Shimmer

by Matthew Keith

  Chapter 27

  Every warrior that wasn’t guarding the Core had been called to Sanctuary for a special counsel. On Winston’s orders, the outer doors had been sealed. The people of Domus were on the verge of panic, many of them openly fearful, and with good reason. Until he could determine their next course of action, Winston did not want to add to the rising tide of fear threatening to overtake the young and elderly.

  The assembly of warriors waited silently on the hard stone benches, their backs ramrod straight, their eyes forward. Occasionally, one or another of them would sneak a peek out of the corner of their eye toward Winston’s personal quarters. No one commented aloud, but clearly all were wondering what was happening behind the closed door. On the front bench, Jonathan, Abner, and Tabitha sat closely together, sharing tense, worried looks. They, too, remained silent, knowing anything they said would add fuel to the already volatile situation. Winston had been anything but cordial when he ordered Alex to the Marshall’s chambers, following behind the young man like a prison guard escorting a criminal to his cell.

  Inside Winston’s quarters, Alex prayed silently that he wouldn’t be sent away. It was indisputable that ever since his appearance in the Under, things for the people of Domus had gone from bad to worse, their crisis escalating with each passing day. It would be easy for anyone to blame him for what was happening. In fact, he knew that many already did. Would Winston? In the end, it would all hinge on the Marshall’s perspective. Unfortunately, Alex knew that a great deal of Winston’s perspective was determined by the prevailing opinions of his people and what was best for the community as a whole.

  Most of all, he worried about Tabitha. He knew she still hadn’t worked through the complex emotions that had followed the events at Thrain’s den. She’d lived enough of her life on her own, having to face tough realties for both her own and for Sarah’s sake many times over, he hoped she could forgive him for killing her father. He had saved her life. He knew she knew that the situation had come down to her or her father. But after so many years believing her father had betrayed her, to realize that he hadn’t and then to have him there, so close but completely unreachable, and then savagely ripped from her by someone she had begun to trust and care so deeply for…

  She shouldn’t feel betrayed, be he knew she did, and it was agonizing for him not to be able to comfort her.

  And on top of that, now he fought to convince Winston of something he knew would hurt Tabitha even further. A heated argument raged on between him and the Marshall, but it wasn’t the argument most of the warriors outside would have assumed it to be.

  “You have to let me go!” Alex insisted again, slapping the flat of his hand against the table for emphasis. “You heard what Thrain said—the weapons we took from his den are only some of what they have made. They’re probably making more right now!”

  “And your solution is for me to send away my greatest asset?” Winston rebuked. He’d already flat-out denied Alex’s request to be escorted to the Antechamber. “With your ability to wage a surprise attack with your suit, we need you here more than ever!”

  “You’re not sending me away!” Alex argued, exasperated that he couldn’t make the big man understand. “You’re sending me to get weapons that could save us all!”

  Winston growled. “You said yourself; you don’t even know if you can accomplish what you propose.”

  “But what if I can?” Alex leaned across the table. He gripped the cuff of his jean jacket and held it up, showing it to Winston. “If this jacket can come with me when I teleport, if the suit I’m wearing and my shoes can come with me, then I have to assume anything on me, anything I’m carrying, will come too. And if I can bring weapons back from the surface for our warriors, weapons that will literally slice through the copper blades the Nocuous have made, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat! Those weapons will level the playing field!”

  Winston leaned back in his chair, squinting at Alex.

  “Thrain said Rasmus,” Alex pressed. “He said Rasmus would slay us all. That has to mean Rasmus is the one who put Thrain to work forging these weapons and it has to mean that he’s building an army.” Winston still did not reply. Alex stood, his hands flat on the table. He leaned closer to better convey the passion of his words. “Sir, you said Domus has never been attacked directly. Now it has. You also said the Nocuous have always fought amongst themselves, but now they’re working together. You need all the help you can get!”

  Winston nodded to himself, his eyes hooded. “All that you say is true, but I cannot help thinking your desire to go against Rasmus very conveniently coincides with your desire to rescue your father.”

  “Yes!” Alex agreed vehemently. “Yes, it does! And because of that, I have more reason than anyone to stop Rasmus from destroying Domus! If this city and everyone in it are gone, I’ll have no chance at all! I need your help, and you need mine!”

  Flatly, Winston replied, “I believe most of our citizens would debate your claim to a higher stake in this fight.”

  Alex made to argue more, but Winston tiredly held up a hand. He took a deep breath and looked at his closed door. He knew his warriors were waiting on the other side. A decision had to be made.

  “Tell me again about the weapons you propose to bring to us,” Winston asked. “And explain again how you believe you can get them here.”

  Alex almost smiled. Almost, but not quite. He was getting through to the big warrior.

  “My family is very wealthy,” Alex told him, as if that should be all Winston needed to know.

  Winston’s blank stare made Alex realize that the concept of wealth was probably something that had been lost to the Domites long ago. What need had they for currency? The only goods they could possibly barter were food and clothing, and those were given freely to all.

  Alex made a face. “Because my father has made himself very important to many people,” he tried again, “he has earned a great deal of what is universally taken in trade for…” he faltered, trying to come up with a better way to describe the concept of money. “They’ll take money in trade for anything,” Alex finally finished irritably. “And because I am his son, they will trade with me.”

  “Will they not need to smith these weapons?” Winston asked. “How long will it take for you to return with them?”

  “No,” Alex answered. “No, sir. There are already hundreds of these weapons made right now. All I need to do is go get them.”

  “Hundreds?” Winston asked, a keen note entering his tone.

  Alex snorted. “A lot more than that, sir.”

  “I would think one for every warrior would be enough.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You could be back in a matter of hours?” Winston asked.

  “It should take me no more than the length of a full tour at the Core.” Alex hoped so, anyway. He knew he was promising something that might be out of his control, but if he could do it in sixteen hours or less, he would. “At that point I would begin bringing the weapons back one load at a time. As many as I could carry with me on each and every trip.”

  Winston stood, a frown on his face. “Tell me one final thing,” he asked, looking Alex straight in the eyes. “Tell me why you would do this at all.”

  “I told you…” Alex replied, the weight of Winston’s gaze making him want to look away. But he didn’t. Because he meant it when he said, “If Domus falls, I’ll never see my dad again.”

  “Yes,” Winston replied. “You did say that. And in that, you are very likely correct.” Never breaking his gaze, Winston carefully moved around the table to stand directly in front of Alex. Carefully, slowly, he reached up with both hands and gripped Alex high on each arm near the shoulder. “But I believe there is more to you than just that, Alexander Croatoan.”

  An immediate rebuttal came to Alex’s lips, and then died just as quickly. His automatic rejection of any form of acceptance was still so deeply ingrained that he had to consciously w
ill himself not to rebuke an authority figure like Winston.

  “We both know,” Winston continued, “that it is likely there is an army of Nocuous and thralls gathering against us at this very moment. The possibility that our community will survive a war against such foes is slim. You are a smart young lad. You are not ignorant of our peril. The safest, most intelligent thing for you to do would be to leave us to our fate, to use your Magnosphere suit to save yourself and leave the cruelty of this place behind forever.” Winston smiled grimly. “But I believe you will stay the course. I believe it because I need you to. I believe it because every one of my people need you to.”

  Alex swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat, the unexpected gravity of Winston’s words hitting somewhere deep within him, in a place Alex had kept blocked away from the world for a very long time. He could not help thinking to himself, not just your people—my people too.

  “I wish I could relate to you some ancient prophecy, a story handed down through generations that foretold your coming,” Winston told him, still gripping his arms, “but that would be a lie. I do not know what tomorrow may bring, nor do I know if you are the one that can save us, but I have held hope my entire life that one day we would find a way to forever eradicate the Nocuous scourge and free ourselves from this self-imposed prison.”

  Winston clasped his left shoulder tightly. “Perhaps, unwittingly, you have come to make that happen.” He smiled grimly. “Perhaps you are our unwitting savior.”

  They walked together toward the doors. “Come,” Winston urged. “Let us give this news to the community together.”