by T. C. Edge
“We were taken together, to be killed as a family. Artemis himself gave the order. He signed off on his wife being executed, and his daughter too. And if his hunters had found you and Zander, you’d both have been put to death.”
I can barely process it; the cruelty, the ruthlessness. I cannot conceive of a man who could do such a thing.
“But you’re here…how did you escape?”
She wipes the wet from her eyes. I notice her fingers are trembling.
“Your mother,” she whispers, a pained smile hovering and fading away. “She had just enough strength in her to manipulate a guard. It gave me the chance to get away before we arrived. Her final act was to save my life. My darling girl…”
Her old, trembling fingers now cover her face and eyes, and her body begins to convulse and shiver as the tears start to flow. I find myself moving straight to my feet and rushing around to her, pulling her into my arms, holding her tight.
And the tears come for me too, stinging from my eyes, the terrible truth of my parents’ fate finally laid bare before me.
I always knew they were dead. I always knew what had happened, deep down. But to learn the full truth is harrowing. To learn that Cromwell, my grandfather, is the man who destroyed my family – his own family – has shocked me more than anything that’s gone before.
But in the awful darkness, there remains some light. Because in my arms, I grip my grandmother, the final piece of my remaining family right here with me.
Slowly, her sobs are replaced by a growing calm, the grief exorcised from inside her. It’s as if it’s been there, hidden in the depths, never being allowed to climb into the light. And now, she’s set it free, purging herself of all those suppressed memories.
She gazes at me and lifts a wrinkled hand up to my palm, her face stained with tears.
“You look so much like her,” she smiles. “I’m so happy you finally know.”
I hug her again, but more questions begin to drive me on, my mind ever seeking the full truth.
“Why?” I ask as she stares at me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell Zander?”
Her hand slips from my cheek, and she looks away.
“I thought…” She takes a breath, steadying herself. “I thought it was best not to confuse things. When I found Zander, I didn’t want him looking at me as a grandmother. I was a leader, and needed him to see me as that. And…Artemis too. It would only have confused him if he knew he was his grandfather. I didn’t want to complicate it all.”
There’s a brief silence as I consider her reasoning. She looks at me again, perhaps hoping I understand, hoping that the overemotional side of me doesn’t find some way to be hurt by all of this.
It doesn’t.
I understand perfectly why she’d keep the truth hidden. I understand that her position required it, and that the longer it went on, the harder it would have become to reveal the facts of Zander’s past.
And, when I came on the scene, the same is true. I was sent to the High Tower to assassinate Cromwell. Had I known he was my grandfather, would that have changed things? Would it have made it harder? Or would it have made it easier, knowing what he did to my parents, knowing that he killed his own family.
But she needs to hear me say it. Cornelia needs to know that I understand.
So I tell her, and see the relief in her eyes, and hear it coming from the long breath that escapes her lungs.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’ve made lots of mistakes over the years. I…I am to blame for Elisa and Max’s death. If I hadn’t tried to see her then none of…”
“Don’t,” I say firmly, cutting her off. “Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself. You’re not to blame for any of this. Not for their deaths, and not for keeping the truth from Zander and me. I don’t blame you. But…I’m happy I know. I’m happy to find you, grandma.”
Her eyes start welling up once more. Her lips shut tight, her face quivering.
“Grandma,” she repeats.
I smile, and hug her once again.
“Grandma,” I whisper.
3
I stay with her for a while longer as the early morning passes by.
She tells me more of my parents and what she knew of them. Of their good hearts and unbreakable adoration for each other. Of their profound love for my brother and me, and their willingness to give up their own lives in order to save ours.
She talks of those times, many years ago, with a twinkle in her eye. It speaks of her joy at the brief period she got to spend with her daughter, moments of happiness in a lifetime of servitude and solitude.
Her love for my mother is so apparent it hurts. And when she found Zander over a decade later, the same feelings were drawn up in her, ones that she was forced to hold at bay.
It must have been so hard, each day wishing to reveal the truth but being unable to. For the good of Zander, and his part among the rebels, she needed to keep the truth hidden from him, and from me too when I came on board.
But, now that I know, everything has changed. Zander cannot be kept in the dark any longer.
“You need to tell him,” I say to her as the dawn approaches. “He deserves to know the truth now, the full truth.”
She doesn’t deny it. She nods silently.
“I will tell him,” she says. “I always planned to, one day. Once everything settled down. Once the war was over. I wanted him to stay focused, and not be distracted. I still wish that…”
I sit back in my chair.
“You mean to wait?” I question. “But he needs to know.”
“He will know,” she says. “He will know when the time is right. But that isn’t now.”
“I don’t understand why not. I know now, and I’m happy that I do. I’m sure Zander will be the same.”
“Perhaps,” she muses. “But I’ve raised Zander since he was only a boy. It will be harder for him to hear the truth. I urge you to keep it quiet, Brie, until the time is right.”
“And when will that be?”
She empties her lungs.
“When we’re at peace,” she says.
I think for a moment in silence, wishing not to be put into this position, to become complicit in this continued deceit. But what right do I have to tell him now, when it’s a weight she’s had to bear for so long?
I must defer to her. I must trust her. I must realise that she knows my brother better than I do, and knows that until this war is over, he needs to maintain a singular and unwavering focus.
She sees the cogs turning in my mind, the flicker of doubt and then agreement behind my eyes. Then, as I begin to nod, she says: “Thank you, Brie, for understanding. Your parents would have been so proud of the girl you’ve become. Brenda has truly done a remarkable job.”
“She’s the only mother I ever really knew,” I say, smiling at the thought of my guardian. “I guess, I always longed to know about my real mother, my birth mother. But, I couldn’t have hoped for a better replacement than Brenda.”
“She’s a wonderful woman,” smiles my grandmother. “I will forever be in her debt for what she’s done.”
“Just keep her stocks of whiskey up and she’ll be happy,” I say, laughing through my nose. “She’s a woman of simple pleasures.”
“I’ll do just that. And I’ll look forward to sharing some stories with her once all this is over. I trust you, Brie, not to mention any of this to anyone else, though. Like your brother, I wish for your focus to remain on point. Until it’s all over…”
Again, I reflect silently, knowing what I’m like. It’ll be hard for me to keep this to myself, but I’ll try my best.
“OK. I won’t tell anyone,” I say. “And, I suppose I should continue to call you Lady Orlando around everyone else? That will be feel sort of weird now, knowing you’re my grandma.”
She smiles at the title once more. And I sense that, above all other titles she’s had, including that of the Lady of the Nameless, the one she’s most proud of i
s mother to Elisa, grandmother to Zander and Brie. The joy sprinkled across her face as I name her my grandma is something that warms my heart. And while I’ve had my doubts over her in the past, I feel so drawn to her now, so close, like I could tell her anything.
She’s thawed before my eyes, that cool, calm, Savant exterior of hers giving way to a kindly old lady who shares my blood. A woman who spent so long at the empty, black heart of this city but who managed to break free. Who sought out her daughter and felt something that so few of her kind ever feel. Who learned, through her affection for her child, to fight against injustice.
And then, on the other side of that coin, there’s her old husband. My grandfather. A man I once sat with, face to face, neither of us knowing who the other really was.
He was all set to recondition me, turn me into one of his mindless agents as he has with so many others. And yet, that’s merely the tip of the iceberg for a man who has seen to the death of his own family. A man who ordered the execution of his wife for helping their daughter, who killed that daughter too and left her children to grow up without any knowledge of their parents.
I’ve hated him all along. I’ve wanted him dead, wished to see his tyrannical rule of this city end. But now…now that seething hate has morphed into something far, far more potent. There’s a wrath in me that causes a boiling reaction in the pit of my stomach, the depths of my chest, every time I think of him, every time his name it uttered.
I wish him dead in the most terrible manner my mind can conceive. For all the lives I’ve now taken, and the sometimes gruesome ways in which I’ve seen them to their graves, nothing compares to the ways in which I want my grandfather to suffer.
I desire nothing but vengeance now.
Revenge for my mother and father, for my grandmother sitting before me. Revenge for the people of this city, for the thousands, tens of thousands, who have died by his hands or become his slaves.
I want to destroy him in a fashion befitting his crimes, to draw up as much fear and pain I can from his cold, black soul.
I want to be there when it happens, watch it all, enjoy it all, play a part in it all.
I am not a cruel person at heart, far from it. But when I think of him, I become a devil. He has drawn up the darkest parts of me from the depths of my being, the basest of brutal desires. He has made me a monster; unforgiving, unyielding, unwilling to let him receive just a simple death.
And now, the idea of making peace is too unpalatable to contemplate. We will have peace, but only once he’s gone.
I will not stop until that man is dust.
4
I return to my room as Tess stirs.
She comes out of what seem to be a pleasant dream, a little smile dawning on her face as she sees me standing above her.
Then, in a flash, she drops a frown and returns to the snarky girl I so adore.
“You watching me sleep?” she asks. “Creep.”
Her innocent smile turns to a playful grin. She sits up and rubs her eyes.
“What’s the time?” she asks.
“Bit past 7,” I say. “You sleep OK?”
She nods, yawning.
“Actually, yeah. Better than I have in a while. I guess it’s just familiar to share a room with you. I haven’t slept so well since you left.”
Typical Tess, turning from playfully insulting to downright sweet in the blink of an eye.
She stands from her bed and pulls on a couple of layers, telling me she should probably go check on Brenda and the kids.
“You should come too,” she adds. “Unless…you’ve got more fighting to do?”
After the day and night I’ve just had, the thought repels me. I’m just too tired, mentally, physically, and emotionally, to consider going hunting for Con-Cops again.
Thankfully, my grandmother agreed, telling me to take the day off and rest before I left her office. Given I have a minor concussion from the wound I suffered to the back of my head yesterday, that’s probably a good idea. I’ve learned that, in battle, you need to be in tip-top shape. One false move and you might just get yourself, or someone else, killed.
I return to the atrium with Tess, finding it typically busy. Right now, there are still plenty of rogue Con-Cop units littered around the city, and City Guards loyal to Cromwell too. Yet, the numbers of refugees flooding to our new walls have begun to slow, with most of those attempting the journey already having arrived.
The same goes for the City Guards, with over half of them either choosing to join our cause completely, or declare themselves neutral and unwilling to engage. And while something of a stalemate seems to have fallen, we’re still sending out our hunting parties and death squads to continue to remove as many of our enemies from the equation as possible, while at the same time easing the passage of the remaining civilians wishing to join our ranks.
Not all have come, of course. Many remain in Outer Haven, sticking to their homes and waiting things out, often too afraid to venture onto the streets for fear of what may happen.
When you look out of your window and see such death and destruction, that’s an understandable response. And given the vastness of the city, and in particular the large populations of the western and southern quarters, it will take a long time for our people to sweep every tenement block and residence in order to locate any frightened stragglers.
Then, of course, there’s the small matter of dealing with those who have come here to Inner Haven. Mercifully, the local population of Enhanced, as well as the Unenhanced who now live here, have continued to show their support.
At times of such need, the good in people will often show, a necessary counter to the bad. For every person killed, another will stand up and do what they can to help. For every life that gets taken, another will be saved by some good deed.
It is the dichotomy of war, when the worst of humankind comes forth, and the best comes right along with it.
And here, in Inner Haven, it’s the latter we’re seeing as the people continue to pick at the remains of the High Tower, or manage all those from Outer Haven coming to our door. They will be housed, fed, watered, and protected. And everyone is doing their part.
We venture out onto the streets, that perpetual, dusty fog still hanging above the carcass of the high Tower. Looking upon it, however, I notice that much of the outer rubble has been swept away, the giant industrial machines working all hours to clear the area.
As we wander down the road towards Compton’s Hall, Tess remarks that she heard a few people were saved from within. I haven’t been caught up on such rumours yet, and immediately my mind springs with the very vague hope that it was either Mary of Lucy, my Unenhanced friends from the High Tower, who survived.
“How many?” I query, as if Tess has all the answers. “Were they Savants?”
“I think so. I heard at least four were found. They were lucky, got trapped under a sturdy support that managed to block the falling rubble.”
I realise as she speaks that I’d rather not talk about it. There remains in me a guilt, once or twice removed perhaps, but a guilt nonetheless, at what we’ve done. OK, so I rallied against it, and wasn’t directly involved, but still, I can’t wash my hands completely clean of it all either.
Yet, it is to the few Unenhanced living there, and the City Guards who were on duty, that my mind turns to. I feel ashamed for even thinking such a thing, but if a large group of civilians in this city were to die, the Savants would have to get my vote.
Frankly, very few of them even feared death. They didn’t have families, and most didn’t have friends, or close ties to anyone. The very essence of loss would be lost on them, and any survivors will be unlikely to spend much time grieving or mourning the downfall of their people.
You can see it already. See the faces of the Savants who weren’t in the High Tower when it fell. See them continuing to get on with their appointed lives without the burden of grief and sorrow to wear them down.
When the attacks occurred at C
ulture Corner, or in the market in district 5 of the western quarter, the reaction was so very different. The people would come and mourn, wailing to the heavens for those they lost. You could feel the heartache in the air, the collective pain and suffering that spread through the streets and right around the city.
It wasn’t just those directly affected, those who lost loved ones or dearest friends to the attacks, who suffered. Everyone did, every single Outer Havener gripped by grief and the brewing fear at what might happen next. They worried, night and day, not only about themselves, but about those they loved and cared for, those they simply could not live without.
The Savants aren’t human in the same way. Yes, they look like us and talk like us and walk like us, but they aren’t us. And right here, at the scene of such a terrible, devastating attack, their faces say it all.
Impassive, cool, and inhumanly detached, they’ll get on with the lives they are now assigned without breaking stride.
And, though terrible, when I think of things like that, a part of me looks at this site of such destruction with a simple thought…
Maybe it was good that so many of them were killed. Maybe, now, we’ll all be better off.
Around us, more hunting squads continue to come and go from the city. Around the City Guard HQ, the main centre of operations has been established, with Rycard still managing the many City Guards who choose to join the cause.
There’s a militaristic feel to it that I haven’t yet experienced, everything grander and better organised than before. What was just a rag-tag group of rebels when I first got involved has morphed before my eyes into a far more cohesive fighting force.
Bolstered by our new recruits, we now command a force that outstrips Cromwell’s army. Over the last few days, he’s suffered several significant setbacks, and while still dangerous, my fears that he may strike at the city, or even send a unit to the mines to kill our people there, have started to fade just a little.
Yet, while our numbers have increased, there is an argument to be made for quality over quantity. His most potent agents, the Stalkers, remain in operation. And, while we don’t know how many he still has, we can be sure that it’s quite a lot.
