The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2)

by Christina L. Rozelle

  I’m so confused . . . And I hug my middle, shuddering, when my arm catches against the stitching there. I stiffen, and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, my tears return with a pained groan. “No . . . Oh no, oh no no no no no! They took . . .” I can’t force the words out, my mouth quivers with their weight, not wanting to solidify the truth by verbalizing its horror.

  What? What did they take?

  My . . . unborn child.

  Zee enfolds me, rocking me softly in her arms. “Oh, Joy,” she whispers. “I was hoping that wasn’t the case.”

  When Ms. Ruby told me I was pregnant, I wanted it to be a lie. How could I ever be a real mother? How could Jax be a father? But things are different now. They’re all gone, and I’m alone . . . with a stranger who knows more about me than I do about her. I need my friends, my family, Baby Lou, Jax . . . and our baby. I’m severed, lost, and lifeless without them.

  Zee crouches before me and takes my hands. “We’ll get them back. All of them. I promise.”

  My vision blurs, and I go numb. This can’t be happening.

  Did you hear me, Joy? You must stay strong. I’m sure it seems impossible at the moment, but I believe in you. You can move through this.

  I meet her gaze with quivering lips, and she embraces me. To return a clear thought to her isn’t possible.

  “Come on, sister, let’s go to Claudette’s.” Zee stands. There are Clergymen waiting for us to exit. She takes my chair handles and pushes me out from beneath the canopy, clicking open the umbrella over our heads. We’re met with the pitter-patter of rain and two OAI Clergymen standing at attention beyond the netting enclosure.

  Time to play the part, “Lily,” says Zee. It’s life or death. For you, me, and everyone you love.

  A bean of strength sprouts from the soil of my soul planted there by Zephyr the Magnificent. Be strong, my daughter, it says. Now isn’t the time for weakness.

  I sit up straight and wipe the wetness from my face. When we approach, they scrutinize me in my apparent devastated state. “Is everything all right?” one of them asks Zee. He’s younger than me. He must’ve only recently been “born” into this world.

  Zee pats my hair. “Oh, we’re fine. Lily is just a little upset that her memories have not returned yet. On top of the incident last night . . . I’m sure you understand.”

  The OAI boy nods, and the older one waves us past, stiff, blank-faced. Programmed. Like Smudge, when she led us off of Raffai’s ship. But in the boy, I see curiosity, suspicion. He tries to hide it, but I call his bluff.

  Zee, he’s awakened, I can tell.

  You’re right. He is. He chose to stay.

  We leave them at the Atrium entrance and they wait until we are a few yards ahead before they follow.

  How many of them here are awakened? I ask.

  Seven. And they are . . . my friends.

  Did Raffai awaken you together?

  No. But we found each other. It was the first any of us had ever connected with another soul.

  It must be difficult for you, pretending . . .

  Yes. And it will be difficult . . . to leave them.

  That pain, I understand.

  This is a stupid question, Zee says, but are you okay, Joy? I can’t imagine how horrible and devastating this is for you.

  I’ll be okay, eventually. But at the moment, no, I’m not okay. I’m the furthest from okay that I’ve ever been.

  She brushes my shoulder, gives it a loving squeeze. I’m right here for you. You’re not alone. We’ll do this, and we’ll do it together.

  I hope you’re right. And thank you.

  Two storefronts down from Maudine’s is a place called Xavier M. Modifications—a strange mix of Maudine’s and a laboratory. From this place exits a human Clergyman, rolling on visible wheels implanted into his ankles where his feet should be, with the area bandaged. They must be the same type Arianna Superior and Lord Daumier move around on, except they keep theirs covered to give the appearance of floating. I’m guessing Xavier’s is where they got their mechanical modifications.

  Next to Xavier’s is Claudette’s Boutique, an eruption of floral and cloth and fragrance. Such splendor. If I wasn’t so numb, bloated with sadness and indifference, I might feel something. But I don’t. What’s beauty without love?

  Claudette’s a thin, young human woman who wears her golden blonde hair in a braid. A gentle stream trickles by the side of the building, near her door, with a dainty white bench on the bank for sitting to gaze at the beauty. Statues of angels and birds scattered around it complete the “perfect” setting. But it might as well be rotting or on fire, charred black with lies and artificiality.

  Claudette greets us at the door, and memories continue to flood back, including peculiar ones. Jax and Miguel in the Tree Factory . . . Lying next to Mother in bed, listening to my daddy and his friends chat in our common area. I remember that night, years ago, but not their conversation. After peeking through the door for a moment, I climbed back into bed with my mother and drifted off to sleep to their murmurs. She never rolled over and told me to get back up.

  Other altered memories resurface. Like memories turned into dreams, so real, yet bizarre. Those “dreams” must’ve been from the MemTap program when they were trying to extract information through Aby, Miguel . . . my mother. They weren’t themselves. But Jax . . . how he talked to me, the things he said . . . the way he kissed me. That was real. In the dream—or whatever you call it—I couldn’t remember ever kissing him before, but I sensed it was natural, right.

  Maybe he was there with me, like in the transfer program. He even said those words: they have us. Do they have him, too, tapping his mind for information? And did his father steal a Seeker’s Key from mine? Before he died and soon after Jax and his father moved to Greenleigh from Taborton, there were a few weeks when my daddy was devastated and he’d never say why. When I asked him, he said he’d failed me. But a week or so before his death, he was suddenly better.

  He held me close, the day before he died. “As long as you hold on to the magic, you’ll be free one day,” he’d said. “If you always, always question everything and let your courage guide you through the raging flames of fear, you’ll make it, my darling. There’s no doubt in my mind. There’s so much strength in the magic. Don’t ever lose it. Promise me, Joy.”

  And yes, I made that promise, though I hadn’t the faintest clue what he meant. Still don’t. Although now I sense it on a level beyond words. My heart and soul understand it.

  Claudette flits around the room as if her life’s never had a stagnant moment. “Come, come, sweet Lily! Can you stand?” Her voice rings like heavenly crystal in a hollow, crumbling hell, her cheeriness out of place, performed.

  “Yes, I—I think so.” I stand, wobbly and awkward, on the verge of collapse. Too much information, too much turmoil, bewilderment. Zee sits on a nearby bench, fidgeting with her satchel strap, while I stumble to Claudette at a vanity lined with jars, brushes, palettes, and an array of other curious objects.

  “Stand here, please, darling.” She leads me to a corner, where a trifold, floor-length mirror waits to judge my imperfections from all angles.

  Another memory collides with my consciousness. In Lord Daumier’s room last night, my daddy’s old book of magic tricks was there on his bedside table. What would he want with that? Strange. Does it have something to do with those Keys? But if my daddy had one of them, what did he do with it . . . ? Sadie wasn’t aware he had it, otherwise Smudge would’ve told me. At least, I think she would’ve. She has been known to harbor a few secrets. He might’ve kept it from her, though. And my mother, too. But why? To keep us safe?

  Yes, Zee answers my thoughts not intended for her. That’s why.

  How many of my thoughts can you hear?

  Oh, not . . . many.

  I look at her and she glances a
way. But I can’t press the issue. My mind, my emotions are too riotous. It may not be brain hemorrhage, but it’s a close second.

  As Claudette prepares my extravagant gown, arranging rows of pins to make it fit me just right, I stand staring at the blonde stranger in the mirror. I contemplate my previous life, all of the heartbreak and devastation . . . it’s too much. And Ms. Ruby . . . I can’t believe she’s dead. Even more so, that it was Smudge who killed her.

  Arianna Superior. She was controlling her. So she took Smudge from me, too, and made her a killer. I wonder where my poor friend is now.

  Over the next hour, while Claudette pins the dress in various areas, I let my vision blur and retreat further into my painful thoughts. Before long, though, she’s inching the huge, white dress up over my arms and head, trying not to poke me with any pins.

  “I’ll need you here two hours before the ceremony tomorrow,” she says. “It’ll take time to prepare your hair and makeup to perfection.”

  “Okay.” Hopefully, I won’t resemble Emmanuel Superior when she’s finished with me.

  Zee rolls me back to Repair Room Six in internal silence, though the streets around us bustle with life. Many of the faces avoid mine anyway, so I’m not too concerned with hiding my misery. I slump in my chair, baffled by all of the occurrences leading up to this point, and unable to pretend I am anything other than distraught. Zee sees it, because she leaves me alone, doesn’t say a word. She wheels me into my room and helps me into bed, kissing the top of my head. “Rest. And try not to worry. I’ll be right back with hot tea.”

  Zee leaves again, and I lie in my bed, lost, listening to the trickle of the waterfall in the corner. I let my vision blur as I stare at the rain, in the “outside” that’s yet another prison. Why am I not dead? This question plagues me. My spirit’s weary and scathed, raw and vacant, yet something coaxes me to keep fighting. Is it love? A ridiculous delusion that one day everything will be okay? That we’ll all be together and free, in some paradise where bad things never happen? Where we’ll never be separated again? A place where no storms of hatred and showers of blood rain down on us from an angry, poisoned sky . . . ? This dream’s too good to ever come true. At least, that’s how it seems at this moment.

  The door slides open and Zee enters carrying a mug of something steamy. “Here. Drink this.” She sets the mug onto the bedside table, next to the wilting plant that was green just yesterday. “And I’ve momentarily blocked reception from this room so we can speak freely. I’ll have to remove it soon, though, so they don’t suspect. I didn’t want to put more stress on your mind for a while.”

  I roll over and sit up. “Who are you—really? I mean . . . who were you? Your donor.”

  “That’s not important.” She sits on the edge of my bed. “What’s important is that you snap out of this self-pity. It won’t get you anywhere. It won’t bring your loved ones to safety.”

  “But why won’t you tell me who your donor was? Was it someone who knew me or my parents?”

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t remember my donor . . . you were too young.” She points to the mug. “Now, drink up.”

  “What is this? More medicine?”

  “No more medicine. I’ve made this tea myself with some herbs to help replenish your body’s natural healing ability. For the next twenty-four hours, your mind must be as clear as possible, and your body strengthened for what’s to come.”

  I take the mug, sip the hot liquid. Not the most delicious thing I’ve tasted, but not too bad.

  “Tonight, after the banquet,” Zee says, “once you are in bed here and most everyone in Alzanei is asleep, I’ll come. We’ll go visit your Baby Lou. We’ll have to avert the guards, but that will be easy. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”

  “Okay. Thank you so much.” I peer down into the glass. “I think our friend, Smudge, was being controlled. She led us straight to the Queen, murdered someone we all loved, and then took Baby Lou away from me before pushing me into a cell by myself. I hit my head—” I touch the spot and the bruised lump is faint, but still there.

  “Yes, that would be possible, especially with the new technology for overriding the old Nirvonic System commands. And if Raffai’s killblock was deactivated . . . that would’ve made it even easier to override.”

  “He turned it off, right before he died, I think. She asked him to, so she could protect us.”

  “Then, yes . . . that makes sense. I’m . . . so sorry.”

  I down the rest of my tea and set the cup on the table. “Did Raffai awaken you, too?”

  Zee drops her gaze to the floor. “He did. And I . . . never got to thank him.”

  “What happened? Why did you decide to stay?”

  “I chose to hide my awakening, to continue to serve Lord Daumier. And I thought I was okay with it until . . . you arrived. I knew what he’d do to you, and I had to stop it. That’s when I realized . . . I could. And at that moment, I was aware of some Power in the Universe that made things happen for a reason . . . sort of . . . an inherent magic . . .” Zee grins to herself, as if remembering a faraway moment in time, then takes my hands, squeezes them tight. “I was here when you needed me, to spare you a life of torturous servitude and despair.” She wipes at a stray tear. More come, and she turns away.

  “That’s how I felt about Smudge,” I say. “About the way things happened with her, and her donor.”

  Zee turns back around. “Oh?”

  “Yes, it’s a long story. I’ll explain when we get out of here. Oh, and do you know what they did with our belongings? My daddy’s magic book is in Lord Daumier’s room, so they have everything somewhere. There are some irreplaceable items in that bag.”

  “They brought you here at night, so I did not see you until the following day in the repair lab. If your belongings came, too, they could be in one of two places. Either in the Monastery, or in the storage area near The Soul Room.”

  “The Soul Room?” Cheyenne had mentioned something about that while we sucked on sugar cubes.

  “Where they keep the . . . Cekducellus Pods and the Donor Liqui-drives, among other things.”

  “Is that where my baby is?”

  “I’ve scanned the database and found him there, yes.” Now we must stop this verbal talk. I have to unblock the room reception.

  Okay. But we’re going there tonight, right?

  To the Soul Room? Oh, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

  But what about my baby? I have to get—

  To move him now would be detrimental. We will have to come back for him. In a few weeks, he’ll be the size of a human two year-old, like your Baby Lou. He’ll have a better chance at life outside the Cek Pod, then. First, we must escape and get help.

  You keep saying “he.” Does that mean you’re sure he’s a . . . a boy?

  Yes. In my full scan of the Soul Files, I found his information. He has already begun the process.

  Process? Of what?

  Of rapid growth in preparation to become OAI.

  No . . . Can you at least take me to see him?

  Zee sighs. I guess . . . as long as OAIs guard the room. I can block visual response, make them inactive long enough for us to get in and out without being seen.

  And we have to find my belongings, keep them somewhere safe and accessible until it’s time to go.

  Now you’re asking too much—

  “Please!” I slap my hand over my mouth, then remove it to cover my slip. “I’m . . . I’m so thirsty. May I have . . . some water?”

  “Sure, Lily. It’s time for your next dose of medicine as well.” Be careful. With a stern glance, she walks to the sink, fills a cup, and brings it to me. “Drink up, sweet sister.”

  “Thank you, Aby. I’m starting to remember such lovely things. I can’t wait until it all comes back.” Please, Zee. It’s all I have left of my parents, a
nd of Aby.

  “Soon, my sister. Very soon.” For a moment, she studies me, and I try to read her face. Too many emotions to name sit there. But curiosity, I recognize, and I’ll take it, use it to my advantage.

  I know you’re curious.

  Yes . . . of course you do. And I am.

  So you’ll take me to the storage room, then?

  Zee sighs again, sweeps her hair back. I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I? When you’re determined to do something, there is no stopping you. Such a strong, yet often irritating, quality. She chuckles, and I grin.

  Good to see you smile.

  And with her words, I hang on to it a moment longer as I scan the drenched splendor through the window. The flowers in the rain are more vibrant against the foggy gray backdrop of the dome. They’re a symbol for us now: flowers, scattered in the darkness. The downpour is our hope, filling our souls with perseverance. The dreary sky is our past—proof we can conquer evil. And in the dim light that seeps through the fog, there is our strength, the ever-growing love we have for each other. The promise that we’ll rise, blossom, and overcome.

  They don’t understand. Uprooting us won’t kill us; it’ll only make us stronger, motivate us to fight harder. To push through the dirt and find the loving light of freedom.

  I see the whole picture now, Zee. And I’m willing to accept the challenge, because . . . what have I got to lose?

  So . . . what is this you’ve realized?

  I may not know how it will all work, but we’ve seen so many miracles, we’ve survived so much . . . There’s a great chance we’ll get through this, too. And if . . . when we do, I’ll prove my daddy right, that fear is the greatest illusion of all. We must face it, and fight it, to be free.

  Are you sure about this, Joy? It’s risky.

  I’m positive.

  A boy in white scrubs every inch of the bathroom tiles in my room without even breaking a sweat, and the chemical smell burns my nostrils. The tattoo along his neck reads H95F-77S. He looks at me, expressionless, before going back to scrubbing, and I scrutinize myself in the mirror. I adjust the tiny device in my left palm, hiding it beneath one of the lace gloves Zee got from Claudette’s with another atrocious dinner dress. Impossible to move in. No idea how—or why—women wear these things.