by L. S. O'Dea
“He and that Tracker are dangerous creatures,” she said.
“I need their help. Will you contact Birdie or not?”
“If I do, you owe me.”
That stung. She’d never resort to those tactics with Tim. “Quid pro quo, Mother? I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“How do you think I survived being married to your father for thirty years?”
He ran his hand through his hair. She deserved an award for that. “What do you want? Before you answer, remember that I’m doing this for Trinity’s benefit. If Benedictine finds her before I do…” He shrugged.
“Promise me that you’ll take care of Timothy, Millie and Trinity,” she said.
“Sure.” That was easy.
She grabbed his hand. “No. I mean it. They have no one besides me who they can trust. I need you to swear that when I’m gone you will make sure that they are kept safe.”
Her hand was cold and frail in his grasp, the bones small and brittle. It struck him like a blow to the chest; she really was dying. He would give her anything in his power but he wouldn’t lie to her. “I can’t promise that. If Trinity really is their daughter then this is big. Bigger than me. I don’t know what will happen.”
“I’ve been telling you all your life that they are not so different from us. You never listened. You’d cite your studies and scoff at me.” She squeezed his hand, to soften her words.
“They are different. Just because two different species can mate doesn’t make them like us.” She’d never understand.
“We are not unique. Why won’t you accept that?”
“Mother, everything we know—”
“Son, I’m dying and it’s not going to be long. I need you to promise me two things. First, make sure that Tim and his family are safe. Second, dig deeper into your studies, but this time do it with an open mind. Remember, someone wrote the facts that your science is based upon. Start from the beginning. Perform your own experiments. The way we live cannot continue.”
“I’ll do my best. It’s all I can promise.” She wouldn’t want his lies. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
She patted his hand, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll contact Birdie.” She stood and walked to the door, stopping with her hand on the door knob. She faced him. “When I’m gone, remember that I have always loved you. My son.” She touched her heart and turned whispering as she left, “Forgive me.”
He stared after her for a long time. What did she mean by that?
CHAPTER 6
TRINITY SAT ACROSS the fire from Gaar, the late afternoon sun warming her back. This was the first break that they’d taken since leaving the encampment that morning. Her muscles ached and her head pounded. They hadn’t even stopped to refill their water. She stretched, dreading the end of dinner for that would mean it was time to travel again and all she wanted was to curl up and sleep.
Gaar handed her a chunk of bread. Other than a little strain around his eyes, he looked fine. It wasn’t fair. She was beyond exhausted and unlike him, she’d been able to rest a bit when he’d carried her so that her scent trail would disappear. She broke off a small corner of the thick, hard, brown, lump of bread. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been eating her mom’s, moist, delicious apple-nut bread. She’d never have that again. Tears built up but she blinked them away. It did no good to think about her mother.
“After we eat, we’ll rest for a while.”
She sighed in relief. She was going to get to sleep.
“I’ll show you how to stay as safe as possible on the ground.” He picked up a stick and began whittling.
Off and on all day, he’d been pointing out forest facts and safety to her like he usually did but today, she’d been eager for the information. Before, she’d only half listened since she’d been planning on returning to camp. Now, the forest was her home and her survival depended on the knowledge she could absorb.
“If possible, you should sleep off the ground. It is always safer up high—”
“True, true, very true,” said a voice from above.
Gaar jumped up, moving in front of her and protecting her with his bulk. She crouched behind him, looking up into the tree. A small winged creature sat on a branch a few feet above them. It had large, black eyes and a bald head. Instead of a nose and mouth it had a beak in the middle of its face. Its body was the size of a loaf of bread and covered in brownish-gray feathers. The bird-man opened his beak in a grotesque imitation of a smile, his tongue wiggling inside.
“Shoo, shoo.” Gaar waved his arms at the creature.
“What is it?” She’d never seen a bird who could speak.
“An Avian,” answered Gaar.
“Oh.” That didn’t tell her anything.
“They usually don’t travel this far into the forest. It must want something.” Gaar sat down by the fire and twisted the knife in his hand, causing the sun to bounce off the shiny steel.
“Not want. I come to deliver a message.” The Avian studied her. “My name is Birchwood, but my friends call me Birdie. What’s your name?”
The Avian had an eager, friendly face and since Gaar was sitting he wasn’t worried so the creature must be harmless. “Hi. My friends call—”
“Avians are notorious gossips.” Gaar glared at her.
She bit back her words. She wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t going to tell Birdie her real name.
“Not true. Not true,” said Birdie. “I know how to keep my beak shut. Not all of us do, of course, but that is like saying that all Handlers…wait, there are no other Handlers are there?”
Without looking, Gaar flung the knife at the Avion. She screamed at the same time that Birdie squawked, jumping out of the way. The knife landed with a thud in the tree trunk next to the little Avian’s head. A few feathers fluttered to the ground as Birdie readjusted his position on the branch.
“Not quite fast enough,” said Birdie.
“I didn’t really try,” muttered Gaar.
“Of course you didn’t,” said Birdie. “Now, do you want my message or not?”
“Not,” said Gaar.
She looked from one to the other. Birdie seemed friendly enough but Gaar obviously didn’t care for the creature.
“Too bad. Miss Sarah asked this favor of me so I am going to do it,” said Birdie.
Gaar grabbed another hunk of bread and took a bite as he stared into the fire.
“It would be polite to offer me something to eat.” Birdie unfurled and then flapped his wings. His eyes were bright with anticipation and his little tongue waggled out of his beak.
He looked really hungry. When Gaar didn’t move she held out a small piece of bread. Birdie launched himself from the branch and fluttered in front of her hand until he was able to grab the food with his beak. He then flew back to the tree. He placed the bread under one foot and tore off tiny pieces with his mouth.
“Thanks,” he said when he was done. “You are very kind.”
“Just deliver your message and leave,” said Gaar.
Birdie fluffed up his feathers. “Well, as I said, Miss Sarah asked that I do her son a favor. I dislike Hugh, but I owe Miss Sarah. So, I was obligated to help. She saved me once, you know. A kind, kind—”
“Get on with it,” said Gaar.
She couldn’t help but smile at the chipper little creature. Plus, it was fun to see Gaar aggravated by someone other than herself.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Your message. Hugh wants you to find and capture the escaped Producer. He wants you to come to his house to discuss the job.” Birdie paused, looking at her. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you to complete this task.”
“Gaar?” Birdie obviously knew she was a Producer, but who was Hugh?
“Don’t worry, Little One. I won’t turn you over to the Almighty,” said Gaar.
So, Hugh was an Almighty. Did he work for Benedictine?
“Well, now,” said Birdie. “You may want to reconsider. She’s a kind, young Producer. I’d ha
te to see her captured by the wrong group. Two Almighty’s want this one. Can you hide from both? If not, which one should get the prize? Hugh may not be my favorite but he is better than Benedictine.” Birdie shivered for effect.
Well, that answered that question. Hugh didn’t work for Benedictine. So, why did he want her?
“Shut up, Avian,” said Gaar.
“Well. My message is delivered.” Birdie huffed and spread his wings. Then he stopped and looked eagerly at the bread in her hand.
She held it out for him. He flew down and took it.
“Thanks again.” He sat in the tree and finished her food. “If I were you, Handler, I’d consider what I could get from this meeting. You’ll have to turn her over eventually. Get what you can and make sure she goes to the right one.” He paused. “I won’t mention seeing her with you. Miss Sarah did not ask that of me.” He nodded farewell and flew off.
Gaar climbed the tree and retrieved his knife. When he was back on the ground, he said, “Come. I’ll teach you about water dangers as we fill our bottles.”
She was following him to the river when he stopped suddenly. She drew her knife, scanning the area for danger.
“The Avian’s right. I don’t know if I can keep you safe.”
Fear skipped down her spine. The Almightys would kill and eat her. She couldn’t be less safe than that.
“Benedictine is one thing. He’s cruel but not smart. Hugh is intelligent and relentless. I need to meet with him or he’ll get suspicious.”
“Why would he get suspicious?” She sheathed her weapon.
He walked over to a rock near the water and sat. “We work for him, Little One. That’s why.”
“I don’t understand. You hate the Almightys.”
“I told you that I watched the Finishing Camp. It was on Hugh’s orders. Mirra’s not aware of this.”
Her throat tightened. She’d been in the hands of the Almightys this whole time. All it took was for the right one to ask and he’d hand her over. The bread sat heavy in her stomach. “What has all this training been then, a joke?” She fought back the tears. Troy had turned on her and it seemed so would Gaar, but she would not cry, not this time.
“No. No,” he said, truth in his dark gaze. “Believe me. I had no intention of turning you over to Benedictine.”
“But you will turn me over to Hugh.”
He stared past her at the river. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” His eyes met hers. “I have to go and see him. Let him think that I’ll take the job.”
“When will you decide if you’re turning me over?” She couldn’t go back, not now that she knew what they did to her kind.
“I won’t do anything without discussing it with you and Mirra.”
The constriction around her chest eased. Mirra wouldn’t let her go.
“Plus, I don’t trust the Avian to keep his beak shut. He thinks I’ll owe him a favor if he doesn’t tell, but it will be too tempting to squawk about it. Especially, if we disappear.” He stood. “We need to head toward the Lake of Sins.”
“Are you going to leave me alone again?” She might get to see Jethro. She shouldn’t even want to since he was an Almighty and he ate meat, but she did. He’d been a true friend when he’d helped her escape the Guards. He may be willing to help her again if Gaar decided to turn her over to Hugh.
“Not this time. There are too many Guards looking for you.” He bent, filling up their bottles.
“Are you going to take me into the village with you?” She’d never seen a town or village besides her own.
“No. We’ll wait until Mirra finds us. Then you’ll go back to the Finishing Camp with her.”
She frowned. That didn’t sound like any fun at all.
CHAPTER 7
JACKSON WALKED DOWN the hallway toward the cell where the female Producer was being held. The male had already been transferred. Yesterday, Benedictine had ordered the two Producers locked up and then had left for home. It was now almost noon the next day. The prisoners had been given no food or water.
He stopped at the cell door. Thankfully, this was not a normal part of his duties. He didn’t like this facility or anything that happened here. It wasn’t right to keep the Producers in this cold, concrete environment. He pounded twice on the door before turning the key and opening it. The female sat, cowering in a corner, her wide brown eyes blinking as the light filtered into the room and sent shadows skittering across the walls.
“Come.” He waved her forward.
She hesitated and then rose, walking to him. He held out a collar. It stank of mustiness and death.
“Is that necessary?” she asked softly, turning her head away from the smell.
“Benedictine’s orders.”
“And you always follow his orders.” She tipped her head, giving him better access.
If he didn’t he would pay, perhaps with his life. He snapped the lock shut a little more forcefully than necessary. The weight made her small shoulders sag. He enclosed her wrists in the metal cuffs attached to long, heavy chains which hung down to her knees. She tried to hold her arms at her waist but the weight was too much and she let them drop to her sides. He stepped aside and motioned for her to precede him down the hallway.
“Where are we going?” She glanced back at him. “Please. What’s going to happen to me?”
You don’t want to know. “Keep moving.” Conversing with her would do neither of them any good.
She stumbled. He grabbed her arm, steadying her.
“Thank you.” She smiled.
She had kind eyes and a nice smile. He was a Guard; she was a Producer. They both had to pay for their place in society. He clenched his jaw and focused over her head as they continued walking. When they reached the end of the hallway, he nudged her to the right. There was a stairwell with a flickering light. Everything was painted gray, the stairs, the walls and the hand rails. It was a depressing color for a terrible place.
She moved slowly down the stairs unable to use her hands due to the chains. She stumbled again and this time he wasn’t fast enough. She fell forward, head first, rolling down three stairs until the wall at a corner stopped her descent.
He hurried after her. She lay still. Benedictine would kill him if she were dead. He had to calm down. He tipped his head and there was the soft sound of her heart beating. He bent and gently shook her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She trembled as she leaned on her arms. She gasped. “My side. Ribs.”
“May I?” He showed her his hands. She could be bleeding internally. It wouldn’t matter in the long run, but he couldn’t help offering this small act of kindness.
She nodded and lifted her arms as high as she could. He gently felt along her ribcage.
“I don’t feel anything broken. Probably bruised.”
She lowered her arms. He placed his hands on her waist, helping her to her feet. She took a deep breath, wincing.
“Come. Benedictine is waiting.” They needed to get moving or he’d be in trouble.
She looked into his eyes again, fear heavy in her gaze. He glanced away but took her arm, guiding her down the stairs. They walked the remaining way slowly and carefully. They stopped at a door and he pushed it open. She glanced at him again, her eyes pleading.
“Come on.” She needed to stop looking at him like that. He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t even help himself.
They stepped into a large room with concrete walls and floor. A cage sat to the right, partially blocked by a long, rectangular table covered with a tarp. In front of the cage were three chains hanging from the ceiling. Two were half suspended between the ceiling and floor; the other lay on the ground coiled like a snake. Two staircases, one on each end of the right side of the room, led to a balcony. On the balcony were padded chairs arranged in small groups of two or four with a table in each group. There were also two doors on the opposite side of the room. Both were closed. On the left side of the room were several large, closed coolers. On the wall were pane
ls of switches and cranks.
He directed her up the stairs to the balcony. He couldn’t help her this time, not in front of Benedictine. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and slowly climbed the stairs. At the top he led her to a large table with two chairs. Except for them, the balcony was empty. Benedictine liked to make the victim wait. It increased the tension. She looked back at him. He stared straight ahead, keeping his face impassive. It would be bad for both of them if he showed any emotion.
“Remy!” she called out as she peered over the rail into the cage.
Benedictine’s heavy trod pulled the Producer’s gaze away from her mate. The door flew open and Benedictine strolled over to the table.
Jackson eyed the full bottle of whiskey in the Almighty’s hand. This was not going to be quick. He shot a sympathetic glance at the Producer, but luckily, she wasn’t looking.
Benedictine sat at the table and opened the bottle. He filled his glass half-full and took a large swallow. He sighed and took another smaller drink. His gaze ran up and down the Producer. “Sit.”
She pulled out the other chair and sat, her chains clanking together.
“You’re small for a Producer. Why did we breed you?”
“I…I’m good with the earth.”
Benedictine inhaled sharply. “Yes, now I remember. We had some issues with the land over there. Not surprising, really.” He peered down into the cage. “I don’t understand why none of your offspring took after their father.” He nodded toward a pitcher of water and two glasses which sat on the table. One glass had about an inch of water in it; the other was empty. “Are you thirsty?”
