It isn’t cloth, Zee says. It’s a three-sided object, small, curved on one side, notched on the other two. It would be somewhere high, to keep it safe from thieves.
What is it?
One of the Seeker’s Keys. The other was stolen, and the third is in Bygonne, probably somewhere in the Greenleigh bunkers. But we know he has one somewhere there. It’ll be similar to a section of the scar on your wrist, but about the size of your palm. Dark metal with a green glass circle in the middle.
While His Lord opens a drawer in the bedside table, I scan the room. On the farthest wall is a clear compartment. It’s too high to make out the details. Something gray. Dots of blue lights encircle the case.
I think I found it, I tell Zee. Up on a high shelf, behind a glass case. Blue lights around it.
That’s it.
“Here we are, now.” His Lord removes a black circular object from the drawer beside me.
“What’s . . . what’s that?”
“An amazing new piece of technology.” The end of his spiny tail whips around and travels up my leg, scraping enough to bring on chill bumps. “This is how we remove any residual resistance from the few Chosen Pures.” He slips the band over my eyes and presses a button. There’s a beep, then the room goes black.
Seconds later, a hideous beast appears before me, glowing green. I scream, and it howls, and attacks. It grips my shoulders with its claws, and breathes warm rot in my face.
My mind fills with a delicious fog, my limbs and chest tingle with immense pleasure. I’m so, so sorry. Her voice is there in it. This is the best I can do. The warmth spreads through me with every strike to my skin, a symphony of dark bliss and beauty borne of fear. This is my reward, my gift, this must be love. My mind tells me it is, though my body begs for pardon from this “blessing.” Too quietly.
Maybe I’m a monster, too, and that’s why I’m here, at the mercy of this beast. Is this why I don’t fight him, why I . . . enjoy what he does to me?
Do I?
Music fills my mind, melancholy and sweet, and wetness trails my cheeks. I’m right here, sweetheart. Zee’s voice breaks from the lullaby. I’m so sorry . . . Everything will be okay, it’ll all be over soon. Just a little more suffering and you’ll be free, we’ll all be free.
Why do those words sound so familiar? And that song—I know I’ve heard it before . . . Why is this happening?
Because he knows you have great strength in you, one that can’t be gained through modern science or mechanics; a powerful inner beauty and true purity that makes his lack of it charred black in comparison. You have real magic in you, and removing from this world all that is pure magic is how he himself becomes pure. Because when no light is left shining, the darkness becomes familiar, acceptable. And that’s the goal of Lord Daumier: to make darkness the new light.
§
“If only we’d had her sooner, Richard . . . We would’ve had more time with her.” My momma sobs in the other room, same as every night.
“Aura, please,” Daddy says, “we’ve been over this. Regretting the past and wishing things were different does us no good. Things are the way they are, and all we have is this moment, right here. Are we going to waste it, swallowed up by regret, or live it to its fullest—?”
“Fullest!” Momma shouts, and I jump in my bed. Then she coughs, a horrible, wet hacking, and Daddy shuffles around, probably cleaning up her blood. After her coughing fit dies off, there’s a long silence before she continues, much quieter. “How am I supposed to . . . to . . . live life to its fullest? There is nothing left. No happy ending.”
Daddy shushes her, tells her everything will be all right, that things are exactly as they should be. And I cry. How could they be all right? I’m just six, and Momma’s dying. And much sooner than the others. It’s not fair. She wasn’t supposed to die ’til I was nine.
Daddy helps her into bed, and I pretend to be asleep when he kisses my forehead, then hers. “They’ll be here, soon,” he whispers to her. “Try to rest.”
He leaves the room, and Momma drapes an arm over me, hot from her fever. “I love you so much, my precious angel. I promise you won’t have to go through this; your daddy will make sure of it. He’s doing everything he can to find them, to keep them safe, for you, for your children, so you can live long, happy, free lives together. It’s going to happen.”
I don’t know what she’s saying; I hardly ever do. And why does she smell like citrus? She never has before.
“It’s the only thing that matters now,” Momma says. “The only reason . . . to keep on . . . breathing.” She kisses the back of my head, then shifts away. She doesn’t want to make me too hot; that’s what she said one time when I asked her why wouldn’t she hold me like her baby anymore.
Daddy must’ve given her more of that special medicine he got from his friends, because Momma drifts off to sleep in no time at all. Daddy’s friends are nice, they give us lots of stuff: sewing supplies for Momma, books, things Daddy needs for his magic, medicine, and salt for our food, which makes it so much better. I’ve never seen Daddy’s friends, but I’ve heard them. They come late at night, when I’m supposed to be asleep. But sometimes I’m still awake, lying in bed, listening to Momma’s heavy breathing. Like now.
There’s a tap on the door. It creaks open and quiet feet shuffle inside our common area. They mumble to each other, and I rise from my bed, dangling my feet for a second before I slip down onto the cold, rough concrete. I tiptoe to the door, still open just a crack, and peek through. Daddy’s sitting on the bench with Momma’s blood smeared across his unbuttoned white shirt, his elbows resting on his knees. He stares at a fan of cards in his hand, while the man next to him talks. This man has light brown hair and black letters on his pale neck, and he lays a tiny sack on the table between them. “All in.” He winks.
On the second bench sit two more men. The one with white hair sets down a gray pouch, and Daddy collects that, too, while the last man sways in his spot wearing a brown hat I recognize. Jonesy, the drunk. Why is Daddy talking to him?
I worry Momma will wake up, so I go back to my bed and slide in beneath the sheets.
Momma turns toward me. “No, go back and listen.”
“Momma, you’re awake—”
“Shh . . .” She lays a finger to her lips. “Go back to the door. There are things you need to know. Go now.”
Her eyes are dark and mad. She sounds different, and it scares me. “Okay, Momma.” I peel back the blanket again, and get up, returning to our bedroom door.
Daddy slips a sack up his sleeve with a nod. “What about you, gentlemen? What’re your antes this fine evening?”
Jonesy sets a bottle on the table. “How is she?”
“Worse every day, but this helps to ease the pain and help her sleep. Thank you.” Daddy slips the bottle into his breast pocket.
Jonesy tips his hat. “Sure thing, Mr. Magnificent.”
“So . . . when’s this going to happen?” Daddy asks the man with the neck markings.
“In a few days,” the man says in a low, scratchy voice. “Daumier undergoes a procedure for sixteen hours. It will be the best time.”
The white-haired man rests back against the wall, crosses his arms. “What about guards? If they’re anything like the ones in the saltmines—”
“They are OAI,” the man with the low voice says. “They are . . . reprogrammable. Besides, I’ll have the best thief in Bygonne to . . . assist me.” He grins at the white-haired man.
“So whatcha sayin’, Mr. Seraphim?” Jonesy spits out his words, drunk as always. “You gonna reprogram ’em”—he belches—“then take the keys?”
The others shush him.
“Pipe down,” Daddy says. “You never know who’s listening.”
“I’m jus’ wonderin’ what the hell ya need me fer.” Jonesy gulps from a bottle he’s pulled fr
om his pocket. “I’m useless.”
“No one’s useless.”
“Yeah, okay.” Jonesy drinks from his bottle again. “We’ll see, I s’pose.”
All at once, my legs are tingly beneath me, followed by my arms and my head. I stand up and lose my balance, toppling through the doorway and into the next room. Except, it’s not our common area; it’s a gray blur where the murmurs of my daddy and his friends bounce around me. My heart pounds. I scream . . . and gray turns to black.
“Lily?”
Someone shakes me, and I startle awake. It takes a second in the dim room to make out Zee’s face above me. The early morning violet light shines in through the window, a soft, warm glow across my white blanket. Then it registers—nausea and horrible pain all over, as if someone beat me senseless in my sleep. Every inch of my body throbs and cries out for relief. I cringe, and Zee’s expression grows sad.
“What . . . happened?” I ask. “Why do I hurt all over?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
I dig through my mind-fog until I unearth something. “The pathway to the monastery . . .” I rub the spot on my neck. “You shocked m—”
Zee lays a finger to my lips with a nod. Lord Daumier has decided to further “purify” you. You did not . . . pass his “test” last night.
What test? What happened? Why can’t I remember?
Painful memories fuel your power, and he knows this. Without your memories, you are docile, fragile . . . powerless. And you’d become more so soon . . . if it weren’t for my planning ahead.
What do you mean, Zee?
I thought this might happen. You won’t remember me telling you this, but the implant that allows us to speak has many uses. It can also intercept signals to the mind-altering device known as the Nirvonic System . . . which they’ve now implanted instead of the memory chip and acceleration serum they tried first—the serum you’ve not been taking. It became apparent last night that the other memory-altering technology wasn’t working when you . . .
When I what?
You called the boy by his name.
What boy?
The boy in chains. He was there. And in your delirious, dopamine-induced dream-state, you called him by his name, told him . . . that you loved him.
I did?
Yes. I’m so sorry . . . I did not anticipate that when I manipulated your dopamine levels.
Well . . . what’s his name? What did I call him?
Jack, or . . . Jax, maybe?
The sliding door opens to a bright light, followed by Suellen’s stony expression. “Time to check your incisions.”
Ask her why you’re here and not at the Monastery, Zee says.
“Why am I here?” I ask.
Her lips pull to a thin line. “You lost consciousness at his lord’s monastery last night. We discovered internal bleeding in your brain, most likely from the damage to your skull from the fall last week, so we had to operate. Fortunately, you’ve made a speedy recovery.” She punches a few buttons on the wall panel, avoiding my gaze.
“I don’t remember anything. Why am I in so much pain?”
“You were also attacked.”
“Attacked? By who?”
“An Impure woman. She escaped captivity last night and crossed the chasm bridge. The guards didn’t see her; she’d stolen a dark gray robe and was lurking in the shadows. She attacked you and two of his lord’s men as they carried you here. You are once again . . . extremely lucky.”
“I’ll be back,” says Zee. “I’m going to grab breakfast for us. Want me to bring you some tea, Sue?”
“Yes, thank you. How thoughtful.”
Zee disappears through the doorway, leaving me with Suellen, who studies me, shakes her head with a look of disapproval.
A woman’s screams pierce through the silence. I find her through the window, across the chasm, where two helmeted Clergymen rip her from a man’s arms. A gathering crowd charges at the Clergymen, met by a second, larger group of helmeted men who shoot them back twenty feet with some sort of electrical blasts. In droves, people leave their living tubes to join the riot, but with superhuman strength, the Clergymen tear their attackers from their bodies and toss them, screaming, into the chasm.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“You don’t remember yet, Lily? This is a common occurrence here.”
The two helmeted men drag the woman across the chasm bridge as she sobs, pleads for . . . something. When she gets closer, I see her swollen belly. “No!” she screams. “Please don’t take my baby! Please, no!”
The man she was taken from breaks free of the brawl and races toward her, calling, reaching for her. Then he, too, is tossed to his death. I cover my mouth, mortified, and they drag her to the room next to mine. Within minutes, her pleading subsides to a heartrending silence.
Zee, what happened to that woman? Did they kill her?
No. Not yet, anyway. They tranquilized her. They’ll take her child and place it in a Cekducellus Pod, then they’ll transfer the woman . . . and recycle her.
How horrible! Nausea and anguish swirl inside me, making it hard to inhale.
“Knock knock.” Zee appears in the doorway, holding a cup out for Suellen, and a tray of food. She sets the tray on the counter by the sink and hands Suellen the cup.
“Thank you, dear.” Suellen takes the cup, sips from it, with the hint of a smile. “Mmm . . . Maudine makes the best Ragasian Tea.” She downs the rest and sets the cup onto the bedside table. “Now, let’s get a look at those stitches.” And she inspects the line on my abdomen, though seems to only pretend to care about its condition. She gives a stiff nod and turns to Zee. “I need to run down to Lab G. Will you stay with Lily?”
“Of course. Take your time.”
“Appreciate it, dear.” She leaves with a small black case.
“Are you hungry?” Zee takes my hand. And are you all right?
“I’m okay for now, thank you.” No. Why do they do that to the women? It’s so sad . . .
It’s too hard to explain right now. Listen, for the next two days, do exactly what I say. All signals—if any—from Lord Daumier will first be intercepted by me. They’ll be testing you, so you must do as I say. Now, ask me for some water.
“I am thirsty, though,” I say. “May I have some water?”
“Sure.” Zee crosses the room and fills a mug from the faucet. When she brings it back, a pink capsule sits at the bottom. “Drink up.” She winks.
“Thank you.” I gulp down the water, swallowing the bitter capsule with it.
When your memory returns, it will all return, Zee says. Your memories of the MemTaps they’ve administered, and . . . what happened last night. She studies me, brimming with emotion. As difficult and heartbreaking as that will be for you, it’s what you need. Daumier is right; your painful memories make you stronger.
A dull ache at the base of my skull makes me reach for the spot. I find a fresh row of stitches to match the ones on my belly. When will I remember?
Soon. In test studies, the average dosage for memory reinstallment was three capsules, with four being the maximum. So, in three to four days. It’s already been two. With luck, you’ll have full memory return before the ceremony tomorrow. And you’ll have me instead of Suellen to watch over you for the next two days, so that will help us prepare. She pets my hand. “How are you feeling?” she asks—a cover-up for our silent internal conversation.
“Not so great.” And why will you be here for two days instead of Suellen?
“Well, don’t worry,” she says, “they pushed the Impure woman from the chasm bridge. I saw it myself. She won’t hurt you again.”
A beeping resonates from the wall, and Zee drops my hand, pressing a button beside a speaker. “Yes?”
“Aby? It’s Suellen. I’m not feeling well,
I—” Her words cut off with the sound of vomiting.
“Oh my, Suellen . . . what happened to you?”
“I’m not sure. I . . . guess I’m coming down with something. Can you stay with . . . Lily for a while?”
“No problem. Just get better, Sue, don’t worry about us.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Zee releases the button and grins. That’s how.
How did you know?
I poisoned her. She’ll be teetering very near death in a few hours.
Zee!
Don’t worry, she’ll live. The levels are near-lethal, but not fatal. Besides, I couldn’t kill her even if I wanted to.
Why’s that?
I . . . can’t explain that to you yet. But listen, Daumier’s trying to find the other two keys with the MemTaps, I’m sure. They’ve administered twelve already. Your father’s done a remarkable job of keeping his secrets safe, as have any others who may have known the truth. Thanks to them, Lord Daumier does not yet have the information he needs. And fortunately for you, we’ll be far away before they can discover anything via MemTap.
Keys? What kind of keys? I don’t understand what you’re saying. And what about my father’s secrets? What secrets? What do you know about my father?
I can’t answer all of those questions now, Joy, it would only confuse you more. I was excited and said too much. But you’ll understand soon enough. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.
I sigh. When will you explain things? This mystery is so infuriating, I want to scream.
I can imagine, and I’m sorry. But it’ll be all over soon enough. She crosses the room to the back corner and collects something from a tabletop. “You left this at Maudine’s yesterday.” The gold purse from the feast. She sets it in my lap. Don’t let anything happen to those.
To what?
Look inside.
I open it to find the golden compact of face powder and a tiny, clear jar with two pink capsules.
Can I take both now?
No. Doing that has caused brain hemorrhage in prior patients. We’re not sure why a higher dosage affects certain people this way, but it’d be best if we kept them spread out. Take one more tonight, then the other in the morning. Still a little close together, but we haven’t much time.
The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Page 18
