Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2)

by J. C. Staudt

  Wax stood aside.

  Merrick knelt at the bedside. “Hi, Kayleigh. My name’s Merrick. I hear you’re not feeling too well.”

  She turned her head to look at him through eyes dull with the ravages of pain. “It hurts. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  He smiled. “I’m going to try something to help you. You’re going to feel warmth, but it should be a good kind of feeling. If the pain gets worse, or if anything doesn’t feel right, I want you to let me know right away. Can you do that for me?”

  She nodded.

  Merrick laid his hands on the girl’s belly.

  “It still hurts,” she said.

  “I haven’t started yet,” he said with a chuckle. He took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to start now.”

  She flinched when the heat came, gripping the sheets with delicate hands, knuckles white. A breath sucked in, and she was panting. She scrunched her face in a tight grimace.

  Merrick was about to stop, but when she said nothing, he continued. “Are you alright?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “I’m fine,” she gasped.

  Something wasn’t right, though. Merrick could feel the heat flowing out of him, but he couldn’t sense whether it was doing any good. Unlike the mutant infant, which had absorbed nothing, this time the energy was going somewhere. He just couldn’t tell where.

  Kayleigh’s hands relaxed, releasing the bunched sheets. She drew in a long breath, chest and belly rising. Merrick felt a kick, saw the skin move around her navel. Her face eased into a smile. She placed her hands beside his at the edges of her stomach. Her cheeks flushed. A tear rolled down from the corner of her eye. “Did you feel it?”

  Merrick nodded.

  “That was the first time I’ve ever felt the baby move.” Her face tightened, and she began to cry.

  Nora, the red-headed woman who’d come to fetch them from the conference room, went around the other side of the bed to comfort her. Merrick stood and backed away to let Wax and Dr. Kapperling move in. They helped Kayleigh sit up so she could blow her nose and wipe her eyes. “I feel so much better now,” she said.

  “Is the baby going to be alright?” Nora asked.

  Merrick was no doctor, but she certainly looked less feverish than before. He could feel the sleep coming on, though the urge wasn’t so strong that he couldn’t resist it for a little longer. It wasn’t dark outside yet, and he still wanted to go down to the street and perform a few healings.

  Dr. Kapperling scratched his head, his expression blank with disbelief. “It seems Mr. Bouchard has righted whatever was wrong—for now, at least.”

  Merrick stared at him. “For now? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Further complications can always manifest themselves later in the pregnancy. I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on her, and I recommend you do the same.”

  “I think that’s a fine idea,” said Wax. He turned to Shelder Depliades. “Make up a bed for Mr. Bouchard in the spare room. I want him here around the clock to watch over Kayleigh.”

  “What was that?” Merrick said. “Did I just hear you give an order, like you’re still in charge around here?”

  “Old habits,” Wax said smugly.

  “I’m not your nurse, and I’m not staying holed up in here while there’s so much else that needs to be done.”

  “This is more important than any of that. This is the future. Everything else is noise. Distraction. You’re in a fortunate position, Mr. Bouchard. You can take whatever you want from us, and we can’t stop you. But you also have a responsibility to give. This world needs heroes, if you haven’t noticed. If you refuse to become one—if you refuse to face our most pressing problems using all the tools available to you—you’re letting your uniqueness go to waste.”

  “Spare me the ‘you’re special’ bullshit. I’m not a hero. I never asked for this. And you’re already dead, so I suggest you keep your proselytizing to yourself. Once I know enough to take your place, I’ll give you the peaceful death I promised. In the meantime, I didn’t ask you for tips on how to be a nice person.”

  “Alright, Commissar Bouchard,” said Wax, standing. “You want to get things done? Command your officers to do something.”

  “Is there any kind of jail in this building?” Merrick asked.

  Wax shook his head. “The prison, which you’re familiar with, is located several blocks away. It’s been cleaned up and reopened for business. Why do you ask?”

  “Never mind,” Merrick said. “I’d throw you in it, if I wasn’t so sure one of your loyal cronies would liberate you along the way, or spring you out once you got there. Shelder, summon the officers from downstairs and tell them to meet us in the tower lobby. We’re going outside. It’s about time I started showing these people who rules North Belmond.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Secrets of the Child

  There was a small motel in Bradsleigh called the Acacia Lodge, a double-decker rectangle with a balcony walkway, a burnt-out neon sign, and a gangrenous swimming pool in the back. Raith and the Sons spent the last tradable goods they could spare to purchase a couple of nights in the stale-mattress comfort of a three-room set on the top floor. They slept two to a bed, four to a room, and boarded the horses at a nearby stable while the ever-reclusive Borain Guaidir camped outside town. Raith knew they could’ve roughed it and camped with him, but the luxury of a real bed was something they’d had all too seldom lately.

  The thirteenth man among them slept on the floor. That man was Jiren Oliver, who was still no better than the day Merrick brought him back from death. He still didn’t sleep, either—not as far as anyone could tell. If you left him standing somewhere, he’d eventually sit. If you fed him, he’d chew; if you dug a hole in the sand and helped him unbuckle his belt, he’d oblige your wishes like the star student in some potty-training class for toddlers. If you laid him down, he’d stay there with his eyes open, staring at nothing. Then, sometimes, he’d drift off into a state of semi-awareness.

  After a series of late-night discussions, most of which had broken out into arguments, Raith and the others were still undecided on what to do—about Jiren’s future, or their own. So it came as a shock to Raith when one day, while he was collecting water from the trickling stream in Bradsleigh’s underground well, he heard footsteps coming down the stone stairs and turned to see Savannah Glaive entering the small rocky cave behind him. For an instant he thought she’d come for water. That theory vanished when he saw no container in her hands.

  “Tell me about my mother,” she said. Then, after a few seconds, as if it were an afterthought: “I’m sorry about the other day. It’s just… I can’t afford to be trusting of strangers, the way things are. We’ve got hired hands to work the pastures and guard the livestock, but in the house… it’s just me. I had to make sure you weren’t up to no good.”

  “I understand. You’re fortunate to have Arnie and his men around to help you, in case anyone ever is up to no good.”

  Savannah wrinkled her nose. “Arnie is a creep. He and every other bachelor in this town… My dad’s body was hardly cold in the ground before they all swooped in trying to win me over. What they really want is my fortune… or what they think is my fortune, thanks to a whole lot of idle rumor-mongering. But Arnie, he’s the worst. He’s got this fatherly thing, where he wants you to think he’s trying to take care of you, but it’s all totally fake. He’s always putting his hands on me, lurking around the house and then saying he’s just checking on things to make sure I’m safe. It drives me crazy.”

  Watching her speak—the slender cheekbones, the dark hair, the way she tucked her bottom lip whenever something troubled her—Raith knew this was Myri’s daughter beyond a doubt. It was like looking at a picture of Myri from decades earlier. The epiphany put a flutter in his chest. He found himself stunned, unable to answer.

  Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, mister?”

  “No,” he said, snapping out of it. “
You’re right to be wary of a man like that. And you were right to be wary of my companions and me when we arrived. What made you change your mind?”

  “Troublemakers come through Bradsleigh all the time,” she said. “It never takes them long to stir it up. You’ve been here three days now, and the worst trouble I’ve seen you get into was when your slow-minded friend pissed on the town hall steps.”

  “He wasn’t always like that,” Raith said. “A man—someone who I believe must be your half-brother—brought him back from the dead.”

  Savannah laughed, loud and sudden, as if she thought Raith was making a joke. When she saw he wasn’t smiling, she sobered.

  “I know it sounds ridiculous,” Raith said. “You wanted to know about your mother. This is where she comes in. I’ll tell you everything I know about her, and everything I’ve been able to piece together about her life, if you want to hear it.”

  Savannah nodded eagerly. “Let’s go to my house, though. People are always coming in and out of here. Not a good place to talk. Nowhere to sit, either.”

  “I’d better get back with this water first,” Raith said. “The others are waiting on me.”

  “You came all the way down here for water and you’re not going to wash your hands?”

  Raith held them out, flipped them over. “They’re always like this. It’s a Decylum thing. Your mom’s hands were never like this, were they?”

  “Nope. Not that I can remember. You sure you’ve got the right person?”

  Raith was sure. She was a healer, he might’ve said. But if Savannah didn’t know that already, either he was wrong about her, or Myriad had done an astounding job hiding her gift. The fingernails never grew back, as far as he knew. Of course, he’d never seen a healer try… “I really should drop this off. They’ll be wondering what happened to me.”

  She frowned. “Please don’t invite them all over. I’m not in the mood to feed and entertain a dozen guests.”

  “I’ll make up an excuse. Meet you there in ten minutes.”

  Six-and-a-half minutes later, Raith was seated in Savannah’s living room with a warm mug of tea in his hands, inhaling its sweet fragrance. Savannah came in with her own mug and sat in the armchair across from him, toned young body silhouetted beneath a thin yellow dress. Raith tried not to notice, but he couldn’t help sparing a glance. She was barely a woman, young enough to be his granddaughter. Yet the memory of Myriad at that age, and the stunning likeness between them, were enough to make his blood run hot.

  “Thank you for coming to talk with me,” Savannah said, cross-legged in the immense cushioned chair. “Again, I’m sorry about the other day, I—”

  “It’s nothing,” Raith said. “You had every right to feel the way you did.”

  She nodded softly. “So… my mother’s name was Myriad.”

  “Yes. We grew up together… in a manner of speaking. She was a healer; one of Decylum’s few. Healers age slower than the rest of us. They advance through childhood and adolescence at a normal rate. When they reach early adulthood, their aging begins to flag. In her case, the discrepancy became quite apparent early on. Although I was several years her junior, I looked a decade older by the time she left.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “She was always so full of wisdom,” Raith said. “Others revered her for it. Even her elders. She was granted a place on Decylum’s council, where she served for several years. Although the other councilors respected her a great deal, she never felt she belonged there. She always knew how to handle any problem; always arranged solutions that best served our citizens. But she was restless, too. Looking for more. She felt she was destined for greater things. Things she could never find in Decylum. And so, one day, she left.”

  “Who were her parents? My grandparents?”

  “Scientists. Nearly all our parents were, in those days. Some were technicians and maintenance workers, but the vast majority were scientists, working for the Ministry. Your grandparents’ names were Caius and… let me see.” Raith gave an embarrassed chuckle and scratched his chin, where the beard had grown thick and oily. “It’s been a long time. Hana. That was her mother’s name. Hana and Caius Ficari.”

  “Did they have the same… powers?”

  “Her mother was a blackhand. A healer. Her father, no.”

  “And they’re both gone now?”

  Raith nodded. “They were older already, by the time they met and had a daughter. Caius died not long ago, actually. Three years, maybe. Hana was different. She died before Myriad left. It was a sickness. Not unlike the one you describe your mother having. She wasted away over a long period of time, until her body finally gave in. I remember thinking it was as if she’d given so much of herself—healed so many—that she ran out of… whatever it was that kept her going. By the end, she had nothing left. And I mean that in a more literal sense than you might think. Just looking at her, you could tell she was… drained.”

  Savannah was quiet for a moment. “So my mother left, and you never heard from her again after that?”

  “Not until we made contact with the people of Belmond. I ran into a man I believe is her son.”

  “The half-brother. Who brought your friend back,” said Savannah, her voice hinting at skepticism.

  “It was a chance meeting, really. I believe the fates have a hand in everything we do. There was a reason we found him. And I suppose there must be a reason I found you.”

  “I don’t know if I believe in all that stuff,” Savannah said. “The fates; what’s meant to happen, and what isn’t.”

  “Disbelief in the fates is no reason to underestimate the larger forces at work in our lives,” Raith said. “I never expected to find Myriad’s child in Belmond. And I certainly didn’t expect to find you here. We’re bound together, and Myriad is the thread that connects us. She left Decylum searching for something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, but I wonder about it constantly.”

  “Well if she found it here, she never told us. And she never did anything about it.”

  “You said you had theories as to why she left. Is there anything that sticks out in your mind? Anything you haven’t told me?”

  Savannah sipped her tea. “There is one thing. I never thought much of it until you showed up.”

  Raith leaned forward and set his teacup on the coffee table. “Whatever you remember… there’s a chance it could be important.”

  Savannah sighed and set her tea down as well. “I think my dad always wondered whether she’d found someone else, although he never admitted it. The theory we settled on was that she felt her sickness was a burden on us, and she went somewhere to… to die. On the morning it happened, the door to the study was open. You know, the hidden one I showed you. It was cracked, just an inch. I think I mentioned my dad never went in there. Uncle Toler loved it, but Uncle Toler hadn’t been home in days, and I remember the door being closed when I went to bed the night before. I mentioned it to dad, so he went inside for a look, but nothing was missing or out of place. At least nothing that he could tell. He didn’t think it meant anything, so he just kind of dismissed it.”

  “So you think your mother was in the study just before she left.”

  “… I think so. Like I said, it’s been a long time.”

  “But the door was open. You remember that clearly.”

  “Clearly,” she said, nodding.

  Raith stood. “At the risk of offending you… would you mind if I take another look?”

  Savannah rose and led him to the bookshelf, which she opened using the same trigger as before. Raith went inside, circled the small room for several minutes, inspected the shelves, and stared up at the high ceiling. “There’s got to be something more,” he said. “Something you missed. You don’t think it’s possible there are any hidden compartments in here, do you?”

  Savannah gave him a dry look. “I’ve been living here since I was born. There isn’t a crack in the plaster I don’t know
about.”

  “If Myriad lived here all those years, as you say, she must’ve been trying to find out something about Decylum’s history or purpose. Perhaps she was looking for the same thing that brought us here—a chance to learn from the facility’s original architects. The Glaives.”

  Savannah frowned. “You make it sound like she was using us.”

  Raith knew Savannah didn’t want to believe that. The trouble was, he didn’t know whether he believed it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest she was insincere. I’m only considering the possibility that one day, she found what she was looking for. Who knows what she was after, or what she intended to do with it. You’re sure there’s nowhere else your dad might’ve been storing old paperwork or documents or records?”

  She pondered. “I just thought of this this morning. My family has a shipping yard a ways outside town. It’s fenced in, though, and my dad took the keys with him when he left. He always kept those keys close. There are hundreds of shipping crates in there, like the kind the trade caravans use. There’s also the old company office. It’s all run-down now, but there’s a chance something could be in there. I don’t think I’ve been inside but once or twice, come to think of it.”

  “Will you take me there?”

  A few minutes later they were standing outside the tall chain-link fence, regarding the rows of stacked shipping crates beyond. The gate was chained and padlocked—at least fifteen feet high, by Raith’s reckoning. A coil of razorwire ran along the top.

  “Did your father ever come here?”

  “Not really, except when drifters would get through the fence and nest in the stacks. You can see where they had to mend it in a few spots after people cut through it.”

  Raith nodded. “And your dad always kept the keys close?”

  “Yeah. Uncle Toler works for Vantanible. Dad was always paranoid about him coming by to steal the crates. Half of them were his, technically, but… they had a falling out a while back and Dad wouldn’t give in.”