by J. L. Lyon
The room had been empty, and he would swear to his deathbed that the star had shone brighter when he looked at it again…as though Heaven shone down at him, laughing.
-X-
301 watched though his mind’s eye as Eli emerged back into the relentless rain, this time alongside the form of the Great Army lieutenant who had refused to kill him. A great cry pierced the air behind them, more terrifying than the thunder, “The child has escaped! Find them!”
“Come on, kid,” the soldier picked him up and ran into the heart of the city, his assault rifle slamming rhythmically against his shoulder in time with his stride. The familiar pounding of military boots on concrete grew loud once again, and though they ran far it was as futile as when he had tried to escape with his mother. After nearly a mile it became clear that they could go no further together. The lieutenant put him down and held him firmly by the shoulders, an odd gleam in his eye, “This is as far as I can take you, kid. I’m going to try to throw them off your trail. You just keep going, try to find shelter…and don’t look back.”
Eli shook as much from terror as from the cold. Go on…alone? Without his mother or this stranger who had saved him? What was he supposed to do by himself? He was only five years old!
“Go!” The lieutenant urged, and Eli took off as fast as his small legs would take him. The click of the lieutenant’s assault rifle echoed throughout the block, and at the blast of gunfire Eli couldn’t help himself. He looked over his shoulder to see the lieutenant fire a burst of bullets at the oncoming squad of soldiers just before he was gunned down. Eli screamed in horror and continued running in a last desperate attempt to escape.
Yet still, the soldiers came, and fear began to take hold. All he wanted was to get inside out of the rain and put on some dry clothes. He wanted to laugh and play and just be a child—but despite his age he understood even then that his old life was over. So many terrible things had happened, and everything was changed. The only thing he could think to do in that moment was hide. Perhaps if he could escape the storm he would also escape the soldiers.
A flash of lightning drew his gaze to the building nearest him, and he ran up the five stone steps to the door. He pounded with all the strength he had left and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Help me! Help me, please!”
The door opened and a strong hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him inside. The door slammed shut behind him and blocked out the sound of the marching soldiers. And so he escaped death to arrive at his childhood prison: the Capital Orphanage of Alexandria.
The scene changed midstream, and he recognized those same hands that had pulled him in out of the rain. They belonged to the Discipliner, who used them to systematically erase every one and every thing he had ever held dear. He saw each session play out, each struggle for reality, and each time the painful end when he was broken. They were memories best left forgotten, but vital all the same.
He sifted through his past like an ocean, seeing visions of his father teaching him simple fighting techniques with a small Spectral Gladius and telling him exciting stories. He saw times when he and Grace played together without a care in the world, despite the turmoil raging around them daily. He saw nights falling asleep in his mother’s arms, comfortable and safe. Crenshaw, he now remembered, had been a pillar of strength to him, a hero almost equal to his father. He even saw Jacob Sawyer, his passion for making the world a better place so fervent that he believed he might bring down the World System with his bare hands. Uncorrupted by the Discipliner’s dark sessions, these were the memories that he would cherish forever—memories of love, friendship, loyal devotion, and innocence.
But there was one memory he knew to be more important than them all.
His father knelt in front of him, a look upon his face that Eli couldn’t discern. Jonathan Charity spoke in a tender voice, “Son…I know there are many things happening now that you don’t understand, but I need you to be brave. I have to go away for a little while. There are…some things that need seeing to, and I’m the only one who can.”
“When will you come back?”
His father rubbed his eyes, preempting tears that had begun to form, “Listen to me, Eli. We will be together again, I promise. We will. You, your mother, me, your uncle Crenshaw…”
“And Grace?”
“Yes,” he nodded with a smile. “And Grace. No matter what happens, you must never lose hope. There may come a day when all seems lost, but know this: God will always walk beside you. Trust in him and in his words, and he will guide you. Nothing can separate us from his love, Elijah. Nothing.”
Eli felt a new kind of fear settle over him. What was his father saying? He had said his goodbyes before, but there was something different this time. His eyes betrayed something terrible and sad…something permanent.
“Can’t I go with you?”
Jonathan put his hand on his son’s cheek to comfort him, “Not right now, Elijah. You still have much to do, and much to accomplish.”
“But not without you,” Eli shook his head, beginning to realize what his father was saying. “Not without you.”
“God will be with you, son,” Jonathan said. “He will see you through every trial. His love, Elijah…it is unlike anything else you will ever know or experience. The vastness of it…the power it grants you in life as well as death…there is nothing that compares.”
“Not even your love for me?”
“I love you, son, more than anything else on this earth. But there is one who loves you even more than I. He is the one you must learn to look to now.” Jonathan reached down for Eli’s hand and placed something in his palm. Then he closed his small fingers over the top of it and held his son’s fist firmly within his own. “This is for you. If something should happen to me, you will need it to finish what we have started here. I want you to guard it carefully—don’t lose it, and don’t let it fall into the hands of anyone you don’t trust. Do you think you can do that for me?”
Eli nodded and looked sadly into his father’s eyes. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. How could he keep his father from leaving?
Jonathan hugged him tightly and spoke two words, almost pleading, “Remember me.”
“I will.”
His father pulled away and stood just as Crenshaw came to his side, “Hey there, kid. Don’t worry…I’ll bring your dad back safe and sound. We’ll be seeing you soon, promise.”
Eli said nothing as Crenshaw mussed his hair playfully and walked away, completely unaware that over fifteen years would pass before the two crossed paths again. Jonathan Charity gave his son one final loving look, and followed Crenshaw toward the exit.
Eli opened his palm and saw his father’s ring—the one with the blue stone—and understood immediately how serious the situation was. His father kept this with him at all times, and though he had let Eli hold it on occasion, he never let it out of his sight. The fact that he left it behind could mean only one thing: he had known, somehow, that he wouldn’t be coming back.
As the boy that was his past watched his father’s retreating form, the soldier that was his present awakened facedown on the soft grass of the palace courtyard. Memories, both fresh and repressed, flashed before his eyes—each unique story finding its place within the tapestry of the narrative to which they were all a part. Past and present wove together seamlessly to form a complete personal history, and then at last, he was whole.
The world around him went silent. He raised himself up to a sitting position, unsure how long he had blacked out. Grace and the royal guards had gone, and before him the two Spectral Gladii he carried hand fallen loose onto the ground.
Pax Aeterna and Calumnior. Light, and darkness. Past, and present.
He knew in that moment that he would not see Eli again…he was Eli, or at least a part of him was. Yet 301-14-A still remained as well. It was as the matron had said: two molded seamlessly into one. Whatever it would mean for his future, the defragmentation was complete.
He pi
cked up both weapons and rose to his feet, embracing the righteous fire as it returned in full force. Napoleon Alexander…he had been the cause of all this pain and suffering: his father’s death, his mother’s execution, and now Grace.
A vision of Kacie Jordan’s eyes flashed before him as though in warning, but he pushed it down. He would save Grace, no matter what it took. But after that, after he had put everything back the way it should be, he would claim his due.
He would have his vengeance.
38
THE SOLDIERS WHO TOOK Grace back into custody made sure to bind her hands more securely for her return to Napoleon Alexander, and the plastic wire dug painfully into her wrists every time she shifted. But she didn’t care. She preferred the pain in her wrists to the shame in her heart. In a weak moment she had lost herself…she had allowed fear to overcome her senses and sought death as her only release. But that was wrong. It was not who she was, and certainly not what her father had taught her.
As a girl she had woken in the night screaming from dreams of a day like this one, until finally she had gone to her father and begged him to train her with the Gladius. That was the truth of what drove her to fight—not honor, not love, not freedom…but fear. Fear of being helpless in a man’s strong grip. Fear of being lost in the night like her friend Eli. Fear of being burned, like Lauren Charity.
But everyone feared wielders of the Gladius, and if they feared her then maybe she wouldn’t have to fear them—that was her logic. Still, no Gladius could save her now, even if she could get hold of one. As she walked sullenly between the four soldiers of Alexander’s royal guard, she thought of the first lesson her father had given her.
If you can smile at your enemy then you have already defeated him.
Smiles made thin shields and would not save her, but that wasn’t the kind of victory her father meant. Fear was the quickest way to deliver herself into the hands of her enemies. If she let them see it they would thrive upon it, but if she showed courage despite her terror, it might give them pause.
I chose this, she reminded herself. I chose to come here, to save Eli and the people of Silent Thunder. I must face the consequences of that choice boldly.
As the soldiers led her before the golden doors yet again, she took a deep breath and summoned her courage. She was a warrior of the Wilderness, daughter of Jacob Sawyer, a commander of the Silent Thunder rebellion. She would not allow darkness to overcome her, whatever terrors she must face. The soldiers bid her enter and shut the door as soon as she came inside, leaving her alone with Alexander and another man. She recognized the second but couldn’t put a name with the face, though he looked at her like a hungry wolf, undressing her with his eyes.
She writhed within, but did not shift with discomfort. Instead she surveyed the changes in the room—a pool of blood on the floor with the glistening shards of a broken Gladius. Some pieces of furniture were in disarray, and she imagined it had been quite a battle. But in the end, it seemed Admiral McCall—the Right Hand—had not prevailed.
Alexander strode forward to meet her, but she did not look at him. She stared silently at the dark city through his wide window, hoping Davian and Crenshaw had made it safely to the Wilderness. Smoke rose from buildings some distance away, evidence that the purge had continued to spread.
“You’ve caused quite a ruckus today, Miss Sawyer,” Alexander said. “Add that to your list of accomplishments: killing my soldiers, deceiving and manipulating my Specters, and now disrupting the peace so that your assassin could kill me right here in my very own room. You truly are your father’s daughter.”
In an angry rage the MWR struck her once across the face, then again, and then a third time. The last blow knocked her to the floor, where involuntary tears of pain obscured her vision. But she refused to admit defeat. She rose and stood tall in defiance, her quivering lip the only part of her that could be mistaken for fear.
The second man snickered from the shadows where he sat, mocking her.
“So,” Alexander went on. “What to do with you until your sentence is carried out…” He rubbed his wounded cheek thoughtfully. “Any suggestions, Grand Admiral?”
Donalson said nothing, but flashed a malevolent smile. Grace remembered him now, though it did not bring her comfort to know who he was. The grand admiral—the man who was responsible for all those burning buildings and all the innocent dead—a monster who now set his greedy eyes upon her.
“I know,” the MWR said. “Perhaps I’ll allow the grand admiral to spend a little quality time with you. He was the one who found you in that slave’s cell and bought you for the Specter Captain, after all. I know how disappointed he was not to have you then. Now that those circumstances are out of the way—”
“What’s wrong, Alexander?” Grace asked. “Afraid I’ll give you a matching set of scars on the other side of your face?”
The MWR scowled, “You have already incited my anger enough, my dear. I wouldn’t advise pushing me any further.”
“We are all but dust,” she said. “And to dust we shall return.”
Alexander struck her again, “Do not speak those words to me! They are the echoes of fools—shadows from a distant past, memories long forgotten.”
“None of us can escape death,” she went on, face burning from Alexander’s repeated blows. “You may send me on ahead, but one day you will follow. There will be no World System there, no Great Army or royal palace for you to hide behind. You will be tried and judged, and somehow I doubt even a single soul will plead for your mercy.”
“There is no such thing as an eternal soul,” Alexander sneered. “Something I shall teach you through fire and pain. You will be vanquished, and my name will be the one that lives on in immortality. That’s the thing about becoming a hero, Miss Sawyer. You put everything on the line for a cause greater than yourself and end up as nothing more than a martyr. Where will God be when I force your little rebellion into retirement tonight? Will he interfere? I think not. Not because he won’t or can’t…but because your prayers will only be heard by the wind. And to think, all the things you might have done differently.” He stroked her cheek and smiled when she recoiled from him, “What a waste.”
He turned his back on her and walked around to the other side of his desk, “With your very public, very brutal death, I should seal the defeat of Silent Thunder for good. Then I can turn my attention to more significant matters. Still, there’s no reason we should all be at a total loss. Grand Admiral, escort this traitor to the dungeons. Whatever liberties you wish to take with her along the way are no concern of mine. Leave me.”
Donalson stood, “With pleasure, sir.” He grabbed Grace roughly by the arm and led her out of the MWR’s presence. She didn’t struggle, glad to have escaped Alexander’s advances. Now she had the grand admiral to deal with, but she would always choose one enemy over two.
The first empty hallway they found, Donalson pushed her up against the wall aggressively. His face came within inches of hers, and she saw again the hunger in his eyes. Yet she noted something there that she did not expect: the hunger was not lust. It was more like curiosity.
“Be careful, Grand Admiral,” she warned. “You saw what I did to Alexander.”
“No help from the old man this time,” Donalson said. “You won’t be getting out of those bindings. I won’t lie to you, girl: the MWR was right to say that I wanted you when I bought you from that slaver. You probably didn’t even see me that night, but I saw you, and had never hated the Specter Captain more than in the moment when Alexander gave you away to be his forever. Still, I’m a man who can appreciate the value of a trade.”
“What kind of trade?”
He moved in closer and whispered in her ear, “I will see you safely to the dungeons—untouched—for a bit of information.”
“What do you want?”
“The MWR believes that your death, coupled with that of your father, will be enough to scare your friends into submission. I, however, disagree.
There is a rumor that has reached my ear, of a man who by all accounts should be dead…a man who, if he did survive, would be a much greater threat than you or your father ever were.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Donalson’s hand came up to her neck and he pushed her harder against the wall, “Then let me make it clearer for you, Sawyer. Where is Elijah Charity?”
A choked gasp escaped from Grace’s partially closed windpipe, and she immediately wished she could take it back. Donalson’s eyes widened as he watched her, and his grip tightened to where she could scarcely breathe at all. “So it is true. Nothing could have convinced me more than the look on your face.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t even try,” Donalson whispered. “Just tell me where he is.”
“He was killed by the System,” she rasped. “Years ago.”
“The System never found him,” Donalson replied. “Don’t play games with me little girl! You know something, and you’re going to tell me!”
Grace’s body trembled from lack of air as she pushed out words with difficulty, “I have nothing to say to you.”
Donalson stressed every syllable, “Is...he...alive?”
“I’ll never tell you, Donalson. Never. You’ll just have to kill me.”
The grand admiral bared his teeth in anger and got so close his nose nearly grazed hers, “Then consider our bargain at an end.” His knuckles whitened around her throat as he squeezed harder, and Grace knew that he lacked only a little pressure to end her life. But just as the world grew hazy someone grabbed the grand admiral by the shoulders and pulled him away from her, slamming him hard against the opposite wall. She didn’t even have to see his face to know who had saved her.
It was 301.
-X-
301 slammed his fist into Grand Admiral Donalson’s face for the third time before the man came out of his shock and tried to fend him off. By that time 301 had already beaten him bloody, splitting his lip in two places and quite possibly breaking his nose. Only the sound of Grace’s choked gasps stopped him from killing the man, as he turned to check on her. The grand admiral’s handprint shone clearly on her skin, and she coughed uncontrollably as her lungs sucked in as much air as they could get. Despite that, she would be alright.
