James began the exclamation for the fifth time during their jog.
"No, this isn't magic, nor is it shaping. Magic doesn't exist here outside of shaping, and neither of those would even make a room like this anyway."
"Then how is this room still standing?" The child asked
"It's made of concrete and steel." How are you still talking, usually people have doubled over in pain and exhaustion. The child was quite fit apparently. James looked over at the two adults, Ferm and Lee or something, and saw that his boot camp had at least had the desired effect on someone. They were walking, and in the case of the father, limping, several metres behind James. Their child, however, continued to keep pace. James would have left him in the dust by now by shaping, except that he was now under even higher surveillance, on account of Charles. His holiness had spent several days shirking his own responsibilities to try and catch James shirking his.
He had even had the gall to openly remove the restraints on James' shaping while they were talking. He was probably hoping I'd attack him so he could get rid of me. Bastard.
While James was lost in thought, the endless word machine that followed him continued to prattle on.
"Yeah, you mentioned that before, but you never explained how anything could be that strong and not be magic. Look at it! It's like stepping outside!"
Yeah, but without any of the nice parts of being outside, like sunshine or landscape that stretched into a horizon. The slightly arched ceiling rose over a dozen metres high, shadows clinging to the ceiling like a swarm of silent bugs. There were overhead lights, but over half were broken, nearly a third had fallen to the floor and shattered. Some of the latter still pay where they fell. Janitors were overworked as is.
The imperfect lighting bathed most of the utilitarian walls and roof in a twilit glow, but a slowly expanding corner of the room had been dedicated to a lush garden. James recalled that the garden had begun as a hydroponic farm before someone from on high had sent an order down to grow some luxury crops, grown in traditional soil. Many enlisted were never sent out into the field, and began visiting this area just to remember what plants looked like. From there the project had grown both due to further requisitions and the sheer morale boost it provided, and now there was very nearly a forest expanding from a crevice in the matter gray of the ancient walls. An artificial garden for an artificial cave. It was beautiful, in a way, but James had found it a crude mockery of the real thing, a sentiment which was reinforced with every new mission to the surface. The desire to escape flared within him. "It has to be, it used to be a hangar."
"What's a hangar?" Peter asked.
"It's a building designed to house planes."
"What's a plane?"
"A vehicle that can fly."
The kid mumbled under his breath "Sure sounds like magic to me." Then his voice perked up and he asked "What was it like to fly? "
"I've only gotten the chance once. It was incredible, and terrifying. I'd do it again if I could. But that thing isn't magic. Nothing in this place is."
"Well can you show me one?"
"No. They've been banned and disassembled. Not that they'd let me near one if there were any here."
"Why don't you just make one by shaping?"
"Because my wardens wouldn't like that very much, and they've found a way to prevent shaping in the citadel."
"Oh." Peter grew quiet.
"If you can't use shaping here, why were you able to use it to kill Treshkova?"
"I wouldn't make a very good attack dog with no teeth, would I?" James grinned viciously.
"There's two main reasons. The first is that they don't stop me from shaping entirely, just dampen it. The second is that they put a bomb in my skull that would instantly kill me if it exploded."
James sighed "Doesn't help that I'm watched near constantly. If they noticed I had figured it out, they'd probably just blow my brains out. Or worse, feed me to the core."
Peter looked at him with a skeptical expression.
James laughed "What, you think I'm lying? If you honestly think I’d stay here if I had any other option, you’re dumber than that idiot that tried shooting me. "
"You don't seem to care too much about the people you killed."
"Oh, so I should be pining over those hollows? Give me a break, kid. They aren’t even real."
Peter was furious "Oh so they're subhuman? Just because they were willing to fight for something other than their own ego? And what about me? Am I subhuman too?”
James picked at his nails “No, you’re real. Hollows don’t do well near the core, you’d have gotten really sick if you were. Not that being fully human is much of an achievement on its own, mind you. If you were a shaper, on the other hand…”
“Shaping or not, apparently your entire plan hinges on my cooperation, so I guess you're no better than a dumb kid!" Peter spat.
James laughed "The fact that you earnestly believe that is adorable. I don't need you. You think you're the first person I've used? There have been dozens, who came from everywhere in the world, and while none of them were as strong as me, each and every one of them had one thing in common."
"I met a girl who knew people so well, she could damn near predict the future when she was around them. She died in the wilderness because she couldn't fathom that animals were dangerous. Another was a pile of muscle and sinew that could rip a steel door off its hinges. He wasn't dumb either, he had two PhD's. He died to a heart attack. Worked himself to death. One of my current squadmates can hear a bat shit itself from five miles off, but lost an arm, and doesn't speak anymore."
"Are you seeing the pattern here? Do you see what separates you from them?"
Peter knew better than to answer.
James looked down at Peter with utter disdain."I might be selfish, but at least I'm not willfully ignorant. They were different because they knew things, could do things I can't do. They weren't reliant on someone else to stay alive, to be stable. They were their own people. Hollows just steal space from us because they can’t even die right. Bah, why am I even explaining myself to you? It's not as if you really care about this. I certainly don’t, and you're easily as selfish as me."
Peter bristled "I don’t murder people and then play with their memory like a yarn-enamored cat!"
"Oh dear, I seem to be wrong left and right today, don’t I? If you're such a shining bastion of altruism, then why haven’t you bothered to help your poor old dad along instead of pestering me"
"What? He's not-" Peter looked back to see his father, still far behind them, and noticeably limping. The realization washed the layer of anger from the boy's face, leaving only the subsurface of guilt that James had stirred into being. But James wasn't finished.
"If I recall correctly, you did the same thing back in the field. Rather a shame that you take him for granted so much."
Peter grew red, but said nothing. He knew he was being toyed with, his father had ordered him to run, and James knew that, but it still hurt. James continued.
"Your naive view on life is only possible because others have been shouldering your suffering for you. So you have two choices now. Carry your weight, or play dumb and remain a useless child forever. What is it going to be?" James' gaze bore into Peter. There was no more bored, glazed over look. It felt like looking at a different person.
Peter simmered, stubbornly remaining silent, then relented "Fine. So how do you plan to escape? Wouldn't they just kill you as soon as they noticed that you left?"
"I'm so glad you asked, because that brings us back to the purpose of our little get together today." James stopped as they reached the far edge of the room, where sound didn't carry. "Your first task."
The child gazed at him expectantly. James eyed him, apparently trying to figure him out, but gave up.
"You will be the runner between me and the few people that still trust me. Don't worry, you’ll only need to remember two. You'll have plenty of energy left for our daily runs."
Peter did not look pleased. "So I'm a delivery boy?" He said.
"Well, that’s the easy part. The other half is acting. You need to be able to play a convincing idiot. They'll tolerate a child making mistakes, or being lost. At least the first time, usually more. So we have to make good use of it now. I need you to find a man named 'Clint'. His room number is five-zero-three, but he probably won't be there. He stays in the research and development department almost constantly. I want you to go to his apartment and knock. When he doesn't answer, go in anyway. There'll be a box with a blue label somewhere. It might be buried, Clint isn't a neat freak so you might need to search. When you find it, swap it with this one."
James handed Peter a small, clear plastic box. "Don't open either box, just bring the right one back to me."
"You want me to break into someone's room and steal? I don't know…" Peter looked nervous, but took the box.
"It's not stealing, I made most of the parts myself. Clint was just upgrading it for me. He and I are friends. Well, coworkers anyway."
"Okay. What do I do if someone stops me?"
"Ideally, they won't. But if they do, pretend to be lost. Tell them that you found that box in the halls and weren't sure who to return it to. They'll buy it, new 'recruits' end up lost all the time. They'll just escort you back to your room. "
Peter looked about ready to burst with further questions, but he hesitated, then turned and jogged toward his parents.
"How is the leg, dad?" He asked.
Despite the persistent limp, his father's leg was healing exceptionally fast. It was practically a miracle, and Peter took it as such. It was better than imagining his father being subjected to the litany of horror that James had described when he'd asked about it. Weaving together muscles like a demented seamstress after cutting him open and rearranging things sounded like torture, not medicine. He knew that they were just using shaping and that James was trying to scare him but...James was very descriptive.
Feirm readjusted his grip on the crutch, and swung his splinted leg around in a wide arc to compensate for the inability to bend. "Still broken, though it appears to be the only thing worse for wear." He turned to James. "Whatever your people did, thank you."
"You're welcome! But never call them my people ever again."
James knew they weren't just setting bones and suturing wounds up in medical, they were a multi-department Asclepius. Even with James' high standards, the efficiency of their craft was impressive to him, having experienced it firsthand more than once when he was being...inducted. Perhaps it wasn't in spite of, but because of those visits that he'd developed a healthy respect for the medical staff. When they wanted to, they could make your recovery nearly painless, if a bit dull.
Unfortunately, they didn't enjoy James' abrasive attitude in the beginning, and the memory of having his leg rebroken in surgery when he wouldn't allow them to treat the break in time haunted his thoughts at night. Not to mention the screams from deeper in. James felt a chill creep down his spine. No one he'd met before or since had made a noise like those screams, and he'd kill his fair share of people.
He shook away the nightmares, and looked at the family before him, listened to their chatter, the intimate connection. Three people. That's all I have to work with. And they'll be watched the whole way, even more than I was before. What was I thinking? Was I that desperate for some connection to the outside world that I would risk ruining the only possible chance for escape? No. It wasn't possible before. You know that. You needed help. Why else would you have taken that thing's deal?
"Sir?"
James' train of thought derailed and he saw that the family was now staring at him. He looked at the child.
"Well, what are you waiting for, you have your job, now go!"
Peter looked nonplussed "Oh…uh, okay-I mean yes sir!" And he jogged back toward the hangar entrance with a backwards glance at his parents.
James turned toward the parents and began their own briefing. "I'm sure both of you have many questions, but they'll have to wait. We have fewer days than I'd like to work with, before I lose my only chance to escape. If I make my attempt, and you three choose to stay, I doubt you will ever get another chance." He paused to study their reactions. The father was calm, waiting. His wife also waited, but clearly more stressed. "With that in mind, you'll understand if I ask you to do some...unpleasant tasks."
The father spoke "I won't kill again, if that's what you mean."
What a pleasant man! James shook his head. "No, murder is extremely noticeable. The moment they notice us misbehaving, they'll just kill us." Well, they might not kill your kid, but best not to mention how they treat such recruits. Besides, I don't need your help to do something so simple. What I need you two to do is sabotage."
The mother piped up "you want us to break stuff? That doesn't sound so unpleasant to me. What's the catch?"
James grinned "If you keep thinking like that, I might have to stop thinking of you as expendable. The catch is that in order to get to the honey, you need to look like a bee."
He pulled out an imposing tool, made of unfinished, gray metal. A framework of the metal at the top of the tool held three small, multicolored cylinders in place, and from the frame jutted several knobs, which may have loosened or tightened the frame to release the cylinders. Below this, the frame jutted out in what appeared to be a large, gray pen.
"This is a code gun. It is meant for implanting Federation members with identity bars that the E-eyes in this place can read, but it also gives a pretty nice tattoo."
James gestured with the pen "Turn around."
Feirm raised an eyebrow, and Leann scowled.
"You want us to get branded like those barbaric tribals, like slaves!?" Leann said "I don't believe either of us are in the mood for jokes, Sir."
James turned around, and pulled the collar of his shirt down, revealing a complex fractal pattern infused in the skin on the nape of his neck. "I'm not joking. This mark, and others like it, are how they track where you can go, and where you can't. Right now, you can go nowhere. With the marks on going to give you, you'll be able to go anywhere, as long as you avoid other people. Luckily for you, yours won't be as involved as mine, for a number of reasons. It'll be virtually invisible."
He turned back to face the two. "Look, I know it isn't pleasant, but we really need to hurry, a stroll through the garden is a great cover story, but it'll only hold up for so long."
Feirm's expression had evolved into acceptance, but Leann's remained hostile. In fact, she now looked furious, though her voice remained chilly.
"Have you done this with Peter?"
"No, I'm banking on his youth to protect him."
Leann seemed to calm down a bit at that. Feirm, on the other hand, looked more tense.
"Why not?" He asked
"Feirm!" Leann looked at her husband, shocked more than angry. He wasn't forthcoming with excuses, but he did shoot her a look, which must have communicated something because she didn't protest further.
James asked the man "Is it really so hard to believe that I didn't want to scar a child for life?" It wasn't untrue.
"Yes." Feirm was presenting a tougher sell than his wife. Strange.
You know what? I miss being able to just threaten people. James thought. He sighed and said "Fine. I didn't tattoo all three of you because of the three, he is by far the smallest, and as it stands now, I'm not even certain I can succeed in giving you two valid codes. I'd rather not waste time and the very expensive ink trying to encode his scrawny neck. Is that a selfish enough reason for you?" It had better be, it's damn near the whole truth.
Feirm didn't answer verbally, choosing to turn around and bare his neck. James couldn't tell if he was satisfied with the answer or simply resigned to his fate. Either way, he volunteered.
"We'll do this over there, the glare of the overheads will blind anyone watching from afar." James gestured to a gaudy, overly polished semi-circle fountain that seemed to contradict the wall it was set in. Like many of the Federation's architecture, it was metallic, but whoever had designed it must have been either incompetent or spiteful as well as an exceptional engineer, because any light from above the fountain would be efficiently redirected into the eyes of anyone who looked at it.
The decorations which flowered out from the top spout of the classically adorned font included three wrought iron cherubs holding various flowers, each of which sent out their own arc of flowing water that terminated in the large bottom basin. The two side cherubs were bisected by the wall, their graceful poise being somewhat diminished by the chaotic spray of water that replaced the arc of a functional jet. Disgusting. James thought that they were an excellent metaphor for the general state of the Federation. Loud, ugly, out of place and begging to be dismantled.
"Let's get started, shall we?"
______________________________________
An hour later, the trio had dispersed, Leann and Feirm had returned to their room to recuperate before their first task, and James had the pleasure of an impromptu interrogation at the hands of dear Charles. At least he's giving me the courtesy of not trying to bait me into punching him this time.
"Why were you in the gardens?" Charles barked at him
"The new captives wanted to go outside, so I took them to the next best thing." James replied, once again, not untrue.
"Just going on a stroll for their sake, hmm? Doesn't sound like you." Charles did nothing to hide the accusation.
"I decided to turn over a new leaf, and do some good in my life!" James could feel his poker face slipping.
The gruff face of his C.O. actually twitched in the direction of a smile. "That will be the day. Come on, we have work to do." He gestured to follow, and they entered the sterile hallways of the Fed headquarters.
"Really? The readers must be losing their touch if another shaper got out so soon."
"If I had to guess, it's probably just our latest mark making a brief surface before diving deep again but the brass is deaf and the iron is hot." Charles cracked his neck and groaned. "Meet the others in Bay Two by 1800. I have a meeting with some people I've been putting off."
Charles departed, his gait one of a man who understands exactly his position and purpose in life. To a casual observer, this was all there was to see. James was not casual about his observations, and though Charles hid it well, the hitch in his step, the subtle but significant shifting of weight, was clear enough. Age was wearing on him.
James almost felt sorry for the man. Getting old must be hard. James thought. Too bad the councillors have decided to deprive me of the opportunity to experience it. He walked the empty halls of the ribcage and pondered their length and labyrinthian design. The building seemed to have been built with thousands of inhabitants in mind, and not the hundreds it actually housed, and insisted upon leaving the majority of halls and junctures without labels. Not that he could read what few signs there were. His current path takes him in a spiral, terminating at a single story staircase, whose only exit sent one down two flights and under the twisted hall they came from. James hated this setup, for obvious reasons, but also because despite the confusion it caused for him, his CO and squadmates seemed to always know exactly where they were. He knew they were hiding some kind of map on their datpads, but none of his cajoling, flattering, or threats(all of which were notably empty, given his enslavement here) ever granted him that precious knowledge. Instead, he had to memorize each and every inch of his environment in painstaking months of exploration.
James reached an intersection, and took a left. The hallway gradually, almost imperceptibly grew wider, until he reached a gate of considerable size. Beyond it was the vehicle bay that Charles had instructed he visit. A low roar of activity emanated from the packed room, a flurry of activity surrounding the extensive collection of military equipment and vehicles. The room was divided into discrete spaces, each space assigned its own personnel and equipment. There was a wide array of vehicles including ATV’s, pickups, several APC’s, and even a couple of tanks. The ATV’s were stacked up to four in a space with other mobile equipment, usually communications or survival gear, filling in the gaps. Larger vehicles had more room, at most two to a spot with far less debris between, and as a result, far more people loitering around them. James wasn't sure why, but he never felt more keenly the absence of his shaping abilities than when exposed to the crush of a crowd.
Scanning the room, he found his squadmates gathered next to a small pile of crates, situated in a nook between two support struts. The Avery twins were signing amongst themselves as usual, Two sitting on a large metal crate between Holiday and Avery One, who was loading something dark and metal into the crate beside his sister. As James got closer, however, he saw something unusual. Holiday was actively engaging with Two, who seemed to be relaying his words, both verbal and signed to her brother.
James slid into a more densely populated section of the bay, and while he wove his way through the crowds, he watched the squad carefully. Holiday didn't dislike company, but it was pretty clear to James that Holiday hated his guts, so he had only rarely seen the man in a good mood, let alone socializing. Since when did he learn hand signs? James thought. Avery Two smiled, and signed excitedly at Holiday. Holiday laughed, a deep sound originating from the chest, with a slight wheezing trail off. One appeared to chuckle as well, but it was hard to tell, the man made no noise even outside the clamor of headquarters.
James thought about joining into the conversation, but knew that if he did, Holiday would retreat into the brooding persona that James was familiar with, and the twins behind their hitherto impregnable wall of silence and signage. A pang of irritation struck James and he debated revealing himself just to rob the group of their good moods. Not worth it. James pushed further into the various channels of productive troops and technicians, away from his squad. They hadn't noticed him, and wouldn't be surprised at his tardiness.
Ten minutes later, James had to admit it was becoming impractical to hide. The bustle of pre-operation preparation had largely died out, and the rivers of people James had been using as cover had now resolved into disparate clumps organized by squad. His current residence was with a squad consisting of three shapers and one heavy weapons specialist in full combat gear. The shapers tolerated his presence, but knew his reputation, and were hesitant to engage him. His conversation with the specialist went as follows:
"Where are they sending you guys?" James asked, at a normal volume.
The specialist did not move.
James tapped his shoulder and asked again, a bit louder
The specialist noticed James, and held a hand up to the space where his ear lay under his thick helmet.
James asked again, clearly enunciating, and speaking somewhere between a shout and a scream.
The specialist shrugged, and gestured indistinctly toward the far wall of the hangar, where the main exit was.
James still wasn't sure whether the man or woman(the armor gave no clues as to which) had heard him, or simply guessed at what he was asking. It probably didn't matter, it was clear they weren't going to be having any philosophical discussions. James admitted defeat, and gave up procrastinating.
His unit was more subdued when he finally reported to their section of the hangar, Two was field stripping her marksman rifle, Holiday leaning back against the wall apparently sleeping, and One was fiddling with his datpad. James looked with envy at the man. James had his own datpad, but he was locked out of it, having long since forgotten the password. Illiteracy was never a problem for him prior to his kidnapping. Here, though, it made life difficult.
Aside from the directions and maps being useless to him, all his orders had to be relayed to him in person. For the past ten years, James had cultivated the idea that he was a backwater luddite that feared technology just so that he didn't need to admit to the others that he was essentially a two year old when it came to the written word. Unfortunately, while he wasn't great with a pen, he was excellent at reading people, and knew that his unit saw through the lie, and they were simply too polite or apathetic to mention it.
James had made up for his deficiency by training himself to remember anything and everything. He didn't have a perfect memory, but it was damn close. He had even built up a crude repertoire of the hand signs that the twins had invented, and often used it to talk to One.
Hi, One. I like your new hair
One had dyed his hair with a maroon streak, something James had seen a few other soldiers do when they were promoted.
Thanks. One looked around, then asked where's Charles?
James shrugged. Talking somewhere. News?
Leaving soon. You should grab your stuff.
Thanks, I will.
James felt rather than saw Two’s death stare, and responded with what he hoped was a disarming smile, but what he suspected came across as nervous. Holiday stubbornly avoided his gaze. James returned the favor.
Charles stepped over Two's display of the internal mechanisms of a gun, and barked "Get up! We're leaving."
Holiday yawned and stretched, before taking a parade rest position. Avery Two took a few seconds to finish reassembling her rifle, and stow several magazines in her vest, before taking a position next to Holiday. Avery One put away his datpad and gestured at the crate his sister had been sitting on.
"Yes, that's coming too."
The twins grabbed one handle each of the steel reinforced box, before Charles waved his hand for them to stop.
"Unload it first. We won't have time for the packing peanuts where we're headed."
One grinned and methodically unlatched and unpacked the heavy machine gun inside. James watched as he pulled back the bolt, loaded the chain ammunition, and racked the first round, all with the same care and attention a parent gives their child Hefting the gun, the man stood tall, seemingly unburdened by a device that James was sure would crush the rest of his squad. Well, maybe not Charles.
James had a brief but vivid image of his CO shouting down the inanimate weapon for being a fat, useless waste of space until it was light enough to carry. He then made the mistake of audibly laughing at the thought.
Charles' head whipped toward him and James could see the restrained glee in his face as he said "I'm glad you're in such a good mood, because you're going to carry the rest of the cargo. Oh, and why don't you sing us a tune while we're at it?"
Shit. James looked suitably morose as he gathered hefted the remaining crate. As he did, Two dumped several rifle attachments and a considerable amount of ammunition on top, then Holiday tossed a bag of trail mix, and Charles completed the tower with a pair of binoculars. James wasn't certain he deserved all of that, but conceded to himself that his last botched escape attempt did not cast his squad in the best light. All the more reason to be thorough this time.
As he struggled to carry the unwieldy pile of gear, James watched as the squad paired off. Charles talked in hushed tones with Holiday, who only responded in grunts. The twins, ever the stoic pair, trailed a few feet behind, animatedly signing to each other one handed, their offhands hefting their contrasting choices of weapons. Charles had revoked his own sidearm, but James didn’t mind. Firearms always left a bad taste in his mouth.
Charles barked “Hurry up! We’ve got a ride to catch.” James didn’t bother hurrying. They’d get where they were going in time.
Chapter
Halley coughed and sputtered. Dust choked her breath and vision. Waving a hand in front of her face, she was able to regain her senses after a few seconds. Her guts felt like they had been thrown into a whitewater river, and she had to focus to keep what little food she still had in her stomach. Gunther, standing two feet away, seemed largely unfazed, the only indication he gave that they had just fallen through reality, was a polite cough, and one hand covering his wounded stomach for half a second, before regaining composure. The tribals had disappeared, leaving only trampled grass and silence.
Gunther walked over to where he had left his pack, Halley's bag sitting next to it, and retrieved a compass. He studied it carefully for a moment, then chucked it to her. Halley caught it; there was a large crack down the center of the glass, but the needle remained in its place, turning gently. She turned to face north and saw the lengthy shadows of twilit trees falling on the forest floor, a foreshadowing of their future, painted by the light of the sun.
Had the clearing always been this big? She thought
Gunther had already stood, and was waiting for Halley impatiently."Come on, there's a sheltered spot between two boulders I saw on my way here. We'll camp there for the night." And, as he shouldered his bag, and Halley hers, she kept her eyes on the clearing. Just before the open air was obscured by the forest's veil, she saw a flicker of brightly colored movement. She turned forwards to watch her step, but the image nagged at her. She kept looking behind her as they walked, hoping to catch another glimpse of the thing, while simultaneously hoping whatever it was stayed well away from them.
"Hey. Ten dozen and fifteen. How many does that make?" Gunther asked
"What? Why-" Halley was cut off
"Just answer it."
"One hundred and thirty-five, but what does that-" Gunther cut her off again
"Good. Now if you were going to walk along the height of that tree, how many steps would it take?" He pressed
"I don't know, fifty?"
"Close. A haggard man dressed in tattered clothes approaches us and says they've been lost in the woods for weeks. How do you react?"
"I guess I'd ask him where he is from, and try my best to direct him-"
"Wrong. The tribals would have killed them if they were unarmed and unguarded." This time Halley cut him off
"Why are you asking me all these questions?!"
"Watch where you're walking, not where you've been. We're here."
It was true, they were standing in a depression in the forest floor flanked by two boulders, and a rise of dirt to one side, forming a barrier on three sides.
Halley turned back to Gunther, who was busily rooting through his belongings. Eventually he pulled his bedroll and tent out of the clutter and began laying it out of the ground. He tossed a second incredibly compressed roll of canvas at her, the density of which pushed her back a step. She huffed in annoyance, but Gunther was either oblivious or apathetic, and merely began setting up his tent.
Halley looked at the man, nonplussed and said
"You can't be seriously considering sleeping here. What if they come back?"
Gunther deftly strung his tenting up. "They won't. Besides, this place is well hidden."
"Really? You found it, and you aren't even native." Halley pointed out
"I'm a shaper."
"And what, you can magically hide our presence? You can't, can you?" Halley asked
"No. But shapers are scary enough as is." The final stake was driven into the ground.
"They were far from cowards, Gunther. It would take more than a little showmanship to scare them off. And why was the clearing we came back in so different?"
"Don't worry about it." And with that, the man zipped up the flaps to his tent and the conversation was over.
Resigned, Halley set about constructing her own tent. This went worse than she expected. Without instruction or guidance from either Gunther or a manual, the process was completely obtuse. She was half convinced several of the pieces were meant for entirely unrelated constructions, having no obvious connections to the rest. After replaying Gunther's own tent building process in her head, and looking up and down his finished product, she managed to make an upright, reasonable lean-to which superficially resembled a tent, albeit relying heavily on one of the boulders for support.
However, once she finally had the opportunity to lay down on her sleeping bag and relax, Halley found she was in no mood to rest.
There was too much to think about. What was she doing here? Who was Gunther, and was he really trustworthy? Well, he hasn't attacked you, so compared to the last few groups of people you've met…
Learning to be a shaper had seemed like such a good idea only hours ago, but if being a shaper led her into danger after danger after peril...True, Halley wanted to save her family, but she couldn't do that if she were dead. Since when have you been a coward? Halley glared at the voice in her head. She stood up, and left her tent. Her inner voice followed.
Maybe you can't save them at all, you can't even save yourself. Who are you, anyway, to think you could? You're just a worthless nobody. Halley folded her arms, her grip tight enough to bruise. They probably don't even care that you're gone. Just give up. She desperately wanted to vent her frustration, but there was only the uncaring dark of the woods. She settled for a fast walk. She focused entirely on sensations. The impact of her foot on the ground, the sound of it. The feeling of her breath steaming around her face. Her thoughts, good and bad faded into background noise, and she found herself unconsciously retracing her steps. All at once, the trees fell away, and she was back in the clearing she'd fought and lost in.
The clearing was empty, just as they had left it, but with Halley's attention on it, the scene revealed more. There was a distinct difference in the dry, colorless dirt in the open air, and the more natural browns and blacks of interior forest soil. The dry dirt almost looked like...ash. And it was dry. So dry and dusty, that Halley and Gunther's tracks from their departure had yet to vanish. The tribals would have had to leave footprints out of the area to leave it as deserted as it was, and it was so dusty, there was no way they could've left no tracks. But there were no trails anywhere in the clearing.
Something isn't right. Halley knew, but she couldn't quite figure out what. I hope the kids survived. A sick feeling rose in her stomach. The woods rustled a noncommittal response.
A muffled, tiny thump came from behind Halley. She whirled around, hands up in fists, prepared to see an angry tribal. A little girl was kneeling in the dirt, tears streaming down her face.
"Tèine?" Halley said, shocked. "Are you okay?" She rushed to the child's side, checking her for obvious injuries. Tèine flinched at Halley's touch, her face contorted in fear. Halley put both her hands up in a placating gesture, and gave the child space.
Tèine gave a heaving sob, and threw herself into Halley, her bitter tears and crying broken up by one question. One question, over and over.
"Why?"
The sobbing was such a small thing, the sound swallowed by the trees without so much as an echo. Yet this small sound, muffled and broken, might have been the only thing in the world. Halley held Tèine for a moment, the new moon hiding
When the child had exhausted herself, she spoke again, and Halley listened.
"They’re all gone...everyone...I checked everywhere. I...I think they’re…” Tèine broke into another sob
"I…" Halley had a sudden realisation. Gunther couldn't have. Could he?
Tèine had buried her head into Halley's shoulder. Carefully scooping up Tèine, she took her time walking back to the two boulders that marked their camp. The darkness, and her charge, forced her to move deliberately, and gave her time to think. This was not to her benefit. Halley could not see a path which would allow her to keep her company and her morals intact.
She could not afford to lose Gunther, and her chance to be a shaper with him, but if he had taken everything Tèine had… We don't know for sure what happened. Halley reasoned. While the tribals had been brave, a shaper was another story. Maybe a bit of magic would be enough to scare them off? But as much as she tried to convince herself, Halley doubted it.
The dark-on-dark shape of the boulders rose out of the night. Slowly the twin peaks of their tents resolved in the darkness. Halley approached her tent. It seemed a little tidier than she had left it, but chalked it up to the dark. Halley gently deposited Tèine in her tent, and took a deep breath. She walked up to Gunther's tent, and as her foot crushed a dead leaf at its entrance, she heard his voice.
"I'm still awake." He said
"Good. We have a lot to talk about." Halley whispered
"No, we don't."
Halley's anger flared, she dropped the polite pretense. "You can't ignore this, so don't test me. Do you like being the villain, is that it? What did you do to those people? Where did they go?"
There was a shuffling noise as Gunther sat up.
"I did what I had to to keep you alive. Which you made fairly difficult, I might add. What exactly did you hope to accomplish by not only letting those psychopaths live, but killing yourself defending them?"
"I'm not a murderer, Gunther! The only time I've ever used a knife before is while cooking. You should be glad I was even good enough to take on three opponents at all, not to speak of doing it without killing."
"You are going to have to get used to the idea that you can't save everyone."
"I know I can't! But what about you? You expect me to believe that you, with all your power, couldn't save everyone?"
"Maybe I could have. Or maybe I couldn’t because you would have been killed before I could. I’m not a miracle worker! Even if I could have saved them, why should I? They were monsters. All tribals are. Sarctria was right to order them wiped out."
Halley was livid. "The people I fought were barely out of childhood. They were terrified, and I regret even defending myself, something I only had to do because of you. They weren't monsters. I am, for killing that girl. And you are, for killing the rest."
Gunther was quiet for a moment. "You’re right. They aren’t all monsters. I was just angry. But you aren't a monster. I killed that girl. Your knife wasn't anywhere close to the mark until I moved it with shaping.”
Halley’s jaw dropped.
Gunther’s face was obscured by the tent’s shadow, but his voice carried genuine sorrow. “I've lived too long in the company of mercenaries. I forgot that murder isn't something normal. It never occurred to me that it was weighing on you like that. I'm sorry."
Halley expected to feel angry, maybe even relieved, but the new information just left her feeling hollow. "I...I don't understand. If you were there the whole time, you saw that they were young. Too young. Why would you let me fight them? Why wouldn't you save them like you saved me?"
"It's not a pretty story."
"As if any of this is? Tell me anyway."
"I fought against tribals like them when the emperor ordered it, years ago. They were the nightmares of our time. A town would be there one day, then the next it would be filled with corpses. People who were just trying to live their lives. The lucky ones were left where they lay. Many we never found." He paused. “Most of my unit hated them for it. For good reason, too. I never lost anyone in the attacks, they were gone long before that, but I was outraged, the same as them. How could they kill so indiscriminately? We tried to engage them in open combat, but they wouldn’t do it. They only ever attacked at night, or when one of ours got separated from the main group. Once, in broad daylight, the sky turned black over our column and darkness rose up out of the ground, sucking several of our number underground. By the time we finally managed to pin the majority of their soldiers in one place long enough to wage a proper war, we were practically rabid for blood. You can’t really afford to care about the enemy in front of you when you’re fighting for your life, so it wasn’t until the fighting stopped that I looked down and saw that the enemy was barely out of puberty. After seeing that, I lost my stomach. Deserted the first chance I got.”
“So why this slaughter then? If you were so sickened by it then, why do it again?” Halley asked
“I didn’t want to, but I…Well there isn’t an easy way to say it, I lost my mind. Are you familiar with the term blood rage?”
“I’ve heard it before, but no.”
“It’s something only a few people experience. It is a temporary madness, where you lose your sense of self, and fight everything around you until either you die, or no one else is left standing. I first experienced it in the tribal campaigns. Now, anytime I think back to those times I can feel the rage at the edges of my mind, ready to take over again. I thought I had better control over it. I was wrong.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.” Halley found herself more than a little frightened at the idea of an out-of-control Gunther.
“When the war was done, we set about burying the corpses. There were only young men, no older ones. This wouldn’t be too unusual, except we never found any older commanders either. I don’t know what happened to their elders, maybe another company got to them first, maybe there never were any elders to begin with, and with nobody to warn them against it, they tried to fight the empire, maybe they just didn’t live very long. I don’t know. All I know is that we never saw any women or small children. Their settlements were all abandoned. Somewhere out there is a group of people with a good reason to hate us, and who knew what shaping was."
Halley felt her rage harden into a bedrock of dread. "You think they want revenge?"
Gunther's voice sounded distant as he replied "We killed thousands. Destroyed entire cultures. Wiped cities off the map. Wouldn't you want revenge?"
The scale of the tragedy felt unreal, Halley couldn't comprehend it. "I don't know if I would. Maybe. Even still, that doesn’t change what happened. Now there's another orphan in the world. I know what that's like and while Leann and Feirm have made me feel as much their child as Peter, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone else. If you really regret what you've done, you should try to make amends, starting with her."
"I regret too many things to count. It's just another on the pile. But Halley?"
"Yes?"
"I've never regretted defending myself. Even when that meant someone else had to die." He finished.
The firelight danced across his face, which had hardened into a stony passivity. It felt almost as though the fire had stolen his life, leaving only a statue in his place.
A chill passed through a gap in the steady warmth of the fire, prompting Halley to stand and retired to her tent.
Inside, Tèine was sound asleep. Halley let the girl keep the sleeping bag. It was a warm night, the tent would be enough for her.
Break
Halley toured through an endless hall lined with statues. The sculptures depicted godlike figures, men and women without flaw. Perfect athletic physiques, the symmetric brush strokes of their faces would have made a master artist cry. Halley felt chills, something about them was wrong. The statues merely stared unblinking.
polished marble floors calling up a chorus of footsteps to announce her progress through the hall. But as she walked, an initially imperceptible shift in tone occurred. The statues featured slight differences, a nose too long here, eyebrows that nearly converged into one there.
Then the problems became more obvious. A hairline that had retreated to the rear of the head, paunches and flab affixed themselves to the frames of the chiseled stone. The ugliness that emerged wasn't offensive, however. Halley found herself more comfortable in the presence of these imperfect creatures. They felt familiar.
The feeling didn't last. Soon the statues depicted disease and crippling injuries. Amputated limbs, a body ravaged by boils and faces drawn in misery. Some of these were even broken apart by some unknown force. Despite her unease, she continued, unwilling or perhaps unable to slow down. But just as the statues seemed to reach a crescendo, the hall ended. There was a patchwork wooden wall constructed in the middle of the fine stonework, extending from wall to wall, and into the haze toward the ceiling.
Halley wanted to pound on the wall, but her hands wouldn't obey, and the wall remained unmoved. She looked down at her hands, and suddenly her world was plunged into darkness. She heard the gentle rasp of cloth on cloth, and reoriented herself to her tent. Her arms and legs were stiff from the early morning chill, and several of her joints cracked as she rose to a sitting position. As her hand slid outward to lift herself it passed straight through where Tèine had been sleeping. She was gone.
Halley shed her bleary half sleep instantly and threw open the tent. It was still well before dawn, and in her rush to exit the tent she failed to notice the silhouette blocking the entrance. Halley received a faceful of rough cloth in return for her haste.
A small voice gave a surprised yelp, and a muffled "oof".
Halley kept her voice to a whisper "Tèine? What are you doing?" Her eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden brightness
Tèine groaned and stood. "Nothing."
"Couldn't sleep? Do you want to talk?"
"No." Tèine said.
Halley, her voice lowered to a gentle pitch, "I understand, I really do. I can help!"
"No you can't, no one can! Now go away!" Tèine’s words were angry, but her voice just sounded broken. She took a step back, edging out of Halley's limited view.
Halley bit her lip, unwilling to acknowledge her past aloud, but someone needed her, needed to be brought back from the edge. A full two seconds passed in silence, then, "I was abandoned, too. I never knew my parents, and I doubt they would have been kind to me if I had. I know how it feels to be alone."
Tèine hesitated.
Halley could hear the uneven breaths of the girl just out of sight. She persisted "But even though it hurt then, and still hurts every day, I don't regret not knowing my parents. Because if they were the sort of people to abandon their own kid, they weren't the people I'd want to raise me. Their selfishness allowed me to find some better people, people who loved me, and wanted me around."
Tèine's breathing evened out, but Halley felt unease drift through the air.
When Tèine next spoke, her voice had taken on a new quality. It was eerily calm, nearly monotone. "I am a vessel for my ancestors’ will. I accept them as I accept breath in my lungs. They will guide me, and I will bring them rest."
The girl's voice returned to a normal, shaky cadence "and until they are at rest, they will deny me mine."
“What..” Halley began, but trailed off, befuddled
“That’s what the elders taught us. Elder Gliocas like to tell us stories of the ancestors. What they did in life, and their amazing powers. How they watched over us. Helped us in times of need.” Tèine looked Halley in the eyes, her face lined with grief foreign to her childish features. “Have they abandoned me too?”
Halley thought before answering “Well, our ancestors may have been powerful, and done amazing things, but they were still people. They make mistakes.”
Tèine sat down heavily. Halley found herself at a loss for words. Then, a flurry of movement caught her attention. Tèine yelped as she was grabbed by a hand. Gunther quickly wrapped the child in several layers of rope, then through gritted teeth said “What is she doing here? Are you aware that this child is not only a tribal, but more than likely the most skilled of their tribe?”
“What the hell, Gunther!? She’s not dangerous!” Halley sputtered out
Tèine looked at Gunther with a ferocity that hadn’t been present in their first interaction. “I don’t like you, fear fuath.”
Gunther chuckled “Join the Club.”
“Where were you?” Halley asked
“Taking a walk.” Gunther replied
“Are you gonna untie her?” She asked
“No.” He replied
"Are you at least going to apologize?" she asked
"Are you going to keep asking questions if I do?" Gunther asked
"Daingead! Why are you being so stubborn?! Can you not just admit you overreacted, she’s clearly not a threat!"
"Anyone can be a threat, even a child. Especially children. I deal with shapers, Halley. Children with shaping abilities would be a disaster. Even without shaping, she could easily stab us in our sleep." Gunther said.
“If she wanted to stab us in our sleep she would have done it last night.” Halley pointed out “Tying her up was just excessive."
Gunther pulled her aside and whispered “Do you think she’ll feel the same after she learns what I did? This isn’t a lost puppy, Halley, and I’m not babysitting that liability.”
Too stubborn to admit the truth in Gunther's words, she said "Fine!” Halley turned to Tèine and said "I'm sorry. I know that isn't enough, and I'm sorry for that, too. I know it's unfair, but if you can tolerate him for long enough we will get you to a city where you can find a new home. You don't need to decide now, just think about it." Halley wished she could do more, but this was pushing it as is. This is the right thing to do! She told herself. You're only salving your conscience because you know you might lose your family because of this. She didn't even want your help in the first place. If you hadn't insisted on helping, neither you or Tèine would be in this mess. A different voice intruded on her thoughts. She pushed it aside, while remaining painfully aware of its presence.
Tèine's eyes darted between Halley and Gunther before settling on the ground. Halley took this to mean that she'd think about it. As she stood to leave, Tèine's voice returned
"I'll go with you." Tèine said
Halley tried to conceal her relief, and said "Alright then, it's settled."
"Um, no." Gunther said "I never agreed to allow this little barbarian to follow us, and you agreed to do what I say, when I say it." He pointed at Halley, who frowned at him.
"You know what, Gunther? Maybe it's time you listened to someone else. Because maybe you can't fight an entire empire, magic, and powerful weapons with you and a couple of mercenaries. If you keep pushing everyone away with your foul attitude, you'll never actually get any closer to even fighting them, much less overthrowing them. Don't you at least want a chance at that?" Halley punctuated her speech with a sigh "Well, maybe you don't, but I do."
"Dear gods, you actually think you can fight them." Gunther's voice was a mix of awe and pity.
"You even admitted that you hadn't been fighting before, just running. Isn't it at least worth a try?"
Gunther scratched at his stubble "I don't suppose you'd be willing to listen to the many good reasons I had for running, would you?"
Halley stood her ground. "No."
Gunther, staring back said "Well, then I suppose this gremlin is coming with us. I'm going to sleep. Watch the fire, and put it out when you're done."
"Good, I'm untying her now!" Halley said
Gunther turned back, and over his shoulder said "Why bother? She could've slipped out at any time. I didn't even tie the ropes. Sometimes your brain builds walls that aren't really there. Helplessness is just a mindset."
Halley's jaw dropped. Tèine looked more wary than surprised, but when she strained a little against the bindings, the ropes fell away. Something new passed across her face, perhaps confusion, before Tèine rested her gaze on the fire.
Without another word, Gunther disappeared into the ruins of his tent. Halley stayed awake for a while longer, hoping to speak with the girl, but Tèine did not look at her. She simply stared into the fire. Not wanting to push her, Halley gave up, and retired to her own tent, leaving the entrance open, and the sleeping bag empty.