by G. R. Lyons
By comparison, when we look at the construction industry on Tanas, and the history of destruction that Isle has endured in each of its Collisions, we find that…
Benash growled with frustration when he came to the end of the page. He'd read the text before, but there had been so much information that he couldn't possibly remember it all, nor what came next.
He folded up the page in its wrapping and tossed it aside. If there were any secrets being smuggled in that torn page, he certainly wasn't clear-headed enough to find them just then. He'd simply have to question the woman about it.
He'd have his answers soon enough.
Tucking the oilcloth away with his weapons and badge, Benash finished his nightly routine and slipped into the warmth of blissful sleep.
And then he dreamed.
Benash raced down the forest path, and saw a ghostly figure standing at the fork. He slowed down, and knew even before she turned that it was Vorena, waiting there for him. She gave him a brilliant smile and held out one hand, but as he approached and reached to clasp her fingers, she laughed and faded away, only to reappear within the shadows of the right fork.
Grinning, Benash ran after her, but was jerked back before he could set one foot on the weed-choked path. Vorena reached out again, inviting him to join her, but no matter how much he struggled, Benash couldn't move.
He looked down and saw dozens of chains wrapped around his body, but anchored he knew not where, as the chains extended down the paths farther than he could see. Benash pulled and kicked and swung his arms, but still the chains held him.
Down the right fork, he saw Vorena, wearing a blue shirt and forest green skirt, her skin shimmering in golden and adamantine hues, as though she were made from the light of the suns themselves. She watched him struggle, shaking her head in disappointment. She turned and ran down the right fork, leaving him behind.
Benash strained against the chains, roaring as his energy began to flag, and finally dropped to his knees, panting and sweating. He looked up, meaning to curse the gods, but his eyes were drawn to the mountain and the clearing amidst the trees. Despite the distance, he was sure he saw a figure there, calling out to him, and heard her voice as a whisper on the air:
“Break your chains, Benash,” she told him. “Break your chains and join me in the sunslight.”
But when Benash looked down at the chains holding him, he knew that it was hopeless. He hung his head and let his arms fall heavily to his sides, the chains rattling as they settled on the ground, and when he looked back up, the shimmering figure on the mountainside faded away as the sky grew dark and erupted in a pouring rain.
Chapter 12
“WE HAVE a problem.”
Benash looked up and saw a young officer hurrying toward him as he emerged from the entrance tunnel into the main cavern, still trying to get his mind off his dreams of Vorena. In the flickering light, the boy looked tired and rumpled, but his eyes held a startling combination of fear and confusion.
“What problem?” Benash asked, stopping at the clerk's desk to check in while a few other officers milled about, waiting for their shifts to start.
“That prisoner you brought in yesterday,” the boy began, then clarified unnecessarily, “The woman. The night shift officers said that she ignored the prayers this morning.”
“She what?” Benash gasped, and several other officers turned to look at them, also looking startled at the news.
The young officer nodded vigorously. “Everyone else got down just as willing and routine as you please, but she never moved a muscle. Just sat there grinning at the wall like she did all day yesterday.”
“Why, that irreverent bitch!” someone growled. “First with the threes, and now this?”
“I'll handle it,” Benash told them.
Considering the night he'd had—and all the dreams that had filled it—he wasn't quite ready to face Vorena just yet, but since he'd been the one to arrest her, she was primarily his responsibility. He would have to talk some sense into her, get her to behave, or—gods forbid—beat her into submission.
Benash clenched his jaw, hoping it wouldn't come to that. He didn't think he could stomach raising a hand against that woman. Anyone else, certainly, but her? Not if his life depended on it.
Nor would he ever let another man do it in his stead. The thought of standing idly by while someone else gave her a beating made him feel suddenly nauseated. He felt bad enough for having stood aside while the others had stripped her the day before.
Gods, was that really only a day ago?
The thought almost stopped him in his tracks. His entire life felt as though it had shifted five kinds of sideways, and all because of one simple little gods-damned right turn.
The cavern was eerily quiet as he let himself in and crossed to Vorena's cell. Benash glanced around and saw all of the prisoners watching cautiously, but not one seemed to have a word to say.
Just as the young officer had reported, Vorena sat just as she had the day before, leaning casually back against the wall and smiling to herself. Benash came to a stop just outside the bars and looked down at her, but she seemed to be studiously ignoring him.
Something tightened in his chest, a strange kind of pain. He wanted her to acknowledge him. Quite specifically, he wanted her to acknowledge his presence.
His very existence.
Himself.
What in the gods' names has this woman done to me? I'm not supposed to want recognition. It's not natural. Haven't the Elders always said so? I'm nobody, yet I want–
He slammed a hand against the cell door, making the bars clang as the lock mechanism was jostled, and after a long, deliberate moment, Vorena finally looked up at him with a questioning expression. Despite the bars between them and their relative positions, Benash got the unnerving sensation that she was condescending to notice him, and that's the way things ought to be.
Holding on to what fraying thread of authority he maintained as he looked at her, he growled out, “I'm told you did not recite the prayers this morning.”
Her only response was a shrug.
“Do you not believe in the gods?” he asked.
“'Course I believe in the gods,” she said with a smirk. “Doesn't mean I have to pray to them on any set schedule.”
“You're inviting more bad luck by not honoring them along with the rest of us.”
She shook her head. “You're inviting your own shackles by participating.”
Benash shivered, images from his dream flaring up in his memory, but he pushed them aside and growled, “I beg your pardon.”
Vorena grinned at him. “Try it. Just once. Try going a morning without reciting the prayers.”
Benash took a step back as though slapped. “That's blasphemous. And besides, the Elders would know!”
“Actually, they wouldn't have a clue,” Vorena said, shaking with laughter. “I've not recited the morning prayers in years, nor have many others I know, and the Elders are none the wiser. I will admit it does take a rather cunning and strong mental block, but it's certainly possible.”
Mutters erupted around the room, and Benash caught snatches of conversation here and there as it rose up loud enough to reach his ears. The prisoners whispered about Vorena's blasphemous behavior—some in condemnation but many others in awe—and Benash felt his mind whirl, wondering how it was possible.
“Why would you do such a thing?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
She shrugged again. “Why would you daily recite an oath that binds you to the Elders' control?”
“I won't even pretend to understand what you mean by that.”
Vorena looked up at him with pity on her face, but soon that spark of life made her eyes shine, and her knowing smile returned as she told him, “The prayers have naught to do with the gods, but with binding your mind to the Elders' control. Every time you recite those prayers, you're required to open your mind to the awareness of others sharing that experience. It leaves you o
pen and vulnerable to their intrusion—and they've gotten very good at intruding upon minds unnoticed.”
“What's this all about?” another prisoner shouted. “How do you know all this?”
“Yeah!” came a chorus of voices from around the room, seconding the question.
Vorena smiled, and though she looked up at Benash, she pitched her voice loud enough to carry across the space as she answered, “Think about the words you recite in your mind, and the sensations you feel as you recite them. It's not difficult to realize that you're pledging allegiance, not to the gods, but to the Elders, who claim to represent the gods. You're pledging allegiance to their leadership and their control of you. You're pledging allegiance to an idea that you do not own yourself, and that you must continue to submit to the Elders' laws, in the name of the gods, for the sake of the glory of Tanas. For the gods' sakes, you're pledging allegiance to a flag, of all things, the Tanasian red-and-grey—nothing more than a funeral shroud that attempts to bind everyone together in a living death, while we're taught to honor that banner and its symbol of unity, when all the while we lose our unique individuality and become mindless automatons who bow and scrape at every whim of the Elders, never actually living life for ourselves.”
She paused for a moment, shook her head, and continued, “It's all a ruse to maintain your submission to their government of your lives. Stop reciting the prayers, and instead offer up whatever individual prayers you yourself choose to offer the gods, and the Elders' control will begin to weaken. You'll be free—at least, free as you can be on this damned Isle. You'll feel the freedom, in your own mind. You'll be able to see the possibilities of life that the Elders never let us even dream about.”
“But–” another prisoner called out, then hesitated before continuing: “Why would the Elders need such a thing to enforce their power? Everyone knows they're stronger than the rest of us. Better. Smarter. That's how they got to be the Elders, after all.”
Vorena shook her head, but since not everyone could see it, she called out, “No. They're not stronger, or better, or smarter. Certainly, they want you to believe that, but it's not true. It's all a show, to keep you cowed and submissive to their reign. The Elders are far outnumbered, and their power of governance could be dismantled with very little effort, except for the illusion they give of their dominance. And, of course, they have these lovely officers to help enforce that illusion.”
Benash crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a look at her, repeating, “I beg your pardon.”
“Ever heard the tale, How to Catch a Wild Nymph?” she asked, and Benash shook his head. “Ah, it's a good one. A fable from Indisar, I understand, which is odd, considering how tyrannical the government is there—though I'm not sure it could be much worse than here–”
“Get to the point,” Benash growled, then frowned. “And what in the gods' names is a nymph?”
Vorena shrugged. “Some sort of Indisarian creature. Bird, or something. I'm not sure. Wild. Free. Too quick to be caught except by trickery. The same trickery that keeps us all under the Elders' rule.”
Benash saw several heads shake in confusion, and didn't understand her point, himself. Clenching his hands into fists, he spat, “Well?”
“Well, the Elders could hardly hold onto their power with so many miserable people outnumbering them,” she explained, smirking at him. “So, they grant a few people some special privileges and powers—not as elite as the Elders themselves but at least raising them up above the dismal level of regular citizens—and those privileges are used to entice the officers to present a greater show of strength of the Elders' power. You officers do all the hard and dirty work, all the while thinking you're something special because of those shiny badges on your chests, and the rest of the citizens cower under your glare, feeling the power of the Elders portrayed through you. The Elders are more secure in their lofty positions and the citizens are kept more in-line, and all of it hangs on the balance of a very insubstantial thread.”
There was silence for a long moment, and Benash studied Vorena's face as she steadily looked up at him. She was utterly confident in her convictions, and Benash felt himself carried along by the strength of her voice, even though he could feel himself approaching a realization that quite honestly terrified him.
“What are you driving at?” he asked quietly, forcing his voice as steady as he could make it. “Are you saying we officers should just turn in our badges and join the people in revolt against the Elders?”
Vorena shrugged, and said, “I certainly wouldn't mind.”
“The Elders would make prisoners of us all if we so much as thought about attempting such a thing.”
“They can't turn you into something you already are,” Vorena told him, her voice laced with pity.
Benash cocked an eyebrow and almost laughed in response, but something about her words left him unsettled. “I'm not the one in a prison cell, wench.”
Vorena settled back against the wall, casually drew up her knees, and shook her head. “Not all prisons are made of iron bars.”
She closed her eyes then, leaving Benash feeling effectively dismissed, and he was several steps away before he realized that she didn't actually have the authority to make him leave.
* * *
BENASH SPENT the morning brooding at his post, going over Vorena's words. Indeed, he couldn't do much else: The prisoners were unnaturally quiet, leaving him no distractions to tear him away from his thoughts.
He made a tremendous effort not to look in Vorena's direction, but his mind still focused on her nonetheless.
The lunch rotation startled him when it came, and though Benash was hungry, he couldn't fathom how so many hours had passed unnoticed.
Shaking the woman from his thoughts, he joined his fellow officers in the mess hall and mechanically ate his stew, too distracted to pay attention to what they were being served that day.
“Oy, Benash.”
He looked up and blinked, pulled from his thoughts, and saw Officer Garl leaning over from another table, a vicious leer on his face.
“Me and some of the boys were wondering when we can have a go at that woman you brought in,” Garl said, and Benash saw a few other officers nod agreement, some openly and others shyly.
Keeping his face carefully blank, Benash answered evenly, “You don't.”
Garl's grin turned into an angry stare. “And why not? The gods know we could use a little fun around here. You know, a nice little distraction to break up the day.”
Benash hesitated, trying to think of a response, but all he managed was, “The Elders have not said if such behavior is allowed.” He paused, and added, “I don't recall them specifying any different rules the last time we had a female prisoner.”
Another officer put in, “But she was only here for a day before she died of her injuries.”
“There was a woman here before?” a boy officer asked.
The other officer nodded. “It's rare, but it happens.”
“What do you say, Benash?”
“Can we, sir?”
Benash looked around at all the curious faces, then back at Garl. He knew there was only one thing that might put an end to the subject.
“I'm afraid not, without the Elders' express permission,” he said carefully. “Besides, you all ought to be satisfied with the wives the Elders have given you. Is that not enough? Are you not grateful?”
The words felt odd in his mouth, considering he had long ago lost the satisfaction in his own wives, but at that moment it did the trick: The officers nodded agreement and went back to their meals. Even Garl looked thoroughly chastised, and Benash saw him close his eyes in prayer before finishing his stew.
Allegiance to the flag, indeed, Benash scoffed inwardly, then started, surprised at the words running through his mind. Closing his eyes, he offered up his own prayer to the Seven for his sinful thoughts, and quickly finished his meal.
At home that night, determined to atone for the blasphe
mous thoughts and dreams swirling through his mind, Benash took up the burnt page and read it again, scrutinizing it for clues, but still found nothing. He wracked his brain for answers, but though he toyed with such silly ideas as Vorena developing or even smuggling transport devices, nothing that came to mind seemed to make sense.
There was only one thing to do: take the page with him to the prison, and get the answers out of Vorena by any means necessary.
He went to bed, dreamt of her again, and rushed through his routine the next morning as soon as the prayers were done. His route to work went by in a blur, and he was crossing the clearing to the prison gate when it suddenly struck him that he'd charged right past the fork in the path without even sparing it a thought.
Two days in a row.
Gods, woman, what have you done to me?
Taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw, Benash let himself into the prison.
Chapter 13
VORENA WOKE to the sound of the door to her cell being wrenched open, and as she tried to blink the sleep from her eyes, she just made out the forms of two shadows looming over her before she was roughly hauled from bed and shoved out into the cavern.
She was just alert enough to throw out her hands to break her fall, but she wound up sprawled on the ground nonetheless. Before she could get her legs under her, a booted foot slammed into her belly.
When the world stopped spinning, she found herself on her back and several feet farther from her cell.
Three night shift Hawks stood over her: two that she hadn't seen before, and the third was a boy officer who had caught her not doing the prayers the day before.
Now I'm in for it, she thought.
She grinned up at them.
“On your knees, bitch,” one of the officers growled. “Time to say your prayers.”
In response, Vorena sat up and spat on his boot.
The officer's face turned red, and before she could blink, she felt one of his large hands grasp her by the throat and haul her up so her feet dangled above the ground. He pulled back his free hand and made a fist.
