by G. R. Lyons
Something tightened in his chest at the thought, and he realized he wanted them to be worried about his absence. Well, perhaps not them, specifically, but someone nonetheless.
Stop fooling yourself, Benash, he berated himself, kicking out at a small rock, sending it skittering across the tunnel. You know exactly what you want here.
He closed his eyes and sighed, picturing himself coming home to Vorena, seeing her look up at him with a welcoming smile—a smile that made him feel like he was the only man in the world. His heart raced at the thought, and his imagination ran him through his nightly routine, but placing her firmly within it: scrubbing one another in the shower, sharing a meal together, and—Inadra be praised!—enjoying one another's bodies and waking up in one another's arms the next morning.
Is such a thing even possible?
There was something about Vorena that made him suddenly think there had to be more to life than what he knew. His body had reacted to the sight of her in a way it had never behaved before. Sure, there was that familiar carnal desire and need of release, but somehow it went much deeper than that.
It was a need unlike anything he'd ever felt before, and it went beyond purely physical.
To have another human being recognize him for himself, rather than as a random piece of the puzzle; to be seen as an individual man and not as a replaceable nobody; to share that deep, carnal recognition with someone, embracing life and passion and raw, human need…
He crawled into the small cot assigned to him at the end of his watch, thinking about Vorena as he drifted off to sleep.
Then he dreamt about her, yet again.
Then he woke in the middle of the night, surrounded by a chorus of snores, and wished most fervently that he was alone.
He'd woken up hard as the rock that surrounded him, and all his skin on fire.
Cursing Inadra for her torment, Benash hugged a blanket around himself while he stumbled through the chamber in the near dark and went off to find a place where he wouldn't be seen. The need was too great to simply try ignoring it.
A warm, breath-like whisper of air brushed past his ear, and he felt Inadra's quiet presence, tempting him to go to Vorena's cell and find his pleasure with the object of his desires.
It was tempting—tormentingly so—and he spun on his heel to change direction, but after only a step, he turned back again and continued to seek out isolated darkness. He could have gone to Vorena and used her—there'd be no one to see it in the darkness of the cavern—but he just couldn't do it. Not with her. Not yet. It would mean bringing her down off the pedestal she seemed to naturally live upon.
No, Benash realized, he could never drag her down to him. If he was ever going to be able to enjoy her, he'd have to rise up to meet her.
Now if only he could figure out what that meant, and how to achieve it.
Chapter 15
“SHE WAS the best of all of us, you know.”
Jevon straightened up and turned to look over his shoulder at one of his fellow rebels. The man stood a few feet away, scrutinizing the undergrowth for any signs of an old path up the mountain.
They'd searched ever since the camp had reassembled after Vorena was captured. While some stayed at the camp to guard the children, and others spread out in the forest to hunt, the majority of the rebels were working their way up the mountain, taking a section at a time.
Jevon looked down through the trees at the little progress they'd made, then glanced up the slopes, trying to note any obstacles that lay ahead. He put his hands on his hips and sighed.
“I know.” He shook his head. “We all miss her.”
He resumed his search, and saw the others to either side continue their slow ascent, climbing over rocks and around weeds and ducking under low-hanging branches.
“How do you think she's holding up?” someone asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard.
“You don't think the officers have broken her, do you?” another added.
Jevon saw all the rebels come to a stop, looking at him for an answer.
He snorted. “This is Vorena we're talking about. I don't think there's anything they could do to break her.”
Silence spread through the forest, until someone asked, “Do you think she's still alive?”
Jevon took a deep breath and turned around, looking down the mountainside and toward the prison, though, of course, he couldn't see anything through the dense canopy of trees.
“By the gods, I hope so,” he murmured, then turned back to his task.
A moment later, the others joined him, and they worked in silence for the better part of an hour, continuing their slow, searching march up the slopes.
Jevon got lost in his thoughts as he climbed, half bent over, searching the ground for any indication of an old path where people might have come down from the Gate.
Assuming a hidden Gate even existed.
By the Gods, please let there be.
He pushed aside a few tall weeds, thinking he saw a man-made rut in the ground, but when he looked again he realized his eyes were playing tricks on him.
With a weary groan, he rubbed his eyes and straightened up.
Right before him was a sheer rock wall.
Jevon leaned back, scaling the rock with his eyes and marveling at the sight.
“Well, I'd say this is a dead end,” he muttered.
The rebel to his right stopped walking and looked over. “Getting tired there, Jevon?” he teased.
“Aren't we all,” said the man to his left before Jevon could snap out a retort.
Jevon rubbed his eyes again and moved off to his right. “Everyone shift down. We need to keep moving.”
The line of searchers did as instructed and they continued their slow climb up and around the rock.
Two more hours passed in silence, until Jevon caught an odd motion out of the corner of his eye, followed by a string of curses. He looked off to his left and saw one of the rebels extricating himself from a tangle of burrs.
“Clumsy fool!” one of the other rebels shouted, roaring with laughter.
“Oh, for the gods' sakes, help him up,” Jevon growled, trudging over to the flailing man and lifting him bodily from the weeds. Another came over to join them, and together they got the man untangled and mostly brushed free of the sharp burrs.
“You alright?” Jevon asked.
The man muttered a few more curses while he bent forward to rub his knee. The other reached out to steady him, but the man shoved him aside.
“Oh, leave off, I'm fine,” he growled.
“Can you walk?” Jevon asked, pointedly looking at the man's leg.
“Just bruised, is all.” The man turned and spat, then brushed a few more burrs off his sleeves. “Really, I'm–”
“Oy!” someone shouted, and everyone turned to the right to see one of the rebels waving his arms, a huge smile on his face. “Lads, come see this!”
The rebels moved as quickly as they could through the weeds and gathered around the excited man, who was pointing down at the ground before him.
“Look!”
Jevon and the others looked, and when a few weeds were pushed aside, they saw a long-unused but very obvious set of parallel ruts in the ground.
The rebels cheered, and Jevon clapped the man on the shoulder before bending down closer to the ground, pushing aside weeds as he crept forward, step by step, following the ruts.
After several steps, the ruts faded, but then took up again farther up, forming a crude sort of switchback road where the trees were farthest apart.
“Wagons came through here,” someone muttered. “Or, something wheeled. Something more than just people. Now there has to be a Gate up there! Just think of it: People came from Agoran and came down this trail!”
“At last!” another cheered. “We've got a way out!”
Jevon straightened up and tried to follow the ruts with his eyes, but they disappeared in undergrowth and shadow farther up. He let his gaze climb up to the
very top of the mountain, still much farther from them than the level ground behind them.
“We still have a ways to go,” he reminded them. “And the Gate—if there is one—may have been destroyed, for all we know. Don't get your hopes up yet.”
A rebel walked past him and slapped him on the shoulder. “Quit spoiling our hopes, would ya? Come on, lads. Let's find ourselves a Gate!”
Grinning, the rebels crouched down and continued to follow the rutted path, and Jevon took up the rear with a sigh.
“Just think,” someone said, “Agoran and freedom!”
“And better food!” another called.
“And choice of work!” a third chimed in.
“And a good washing for the lot of you stinking rats,” someone else said with a laugh.
“Oy, like you don't reek just as much as the rest of us!” another jokingly taunted.
Jevon rolled his eyes and shook his head, listening to the rebels poke fun at one another. Though, he had to admit, lowering his head to sniff at his coat, a washing more than once a week—and in hot water instead of the icy stream—wouldn't exactly be an unwelcome thing.
* * *
BENASH SAT at his desk, fidgeting with his slept-in uniform. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone a day without a shower and a change of clothes.
One more night, he thought, closing his eyes. One more night, and then I can get back to my routine.
He tugged at his coat sleeve and tried to smooth his trousers while he looked around the cavern. The prisoners were silent that morning, everyone waiting to see what would come of the quarantine, and starting at every little cough or sniff someone let out.
“Officer Benash?”
Benash twisted around in his seat and found a few of the younger officers gathered just outside the cavern door, also fidgeting with their uniforms or shifting their stances every few seconds.
“Sir,” the speaker began again, “do you think…we could all go home tonight?”
Benash shook his head. “The law states a quarantine must last a full two days. I'm afraid none of us is leaving until tomorrow.”
“But…no one is sick,” another put in. “Doesn't that mean we're safe?”
Before Benash could answer, Garl strode up behind the boys and crossed his arms over his chest, growling, “You know the law: Someone coughs up blood, a quarantine is called. Period. It's for our own good, and for the safety of Tanas. We must protect our people at all costs, as the Elders have always said.”
Garl looked past the boys at Benash, leveling a glare at him.
He taunts me and my authority, Benash thought, feeling his body tense up. He took a deep breath and kept his mouth shut. I will not stoop to his challenge. I will not.
“But…why would they call a two-day quarantine if the disease shows up in one?” a young officer asked. “That doesn't make sense. Maybe they're wrong about–”
“The Elders are never wrong!” Garl shouted.
His voice echoed around the cavern, drawing everyone's attention, and a pregnant silence followed.
“Oh, sure,” a voice cut in softly, breaking the eerie quiet. “Never wrong. Not even once.”
Benash looked across the cavern at Vorena. She stood at the door to her cell, her arms casually draped over the bars, and all eyes were on her.
“Not even when they instituted a minimum wage, saying it would increase prosperity, and things only got worse, because it priced unskilled labor out of what market still existed at that time,” she continued. “Not wrong when they increased taxes on the rich, saying it would benefit the poor, and things only got worse for everyone, until there were no rich left at all. Not wrong when they started assigning work to people, rather than letting them choose, and people performed badly at their work because they didn't want to be there. Not wrong when they forced people to marry, saying it would lead to an increase in our population, yet childbirth rates dropped dramatically, while mortality rates skyrocketed. Not wrong when–”
“Would someone please silence this bitch!” Garl roared, fumbling with his keys at the cavern door.
“No, let her go on!” one of the prisoners shouted.
Benash watched Garl search for the right key to the cavern, and turned back to Vorena. She had a confident smile on her face as she looked around the room.
“How much time have you got?” she teased, then gave an overdone, dreamy sigh. “Yes, our wonderful Elders. How benevolent they are to protect the people at all costs.” She paused, scanning the room, briefly meeting each man's eyes before stopping her gaze in the direction of the officers at the cavern gate. “Even at the cost of their freedom.”
“That's blasphemous!” Garl roared, having finally gained the cavern. He stormed toward Vorena's cell and glared at her. “This is a free country!”
In response, Vorena merely raised an eyebrow at Garl, and glanced pointedly around at the cavern before returning her gaze to the fuming officer.
From his place at his desk, and even though Vorena wasn't looking at him, Benash shivered under the intensity of her look and the confidence in her stance.
“A free country,” Vorena said quietly. “Yes, we're so free that we have no choices. So free that our lives are dictated down to the jobs we have, the people we marry, the places we live. No choices, no decisions, no options. Just restrictions and regulations. Oh, yes. Free, indeed.”
While Garl shook with anger, but seemed at a loss for words, Benash sank into his chair, hearing a prisoner's haunting voice in his head:
Haven't you ever just wanted to have a choice?
Chapter 16
BENASH DREW the first watch again that night, and after holding his assigned position for half an hour, he grew restless and got up to move about the tunnels and caverns, his mind full of Vorena's words. He nodded greetings to the few officers scattered about who were also on watch, all the while concentrating on keeping his mind as secure as he could make it.
He wasn't surprised when his steps finally brought him to the cavern where Vorena was caged.
The guard posted at the cavern gate was so deeply asleep that Benash was able to open the gate without waking him. He stepped inside and pushed the rough, cold bars almost shut with one hand, eyes straining through the dim light to make out Vorena's cell, and all the while hearing a chorus of snores all around him.
Tentatively, he opened his mind just enough to send out a feeler in Vorena's direction, wondering if he could recognize her mental signature, and wondering just how protected her mind was—and if he'd be able to feel it.
Ah, the Hawk can't sleep.
Benash jumped back, startled at the sound of the voice in his head.
Then it came again with a laugh: Did I scare the great officer?
Benash stepped away from the gate, releasing the bars as he squinted into the darkened cavern, and asked, Vorena?
Smart one, you are, her mental voice replied, and even though it was cheeky, it also made his chest tighten with longing. Feeling her voice within his mind made him feel suddenly dizzy and aroused.
He wanted to be inside her just as much as she was inside him.
And in more ways than one, he thought, then felt his face flush with heat, hoping she hadn't heard that.
To what do I owe the honor? she asked him, and her voice held a bit of amusement. Benash wasn't sure if she had heard his thought, or if she was just making fun at his visit in general.
I…I couldn't sleep, he answered lamely, realizing he'd merely repeated her first observation.
So you've come to pester me instead, she noted with a laugh.
You know, I could have you beaten for your words and your insubordinate behavior, he threatened, feeling irritated by her attitude and the lack of authority he felt around her.
You could.
She said it simply and matter-of-factly, with no hint of fear or concern, and Benash couldn't find the words to respond. His mouth went dry, feeling suddenly useless: He realized he wanted to get V
orena out of this hell hole, but couldn't even begin to fathom how to do so successfully.
Of course, it was the why of that desire that terrified him so much that he refused to even think of it.
But you won't, she added after a long pause, and Benash couldn't respond to that either, letting his silence be an affirmative. Her words weren't cocky and self-sure, just a statement of fact, and she knew it. Benash caught just enough sensation coming from her along with her simple words to tell him that she knew it was the truth, and it could be left at that.
Clenching his jaw, Benash stretched out his mind toward hers, feeling the source of her mental voice, holding a block on his own mind while he let fingers of awareness stretch out to her.
They slammed into what felt like a stone wall.
Vorena's mental chuckle filled his mind as his feelers crashed against her mental defenses. By the gods, she was strong! Never before had he encountered a mental block so secure—not even amongst his superior officers. There was not the slightest bit of her mind available for access, no matter how hard he pushed.
Easy there, Hawk, she joked, though her voice held a hint of concern as well.
Benash gasped and pulled back to himself, realizing that he was sweating and shaking, and found himself clinging to the bars of the gate so hard that his hands ached, though he couldn't remember taking a step backward. He slammed his mind shut and whirled around, retreating from the cavern. Once the door was secured, he hurried away, back to his post, breathing heavily the whole time.
My gods, he thought, gulping air as he stumbled down a darkened tunnel. That was…it was…
Incredible, is what it was. The strength of her mind was startling, but the more he thought about it, the more he was intrigued. Speechlessly impressed, even. If he could learn such a thing—seven hells, if everyone could learn such a thing!—the Elders' control would vanish like mist over the Pascatin river at the rising of the suns.
Benash stopped in his tracks at the thought, suddenly taken back to his lonely childhood in the Hallern district in the north, from where the Pascatin sprung. Children were rarely allowed the luxury of play, but when his father had gone off to work and his mother had been busy feeding the baby—a sister who hadn't survived her third year—Benash would sneak out of the family quarters and slink through shadows until he reached the mighty river, its waters gushing their way down from the mountains on the way to the endless sea.
