by G. R. Lyons
Assuming she even lived long enough for it to matter.
Chapter 4
SITTING AT the well-worn table in the prison's makeshift mess hall, Benash paused with a spoon halfway to his mouth as a rock fell from the cracked ceiling and bounced past his bowl.
Across from him, one of the young trainees watched the rock bounce off the end of the table, and let out a whimper.
“We're all going to die down here, aren't we?” he asked.
“Shut your mouth, boy,” Officer Garl called from the next table.
Benash glanced over at Garl from under his eyelashes. The man was shoveling huge amounts of food into his mouth and glaring at pretty much everyone in turn, as though he found their presence personally offensive.
“It's just a fucking rock,” Garl continued, grumbling. “Not a thrice-damned Collision.”
The other officers perked up at that.
“You don't think there's really a Collision coming, do you?” one asked.
“The Elders would tell us if there was,” Garl answered decisively. “Now shut up, the lot of you.”
The hall fell silent except for the clink of spoons against bowls, and Benash calmly scooped up the last of his tasteless stew while sneaking furtive glances at Garl. The man fancied himself a rival to Benash's position, absurd as it was, considering Benash outranked him by two levels. Still, Benash had never entertained a doubt that the man would go so far as to commit murder in order to rise more quickly through the ranks and get himself out of that dismal, confined place.
Never again, Benash reminded himself, certain that if he was ever caught breaking the law, Garl would be first in line to throw him into a cell.
Or worse.
“We are, though, aren't we?” another young officer asked, breaking the silence, and Garl's mouth was blessedly too full to reply. “Collision or not, we're all going to die down here. Well, except maybe you, Benash. Once you get your promotion, you'll be on your way out of here, just like Chief.”
“I will be getting that promotion,” Garl insisted, glaring at Benash.
Several young officers gasped.
“Garl, you can't say that!” one boy exclaimed fervently, his eyes wide with fear. “That's showing preference…and for yourself!”
“And besides, Benash has seniority of years,” another officer insisted. “Right? It'll be his duty to move on to the next position when the Elders decree it so.”
Garl snorted. “Seniority be damned. I've got the most arrests out of any of you.”
Not hard to do when you arrive late and sneak off early, Benash thought, and noticed no one was brave enough to voice the sentiment, though clearly everyone in the room was thinking it.
“What are we all doing down here, anyway?” another officer asked, dropping his spoon into his empty bowl. “I mean, it's not like these filthy rats can actually get out. What's the point of even having us down here?”
“Shut up!” Garl roared.
“But he's right, though,” another put in. “We don't actually do anything but sit around all day. You'd think the Elders could at least have us doing something useful. You know, I heard that on Agoran–”
Garl lunged across the table and backhanded the officer across the face.
“How dare you question the Elders!” he roared. “And there will be no talk of Agoran, do you understand me? That place is full of nothing but a bunch of vile sinners and thieves! What the Elders decide for us is right, and for our own good. You should be grateful!”
With that, Garl slammed down his spoon and stormed away, leaving a quivering silence in his wake as the young officers trembled in fear and shame.
Benash swallowed the last bite of stew, carefully set down his spoon, and rose from the table. The young officers all around him cowered back, wide-eyed at his utter calm.
“We're sorry, sir,” one muttered.
“We won't do it again, we swear!” another insisted in a pious whisper.
Benash stopped, halfway to the exit, and scanned the room.
“Pray for forgiveness of your sinful thoughts,” he murmured, and saw heads bow and lips move silently as he left the room.
And I shall do the same…
* * *
VORENA COUGHED and spat as she thrust aside a low branch.
“Fucking Kalos.”
Jevon turned on her with a dry chuckle. “Rather irreverent, don't you think?”
Vorena shrugged. “The Father has heard plenty worse out of me.”
“I'm sure he has.” He paused to adjust his pack, looking ahead at little Asenna as she chased a rabbit through the underbrush. “And I'll thank you to keep that worse away from smaller ears.”
He nodded toward his daughter, who was thankfully out of earshot and distracted. Vorena muttered, “You know the rest of the camp will only be worse than me.”
Jevon grimaced but didn't say anything.
A heavy silence fell between them while Jevon came to a stop, watching his daughter play and occasionally glancing over at Vorena with a questioning glance.
“Alright, alright,” she groaned, then closed her eyes and rested a hand over her heart. She sighed heavily, but her voice was sincere as she prayed, “Father Kalos, thank you for what health you have granted me. I pray we reach the camp safely, and find the way to Agoran so that we all might be free, and honor you and the Others with our hard work. In the name of the One, I thank you for your blessings.”
She opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow as she looked at Jevon. “Satisfied?”
“I'll be more satisfied if we can find that Gate, and get you to an Agori doctor,” he said, then paused, thoughtful. “Or even a mage, for that matter.” Jevon glanced over at his daughter, and turned back to Vorena with a stern look on his face. “Of course, then you'll really have to watch your curses around them. You know Kalos is their patron.”
Vorena shrugged again, wrenched a small branch off the nearest tree, and sliced at the tall underbrush in mock swordplay. “At the end of the day, a mage is still just a man. I'm sure they have their curses right along with the rest of us.”
Keeping Asenna in his peripheral vision, Jevon snapped off his own branch and swung it toward Vorena, who easily parried and struck back.
“I suppose you're right,” Jevon conceded. “The man with the book certainly had more than his fair share of a foul mouth.”
Vorena threw her head back and laughed as she drove toward him. “That man was not a mage. His book was written by one, of course, but him? Not in all the years since the Breaking could that man ever muster enough power to be a mage. Seven hells, the man couldn't even start a fire.”
Jevon lowered his arm and laughed. “Oh, gods, I remember that. That was– Ouch!”
Vorena jumped back after snapping her branch on the side of his shoulder, a cheeky grin on her face.
“Oh, now you've asked for it,” Jevon teased, running after her.
Vorena ducked and rounded a tree, parrying his blows as he drove her back. She crouched low, watching his every move, and when she saw an opening, she spun around, dropped her branch, and scooped up Asenna, holding her out in front of herself.
Jevon came to a stop, straightening up and lowering his arms as he caught his breath. “That's cheating.”
Vorena grinned at him.
“My turn! My turn!” the little girl insisted, reaching toward her father's makeshift weapon.
Jevon gave Vorena an exasperated look.
“Don't look at me like that,” she said with a laugh. “I'm not the one who promised her she could learn to fight someday.”
“I'm going to fight like the princess in the special story!” Asenna announced proudly. “So when the grey wolves come, we'll win and be free!”
Jevon shook his head, but Vorena gave her a smile. “Yes, we will, dearheart.” She glanced up at the mountain to which they were heading, following the rumor of a forgotten Gate—their escape to freedom. “Yes, we will.”
They continued
on, moving ever closer to the mountain and the rendezvous point of the rebel camp. Vorena steeled herself and tried to step up the pace. She was dying to get back with the group, especially now that there was hope of finally get off this thrice-damned Isle.
“Do you think there's really a Gate up there?” Jevon asked her, breaking the silence.
“By the gods, I hope so.”
Vorena looked up through the trees at the mountain looming before them, but with the dense growth climbing up its slopes, there'd be no way to see a Gate from that distance. For as feeble a rumor as it was, they would probably have to hunt extensively just to find it, most assuredly hidden by years of growth beneath the canopy of trees.
“Can you imagine?” she asked. “Traveling from one Isle to another just like that?”
She snapped her fingers, and Jevon's frown turned into a smile. “That would be quite a trick.”
“I can't wait. Just think: One minute we're on that mountainside, and the next, BAM! Standing somewhere on Agoran.”
“Like magic!” Asenna chimed in.
“Yes, just like magic,” Vorena agreed, smiling as she watched the little girl dance ahead.
Vor, Jevon asked mentally, his tone deadly serious, have you thought at all about what we'll do if there's not a Gate up there?
Vorena glanced over at him, her smile wavering, but she just shrugged and kept moving. Keep doing what we're doing, I guess. Keep trying to wake people up. Keep trying to set people free. Every single one of us helps. Weakens the Elders a bit more. Probably won't happen in our lifetime, but it's worth it, right?
Jevon sighed. Right.
Come on, she told him with a smile, reaching out to smack him on the arm. Cheer up. No sense fretting about it until we get there. If nothing else, we could always charge the Gate at the capitol.
At that, Jevon threw back his head and laughed heartily. Yeah, right! As heavily guarded as it is? That's a bigger dream than finding some forgotten portal high up on a mountainside. Believe me, I have a hard time imagining the Elders missed a Gate when they destroyed them all, years ago, but the chances of that are far greater than our entire camp taking on the Eagle troops in Vhais. Our minds are strong, but they've got guns, Vor.
Vorena grumbled, but nodded agreement. Powerful as the rebels were—far beyond what the Elders declared possible for any Tanasian citizen—a mental assault would simply never be enough to take on the armed guards that constantly surrounded the last remaining Gate on Tanas.
The last remaining but one, she corrected herself. There must be one on that mountain. There must.
Chapter 5
BENASH KEPT his eyes trained on the ground as he made his routine, methodical journey to work. All around him was the dull rumble of dozens of other hunched men quietly making their own ways to their own respective, assigned jobs. All those minds were thoroughly secured at that hour, so Benash had nothing to do but continue on his plodding way, just one of any number of grey-clad bodies following the paths set out for them.
There wasn't even the rustle of a white skirt to break up the monotony of the shadowy mass that flowed through the city. Then again, if the women had been out on the streets, it would instead be an occasional spot of grey breaking up the monotony of white, as women outnumbered men on Tanas by at least three to one. Still, Benash almost never saw a woman out of doors. Indeed, he didn't even have a clue as to whether his wives ever left the apartment, yet he assumed they had to at some point. How else could food and other household supplies ever come to be there?
But that was none of his concern. He was told to go to work, and so to work he went. Having food in the apartment was all that mattered to him at the end of a long day, but how it got there was not something he needed to contemplate.
Making the turn just before the district guard station, Benash felt a disturbance before he saw it. Accidental projection was a difficult thing to prevent when one was angry, and the projection he felt was positively dripping with rage.
He looked up from the cracked pavement and saw one of the low-ranking officers of the guard station exchanging blows with a citizen. Benash ran to the officer's aid, and in a moment they had the citizen restrained and gagged.
“He tried to take my gun,” the officer explained, wiping at a trickle of blood on his temple and then wincing as his fingers brushed the beginnings of a large bruise around his eye.
A series of muffled protests came from the citizen, so Benash thrust a fist into the man's side, making him double over in pain.
“You'll need to file a report,” Benash told the other officer.
The man nodded, rifled the citizen's pockets until he found his identification card, then stepped into the guard house. Benash kept the groaning citizen firmly restrained while he waited, and a few minutes later the injured officer returned with the citizen's card and an arrest form.
Benash took the information and tucked it into the pocket of his uniform coat. “I'll take him in.”
The injured officer nodded and went back to the guard house while Benash dragged his prisoner away.
The citizen struggled against him and mumbled incoherently through his gag, but another meeting with Benash's fist finally silenced the man. They continued on the long walk to the prison, the sound of an extra set of footsteps odd to Benash's ears as they made their way through the tunnel of trees.
He pretended that he didn't look longingly at the right fork as they passed it.
Nearing the prison, Benash sent out his usual mental greeting along with notice of a new prisoner, so just as the outer gate came into view, Benash saw one of the guards unlocking it and holding it open so Benash could push his prisoner inside.
As the gate clanged shut behind him, Benash almost let out a groan.
Torches lined the tunnel wall, which meant the power was out. Again.
The flickering electric light gave him headaches almost every day, but torchlight didn't quite penetrate all the dark corners of the underground spaces, making the prison feel almost haunted. Yanking a torch from its iron ring, Benash shoved his prisoner forward and they continued their way underground.
They reached the clerk's desk in the main cavern, and two idle officers immediately stepped forward to hold the new prisoner while Benash handed over the arrest report and identification card to the records officer sitting behind the desk.
The balding clerk heaved a sigh of boredom as he looked over the report, then opened an enormous book, flipped the pages until he came to the end of the entries, and started adding a new line. No one said a word until the records officer set down his pen with a nod, and the two officers restraining the prisoner began to search his pockets and strip him. The prisoner struggled and growled through his gag, but not a word was sensible, and despite his best efforts, he wound up standing there completely naked, watching as his clothes were turned inside out and searched again, just to make sure they hadn't missed anything illegal.
Once the man was dressed again, they removed his gag to give him a minute of explanation, but never had a chance to order him to do so as he instantly launched into a shouting tirade.
“You are nothing but a pack of thrice-damned thimblewits!” he roared, the words gushing from his lips. “I was minding my own feet, going to work like everyone else. That gods-damned station guard stopped me for no good reason, and then punched me when I tried to ask what I'd done wrong–”
A breathless groan attested to the fact that the man had been punched again, and while his face was still contorted in pain, he was dragged through another iron gateway and thrown into a cell. Benash watched impassively as the cell door was locked, and as the officers returned through the cavern gateway into the anteroom, the absence of torchlight left the prisoners in that cavern in total darkness.
The matching lack of sound was unnerving, a perfectly abnormal cap to a perfectly abnormal morning.
Benash went off to his post with a heavy sigh.
Tomorrow, he thought, pacing the cavern anxi
ously, unsettled by the disruption to his morning routine. I'll take the right fork tomorrow.
* * *
ON HIS way home that night, Benash stopped where the left fork met the main path and turned around to look at the split, though there wasn't much he could see in the bit of chalky moonlight that filtered down through the trees.
It felt odd, having not had his morning moment of gasping for air while urging himself to take the right fork.
He stared at the shadowy underbrush, half-tempted to wander down the forbidden, unused path, but the weeds were difficult enough to navigate in broad daylight, not to mention he'd just worked twelve hours, felt exhausted, and his stomach grumbled painfully. It would be a pointless waste of time to go stumbling about in the dark when he could simply race to the fork the next morning and take the right path under the rising suns.
Still, he hesitated.
With a weary sigh, he tore himself away, continuing the long march home.
The crowd on the streets was thinner than usual, his hesitation in the forest having set him back longer than he'd realized. A few bent men were shuffling slowly down the street, their heads down and their shoulders rounded with some unseen weight.
So tired, he heard someone think. So, so tired…
Almost there, another man thought, his accidental projection also coming to Benash's mind. Almost there. Food and sleep, that's all you need. Almost there.
Their weariness only served to make Benash more acutely aware of his own, and he found his own shoulders rounding and his head drooping forward as he trudged along with the others.
Gods-damned Elders.
Benash's head snapped up when the projected thought hit him. He couldn't tell quite where it had come from, so he scanned the thin crowd, trying to sense out which man had made the mental curse.
If I could reach a Gate, I'd be off this thrice-damned Isle in a heartbeat, the thought continued. Go to Agoran, choose my own work, choose my own gods-damned wives, for the One's sake! Eat something other than corn, corn, corn! One be praised, I'd like to take all that corn to the Elders and shove it up their–
