The Way
Volume One of the Vemreaux
By Mary E. Twomey
The Way
Volume One of the Vemreaux
Mary E. Twomey
Copyright © 2013 Mary E. Twomey
Published by Smashwords
DEDICATION
For Maybee
May you be only as beautiful as you are kind,
And only as strong as you are gentle.
Prologue
“Can’t you move any more than that?” Baird complained, his tone exhibiting its usual unforgiving tenor.
“I’m doing the best I can!” Blue responded in like frustration as she hurled a pitchfork full of scratch onto the conveyor belt. The squishy “slurp” the slop made as it spread out sickened her.
“The best you can,” Baird scoffed. “Is there a reason you’re lying?”
“Fine. The best I can for how much I’m supposed to be able to do.” Flies buzzed around them and even had the audacity to land on their arms when they were still for too long. She’d only been in Building Three of The Way for a month, but she caught on quickly. The one thing she’d not grown immune to was the smell. The sting of the warm scratch pies in her nose left a lingering pungency all day long. She’d been prepared in the same manner as every other Wayward before they graduated from Building Two, but nothing could match first-hand experience. Cows were the bread and butter of Vemreaux society, and their reeking excrement piles were the stuff that currency in the real world was based on. They’d made it sound like such an honor in Building Two. A month spent knee-deep in poop told another tale.
Baird urged her on. “No one can see us, Blue. It’s one of the few times you can actually challenge yourself. Why are you holding back?”
“For you. So you don’t feel bad you’re not as strong as me,” she grinned.
Baird rolled his eyes, but refused to be baited. He was the largest and strongest Wayward in his year, and Blue made sure to remind him as often as she could that even he was no match for her. “Ha,” he commented, offering a rare half-smile. “Real reason?”
“Baird, what if somebody sees? They’ll know I’m the…” Blue looked over her shoulder to make sure again that no one was near, and mouthed “Light.” She’d waited years to be old enough to graduate to the next building so she could be with her big brother, but since she’d arrived, the training Baird insisted upon was relentless.
Her brother shook his head in disappointment. “I’m watching your back. You’re supposed to be watching mine, remember? The system doesn’t work if you don’t trust me. Now I want to see how much your puny girl arms can lift.”
That did it. Being gently nudged had little effect on the eight-year-old girl. It was the criticism and direct challenge that painted defiance onto her muscles and narrowed her eyes. She shoved her pitchfork at her brother and moved to the wheelbarrow. Without hesitation, she hefted the barrow over her head, and then dumped the contents onto the conveyor belt. She looked to him with a shining smile that revealed her need for his approval. Baird kept his praise confined to a single nod of his head.
Making do with less was a survival skill of the Waywards, so her brother’s unspoken affirmation was translated in her mind to, “Wow! I can’t believe how strong you are. I bet you’re stronger than I am, and I’m one of the best workers in the whole facility.” A thick bead of sweat forced Baird to blink. Blue imagined the squint giving way to a paternal smile. “I’m so glad you’re my sister. Don’t worry. We’re in this together. No one will find out who you are. No one will take you away from me.”
Of course, he said nothing, so Blue pushed the dreams of how she wished she was loved deeper down into the scraps that were left of her youthful softness. She surrounded the naïveté with tall bricks, guards and barbed wire to match the barriers that separated A-blood types from the Bs. The Waywards from the Vemreaux. The Way from the real world.
“You can do more than that,” he chided.
Blue nodded. “Sure. But where do you expect me to find something heavier to lift?” She held out her small hand expectantly, the tattooed barcode standing out on her tanned skin. She’d already memorized her own serial number, Baird’s, and now every time a Wayward’s wrist exposed itself to her, the digits imprinted themselves on her brain as permanently as the ink that marked them. It annoyed her that she couldn’t turn it off, but Baird assured her it was useful.
Baird shoved his own pitchfork into the pile with a steady understanding of how much force was necessary for the job. “Back to work.”
“Let me try again,” she whined, shaking off a fly from her sleeve. “I’ll go fill up the wheelbarrow with a lot more scratch this time, so it’ll be heavier.”
He shook his head in all of his ten-year-old wisdom. “That’s enough for now. The others’ll be coming this way soon.”
“I hate that stupid prophecy.”
“It doesn’t much matter how you feel, Blue. Love it or hate it, you’re the Light who’s supposed to ‘free the Vemreaux from the tyranny.’”
Blue shrugged her shoulders and looked around. “What tyranny? They’re the only blood type in the free world. Everyone else is in work camps that they control. What could they possibly need protection from?”
Baird swallowed his real answer and replied, “Be glad the Vemreaux all feel that way, or you’d be the object of a witch hunt. I can’t stand those stupid blood guzzlers.”
Blue nodded with conviction. “Yeah. Stupid blood guzzlers.”
Baird swallowed a smile at how readily his sister followed his every move. “Right now, all we have to do is hide you from other Waywards.” He cleared his throat and did his best not to look at the innocent face that was genetically similar to his. Though she was two years younger than he, they shared thick auburn hair, a peak in their left ear, and the same barely controlled temper. Yet it was the piercing, unnaturally blue eyes that gave them away as siblings most of all. He tried to turn off his heart as her vivid orbs looked up at him for guidance, understanding and love.
Guidance. That one, he could give.
He reached his hand down into the balmy muck with the iron stomach of experience and fished out an errant piece of hay while Blue tried not to blanch. “Challenge yourself when no one’s watching. The rest of the time, be the weak newbie you look like. Be who they expect you to be, and you’ll stay hidden just fine.”
“I would’ve been able to lift more if the wheelbarrow’d been fuller,” she muttered.
“That sounds like an excuse. Who makes excuses?”
Blue’s shoulders dropped from their previous position of elevated pride. “Lazy people.”
“And who whines?”
“Children whine. Whiners whine.” She repeated the Baird-ism perfectly.
“Are you lazy?”
“No, Baird.”
“Are you a child?” he asked, tone sharp as he heaved his shovel into the pile of scratch.
“No, Baird.”
“Are you a whiner?”
“No, Baird.” Blue looked down at her tool forlornly. She hated disappointing her brother.
“Good. Then get back to work. We’ve got to empty this pile before noon if we want to eat.”
Blue worked in silence next to her brother for a full three minutes before daring to annoy him with her thoughts. “Baird, do you ever wish you were B-blood?”
“I don’t waste my time on wishing, and neither should you.”
“Okay.” Blue scooped up a puny amount of cow poop and moved it onto the conveyor belt. “It would be kinda cool if we were the ones who reacted to the Fountain of Youth, like the B-bloods. Stop aging, live an extra hundred twenty years.” Distracted by her daydream, Blue hefted too large a pile for her slight size. Baird cleared his throat, and Blue re
membered the façade. She dropped half the excrement back to the grass and sighed. “Beats shoveling scratch in a work camp.”
“Yeah. Except for that little tradeoff of the hankering for O-type human blood.”
“Right. Except for that.”
Four boys came out to the yard with pitchforks in hand to attend to the pile of scratch several meters from them. Two were older and two were Blue’s age. It would be a while before the eight-year-olds could be expected to be left on their own to work in the field, so all those in Blue’s year had a guide. Blue clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth twice to signal to her brother that they were no longer alone. Baird returned the signal to indicate that he’d heard and watched out of the corner of his eye to make sure that his sister went back to pretending to struggle with meager scoops of scratch.
“Hey, Baird. How’s the fledgling working out?” Androo asked.
“Fine,” Baird made it a point not to invite conversation.
This did not deter Androo. He elbowed the boy next to him and grinned. “Barnafer here’s doing okay. Just needs to stop staring at the pretty girls and concentrate on his work, you know?”
Barnafer blushed and kept his head down.
Baird’s knuckles tightened around his shovel, but he kept working as if no one had spoken.
Once the boys were out of hearing range, Blue mumbled, “Clear.”
“Come here,” Baird ordered. He bent down and picked up a clump of acrid scratch that squished in his fingers.
Blue stood before him obediently, and did not pull away when her brother smeared the filth on her forehead and cheeks. She did not blink when the stench threatened to make her eyes water, nor did her lip quiver as she fought down the urge to vomit. Disgust and mortification lacerated where the scratch marked her, but she did not dare question Baird.
He had a plan. He always had a plan.
When she’d been marked up to his satisfaction, he nodded for her to get back to work. “That’s better,” he commented. “Can’t afford to have guys looking at you. Best put a stop to that early on. Don’t worry. No one’ll pay attention to you now. You’re disgusting.”
Blue could tell by his tone that his words were meant to be comforting, or at the very least, reassuring. Secrecy was paramount, given her extraordinary abilities. However, his last sentence punched her chest and sunk down into her gut, making her stomach turn. She was utterly grotesque, and now she would be reminded of that fact all day by the inescapable stink of scratch right next to her nose. The flies that plagued her legs and arms would now venture to her face and make their presence constantly known. Blue swallowed the inexcusable lump in her throat and wished for invisibility, so she could disappear from the world completely.
Chapter One
Grettel’s Healing Touch
Six Years Later
“Can I go now?” Baird asked impatiently. He loathed the stench of antiseptic, and it permeated every breath. He’d been sitting on the paper-covered patient’s table for twenty-five minutes. He glanced out the window and watched his sister muck scratch. If he had not been so predisposed to focus on her training, he might not have noticed her at all. She kept her head down and made sure she had scratch marking her arms, legs and face. Six years passed since she’d joined him in Building Three, and he couldn’t have been prouder of her progress. Of course, he would never tell her that. No sense in spoiling her.
“Not yet. I still have to bandage you up,” Nurse Kalista reminded him in her clipped tone. She had yet to take a good look at his injuries. “You’re not my only patient, you know.”
Supervisor Tum had been in a temper that morning, handing out beatings at the slightest hint of rebellion or ineptitude. Baird and Blue’s younger brother, Griffin, only ten, had messed up twice in the sewing room. One mistake was tolerable, but two was usually cause for a point taken away. When Tum was in a mood, though, one misstep could land you at the whipping post. Baird had volunteered to take his brother’s beating. Griffin was too young, too emotional. Plus, Blue was about to take his place, and Baird wouldn’t have that.
“I can do that myself. I did last time.” Baird grabbed a roll of gauze from the tray next to the window. His lashings were starting to annoy him. He hated when his jumpsuit stuck to the clotting blood.
“You’ll do no such thing. Bad enough you kids all decide to cause problems on the same day. Plus, my assistant’s useless. A little patience, Baird.” She shook her head at the Wayward. Most were not on a first-name basis with the nurse, but Baird was no stranger to the whipping post. “Stop wasting my time. Remove your jumpsuit to the waist and lay on your stomach. You know the drill.” She glared at Baird until he complied. Her perpetually bugged eyes were staring at him, blaming him for wasting her time. Just then, the door opened and yet another Wayward was brought in, blood seeping through the back of the orange jumpsuit in stripes. “Ugh, my lucky day. I’ll be back.” She tore open the curtain and moved out to scold the barely upright new arrival for adding to her workload. “Grettel! Get in here and fix this one up. Do you think we have all day, here?”
Real inconvenient for you, Baird wanted to say. He sat up on the table and glanced over his shoulder, grimacing at the damage on his back. There was one mirror in the entirety of The Way, and it was in the entryway of the Nurse’ station. It was supposed to look decorative, but Baird reasoned it was there so the Waywards could see the damage they’d caused themselves.
Supervisor Tum had broken off one of the whip’s shards in his back. Baird had wondered why the sting was lasting longer than usual. His eyes flickered to the window, where he checked on his sister again. Good. She’s fine. Still keeping her head down, like she should. Stop worrying.
An intake of breath from behind him ceased his hand from reaching around and yanking the embedded pottery piece out of his wound. He turned and saw Nurse Kalista’s assistant. The girl’s short, slight frame was made even more petite by her hunched shoulders that looked predisposed to cowering. Her orange jumpsuit hung on her like a bag, and Baird wondered if her meals were being bullied away from her by the bigger Waywards. Baird guessed that she was even shorter than Blue. Something about the skittish dart of her eyes to the partition and back to the floor made him want to speak softer, so as not to further frighten her.
The rotation of nursing assistants changed every month, and this one was new to Baird. He tried to memorize every barcode in the building, but there were thousands of Waywards. This girl kept her head bowed as much as she could, while still observing the bloody scores.
Assisting the nurse was a privilege not many were granted. You needed a spotless record and to pass several tests, both textbook and psychological. There were scissors, needles, and chemicals in the nurse’s station. Only the most trusted were permitted the demanding rotation. The girl, not much older than Blue, opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
Baird was used to girls growing shy around him; he was very handsome. He’d overheard one hormone-laden girl saying to her friend that Baird had “a face to die for, and a butt to kill for.”
Grettel’s was a different kind of timidity. The girl looked positively afraid of her own shadow, not to mention Baird’s. Grettel’s fingers twisted, and she swallowed three times as she worked her way up to speaking. “It’s okay. I got it.” Baird reached behind him to grab for the foreign object in his back, but the girl shook her head, finally daring to move toward him.
Wordlessly, she pointed to the table. She was so unimposing with her short brown hair and cocoa-colored eyes; he found his usually obstinate demeanor complying without question. Dainty fingers ghosted over his naked flesh, causing goosebumps to erupt. Every now and then, Blue’s best friend Elle would flirtatiously stroke his arm or back. That was a different reaction from this. The assistant was tender as she touched the wounds, and he found that her sweetness softened him without his consent.
“Grettel, I swear!” Nurse Kalista steamed, barging through the curtain that separa
ted Baird from the numerous other patients. “I told you, I needed the antiseptic at station three refilled! I have patients piling up, here, and I can’t keep repeating myself.” Nurse Kalista grabbed at Grettel’s collar and shoved the petite girl toward the curtain.
Grettel nodded meekly and darted out of the area, reappearing a moment later with a large bottle of clear liquid. She handed it to the nurse with shaking hands, and then returned to Baird’s bedside.
“Where was this?” Nurse Kalista asked, flipping her shiny black hair over her shoulder.
“S-station three, ma’am.”
Without warning, the nurse pulled back her hand and slapped Grettel across the face. The girl staggered back, tears springing to her eyes. “It was not! I looked, and it wasn’t there. Now, get on the ball!” She slapped Grettel again. Baird’s jaw tightened at the nurse’s abuse of Grettel. It was clear she often used the Wayward girl as a means of relieving the stress of her job. “Clean him up,” Nurse Kalista ordered before leaving for another patient in a huff.
Every bit the model Wayward, Grettel obeyed, keeping her tears silent as she turned to face the intimidating older boy nearly every Wayward revered or feared. She motioned for him to lay back down with a trembling finger, and Baird obeyed. She cried through the entire ordeal of pulling out the broken piece of pottery and three other fragments that splintered off and had to be removed with tweezers.
Baird scarcely noticed the pain of the metal gouging into his torn flesh.
Nurse Kalista barged back in, her unwrinkled thirty-something face pinched with frustration. “Where are the – oh, you have them. Of course. Of course you would use the tweezers and not put them back. You know how tightly we have to keep an eye on our supplies with all these delinquents in and out today. What are you thinking?” She yanked the tweezers from Grettel’s shaking hand and slapped the girl across the face for the third time in less than ten minutes. “Idiot!” She wound up for another strike, but Baird would have no more.
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