I noticed then, that he was hard, that the erection was relatively visible through his jeans, but he didn’t attempt to cover it up. His gaze drifted out the window, to where mine had been. I watched him prop his elbow on the edge where the door met the glass, leaning his jaw against his palm as he watched the scenery shift by through the tinted window.
He didn’t look at me again.
In fact, no one in the car spoke at all. The limo sped out onto the slick tarmac of a runway some forty minutes later, pulling up next to a non-commercial jet plane with no logos or markings on its wings or tail, not even those of the make and model of the craft itself. I stared up at the darkened oval door to its interior, and felt another glimmer of trepidation.
I found myself watching his face again, studying his expression, but he didn’t return my gaze. He took my hand when the limo door opened, getting out before me and then helping me through the door, still without meeting my eyes.
“Revik,” I said softly. “Please, baby… what is it?”
I knew what was wrong by then, though. I knew.
His fingers tightened, but he didn’t answer.
The others trailed behind us as he led me to the rolling staircase someone brought up to lean against the side of the plane. Through all of it, he still wouldn’t look at me.
It didn’t occur to me until later that he didn’t just feel angry, or even sad.
He felt broken somehow.
I have no words for how much worse that brokenness felt.
29
TORTURE
“YOU ARE LOOKING at the main hangar now, ilya…” Garensche waved an arm out over the catwalk as the underground structure emerged into our view.
The sheer size of it stunned me, especially given that the entire cavern had been carved out of the base of a mountain. Rows of fighter jets ran down the length of the hangar-like space, their lines visible for the half of the cave I could actually see from where we stood, suspended several stories above the floor.
I remembered a space like this in southwestern China, where Salinse’s people brought seer refugees following the bombing of Seertown. Wreg brought me, accompanied by Jon and Chandre and about thirty Rebel infiltrators, many of whom were wounded from firefights on the streets of Washington D.C. That had been right after the closing of U.S. borders to seers, and right before we relocated everyone to the Pamir.
Ironically, it was at there that we’d been reunited with Balidor and the remnants of the Adhipan and Seven. After Revik disappeared, we all seemed to be on the same side.
Although I’d been blindfolded for much of the trip here, I already knew this wasn’t the same set of caves. This hangar alone had to be five times the size of the one I remembered––which made me wonder again just how much infrastructure Salinse and his people had scattered across Asia.
The people moving below us looked like ants.
“We have another fleet of planes in northwestern China,” Garensche added, as if seeing the bewilderment in my eyes. “Only about half of those have been retrofitted with organics, though. The boss is working on getting us some larger transport planes. Money’s not the issue so much as needing to work through proxies. Can’t buy the armored version if you’re a seer, so he’s got a contact in Britain who’s helping us broker the deal.”
I stared down, swallowing at the sword and sun insignia I saw painted on each wing of the two seaters. I let my eyes run over crates that stood taller than me, knowing they were likely filled with small arms, ammunition, grenades, flyers––along with bombs, rockets, missile launchers, and gods knew what else.
Garensche seemed to feel my reaction that time, too. He squeezed my shoulder in his mitt-like hand, sending a pulse of warmth through his fingers.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t worry so much, ilya. You haven’t seen the boss use any of this… have you? He’s just cautious.”
“Cautious,” I muttered, gazing back over the length of the hangar. Taking in a row of mounted guns on armored tanks, I exhaled, shaking my head.
“You’re right, Gar,” I said after another pause. “I haven’t seen him use most of this. No planes. No tanks. No chemical weapons. No missiles.” My jaw tightened. “Just bombs in five-star hotels. And state buildings. Embassies. SCARB outposts. I’ve seen him blow up cars. Indiscriminately gun down humans.”
Garensche shrugged with one hand. His expression grew inscrutable.
“He had lists even then, you know,” the mountainous seer said.
When I turned, he looked at me, his hazel eyes holding a faint steel I’d never seen, not in him anyway, not before I’d known him with the Rebels.
“…Nothing indiscriminate about it, ilya,” he added. “He was pretty specific. We let a lot of worms walk out without a scratch in every one of those ops. That night in Delhi, too.”
I frowned. “He had lists?” I said.
“He did. He was pretty specific, like I said.”
I gripped the rail tighter. Shaking my head, I bit my lip, then said it anyway. “And who made the lists? What crimes did they have to commit, brother Gar?”
If he heard the bitterness in my words, he ignored it, speaking bluntly.
“Trading seers. Children and females, mostly,” he said. “A few were long-term on the payroll of the traders––or in direct business with them. Those media fucks spread disinformation. They show the real faces of our people, hoping to get them gunned down like animals––focusing on the ones who threaten their businesses, or their control over us. That night in Delhi, the boss let a lot of reporters and smaller presses go––including black market feeds, at least the ones who tell the truth. Among the government-types, he only targeted those we knew were on the payroll of Black Arrow or SCARB.” His eyes hardened. “He didn’t kill everyone that night, Allie. Or weren’t you paying attention?”
“He killed enough.”
Garensche clicked softly. “You’re pretty quick to put it all on the boss. And how many do they kill? Do you ask yourself that?”
I turned, still gripping the guardrail. “How much is too much, Garensche?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I might ask you the same question.”
I felt my jaw clench, but I didn’t answer.
Staring back over the hangar, I focused on the tanks, frustrated as it hit me that I didn’t fully disagree with him. I wanted to believe my confusion came of being here, of sharing the construct with the rest of them, but I didn’t believe that, either.
I’d read about the camps. I’d had my eyes opened to some of the darker realities of the human system of “regulation” over seers for awhile now. Moreover, I knew most of my seer friends had suffered under that system, to lesser and greater degrees.
That being said, I also wasn’t fully on board with the ends justifies the means crowd.
Garensche sighed. Gripping my shoulder again in one of his massive hands, he shook me gently.
“Will you two kids make up, damn it?” His voice grew openly frustrated. “You should be talking to the boss about this, not me. You should be asking him what he wants, and why he’s doing things the way he is.” Grimacing, he shook me again. “It’s fucking painful, watching the both of you. Like being forced to witness torture.”
“Torture,” I said, frowning out over the catwalk. “Funny you would say that.”
“What happened with the two of you, anyway?” he said, his voice showing more emotion. “He won’t tell us a damned thing.”
“Where is he now, Garensche?” I said, looking up at him. Seeing him frown, I averted my eyes. “…speaking of torture.”
“You know where he is. He’s talking to Feigran.”
“Talking to him.” I bit the inside of my cheek, nodding. “And what does that entail, exactly, Gar? Do you know?”
“You want to see?”
I looked up, not hiding my surprise.
“Yes,” I said, straightening. “Yes, I would.”
He waved a thick hand, indicating for me to follow hi
m.
I’d been at the compound for over a week.
I hadn’t seen Revik alone more than a handful of minutes since I’d arrived. He’d given me an enormous room filled with organics, access to every legal and black market feed in existence, more clothes than I could wear in a year, a private bathroom, a fully stocked electronic library and office, a personal assistant to see to any need I might have.
He’d also given me a king-sized bed he hadn’t once visited.
He showed up at my door every morning and provided me with as many options as I wanted for the day––politely, of course. He offered me guides, plane tours of the surrounding area, any kind of pampering I wanted, access to shooting ranges, to his sparring classes, any records I wanted to see, access to any room or database in the compound.
There were few exceptions––far fewer than I’d expected, truthfully.
I’d only really been told no once, and even that was a soft no, not a hard one.
I’d asked about a guarded area of the compound we passed on one of my many tours. I was told it belonged to Salinse, and was strictly off-limits to anyone not specifically authorized to be there. Revik was apologetic even about that, and offered to arrange for a formal introduction, if I wanted to meet the aged seer. However, he warned, if I simply “showed up,” I should expect not to be seen––which struck me as common sense, honestly.
The ban on ops still seemed to be in effect, from what Garensche told me.
It was as if his letter had been the last communication between us, with one exception. He didn’t come anywhere near me when we weren’t surrounded by other people. He ate with us in the restaurant-like mess hall that boasted a stunning view of the valley and truly excellent food. He walked with me and others on many of the tours I’d gotten around the base, including of the command center, residency halls, rec areas, swimming pool, gym.
We’d played chess one night, in one of the common rooms, again surrounded by other seers.
He’d even taken me flying with him.
We still hadn’t talked about anything substantive, though, and he hadn’t touched me beyond a few brushes to my arms and hands, usually to help me in and out of doors, pull out a chair, take my coat, offer me something. Once, he’d put his arm around me to show me a throwing move in mulei. He’d laid a hand on mine briefly when he let me take the stick in his plane.
Like today, he’d also left a number of times to “talk” to Feigran.
He’d been fairly open with me about where he was going. He’d also made it abundantly clear he didn’t want me along.
He mentioned once that he thought he might be making progress.
When I asked him with what, his answers grew increasingly vague.
Thinking about all of this now, I felt my breath shorten as Garensche led me back to the stairs, taking me down to the ground floor of the hangar, then several floors below that. After the third of those, we popped out in a stone corridor with rough walls and a cement floor.
Again, I found myself overwhelmed by the sheer size of the compound.
I followed the broad-shouldered seer past a number of organic doors with view holes into what had to be cells. We finally stopped in front of one that had no window at all. Using his handprint to open the door, Garensche jerked his chin for me to follow as the organics melted to reveal an oval opening in the stone-like surface.
I followed him through warily, surprised when I found myself standing inside what looked more like a control room than a cell.
My eyes were drawn to my right and down.
An observation window made up most of that wall. The view through it looked down upon a square, featureless room with organic walls. The floor of that second room started a few feet below the one on which we stood. It looked more like a cell––or an interrogation room.
In terms of the layout, it wasn’t all that dissimilar to where we’d kept Feigran in Seertown, after Balidor converted one of the cave rooms.
Inside, I saw Revik. He sat backwards on a brushed metal chair, his chin resting on his forearms, which rested on the organic chair’s back. My eyes followed his to where they focused on the seer sitting on the floor near him.
Feigran wore a collar, but he wasn’t cuffed.
He didn’t look bruised, sleep deprived, or underfed.
I felt something in me relax.
Then I looked back at Revik, trying to decide what I could see in his face. His eyes remained on the seer on the floor. I saw his lips moving then, and realized they were talking.
Garensche sat in one of the control room chairs, indicating for me to join him in the adjacent seat. I lowered my weight next to his, without looking away from the window.
“Want to listen?” he said, gesturing towards the panel.
I nodded, my eyes still on Revik. His face looked concentrated, but not angry. In fact, if anything, he looked thoughtful. He looked like he was trying to make up his mind about something, or maybe listening, trying to understand.
“…and you can’t remember any further back?” he said, as the sound rose in the room below. His voice was deep, carrying the German accent. “What about your mother?”
Feigran wiped his face, sniffing a little. I realized he was crying.
“No,” he said. “No, brother.”
“Take your time. It’s all right… truly. I don’t expect it will come back all at once.”
I swallowed a little, surprised by the empathy I heard in his voice.
Terian, or Feigran, shook his head again, rubbing his face.
“It won’t come back.” His voice grew thicker, more incoherent. “Monsters. Monsters under the bed. Gnawing bones. Eating—”
“Okay.” Revik held up a hand, his voice still calm. “Okay. We’ll leave that one alone then, my brother. Don’t let me upset you. There are no monsters here.”
“Monsters…” Terian muttered again, wiping his face.
Revik measured him again with his eyes. I still saw more empathy than anything else in his eyes as he gazed at the other seer. A sharper grief rose in his face as I watched. It grew prominent, then faded, right after he firmed his mouth.
“Can you tell me anything about your first memories of Galaith?” he said. “That was when things got better for you, yes? Do you remember how he found you?”
“Brother, I cannot…”
Revik held up a hand. “I am sorry,” he said, softer. “I’m pushing you, and I am sorry. It’s just that we don’t have much time. We must know what is coming. You are one of the few who can see so far, brother. We need you.”
“I know. I know…” Feigran’s face screwed up, making him look even younger. His eyes still reflected agitation, along with a kind of frustrated concentration. “I am sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Revik said. “It’s all right, Feigran. I know you have been through a lot. I know how hard it’s been. It’s just that you have a gift––”
“I know.” Feigran’s voice grew more agitated. “I want to help you, brother. You know I do. I am so sorry. So sorry I am useless to you.”
“You’re not useless,” Revik assured him. “We’re brothers. I’m not angry, Feigran. I am trying to help. I will never stop trying to help you.”
My chest tightened. His words affected me, brought a pain to my light, catching me off guard––but it was more than that, too. When Revik said brothers, it hadn’t sounded figurative.
He believed it. He believed Feigran was one of the Four.
Looking at the two of them together, I realized I believed it, too.
“I know,” Feigran said again. “I know.” He sniffed, rubbing his face with dirty hands. “You’re a good man, brother. A good man.”
His eyes filled with tears while I watched.
I bit my lip, fighting bewilderment, along with an emotional reaction that worsened the pain in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Their interaction touched me, deeper than I could have explained to myself, but my mind kept wanting to intervene. Ter
ian had tortured Revik for months. He’d tortured Jon and Cass, nearly killing all three of them. He’d kidnapped me, raped me in D.C. He’d beaten me, losing control at one point until he nearly killed me.
I was genuinely glad Revik wasn’t exacting revenge, but I couldn’t help but be confused as I watched the two of them look at one another.
For a few minutes, Feigran just cried, gripping his long auburn hair in his hands as he shook uncontrollably.
I wondered if Revik had him drugged.
Feigran’s body looked less sick, though. He looked like he’d been eating better, even since we’d left China. His fingers were still bloody, like they had been in the Forbidden City, but I found myself doubting Revik had anything to do with that. A fresh pad of paper lay beside him on the floor of the cell, along with the one Jon had given him out of pity in Nepal.
I saw sticks of charcoal littering the floor, too, next to a half-full bottle of water.
The older pad, the one Jon had given him, lay open to a half-finished drawing. Staring at it, I realized in surprise that it was of me.
In it, I wore the hanfu dress I’d worn the day I left the Forbidden City. I was sitting on the seat of a limousine, watching a man whose half-finished outline looked a lot like Revik’s. He stared out the window of the car, his jaw propped on his palm.
The only part of the face he’d finished were the eyes. They looked sad.
My throat closed as I stared at it. Then I noticed something else, like a shadow out the window of the car. The beginnings of a face that might have been Voi Pai’s hung there, as if looking over Revik and me. Even as I thought it, Feigran fingered the pages, flipping them absently with one hand, still holding his other hand over his eyes.
Revik just sat there, silent.
I felt it, though, with my light. He exuded calm, a kind of warmth-filled peace. It filled the cell below, softening the grief that lived around Feigran.
Understanding lived there. Forgiveness, too.
He was creating a space for Feigran to remember. He was giving him the sense of safety he needed to let down his defenses. The subtlety of the cloud shocked me a little. Woven through it, I distinctly tasted qualities of him––the real him, the Revik I knew. I felt the genuineness behind it, the warmth of his compassion.
Sword Page 33
