by T. C. Edge
And as we walk, we do so in silence, every one of us reflecting on the battle. Tonight, maybe there will be a celebration, a joyous occasion to mark such an unexpected victory. But not now.
Now, a sombre mood infects us all as we think of those who have lost their lives. And as we climb higher, and I look down on the battlefield, I see a valley filled with blood.
16 - Aftermath
By the time we emerge from the mountain tunnel, and see the high walls of Petram ahead of us once more, I feel ready to collapse. I've had more taxing days before in terms of sheer physical exhaustion, but never one so emotionally draining.
As we walk through the gates, however, we're greeted by a feverish rush of activity ahead. From the depths of the mountain, those unable to fight have come, desperate to discover whether their loved ones have returned. All around us on the plateau, families and dear friends reunite. It must be more than anyone could have expected.
Among us, the many men and women from the other rebel force spread out. I wonder how many of them have been here before. The looks on some faces, marvelling at the grandeur of the city, tell me this is all new territory for them.
Task forces are already being formed to help coordinate things out on the plateau, led by Generals Richter and Stein, Drake, and Troy. Unharmed soldiers are ushered inside into the mountain. The prisoners of war are quickly assembled over on one side, herded into groups and surrounded by armed guards. The wounded are taken through into the medical chambers in the mountain. The dead are carefully carried on stretchers down towards the catacombs and mortuary.
The task of identifying each fallen soldier will be a long one. Already, administrators are going between the groups of survivors as they pass through the entrance of the city, taking down their names. Those who have already been assigned to the city will be ticked off. The new forces will also be accounted for. Anyone else will be assumed dead, and their relatives will have the horrible task of going to the morgue to identify them.
Jackson, seeing Colonel Jensen still hard at work, is quick to leave us and return to the action. He gives me another soft kiss and departs. Myself, Ellie, Link, and Athena find my father as he continues to direct things alongside the Generals.
“Dad, is there anything we can do?” I ask.
He looks into my weary eyes.
“You four have done plenty. We have all this in hand. Drop off your things and then go and rest. That's an order.”
We don't offer much in the way of argument. To one side large stores of weapons, ammunition, and armour have gathered. We add what we've carried up the mountain to the piles and pass through the high arch openings into the mountain.
Inside, a buzz fills the air. Tables set up with water and food have been hastily prepared. Rushing here and there, organising the catering, I see Leeta. When her eyes spy me and the others she runs over at a pace I've not yet seen her travel at.
“Cyra! Ellie! Link!” she calls, wrapping her arms around as many of us as she can manage. “I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you all.”
Her eyes quickly fill with tears. Athena stands to one side, looking a little awkward at the show of emotion. Leeta notices her and quickly gobbles her up into a hug as well.
“Well done, all of you! Well done!” she repeats. “There's water and food. Please, come help yourselves. It's not the most tasty, but we've done the best we can.”
We follow her over to the tables, where many hundreds of others gather. There appears to be plenty to go around, however.
“What about rationing?” I ask. “Is this smart?”
“Don't worry about that now,” says Leeta. “The other force of rebel soldiers has brought supplies.”
“And we don't have to worry about the Eden blockade any more,” adds Ellie, munching on a piece of bread.
We eat until we're full, and then an even greater weariness sets in. Around the chamber, many others have already collapsed into exhausted heaps, huddled back into their groups. The energy in the room begins to wane. A quietness takes hold.
“We should rest,” says Link. “Where's your room?”
“Down that passage,” says Ellie.
We all hug Athena goodbye, something she clearly doesn't enjoy, before turning and walking back to our room. I walk behind Link and Ellie, their hands clasped together, giving them some time to themselves. When we arrive, Link looks around awkwardly.
“You two share, right? Where should I sleep?”
“It's OK,” I say. “You go in with Ellie. I'll take Jackson's room.”
Ellie gives me a tired look of thanks and leads Link inside. I go next door, and find myself in the room once shared between Jackson and Theo, now occupied by the former alone. I wearily strip out of my military fatigues, covered in blood and soot, and slip on a t-shirt that I find on the nearest bed. Then I climb under the blanket, shut my eyes, and immediately fall asleep.
I'm slowly brought out of a rarely peaceful dream by the feel of my hair being stroked. My eyes crack open to see Jackson sitting on the bed next to me, sliding his fingers through my locks.
“You look beautiful when you sleep,” he says. “I've never seen it before.”
My body aches as I reach up and pull him down onto the bed with me. He falls down onto his back and I lie with my head against his chest. The beating of his heart thuds gently into my ear, rising slowly, steadily.
“You were good today,” he whispers. “You...”
I lift my hand to his lips to cut him off. He stops talking.
“Don't talk,” I say. “Just hold me.”
His arm curls under me, cradling me. I huddle closer into him, my body tight up against his. And just like that, I fall asleep once more.
I don't know how much time has passed when I wake, still in the same position. I look up to see Jackson sleeping peacefully. The movement causes his eyes to open up a crack, then a little more.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” I respond.
He leans over and kisses me, his lips dry and warm. Then he quickly rolls out of bed and stands up straight. I lean up onto my elbow, the blanket falling off of me. He sees the t-shirt, and his eyes crinkle.
“That was Theo's,” he says. “You should keep it.”
He turns and pulls on his jacket, before pulling a watch from his pocket and checking the time.
“I'm needed for a briefing,” he says. “You don't need to come. Drake was with you the whole time.”
“I want to,” I croak.
He comes and sits next to me again, his fingers brushing back through my hair.
“It's still early, and you look tired. Get some more sleep, Cy. I'll be back soon.”
With a gentle push, I'm pressed back down onto the bed. His lips brush my forehead before he stands and quickly departs the room. I sit up, with no intention of sleeping more, and walk to the small heap of military clothes on the floor, covered in dried blood and dirt. I spend the next ten minutes at the basin, washing them as clean as I can, before dressing and stepping out into the passage.
It's cold, a chill in the air, as I make my way towards the central chamber. When I reach it I see greater numbers than ever filling the floor, spilling over into the passages and down into the many other caves and caverns of the mountain. Outside, through the arches to the plateau, I see that dawn has risen again. I walk out into the morning air and see a cool pink hue lining the sky. A forceful wind stirs in the air, bringing puffy white clouds along for the ride.
I step out, stretching my legs. Soldiers are already active, the front gate once more shut tight and heavily manned. The stocks of weapons, ammo, and armour brought from below has grown higher, yet to be sorted and taken inside.
I recognise many of the weapons. They're the same ones as we trained with in the Grid. More powerful, accurate, and with a higher capacity for storing ammunition than the firearms we have here. The armour, too, is better, able to repel angled shots from a certain range. For many, they can mean the di
fference between life and death. Next time, these stocks will come in very handy.
I continue to the right side of the main street, walking past the military barracks and control centre. Beyond, in an open stretch of ground, the hundreds of war prisoners sit huddled in groups, still surrounded by armed guards. They sit, shivering in the cold, eyes downcast, clothing soiled with signs of war.
Many of them look at me as I pass. Their eyes stare, as if seeing Augustus Knight himself, following my footsteps as I go. I quickly retreat around the corner of a building away from them, then make my way back towards the main street. By the time I get there, I see Jackson stepping out of the control centre alongside my father and the other military leaders. They look at me together, share a word, and then Jackson comes running over.
“I thought you were going to get more sleep,” he says.
“I wasn't tired,” I respond. “So, how was it?”
“They want to interrogate some of the prisoners, find out what they can. They want me to take part.”
“Why you?”
“Because I was on Knight's Wall. They think I can connect with them better. Cyra, there are a couple from Arbor among them.”
“Prisoners? From back home?!”
He nods.
“One of them was at school with us. Dylan Stone. Do you remember him?”
“Sure. He was one of the kids who looked up to you, right? Well, every kid did that...”
“Yeah, well he travelled to the wall with me. We didn't train together, but they want me to talk to him. I thought you could come too.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, better two than one. Anyway, you're the great Cyra Drayton now. Everyone knows you.”
“I wouldn't call me 'great'. More like infamous really.”
“Well, whatever you are, everyone agrees that you should take part. They're prepping him right now, come on.”
“Where?”
“In the barracks. They don't exactly want to march him through the main chamber. Let's go.”
I follow Jackson the short way towards the barracks. Drake catches us outside.
“You've given her the brief?” he asks Jackson.
“Yes, General.”
“Good. Cyra, extract whatever information you can. We'll be talking to other prisoners in some of the other rooms. I'm going to the cells to speak with the Manson triplet right now. I doubt he'll tell me much, but it's worth a go.”
“He's not with the other prisoners?”
“No, not him. A man like that needs bars in front of him and a rock wall behind. Good luck.”
He departs, leaving Jackson and I to be led into the barracks by one of the soldiers stationed outside. The building is set up with long rooms on each side of the long corridor. Within, lines of bunk beds stretch into the distance. On them, I see many soldiers still sleeping. Many other beds lie empty.
At the rear are some smaller rooms used for administration. A single guard stands outside each one, now converted for the purposes of interrogation. As we pass, I see several prisoners already sitting, bound to a chair, waiting to be questioned. To my relief, I see no instruments of torture inside. I doubt it would be the same were the shoe on the other foot.
At the end of the corridor, we reach our intended room. The soldier stops.
“The prisoner is inside, Captain Kane. I will wait outside for you.”
“Thank you Corporal,” says Jackson. He turns to me. “Ready?”
“As I'll ever be,”
His hand reaches for the door handle, turns down, and in we walk. My eyes quickly fall onto the boy sitting in the chair, a light shining into his eyes to obscure his vision. He blinks wildly.
“Who's there?” he asks, frightened.
I inspect his face, and memories of home come flooding back. Blond, with pale blue eyes, and lightly tanned skin, Dylan holds the typical look of those from Agricola. I remember him as a quiet and fairly shy boy, quite young for our year. He, like so many others, hung on Jack's every word.
Jackson steps over to the light, reaches up, and moves it to one side out of Dylan's eyeline. He blinks hard, adjusting to the new light, and then suddenly stops. His eyes widen.
“Ja...Jackson?” he asks.
Jackson steps forward.
“Hi, Dylan. It's good to see you.”
Dylan looks over to me on the other side of the room. The surprise in his eyes deepens.
“Cyra?”
I smile.
“Hey,” I say casually.
“What...what is this?”
“Just a catch up,” says Jackson. “We haven't seen each other in months, Dylan. How are you?”
“How...how am I?”
His eyes narrow, his head beginning to shake.
“I'm damn confused, that's what I am. You're public enemy number one and two. How the hell did that happen. You were so normal back home...”
“We're still normal,” I say.
“Normal...you're not normal. I know what you can do. Everyone does.”
“What do people know?” asks Jackson.
“Are you going to hurt me?” His head drops a little as he ignores the question, eyes peering up.
We both shake our heads.
“We're not going to hurt you. We just want to talk.”
“I never wanted to be here, you know. I didn't want to come and fight. You know me, Jackson. That's not me. Please, tell them I was forced here. I...I only did what I was told to do.”
I see tears filling the corners of his eyes. They build and begin spilling down his cheeks.
“I only did what I had to do...they would have killed me. I had no choice.”
“We understand, Dylan. We do. No one is blaming you, and no one is going to hurt you. I promise.” My voice is soft as I creep forward and rest my hand on his thigh, kneeling down in front of him.
His eyes rise up and lock with mine.
“You're so different,” he whispers. “Everything is so different.”
“What do you mean, Dylan. Tell us.”
“Back home. Everywhere. Things are changing.”
“I don't understand,” I say. “What is changing.”
“The regions. The people. They're starting to see the truth. I've seen it myself...and I see it in your eyes.”
“What?” I whisper.
“The things they've made me do,” he mumbles. “I've killed innocent people. I...I've killed children.”
He begins to break down in front of us. I look up to Jackson. His eyes are stark.
“I'm not a bad person,” he whimpers. “I'm not...”
“We know you're not. You can't blame yourself, Dylan,” I say, caught between pity and anger.
“It's happening everywhere...everywhere.”
Jackson steps forward, his hands clamping down on Dylan's shoulders.
“Look at me, Dylan,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
His eyes rise.
“What's happening back home? What's happening across the regions?”
Dylan takes a breath, tries to compose himself.
“People are refusing to work. The Custodians are getting more aggressive. But...no one is being banished any more. They know they'd only join you, the rebels.”
“What's happening to them?”
“They're being gathered into camps.” He takes another breath. “Concentration camps...they're being... exterminated,” he sobs.
I stand up suddenly straight. Jackson follows.
“We have to do something,” I say firmly. “We have to tell the Generals, the Master...”
“There's more...”
We look down at Dylan. His watery eyes turn to me, then Jackson.
“I spoke to my mother back home,” he sniffs. “She told me what's happening in Arbor. Lots of families have been taken to the camps. Those loyal to you both...”
“My family!” asks Jackson, a sickening realisation hitting him.
Dylan nods sombrely.
“I'm sor
ry. And...your brother and sister, Cyra. I...I heard they were taken.”
No...
“Where are these camps!” I shout.
“There's...one in each region, one in the North of Agricola. I'm sorry. I didn't want any of this. I didn't want to be a soldier.”
Jackson stands upright and tall, staring forward. His golden skin has gone pale, his hands shaking.
“Jack...we'll get them back,” I say. “I promise we'll get them back.”
He doesn't react, doesn't move. I take his arm. It's tense, hard as stone. I reach up and grip his chin, drag his eyes down to mine.
“We'll get them back,” I whisper with a growl. “We'll get them all back.”
And with that, he suddenly comes back to life, turns on his heels, and storms out of the room, leaving me and a sniffing Dylan behind.
17 - A Powerful Force
I rush out after Jackson, chasing him through the barracks and into the cold morning air. I call for him to slow down, but he doesn't. He runs straight through into the central chamber of the mountain and towards the passages at the back. Soon, he's disappearing into the depths away from me.
But I already know where he's going.
I slow my pace a little as I go, catching my breath as the darkness closes in. Soon the lights on the walls have ended, leaving me to navigate through the passage using my other senses. It doesn't take long, however, for a small light to appear in the distance through the narrow space in the rock wall.
I squeeze through and into the cells. Already, I can hear Jackson speaking loudly, his normally calm and collected self given way to a sudden urgency and desperation.
“They're being rounded up like cattle!” he shouts. “Anyone who doesn't agree with what's happening...they're being killed, Drake!”
I rush forward and the two men look at me. Jackson lowers his words.
“My family has been taken,” he says. “So have your son and daughter...”
“Carson...Cassie,” whispers my father.
“We have to do something. We can't wait. We have to act now.”
Drake turns to the back of the room. He begins pacing into the darkness as we follow. We reach a cell. Inside, the Manson triplet sits up against the rock wall, as Link did, staring out. His eyes are dark and bloodshot, his face contorted in pain.
