Revolution (Cartharia Book 2)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  "You might have too," George said, "if you'd known what they were doing."

  Penny crossed her arms and frowned, "and what is it they were doing? What was so bad you needed to run away?"

  "Have you ever seen facial manipulation?" George asked, "Ever even heard of it?"

  Penny shook her head.

  "Well," George said, "Let's hope you never have to."

  After he'd poured them both drinks again, George gestured for Penny to sit in his chair. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall. "There were Arinford experiments. I don't know who came up with the idea, or how classified it was, but they let me in on it. Big mistake really. I've got a bit of a mouth. Always been a problem of mine."

  Penny believed that. She sat quietly though, not interrupting.

  "That's besides the point," George said, "They let me in on it, and that was bad enough. I'd probably still be there if they hadn't. Idiots. Anyway, yeah, they were experimenting. Manipulation has been around for a long while, even outside of healing, and it's always been heavily studied. But this idea was new."

  Penny thought of when she'd learned manipulation. It was still hard for her to think of it as a studied science, rather than the medical art she'd learned it as. She'd been young when she'd started, almost ten years younger than she was now. Sometimes it felt like another life.

  "It started with animals," George went on, "They'd capture them. Deer, birds, wild dogs. It didn't matter, whatever they could find. They'd practice manipulating their structures. The way their bones were formed."

  "But," Penny said, "That would be extremely difficult. It's hard enough to heal properly but to change the composition of something? There would be contoured muscles, tendons, nerves, even skin that's already mapped out. It would be near to impossible."

  George nodded, "There were some that thought that, but there were others who were sure with the right amount of manipulation and training, they could change it all. And it worked. They were able to change the way an animal's face looked like. The muzzle shape, the position of the eyes, the cheek bones."

  Penny shook her head again, "But it would be painful," she said in a tight voice, "It would be extremely painful. I know that some healers can deaden nerves so a healing is easier, but it's extremely difficult. If you were to add in the necessity of moving nerves along with the rest of the face, it would be impossible."

  "That's right," George said, "They figured that out pretty quickly, but it didn't stop them. There were some who mastered the art. Sometimes they'd let the animals go, to see how they fared in the wild. They'd track them, you see, and keep an eye on what they'd do. Most died within days. It wasn't a good procedure."

  Penny felt a small amount of disgust well up within her, "That's barbaric. What was the point of it? What were they hoping for?"

  "Some sort of weapon for the war, I imagine," George said, "Something that would help them win it. They liked to focus on bats above all else, but it was hardest to find birds. Soon it became apparent that animals were unable to survive the procedure for long. It was too hard on their minds, you see. Most of the animals eventually committed suicide. You haven't seen anything till you've seen an animal kill itself."

  "So that's why you left?" Penny asked.

  George let out a small laugh, "What? No. I don't give a shit about animals. Sure, it was a little brutal, but it was for the good of Arinford. Then they started to move on to other ideas. They'd keep captured soldiers alive to experiment on."

  Penny put a hand to her mouth, feeling the drink from earlier wanting to come back up at the thought.

  "They'd scream," George said, "Some would even pass out from the pain. But the men in charge didn't like that. They wanted them awake so they could see how it affected their mind. We're a lot stronger than animals, but the pain must have been bad."

  "They kept killing them," George confided, "They couldn't figure out how to do it properly and eventually the soldiers would just die. It was the way they were handling the way the skull moved into the brain."

  "Weapons," Penny whispered, "They were trying to create weapons."

  George nodded, "At this point, they thought they could determine how to create the perfect special ops team. A group that could change their faces on a whim; never recognizable, never traceable. So they practiced on our enemies."

  "Did you--" Penny began.

  "Did I do it?" George asked, "Did I help them? Well, they wanted me to. I'm a master of manipulation, you see. I know more about the different types and how it works than most of those idiots combined. I started learning the day I climbed out of my mother and I never stopped."

  George paused and took a drink, "No. I didn't do it. I want Lamonte gone as much as the next guy but I couldn't torture those men like that. If they'd wanted me to stick sticks up their fingernails, that might have been different, but manipulation..."

  He looked over at Penny, "I watched them once. They tried to manipulate on this man, a soldier no older than you. Just a wee little guy, a baby. It started out well enough; they started in the lower jaw. You could see how much it was hurting him. Each of his teeth had to move, and the shape of his gums. He screamed loudly enough that I thought my ears were going to burst, but they did it. They worked on the rest of his face too, but it wasn't until they got up to his eyes that they had a problem."

  George paused to look at her, "They messed it up. They were supposed to move the eyes at the same time as the bones of his skull, that formed his socket, but someone wasn't prepared. Either way, his eyes didn't move with his skull. They were crushed by the sudden movement of bone. Both eyes, at once. Sprayed the entire room. He actually broke the restraints, trying to claw at his face."

  Penny felt like her drink was going to come back up, and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to resist the urge to vomit, "Enough."

  "That's what I thought too," George said, "and I asked for release. They denied it. I could have refused, but they'd have stuck me in a cell until I agreed to help. So instead, I got out. You want to look at me like I'm a coward, and that's fine, because I am, but you ought to know the story first, little lady."

  Penny felt a flood of shame, "I'm sorry."

  George flashed her a grin. It was friendly, sincere, "There's no reason for that," he told her, "I'm not looking for sympathy or pity, or whatever. I just want you to know why I ran, and what brand of coward you're getting with my help."

  "So you will help?" Penny asked.

  "You're a natural," George asked, "but you could use some help. Nobody ever got to where they're going without a hand. I guess I'll see what I can do. Likely as not, your little club will fall apart, we'll all end up dead, and I'll be cursing you in the next life."

  "Thank you," Penny said.

  George laughed, "Don't thank me yet. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. I need to ask you for something though."

  Penny hesitated.

  "I'm not going to ask you for money," George said with a roll of your eyes, "though you have plenty to go around. I need a room."

  "A room?" Penny asked, "Why?"

  "Because," George said, "the second that the word gets out that I've been entertaining visitors, soldiers are going to come around and pay me a little visit. No, I'd do much better sleeping at your place, keeping my head low. What do you say?"

  Penny didn't like the idea, but she found herself nodding anyway.

  "Great," George said, "Great. You and me, little lady, we're going to get along great."

  EIGHTEEN

  That So His Sickness

  WILL WOKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF the night, his heart beating wildly. He could barely suppress the scream that rose to his lips. He fought for a moment and then swallowed it down. He could feel sweat dripping off his brow.

  He looked over at Sean and Janice. At his insistence, the three of them had been allowed to set up their own small camp together. Stini still insisted a dozen of his guards stand watch around them. These were intended to be healt
hy guards, unaffected by the fever. Will had heard one of them, though, trying to hide his coughs in the middle of the night.

  Not that it mattered. Not now. Sean had come down with the fever only days after arriving in the camp. Will stared at him now, observing the deep yellow of his skin, the shine of sweat on his face, and the black patches beneath his jaw.

  "Will," Janice said, "You were dreaming."

  She hardly ever slept, always up, always watching over Sean. She hadn't shown any signs of the fever herself, and had taken it upon herself to be Sean's full-time nurse. While she might not heal anymore, she knew as much about medicine as any priest did.

  Little good it did. You either recovered from the yellow fever or...

  Will nodded, "I was."

  "Come here," Sean said. He beckoned Will over with a weak curl of his fingers. Will hadn't realized he was awake.

  Will went to him.

  "The amulet," Sean said, "Put it in the amulet."

  "What are you talking about?" Will said. He thought perhaps the fever was affecting Sean more than he'd realized. His heart grew cold with anticipation. He didn't want to lose his friend.

  But Sean apparently knew what he was talking about. He fumbled for the amulet that hung around his neck. It took him longer than it should, but he slid the chain from around his neck and thrust it out, "Your energy," he croaked. "Your emotions. Fill it, Will."

  When Will hesitated, Janice took the amulet and almost shoved it into Will's hands. "Do it," she said.

  Will glanced down at the grey stone in his hand, amazed and a little disgusted, as he always was when he thought about what the gem could do. But with both of his friends staring at him, he couldn't refuse. He focused on the dream, trying to recall all the vivid details, all the horrific imagery. He thought of his own emotions, wild and rampant, and how he'd felt while watching the world crumble around him.

  Suddenly drained, he realized he'd done it. He'd put the dream, in all of its glory, into the stone.

  "There," he said.

  Sean held a hand out for it.

  "You're not strong enough," Will said, "When you're better, maybe."

  "Give it to me," Sean commanded, and for a moment his voice wasn't weak. It was strong. Commanding. Harsh.

  Will gave it to him.

  Sean extended his hand to Janice. She took it, and he placed it atop the amulet. "Breathe it in," he told her.

  Together the two of them sat for several minutes, each in silence, each face reflecting the horrors that Will had so recently faced.

  When they were done, Sean slipped the amulet back around his neck and looked for Will. "This is what you dreamt."

  Will nodded.

  "It's terrible," Janice whispered. "Gods, Will, I didn't realize it was that bad."

  It had been storms, of course, terrifying storms that swept through countrysides and cities alike, leaving not but destruction in their wake. People fled from the funnels of black skies and heavy winds as though fleeing from the devil himself.

  Families were torn into pieces as children and parents were ripped apart, sometimes in half, by the gusts of cruel wind. Homes and fields caught fire from the constant streaks of violent lightning. Everywhere, the world seemed to be at an end.

  "This is what I have to stop," Will said.

  "What we have to stop," Janice corrected. "We're going to be with you, Will. Right, Sean?"

  But when they glanced at Sean, they realized he'd passed out again. He twisted and turned in his sleep, as though the dreams now plagued him instead. He called out at times, and his hair stuck to his face in grimy clumps.

  Janice grabbed a rag from the basin she kept near him at all times and began blotting at his face. It was a mingled mixture of red and yellow and frightening, even more frightening to her, than the storms that had come to destroy the world.

  "He has to be alright," Janice said, glancing at Will. "He has to. The three of us, that's what it's supposed to be. You feel that, don't you?"

  "I do," Will said, but as he stared at Sean, he wondered.

  Stini stood in front of Aeliana, glowering, "No. You're not going, Jehryme. That's the end of the discussion."

  "Stini. You can't keep me here," Aeliana said, "I belong out there, with the men. You know that."

  "Don't you mean Commander?" Stini said, "or did you forget? I have every right to give you an order, Jehryme, and you have every responsibility to follow it. You're not going, and that's the last on the matter. You're still recovering from the fever. You're weak."

  "I'm not weak," Aeliana said, her face settling into a deep scowl. "I'm perfectly fine. Listen, the men need me."

  "You're not irreplaceable," Stini said, "Don't flatter yourself. The men will be fine without you."

  Aeliana glared at him. "I've never missed a mission."

  "First time for everything," Stini said.

  Aeliana sighed. "Funny," she told him. "I'm not staying behind."

  Stini shrugged, "Well, you're not going," he told her, "and I'm not going to stand here and argue about it all night. I've got shit to do."

  He turned to walk away, but before he could get more than a few steps, Aeliana had grabbed his shoulder. She tried to whip him around, but her strength was still recovering. Stini sighed and turned back to her.

  "Please," she said.

  "No," Stini said, with a sense of finality.

  He thought that would dissuade her, but he was wrong. Before he knew what was happening, she'd thrown a punch. It clipped him in his lower chin. He stared at her, surprised. She started to throw another, but this time, he caught her wrist and bent it back.

  Before he knew what was happening, they were fighting. Blows flew from both of them as they attempted to pummel the other. Aeliana wasn't nearly as strong, not currently, and suddenly she was on the ground, and he was driving fist into fist into her.

  He tried to stop himself, but the blood was in his head. It pounded, urging him forward, and forward, and forward. He couldn't breathe for the pressure of it, urging him on.

  Then there were hands on his shoulders, more than one pair, and he was being hauled back. Sound rushed back to him, and he heard multiple voices at once, yelling at him, screaming at him, telling him to just stop.

  And he did. He yanked out of the hands holding him and stared down at the woman on the ground. She was bleeding, and looked pretty worse for the wear.

  "Shit," he said.

  He glanced to the side and saw Rose. He wanted to close his eyes against her accusatory glare. Against all of their accusatory stares. He couldn't, of course. He was their leader. He owed them his gaze. He couldn't turn away.

  Except, it seemed, he could. Because the next thing he knew, Rose was in front of the group, speaking for him. "The mission tonight," she said in a cold, smooth tone, "is cancelled. We've too many men still sick with the yellow fever, and we don't want to risk leaving the prince of Arinford without proper guard. Go back to your posts."

  At first it seemed like nobody would listen. Then they did, backing away one by one. A few men helped Aeliana stand, and she went with them, limping. Finally, it was just Stini and Rose.

  His mouth felt dry.

  "She threw the first punch," he heard himself say in a high, defensive note. "She started it."

  It sounded ridiculous, childish to him, and he closed his mouth before he could say more.

  "Arthimur," Rose said, "You've got to get yourself under control. You're cracking up."

  He'd expected her to yell at him, and the soft tone she used came as a surprise. He wanted to turn away from her then. He wanted to run as fast as he could, because he didn't think he could take what she was going to say.

  "You drink too much," Rose said, "and you hold too much inside. I understand your grief. You've lost people. I know that. You've lost important people. Your wife, your kids. That's a rough life to lead. But you're not leading that life anymore. You're a different man now."

  Stini didn't know what to say.
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  "You've made plenty of mistakes," Rose said, "and I think you know that. You hold everything against yourself, as though you're keeping score. I don't want you to do that anymore. You need to learn self-forgiveness."

  "How can I?" Stini said. His voice sounded weak now, soft, and all he could see was Aeliana's battered face. Her nose had been bleeding and her lip was split.

  "I don't know," Rose said, "I've been there, of course, everyone has. We all have things we wish we had done differently, and we've all done things that we think there's no way back from. There's always a way back, though."

  Stini finally looked at her. There was no judgement in her face, no anger, no maliciousness. There was pity, though, and that pity hurt worse than any of the others would have.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  Rose shook her head, "It's not me you should be apologizing to," she told him. "I think you know that, though. Arthimur, you're a good man. I think you need to realize that before you do something you really regret."

  Stini said nothing.

  Rose reached out and took his hand. She squeezed it softly and then released it. Then she walked away.

  Stini thought about what she said, about drinking too much, and holding too much in. He thought she might be right. He also thought he really didn't have a choice. She acted like he did, but she didn't know. Of course she didn't. She didn't know him.

  Nobody did. He turned to walk back towards his tent. There was a bottle inside, and it was screaming out his name.

  Sean twisted in his sleep, his body convulsing with shudders. He was still burning up with fever, but he was cold now, so cold. He hadn't stopped shivering for hours.

  Janice had gotten him another hide from one of the soldiers in the camp, and then another, but it didn't seem to help. He couldn't get warm, no matter how many blankets were piled on top of him.

  She'd never felt so scared, not even in the dungeons, waiting execution. Then there'd been hope. She'd believed in herself and in Sean and then in Will. There had always been hope they'd make it out.

  But Janice didn't know if Sean could make it out of this. She watched him move again, drawing his arms and legs in, trying to curl up into a tiny ball. It reminded her of a small child, trying to ward off a night terror.