She could bring death.
I would still fight.
My father had done more, after all. The tiny piece of memory and history was both comforting and frightening.
“They said you couldn’t be broken. They tried to convince me you weren’t The Oheň's partner,” Nastya’s taunt pulled me from my memory as she began to pace alongside the bed, leaving me to look at the water-stained ceiling above her. “They were wrong, weren’t they? I showed them that.”
“You showed them…” Once again the words were swallowed by whatever was lodged in my mouth, what I was sure was a large amount of drugs still making everything move twice as slow.
“Oh no,” She cooed, “I showed them you could be broken. You showed them what you really are.”
My heartbeat was thunder in my ears, the fateful organ giving me away as the machines beeped faster. Nastya’s smile grew, and yet the once familiar buzz of my magic never picked up. I could feel the warmth, but it was sludge inside of me.
Whatever they had given me was doing more than slowing my thoughts and speech.
It was slowing me.
It was stopping me.
They had figured it out. They had found their drug before we could make our escape.
They had won.
“Now,” she continued, “The question is who will be right this time.”
She paused as if waiting for me to question her. Her focus was not on me, but on all of those who stood behind the glass, their figures still fuzzy and broken in my peripheral vision.
“Will Commander Domor be right, and now that we have been able to take control, you will give me the power.” She paused, her pace slowing as she hovered over me again. “Or will I be right, and I will have to find a way to use you. To create you into exactly what I’ve always wanted.”
Rage broke past the drugs, the world beginning to spin again as the sludge of my magic bubbled. Although I knew it was in desperation, I fought. I pushed against the bed with everything that I had, head and hands barely moving as I screamed through the block in my mouth, suddenly realizing what it was, and why it was there.
“No,” I yelled through the mouth guard, continuing to fight against the bands as she came to sit beside me.
The bed sagged under her weight, springs creaking loudly as whatever archaic device I had been strapped to groaned and threatened to collapse.
“No?” She asked, the single word sounding like a nail in a coffin.
“Will you give me the power then?” She ran her hand over the skin of my arm, and I flinched, the angry magic alive for that one moment as I tried to get away. Before I could control it, before I could hide it, however, it was gone. Crawled into some hole inside of me.
Even if I could control the magic, even if I could give her this power.
I wasn’t going to.
“No,” I said, firmer this time.
While I saw her flinch a bit from where she sat beside me, the motion was small and quickly overshadowed by the wide joy that spread over her face.
“Does that mean I am right, again?” She said with a laugh, the false sound grating against my bones. “Am I going to have the pleasure of creating you into my own personal weapon?”
Fear gripped me, but I couldn’t look away. I wouldn’t.
“No,” I growled, knowing the word meant nothing. Not really.
“Oh, yes,” she cooed, her voice as soft as the fingertip that was running down my jaw bone.
I bit down hard on the mouth guard, fighting against the touch.
Instead, with a nod from Nastya, I was faced with fighting something even worse.
Cold metal bulbs were placed on my temples, echoes of sparks broke sounded in my ears, fear rippling over my skin as the bulbs began to heat, the sound a warning for what was about to happen.
“I found this machine years ago, in an old auction. I always thought it was beautiful, aggressive. I can’t wait to use it on you.”
Still, I did not look away from her. I did not close my eyes. I glowered as she smiled, the buzzing heat beginning to grow against my skin.
“I saw the electricity pour from you,” Nastya whispered as she leaned over me, her hand flat against my bare chest. “I have seen the pictures. You have lightning inside of you, and the way I see it, lightning loves a party.”
“No,” I said again, making the word as clear as I could.
“You will become a weapon, a creature I can use. Or you will tell me who she is - and then I will take it from her.”
“No!” The defiance faded as panic took over, the emotion smashing against me as I hit against the restraints as the buzzing grew to a charge that ricocheted inside my head, that split my bones. I shook against the restraints, no longer fighting them, no longer in control of my magic. No longer in control of myself.
I was only a painful fire.
The pain lasted for a second before it ebbed, the room swimming and sparking as something smoked from nearby.
“Go again,” I heard Nastya whisper, “go higher, and someone bring me a scalpel.”
The words felt far away before the pain returned, everything shaking and burning as I willingly let the black take me, only faintly wondering if I would be gone hours or years, or if I would be gone for good.
11
“Come back!” The shout was shrill, filled with both irritation and giggles, something that wasn’t that surprising given the age of the child who was chasing after me.
She couldn’t be more than five, her frame diminished in the large ornate dress she wore. Bustles and petifores and who knows what else were making her pursuit that much more difficult. She didn’t seem to care, she just giggled more, tripping as she ran.
Her giggles chased away Nastya’s laugh. The electricity that burned through me faded away to nothing, the grey walls and laughing men dissolving into stone walls and cobblestones. Reality was gone as I ran through this street, chased by a child I could already tell I adored more than anything.
“Come and get me, Ovailia.” My own voice was unfamiliar with the sound behind it, my laugh was something I had never heard before. Not in the life I spent strapped to a hospital bed, not in the pieces of a life I had been dreaming of for months.
There had been so much pain before, but in this memory there was pure joy as this tiny child chased me. She tripped again, sending many of the blossoms that were weaved through her braid tumbling to the ground. I had put the plait into her long blonde hair that morning, the twisted design one I had mastered years before. The flowers tumbled as we ran, leaving a trail of color behind us.
Our laughs joined together, causing a woman in a long grey dress to smile before we turned into a large courtyard. Hammers and shouts filled the wide street, the construction of the church Jan Hus had been building for the last few months slowly taking shape. I slowed to dart around a few workers as they carted wood and stones toward the site; Ovailia’s laugh growing louder as she caught up.
The courtyard was filled with working surfs and the bohemian royalty, the tunics and massive ornate dresses filling the grey stone world with pops of color.
It was an image out of a storybook, something you read about and imagined being a part of as a child. A renaissance world, tucked into a quaint European village. Except, it wasn’t any European village, it wasn’t some fantastical delusion. This was real. This was familiar.
Yes, I had seen it in the images Detective Bondar had shown me for months, but here the steeple of the church hadn’t been built and the white spackled houses and red roofs were more faded paint and thatch work. But, it was still the same.
The same city, the same streets, being built hundreds of years before they would be turned into nothing but ruin.
I knew this place.
As I ran through the wide alleys of my memories, dodged around statues and over fountains. I knew it was home.
“Brother!” The little girl, Ovailia, screamed from behind me and I turned, the sudden disappearance of her joy f
rightening to me.
Magic rushed to my fingertips, the power scaring me as I ran back to where the girl was, her path blocked by three men in long black cloaks.
I tensed as I stared at the men, the fear that gripped me only heightening the knowledge that I had no idea of who they were or why they were there. One of those answers whispered to me through the memory, knocking against my chest in a flash. The religious zealots giving me the same fear and hatred I felt at seeing them there.
Hussites.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” I was polite, calm, and yet I could distinctly feel the strength of my magic growing as I drew their attention away from the girl.
They turned toward me as one, black robes swishing, their movement sending Ovailia to my legs as she tried to hide behind them.
“That is an interesting plait the girl has.” One of the men said, his dark eyes not leaving my sister.
It seemed odd to have my memory recall her as my sister. She was a child and I was a full grown man. A man walking in a time that was obviously centuries before. Aliens or not, there was something about this that I knew was right, this time, this life. It wasn’t just in delusion.
“Many of the girls in staré město have braids such as this.” I was firm as I stared them down. The power in my hands grew as I pushed Ovailia behind me.
The strength of my power was more than I had felt in the hospital, more than when I had attacked Bondar in the interrogation room. How could I control such a surge of magic, how was I keeping it inside of me without even a spark escaping past my fingers. The control I had in this memory scared me almost more than the power did.
“Not like this,” another of the Hussites said, the heavily robed man looking us up and down. “This has too many strands, and that there,” he pointed to a twist in the braid, Ovailia shying away from his judgmental gesture. “This is not what those who believe do.”
“Believe in what?” The calm in my voice was leaving, the threat of anger bringing a snarl to every syllable.
I was sure the men heard it, but they only smiled, the threat meaning nothing to them. Even through the shadow of thought and memory, I knew these men were dangerous. The situation growing more so as the altercation garnered the attention of many others in the square, several of those who believed as they did coming forward.
Ovailia hid against my legs at the rise in focus, but I stood straighter, I wasn’t going to back down.
The men stared at us, a look of knowing that I couldn’t quite place taking over their eyes. There was an eagerness there, a bloodthirsty power that made my skin crawl. I waited, desperate for my memory to provide me with some other detail, nothing came but a sensation of danger and a thought of fire.
Fire.
They had burned many of my people as punishment of our mortal sins.
The Hussites straightened their shoulders, the one in the center stepping toward me. The move was meant to intimidate me, it did little of that. Instead, the heat in my hands flared and I clenched them, the subtle movement not missed, although the man foolishly flinched in preparation for a hit.
“Do you seek to fight me?” he snarled.
I shook my head, realizing as more people began to take notice that this was becoming a dangerous situation.
“No,” I said calmly, “I seek to take my sister home. I seek to continue our game and then enjoy a turnip stew. I mean you no harm.”
The absence of anger in my voice sent a ripple of confusion through the Hussites, the three men looking between themselves before glowering at us. Ovailia’s tiny hands clung to the hem of my tunic, a faint shake accompanying a low sob and the smell of burnt cloth.
The smell was acidic and brought another worry, I wasn’t the only one who was having trouble restraining my magic from the fear.
The thought was confusing to me as I watched this memory, as I was stuck in it. The idea that a child could have the same power I did, the same power I had been working so hard to control, was impossible.
One look at her, and even without all of my memories I could see the power in her. I could see the strength. I could also see the impending explosion. Just as I hadn’t mastered the power from the restraints of my bed, neither had she.
Heart clenching in fear, tension rippled over my back as the men stepped closer, as I stared at their eyes.
“You created harm,” the one in the middle spoke again, his voice a harsh warning.
There was so much of this that I didn’t understand, no matter how many threads of memory I tried to pull at.
“Fly home, Ovailia.”
I felt a strong pulse of warmth before the weight on my back left, Ovailia’s presence vanishing just as my magic flared in a brilliant explosion of white light. Screams echoed in my head, the light consuming everything before they both began to fade away, leaving me in darkness.
The light had gone. The screams had vanished. There was only a soft mattress pressed against me and the scratchy comfort of a blanket.
For a moment I thought I had woken and that whatever nightmare I had escaped and whatever dreams my mind gave me, were gone.
But then I heard her sobs.
I felt her body against mine.
“I am here, mi Lasko,” I whispered, my voice a balm in the dark as I pulled her to me. “You are safe Joclyn.”
I spoke the words, but she continued to whimper, my worry in the moment mixing with the confusion of the recall.
I knew it was her, I had felt her small body against me before now, I had smelled her hair so often that it followed me into reality, becoming an anchor as I lay restrained to a hospital bed.
It may be her, but I had never seen her like this before. Something was wrong.
As I lay there in memory I could feel my concern, the worry wrapped up in the same desperate need to protect her. I couldn’t see anything past that, the memory wouldn’t grant me more than that.
Her cries increased as I rubbed my palm over her back, the heavy fabric of her sweater making it hard for me to calm her.
Like a slap, the cries shifted from the soft cries of a bad dream into the shrill screams of pain.
The change was terrifying and I tried to grab at Joclyn, desperate to hold her, to help her. But the memory restrained me, the screams continuing as everything shifted from the darkness of a bedroom to a dimly lit room. The dull glow of dawn swelled through massive windows of a quickly solidifying foyer. The light stretched over tiles and up the staircase reaching toward where I stood in the middle of the elegant steps. Bare toes curling over cold granite, the cries continued, my focus intent on the oversized mahogany doors just down the stairs ahead of me. The rich brown wood was carved with what I was sure was meant to be joyful scene, a bear dancing through trees, his maw opened wide.
But instead of a laugh, the motion was a scream, the emotion echoed by whoever was sobbing on the other side.
“Please,” the voice broke into words as the woman called through the door, the pounding of her fists as strong as the beating of my heart.
I stood, staring at the door, the internal struggle confusing me. Why wouldn’t I just go to the door? Why wouldn’t I open it and let her in? It was Joclyn, I knew it was.
I tried to prod myself forward, but the memory kept me there, tightening the belt on my heavy dressing gown before I took a few slow steps down to the wide floor of the entryway.
The stones were cold against my feet, the sobs were daggers against my heart, and yet I stopped again, the door within distance now.
“Give me one reason why I should trust you, Ovailia.”
Ovailia.
The name of my sister, of the little girl. She was crying outside the door, pleading with me. Yet, I stood there.
“They killed him.” She sobbed, the broken voice obviously not that of a child.
“You didn’t love him anyway,” I snarled, the hatred that was rising up in me confusing me. I knew I was missing something, but I didn’t understand why it mattered.
> I needed to help her.
“I did.” She pleaded, her voice dropping as I was sure she did, the tone making it clear that she had fallen to the ground. “I did. He…”
This memory, this moment, was suddenly feeling as frustrating as the hospital. Trapped in place, unable to move forward.
Fear and worry mixed together, the emotions unclear as to if they were coming from myself or from my memory.
Finally, painstakingly, I stepped forward. Hand tight around the cast iron knob, I opened the door to a woman, a grown woman, laying on the ornate rockwork outside my door. Twisted in a tangle of pain, she lay in a pool of her own blood, the color weeping over the stone in a flood of gut-wrenching color. The color seeped from a long line in her back, her white shift cut away from her to reveal a massive gash that ran from neck to navel, the bones of her spine peeking out from behind blood and ripped flesh.
“Ovailia!” The anger dissipated into horror at the scene. Everything forgotten as the woman became little more than the child I had adored so deeply.
My knees slammed into stone as I fell to her, bringing her into me as she shivered at the touch, jerking away in a frightening expectation.
“What happened?” I asked, grasping at words as I tried to understand. “What did he do to you.”
“Punishment,” was all she said, her hand wrapping around the hem of my robe just as they had done in the courtyard as a child.
The word brought a deeper anger and I held her tighter, the two of us clinging together as her sobs continued, as my magic flooded her in an attempt to stop the flow of blood.
My power moved into her, sensing injuries and what I was sure was a poison as I flooded her with my magic, letting the power stitch her skin back together.
I was healing her.
Just as I had with Kaye all those years ago. Although then it was an act I had no control over. Here I was prodding my power, I was telling it what to do. The memory froze in place as I focused on my magic, on the way it was moving, on the way it felt.
“Punishment for what?” I heard myself ask, although I didn’t move, the scene now a frozen piece in time.
Ilyan Page 13
