’s constant pestering, Merrick finally had a moment to stop and consider what the big man had asked of him.

  Why should I have the slightest bit of sympathy for the dway, or any of these foreigners? Just because I share this ‘gift’ of theirs doesn’t mean I have to go be one of them. He wanted to learn more, but he knew Raithur had only accepted him because of the gift. Without it, he was just another soldier.

  Merrick had the same human desires as anyone else; he wanted to be accepted. Loved. Joining the Scarred had been his attempt to find that, but instead of success and admiration, his repeated failures had gained him only scorn. He would forget about Decylum, he decided. He didn’t care for these foreigners the way he cared for his family in Belmond. Raith and the others meant nothing to him.

  North Belmond was a good place that offered a worthy lifestyle and demanded an inspired mindset from the people who lived there. If there was anything resembling a civilized society to be found in the Aionach, North Belmond was it.

  At best, the people of Decylum were a commune, the children of dead scientists and Ministry employees, huddling together in the dark. What do they know of an honest day’s wages? What could they ever understand about life in the above-world? Their problems are theirs to deal with. I’ve got problems of my own, and look what’s already come of me trying to sort them out.