“I can’t even begin to imagine.” Triven’s voice ached with sympathy.
Something prickled at the back of my mind.
“You’re a good fighter?” I looked up to find him staring at me. His forehead was pinched with stress.
“I suppose so…”
“But you were never recruited.” It was a statement not a question. He had gone to school, he had told me about being in classes with other students. There had never been any stories about children soldiers. Unless he had lied to me by omission.
Triven looked uncharacteristically ashamed.
“I went to school here to become an electronics communications engineer, like my father.” He bit his lip. “I was supposed to be a soldier. I should have been fighting in the same sparring matches you did as a child. I passed the assessment test to be a soldier with flying colors. Placing fifth behind you.”
Words failed to form in my mind. Kind, intellectual, compassionate Triven a mindless soldier? It was hard to imagine. It was strange to think how close our lives had come to colliding years ago. I stared at Triven wondering how different it would have been. Would I have loved him at all? Would he have loved me? It seemed both of our pasts held secrets.
“I didn’t know.” He chewed on his thumb staring at the floor. “I don’t think Arstid even knew about it. My father had altered my scores once the results were in. He didn’t want me to be a soldier. He hacked the system and gave me a whole new life. But even the best hackers leave a trace. The rebels found out about it. Ryker showed me the test scores.”
“What did your mother do when she was here?” It was a question I had never asked. Arstid was such a pillar in the structure of the Subversive it was hard to envision her as anything else.
Triven laughed dryly. “She was a school teacher. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”
We stared at each other. I could see Triven questioning himself the same way I had these past few weeks. All of our lives could have been so different. His father had given him a new life, just as my damaged memories had done for me. But who would we have been without those life-altering moments?
We came here seeking answers, but finding them was starting to feel like a curse. Like I was tainted now. I thought of Arstid—leader, bitter shrew, teacher and Triven’s mother all rolled up in one. I had once considered her vile, revolted by her domineering nature. But now that I knew where I came from… she seemed like a saint.
“Fandrin… I’m his…” I couldn’t say the word. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. When I snuck a glace at Triven, he didn’t look surprised. “Did you—”
“No,” he cut me off. His eyes were round with innocence, pleading for me to believe him.
I did.
“Maddox is dead.” I blurted out. I’m not sure why I said it.
“I know.”
“I hated him, Triven. Hate isn’t even a strong enough word. I wanted to kill him! Then he… He… He sacrificed himself for me. Why?!” I turned to Triven, begging him for an answer. “He saved my life and now his face haunts me every night. Every time I close my eyes. I still hate him!”
“No one would blame you,” his voice was soft. “One act of kindness—no matter how sacrificial—doesn’t erase all of the bad things a person has done. He was far from perfect.”
“I see him all of the time,” I admitted. My toes were going in and out of focus. “I see all of them… all the time. Do the ghosts of our past ever stop haunting us?”
I was staring at the floor again, trying to make it stop tilting.
His voiced carried to me from a far-away tunnel. It took great effort to focus on his words.
“You’re not losing your mind…” I could hear him swallowing. He sounded guilty. “They drugged you, Prea. We drugged you. To get The Minister to lessen security on you, it had to seem like you were slipping. Like he was winning. The rebels on the inside used mild hallucinogens to help you… regress faster.”
They had given me drugs to make me appear insane. I wondered if the poison still coursed in my veins. The room was spinning. Maybe their drugs had worked too well.
When I was finally able to sit up again, Triven’s face was chalky. The lack of color deepened the sleep-deprived bruises above his hollowed cheekbones. Pain surged from his warm eyes. They quickly fell to the floor. There was more that he wasn’t telling me. I could feel it. I was pretty sure I knew the missing words.
The drugs actually did make you lose your mind. You are permanently damaged.
The tempest of my emotions was rising again.
I pushed down the anger. It was not with him. My emotions were on an unbalanceable scale, tipping rapidly back and forth.
Anger.
Fear.
Anger.
Fear.
It was either that or an empty ache. Even when I was in Triven’s arms I could still feel the hollowness eating at me from somewhere deep inside. I desperately wished those feelings had stayed locked in my prison cell, but like all undesired feelings, they had cruelly followed me. My fingers ran up my arms trying to suppress another oncoming chill. The tips of my fingers grazed something hard and rectangular in my left wrist. Hastily pushing back the sleeves of the robe I stared at my arm. It was nearly imperceptible to the eye, but if I twisted my wrist I could just make out a small section of raised skin. It was maybe the size of my thumbnail. I pushed back my sleeve, checking my other wrist.
There was one there too.
“They’re microchips.” Triven said. He held up his right wrist showing me his.
I stared at him in horror. “They’re tracking us?”
“No,” he immediately consoled me. “They are for weapons. Guns here—”
“Don’t work if you’re not chipped to match them.” I finished his sentence staring at the miniscule bump under my skin. I had learned that lesson the hard way. “That’s why I was able to fire at Ryker earlier.”
“Yes, these are modified though. Any gun will fire for you here, not just the one calibrated to you.”
“Why do I have two?” I stared at my arms in turn.
He smiled. It was so nice to see that smile again. “Because I am one of the few people who noticed you’re ambidextrous.”
“Oh…” I knew the chips would be a necessity, but I felt like it was just another way for The Sanctuary to put its mark on me. These marks were just more visible.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone for a little while. I inserted them myself when you were healing. People here were worried you might… well they weren’t ready to give you access to firearms just yet.” He shifted his gaze to my newly scarred wrists. We were thinking the same thing. They weren’t wrong, Ryker could attest to that. “But I knew you would feel better if you had the means to defend yourself.”
He was right. I did feel a little better.
I sighed. There were still so many questions to ask, but I was struggling to find the energy. I should have wanted to know more, but for the first time since I could remember, I didn’t want any more answers. Still, I pushed myself to ask at least the important ones.
I stared up at the concrete walls and squared ceiling. A dreamy déjà vu settled in my mind. “Where the hell are we? It feels like we’re back in the Subversive—”
“But with intentional flaws?” Triven finished the thought for me staring at the squared ceiling too.
“We’re in a rebel blockhouse. We’re safe here.” He paused before adding, “For now.”
“Triven, what do these people want from us?” The scales were tipping to panic again. “Can we even trust them?”
For the first time since we were reunited, his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
12. ECHOES
THE WHITE SHIRT and matching linen pants felt overly abrasive. Everything fit too loosely, making me feel like a child. I pulled nervously at my sleeve as I paced the tiny room. I was back in the cement-lined room I had awoken in. My father’s returned tattered journal w
as clutched to my chest like a talisman to ward off fear. It wasn’t working. Triven had left me to get dressed and went to wake Mouse. Despite myself, I was anxious about seeing her.
I wanted to know for certain that Mouse was safe, that she was the same perfect child—well, as perfect as any of us could be—I had risked my life to save. Seeing her sleeping had temporarily satiated me, but now I wanted to hold her in my arms, smooth her hair and know for sure that she was safe. Yet, after seeing the way Triven looked at me—and now knowing what I looked like—an underlying fear began to grip my heart, that seeing me might scare her. Mouse had somehow always been able see me—to look into my eyes and witness the person inside. There were times her brown eyes seemed to know more about myself than even I did. This time, however, I was scared of what she might find. If I had merely been damaged before, what did that make me now? Irreparable? Broken? Dead inside?
I chewed on what was left of my thumbnail, until I began to taste the salty tang of blood. Cursing under my breath, I spat and tucked my thumb into the hem of my sleeve. There was a light knock on the door. I froze, dropping my once cherished journal to the floor.
“Prea?” Triven asked, cracking the door slightly before entering.
My throat constricted, causing my words to sound strained. “I’m decent.”
The door flew open and a tiny blur of white and brown exploded into the room. Mouse froze for half a second before launching herself at me. My knees gave out and I fell to her height just as her body collided with mine. She was still so small. I had forgotten how small she was. But somehow she seemed bigger now. As if she had grown stronger in our month apart. I ran my hands over her body, feeling her lean arms, checking to make sure she was truly whole and unharmed. When I was content with my assessment I pulled her away to get a better look at her face. Her face had thinned a little, some of the childhood roundness giving way to the young woman she would one day be. Her hair was longer, falling below her angular shoulders. But her eyes… those alone had gone unchanged. A single gold chain hung around her neck, at the end of it dangled my father’s pocket watch. My heart warmed at the sight of it. Noticing my stare Mouse tried to pull it off and give it back, but I stopped her hands. Resettling the chain back in place, I shook my head sincerely. I liked that she had it.
A single tear slid down her cheek as she stared at me. Her frail hands cupped my face for a moment, then she began to sign.
Triven translated without hesitation. “You saved me.”
I wiped her tear away with my thumb, “And you saved me.”
We smiled weakly at one another. She signed again.
“We saved each other.” Triven’s voice caught a little.
I hugged her close and stared at Triven when I spoke again. “In so many ways.”
WE SPENT THE next hour just the three of us. The only outsiders now trapped within The Wall. It felt almost like being back at the Subversive bunker, except that we all looked different now. Stronger. Weaker. Older. Younger. Somehow all of these things at the same time.
Mouse recounted the stories Triven had already told me, her hands flying with such speed even Triven had a hard time keeping up. She was so animated, I found myself trying not to smile. I had missed her. Once she finished signing madly, her round eyes became fearful as she pointed inquisitively at me.
I raised my eyebrows. “You want to know what happened to me?”
My eyes flickered to Triven before returning to hers. She signed again.
“I’m not a child. I can handle it.” Triven’s voice was flat, obviously he didn’t agree.
My mouth was suddenly full of cotton, my throat spasming as it tried to swallow. I looked down at my scarred hands, unable to find the words. Triven had gotten only a glimpse of what had happened to me in captivity and even then I had barely explained it. How do you describe living through your own personal hell? Hatred and fear writhed inside of me. I closed my eyes trying to shut out the vibrant memories of pain, of torture, and of hurting innocent children. My lips quivered.
When Mouse’s little hands touched mine, I actually recoiled, jumping away and startling us both. She was motionless for a moment, then slowly moved forward again placing her hands over mine. I let her.
She signed again and this time I understood even without Triven’s translation.
It’s okay, I understand.
Her fingers released mine and traced the scar marring her throat. We squeezed each other’s hands as Triven placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
We started as a gentle knock sounded on the door. A woman’s hand slid around the opening doorframe, followed by an unfamiliar long face surrounded by a curtain of silvery, golden hair. The woman’s eyes were kind as they swept over the three of us, a warm smile rising on her thin lips. When she spoke her voice was soft, like what I would have imagined a librarian’s to be. “I am so sorry to interrupt. We are all glad that you are finally awake, Prea. Dinner is ready. If you’re hungry.”
Triven’s hand slid over my back in comfort as he felt me cringe at the use of my given name. He was the only one I could tolerate speaking it. “Phoenix has had a long day,” he gently corrected her. “Maybe it might be better if we ate in our room tonight.”
Her face fell a little, but the lingering smile remained gentle. “Oh… yes of course. How silly of me… Sorry, Phoenix.”
My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. As I glanced around at the solid cement walls I felt the sudden need for more space.
“It’s okay,” I said a little too quickly. I took a deep breath before nodding confidently at the woman. “It might be nice to get out of this room for a little while.”
I regretted my words almost immediately. We had followed the silver-haired woman down the narrow hallway and up a set of tightly wound stairs. When she opened the door at the top, it was like stepping into another universe. The heavy door slid sideways and my steps slowed as we entered the new space.
I then watched in fascination as Triven pressed his hand to a faintly glowing rectangular spot on the wall next to the opening we just came through. The door slid shut again and once it touched the frame, it all but disappeared into the wall.
I stared at the seamless wall for a moment before glancing around the rest of the room.
We were no longer in a bunker but a house. It was a plain home, but a home nonetheless. The walls were all painted the same shade of white and all the floors were a consistent grey tile. Nothing hung on the walls except a plain white clock and one photo. It was the photo that made me halt mid-stride. Minister Fandrin was seated proudly in his glass throne of a chair staring down on us. I glared at the picture, with the growing urge to rip it off the wall and put my foot through it.
“Every house is required to hang his picture. We keep it there as a reminder of everything we are fighting against.”
I knew the voice even before I turned toward its owner.
Ryker was standing in a doorway watching the four of us as we emerged from the stairwell. My body went rigid at the sight of him, my back teeth grinding together. His face still looked battered. I was pleased to see his left eye was nearly swollen shut and now a violent shade of purple. He must have seen the glint of pleasure in my eyes because one of his eyebrows rose accusingly.
In a shocking display of affection, Mouse let go of my hand and ran to Ryker. Her arms wrapped around his waist hugging him tightly. He returned the squeeze gazing affectionately at the little girl. Every one of my muscles tensed for attack. How dare he touch her? I flinched forward, but the fair-haired woman gently touched my arm, drawing my attention just long enough to distract me.
“Um… dinner is ready, Ryker.” She chirped, obviously sensing my unease. “We should eat. You know how Mae doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Mouse hugged Ryker once more and signed “thank you,” before running back and taking my hand again. She beamed between the two of us and signed another word I knew.
Friends.
I sm
iled weakly at her, but when she turned away my cold glare returned. Triven, who had not said a word, gestured for me to follow while carefully inserting himself between Ryker and the rest of us. They were obviously not going to be friends anytime soon either.
The house was so much a home it was startling. There was simple furniture adorning each room, sparse but enough to seat a small family comfortably. There was very little that made the home feel lived in or personalized, however. In the living room there was a grey sofa, two undersized matching armchairs, a see-through monitor—like the one I had seen projecting images in The Minister’s office—and a small coffee table. Everything was immaculate, looking untouched.
“Our house looked just like this,” Triven said. “I remember sitting on a sofa just like that reading with my mother.”
Suddenly the monitor glowed to life, causing me to start. An attractive woman in white was speaking, but I couldn’t hear her words.
“The evening announcements,” Ryker muttered as he passed us. “They broadcast every night—mostly just propaganda drivel. We keep the sound off.”
Looking away from the woman on the screen, I stared a moment longer at the living room before moving on. I nudged my mind, trying to remember something.
Had I sat on a sofa like that with my family?
Nothing came to my memory though. The house felt strangely comfortable in its sterility, but I had no memory of ever seeing a house like this before. Voices could be heard coming from another room, accompanied by the warm smell of food. It didn’t smell quite as good as Cook’s had back in the Subversive but still it smelled pretty wonderful. I followed the voices and stopped in the doorway. A table had been set for ten and people were bustling about claiming chairs and passing dishes. The excited hum slowly subsided as all eyes fell on me. I backed up two steps until I bumped into Triven’s chest.
“Well, now that everyone’s here it’s time to start eating. I will not have my food getting cold.” A dark-haired woman with a round face pointed at us. There was a streak of silver running through her long unruly hair. It framed the left side of her face. “You four sit down now and make yourselves comfortable. I will not have my dinner held up any longer.”
New World Ashes Page 9
