New World Ashes

by Jennifer Wilson

  Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  Originally published in the United Sates in paperback by Jennifer Wilson, September 2015

  This edition published in 2016 by

  O F T O M E S P U B L I S H I N G

  U N I T E D K I N G D O M

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Wilson, Jennifer 1984-

  New World: Ashes: a novel / by Jennifer Wilson.-2nd ed.

  Cover design by KimG Design

  Interior book design by Deadpan Design

  Summary: After seventeen-year-old orphan rogue Phoenix sacrifices herself for her loved ones, her world takes an unexpected turn. She may have forgotten her past, but it hasn’t forgotten her. A war is coming and her part in it is more pivotal than anyone ever expected. That is, if she survives.

  1. SURVIVOR

  FIRE. ASHES. REBIRTH.

  Fire. Ashes. Rebirth.

  This excruciating process happened over and over again until I pleaded for death to come. To make it stop. But it doesn't.

  Fire. Ashes. Rebirth.

  And each time… I'm a little less of the person I was before.

  I NEVER SAW the faces of the men who took me.

  Before being dragged to my feet, a black bag had been yanked down over my head, blinding me. The instant I attempted to retaliate against the restraining hands, my arms were pulled painfully behind my back, my wrists shackled by something metal. I remembered my injured arm screaming in agony as they forced me to my knees, but before I could cry out something hard was shoved into my side. Whatever it was shocked me with a voltage so high I was eventually rendered unconscious. Little did I know, that moment of comatose sleep was the only peace I would know for a long time.

  When I awoke, I was here. Though I couldn’t be sure exactly where “here” was. Undoubtedly, it was some kind of prisoner’s holding chamber… but to me, it felt more like hell.

  Everything but the ceiling was polished a perfectly glossy white. When I first roused, the smooth surface was soothing beneath my raw fingers, but I quickly realized the finish wasn’t just for aesthetics. I sat up. Seconds after my head left the floor, hell opened its fiery gates. The entirety of the small room was devoured by a blinding white light emanating from exposed bulbs that lined the open ceiling. At first, I covered my eyes and recoiled, but no matter how I tried to block it out, the light still seeped in. Even behind my hands, my eyelids glowed a translucent red as I squeezed them shut. Purple veins shown through my thin skin. Sweat began to pour from my body at an alarming rate, my clothing becoming soaked almost immediately.

  I buried my head in my arms.

  If only it would stop.

  As if the blazing light wasn’t bad enough, the music started. Not that the blaring noise could really be considered music. It was as if five songs were all being played at the same time, each one competing to be heard above the others. The sound was so loud it made my eardrums ache. Surely they would start bleeding if they weren’t already. But if I moved to protect my ears, the light pierced though my closed lids again, making my head feel like it was on fire. Eventually, I compromised by huddling with my back against the wall while pressing my eyes into my knees and keeping my arms wrapped around my head.

  In truth, it made little difference.

  Through the constant onslaught, it was nearly impossible to think. Even my own name was becoming harder to remember. Only one thought kept rattling loose as the torture went on. They weren’t going to ask me questions, to seek out my alliance like the Subversive once had. These people were going to break me and see what they could scrape off the floor.

  I had to remind myself that I chose this.

  That there was a reason I was here.

  They were safe.

  They were not being tortured like I was.

  Sacrifice. What a heady notion. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time…

  It still was. I reminded myself.

  I tried to picture the faces I was fighting to see again, the loved ones I had tried to save but it was so hard to focus.

  I had a flash of memory, a glimpse of their terrified eyes pleading with me through that sewer grate. I know I had promised Triven I would stay alive, promised that I would survive this. But even now as I tried to think of him, his image began to slip away. Not even Mouse’s round, sweet face could penetrate this unending mental and physical torture.

  I was tough, always had been. My survival in Tartarus was proof of that. But this, this was killing me.

  Less than a week ago, if someone had told me I would miss my time in the Subversive’s underground bunker, I would have laughed. But today, today I did miss it. Soft beds, warm food, friends—well, not friends exactly, allies might have been a better word. Yes, there were enemies there too, but at least they had been civilized. More civilized than the Tribes.

  More civilized than this.

  The people of the Subversive didn’t trust me, certainly not at first. (I still didn’t trust half of them.) But over time, I had earned their respect and they eventually looked to me for counsel. They were why I was here in the first place—a botched recon mission.

  They had sent us out to infiltrate The Wall and report back what we had found. No outsiders had seen The Sanctuary in six years and six years was a long time. We had come in blind, not knowing what we would find here. Was it the city their leader, Arstid, remembered and had risked her life to escape? Or had it changed? Best-case scenario, we would find a city that had overthrown their tyrant. A place where everyday wasn’t a battle to survive. A place where the refugees of Tartarus could live in freedom.

  While I too desired freedom, answers were what I really sought. Answers about who I was and why my parents had given their lives to get me out. Either way, anything had to be better than Tartarus, better then hiding from the Tribes. Or so I thought.

  Slowly, my body began to shut down. The steady ache in my lower back hinted my kidneys were most likely failing. The survival books I had once filched from Tartarus’ library taught me what these symptoms might mean and none of it was good news for me. Every ounce of water had been drained from my body, pooling beneath me and clinging to my clothing. And no matter how badly I wanted it, no glass of water was going to magically appear to quench my parched body. At some point, I slumped to the floor. I couldn’t remember doing it, and now that I was there, I couldn’t find the energy to sit up again. My tongue scraped dryly across my cracked lips seeking relief. The only thing it found was the tang of blood. Even my eyelids found it hard to blink without sticking.

  My body was dying.

  I was dying.

  I knew I had promised someone I would survive for them, but I couldn’t hang on anymore. They would understand… right?

  I had to let go…

  My pulse was slowing, ready to give up.

  Then just as suddenly as the onslaught had come, it stopped.

  The world was plunged into utter blackness and the only sound I could hear was the painful ringing of my own ears.

  At first, I loved the quiet. The dark felt cool on my parched blistered skin. The air no longer burned when I breathed. But that feeling of relief did not last. Soon the darkness became overwhelming. Its heaviness was crushing me, pressing in on my limbs, making it harder to breathe. In the light, at least I had a sense of being, but lying in the infinite blackness… it was as if I had just disappeared. As if a sea of nothingness had swallowed me whole. I wanted to curl myself into a ball, to wrap my arms around my knees, to hold myself together, but my body refused to move. Instead, I lay shivering in a pool of my own sweat. A
t one point, I vaguely remember my tongue desperately stabbing at the floor, seeking relief. The salty moisture did little to satiate my thirst. I wasn’t sure if it was the lack of heat from the lights or if the temperature in the room was actually dropping, but it was getting colder. Then, as the ringing in my ears finally started to fade, the screaming began.

  They were so loud.

  I tried to pull my hands up to cover my ears but one arm was trapped beneath my fallen body while the other barely fluttered in response. I couldn’t even lift my fingertips to scratch my nose much less cover my ears. Defeated, I did the only thing I could do and squeezed my eyes shut. As the screams echoed over and over, something familiar clawed at my mind. Slowly, I realized I knew these voices.

  I struggled to understand. Were they hurting people I loved?

  After what felt like an eternity, it clicked. The screams weren’t another tactic derived to torture me. They were my own personal form of torment.

  They were in my head.

  As I made that jarring realization, I could now not only hear them but also see their matching faces flashing behind my closed eyelids. My mother’s beautiful blood-spattered face was pale against her flowing blonde hair. Next was my father’s, his face twisted in pain that distorted his usually handsome features.

  I was sleeping. I had to be.

  I knew these nightmares.

  I had lived with them for over six years, awoke to them every morning, relived them every night. But something was different now… They had changed.

  There was another face, a new face. Black eyes stared back at me, overflowing with fear as the man died. A river of blood poured from his mouth, its crimson fingers creeping toward me. It felt like I was drowning in it. I choked, unable to scream. Maddox died to save me and now his death would haunt me just like my parents’ did.

  I tried to open my eyes, willing the ghastly apparitions to go away, but to my horror they were already open. In the darkness, there was no escaping the most tortured, inner workings of my mind. You can’t hide from what’s inside of you. The worst part about silence is that there’s nothing to distract your mind. It didn’t matter if my eyes were open or closed. I saw them. With great effort, I curled in further on myself, trying to disappear, to become nothing. And that’s when the lights came back on, restarting the torturous cycle all over again. In the light I burned for my sins. In the dark they swallowed me whole.

  Fire. Ashes. Rebirth.

  IT FELT LIKE days, weeks, months had passed and still I was trapped in this hell. But by some cruel joke of fate, I didn’t die. The fifteenth time (I was counting) the lights came on, something was different. The harsh lights were softer this time. It took me a minute to comprehend there wasn’t the usual searing heat burning my skin, then another to realize I was no longer alone. Balancing on the thin edge of delirium, I could see the outline of a man standing before me, but it was hard to make out his face through the tangles of my hair and thickly crusted eyelashes. He was nothing more than a dark shadowy figure looming above me. I didn’t bother lifting my head to get a better look. Instead, I just closed my eyes.

  The toe of his shoe slid under my shoulder and then with a shove flipped me onto my back. As my stringy hair fell away from my face, he muttered something that sounded like a curse. My eyelids fluttered, but I couldn’t focus. Stepping away from me he addressed someone else. His words sounded strange mixed with the residual sounds of the music still pulsating in my ears. They said something about taking me somewhere… to see someone. But before the words could register, my body shut down, casting me into a grateful unconsciousness.

  SOMETHING COLD STRUCK me in the face. It rolled over my skin, down my chest and into my lap. It should have been refreshing, but the chill of the water felt almost violent against my scorched skin, a million minuscule pins and needles stabbing my nerve endings. My head whipped back involuntarily before rolling forward again.

  A groan slipped from my lips. My temples were throbbing.

  I blinked a few times, trying to focus. Neither my body or mind felt under my control. Keep your head. I reminded myself. My name was Phoenix. I had made a sacrifice. The Sanctuary had captured me. I didn’t want to die. As I stared at my soaked thighs, I tried to make an assessment of my fuzzy surroundings.

  They had moved me.

  The floor I could just see beyond my bare toes was grey now and I was sitting up—well, not so much “sitting up” as tied to a chair. While my instincts screamed at me to resist the restraints, I knew they were the only things holding me upright. As much as I wanted to be rid of them, I needed them for support. Without my bindings they would know how weak I was, but with them I stood a chance at feigning strength.

  “Do it again.” A snide male voice spoke to my right. I heard the movement of feet and the sloshing of another bucket.

  “I would highly advise against that.” I meant my voice to be strong and confident, but what came out was cracked and raspy.

  The sloshing noise stopped.

  “So nice of you to join us, Prea.” A different voice spoke this time. It was deeper, more refined than the first.

  Using all of my strength, I pushed against the ropes on my chest and pulled my head up to face the man who said my name. It was like staring at him through a dark tunnel. I forced my eyes to focus.

  He was old by Tartarus standards. His perfectly coiffed hair was streaked grey and white. The wrinkles embedded in his face had given way to gravity slightly, but there was something wrong about them. It was as if his face had been stretched back a little to keep the drooping lines tighter. There was something else in his features I couldn’t quite place. Something… familiar. He had a sharp nose like a beak and the most piercing blue eyes. Even in my semi-delirious haze, their gaze sent a chill down my spine.

  Focus, Phoenix…

  His pressed suit was perfectly white, with a high blunt collar that stopped just below his angular jaw. Two silver bars were mounted on each shoulder. There was something round, shiny and silver over his left breast that I could not quite make out. The tailored uniform gave him an authoritative look, but it was not a soldier’s uniform nor was it like the civilians’ garb I had seen—that I had stolen—before being captured. The attire had been well calculated. He appeared to be a commander yet still a man of the people—white like a citizen’s but cut like a soldier’s. In his left hand he held a brass cane, but wasn’t placing much weight on it. Possibly it was more for show than actual use. He may have looked older, but he carried himself with the authority and arrogance of a much younger man. Clearly, this was the man in charge. He was the one I had heard so much about and yet knew almost nothing.

  This was The Minister of The Sanctuary.

  This was Minister Fandrin.

  As the tunnel of my vision widened, I took in more of my surroundings. We were not alone. Three other younger men stood in the room with us. While I was now aware of their presence, it was The Minister who still held my complete attention. He was the one who had spoken my name. My real name.

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “You must be confused old man. That’s not my name,” I lied.

  His returning smile made my hollow stomach flip. “On the contrary my child, I am positive that your name is Prea. Prea Mason.”

  My throat clenched. No one knew my surname, not even Triven. That name had died with my parents. I concentrated on keeping my face calm. Emotionless.

  “And what the hell makes you think you know anything about me?” I said through my teeth. My head was getting heavy again, but I forced myself to hold his cold gaze.

  His smile shifted, looking more like a snarl.

  “Even beneath all of that grime and filth…” There was loathing in the old man’s eyes as they scoured over me. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize my own granddaughter?”

  2. EXCUSES

  MY HEAD SUDDENLY felt lighter. Surely my mind was playing tricks on me again. I had heard him wrong. A sickness unlik
e anything I had ever felt clawed under my skin. It felt as if my soul had shivered. The smile that spread across his lips seemed to be an attempt at appearing paternal, but to me it was menacing.

  “I think you must have me confused with someone else, old man.” I lied again.

  His smile faltered as he sighed. “It’s truly disappointing how much you’re like your mother.”

  He shook his head like the sight of me sitting before him tied to the chair was an embarrassment. Anger boiled in my veins. How dare he insult my mother? I wanted to scream at Fandrin that he was a liar. That there was no way in hell he and I shared any bloodlines. But the longer I stared at his smug face, the more I could see the resemblance. There was something in the shape of his jaw, in the hollow of his cheekbones, that looked so much like my mother…

  So much like me.

  But more than that—what really chilled me—were those eyes.

  They weren’t just bright and piercing… they were my eyes.

  I tried to swallow. For the first time in my life, I had no quip to cut back. Instead I just stared blankly at the man claiming to be my grandfather. All I had ever wanted was my family back, but as I gazed at the man before me something within me churned. It was as if a tiny moth’s wings fluttered against my spine, warning me something wasn’t right. I tried to ferret out the source of those feelings but nothing came to my broken mind. My memories were too far gone. Whatever it was that my body seemed to remember, my mind could not.

  However, one thing I had learned to trust over the years was my intuition. It was what so often kept me alive. While the man reminded me of my mother—of myself—I had no recollection of his face. He was nothing more than a familiar stranger, and a dangerous one at that.

  Growing restless, The Minister paced the small space in front of me, his hand twisting over the top of his brass cane as he moved. His withered knuckles turned white as he gripped and re-gripped the handle repeatedly.