Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress (31 page)

After laboring to regain control of her limbs, she breaks free of the paralysis and rushes to the window where the specimen once thrived. Her anguish quickly turns to anger as she realizes what they have done. Seizing command over her escalating fury, she rejoins the dialog and chastises Zaf for carelessly endangering his life just to entertain the whims of an increasingly unstable girl. She insists that he never again consent to wander the poisonous labyrinth. Furthermore, she warns him that the skills and ruse he has acquired are merely rudimentary compared to what terror lurks in the shafts, to which he acquiesces and solemnly admits to having likely stumbled upon the killer's hideout and stolen a crystal vase that they think may contain the missing section of Mashrin's brain.

As he presses on, spilling the details of their intrusion, she contemplates the possibility that Elize may have anonymously contacted the SIF, that the evidence may actually be in their possession, and that her sanctuary may be compromised. She manipulates his fears and implores him to comm Elize immediately, falsely explaining that there is probably a recorder attached to the vessel, and Elize's portrait will be broadcast to the SIF, who will surely retain her for questioning. While Nathruyu nervously waits for news of her response, she emphasizes that it is critical that they store the perishable organ safely in Elize's room and leave interactions with officials to her well-connected devices, as a respected underground leader. She adds that information on this criminal's location could quite possibly be a highly advantageous bargaining chip for the network and facilitate some much needed favors from allies in the Ministry.

Developing an intimate relationship with Keeto may prove to require a more delicate approach than she had projected, particularly if he has sensed an odd familiarity permeating her living quarters. Fortunately, she has not yet divulged when and where their meeting is to occur tomorrow, giving her freedom to select an appropriate alternative. Thanks to the handwriting inquiry she has suggested, the favorable biography Zafarian will certainly recite to him later on should overshadow whatever suspicions he might carry concerning her guilt, which is, after all, a judgment beyond his usual realm and best reserved for one who exhibits her prescient gift.

Nathruyu's fabricated threat has implanted itself in the subconscious of the thief. Zafarian attests to having relayed the caution to Elize, hence successfully guaranteeing the agenda for the next couple of hours, allowing her time to scheme an impromptu detour en route to the GHU. As the trio belatedly debrief each other on yesterday's fruitful enterprises, the riveting late night guest no doubt occupying the gist of the conversation, she reassures Zaf that the culprit shall be taken care of and that Mashrin will receive the ritual her spirit rightfully deserves. In closing, they agree to reconvene at dusk, in order to discuss how the holistic community can support Elize by recommending natural remedies for her ailment, based on her mother's documented diagnosis in the unpublished patient journals of her allopathic physicians.

She lays her hand upon the sill, where the treasured fragment had lain and releases the tightness in her chest, absorbing the remnants of its existence through the tips of her aching fingers. The last rays of the sun stream between the structures across the main corridor and pierce the empty frame to burrow into her flesh before the thickening sky ultimately engulfs them. All is not lost, but she must recover her stolen property and put the whole embarrassment behind her, as long as time permits her to do so.

The fog, as always, fosters the perfect environment for her clandestine maneuvers. Nathruyu steps out from the sanctity of her refuge and onto the precarious ledge that separates her from the stagnant waters underfoot. Only the saturated air blanketing the surface beneath her shoes can temper her speed.

The eyes tell tales in the mist and, as such, do not serve the bearer, for what prowls the white darkness cannot be seen with blinded sensors. Nathruyu shelters them from deception and summons the sentient field surrounding her physical form. The Ministry pundits persist in their inquest and have appointed the SIF to her case. They also can navigate the pathways, devoid of sight; however, their reliance on technology is no substitute for honing the senses. She comfortably weaves her way through their sweeping grid, as is her artful craft, and glides in the slipstream of the morning rush, flirtatiously stroking their boots with the hem of her silky white coat, as she wisps along under their very noses, numbed by the scent of the powdery clouds. Their numbers overrun the walkways, unbeknownst to the mentally severed pedestrians who, preoccupied with the Unification propaganda which clogs their porous brains, scurry on and funnel towards the hum of the arriving hovertrain and into the diffuse glow of the crimson beams that radiate from the platform circles at their feet.

Nathruyu coasts amongst the glowing columns as they precede the updraft and soars to the seaward end of the promenade on the trail of the sweet orchard fragrance. The static grove is easier to traverse. She sails past the parkette, slicing the brume with her hawk-like intent, to settle her restless hand around the edge of the bottom rung in the ladder of suspended hallways that join the center and south central branches of Van Billund Hall. Between the towers, she scales, harnessing the momentum of each pendulum swing, and propels her legs gracefully upwards and onto the arch of the fifth catwalk. Rifting a transient grip in the siding and hooking her ankles upside down in the hollow, she crawls her sinewy arms down to the window's lip outside Zafarian's room and pulls her eyes over the trim and against the glass. With her long black hair dangling off her left shoulder to the hidden grass below, her pelvis hugs the manmade precipice. Quietly, she hangs, and she watches.

There he huddles, as she remembers him from her aborted attack, feverishly sketching through the maze for the threads she has entwined in its fabric. An image of the latest riddle she penned is plainly visible beside a few textual paragraphs and an understated likeness of her. He imprints on the slips the packets he considers relevant and nudges his crabseat sideways to the flicker at the door to his right. Her heels anchored to the perch, she pushes her face away slightly, to recede into obscurity, while the greetings conclude and the voices regroup at the desk. Her breath blows a fresh puff from the pane, clearing a portal for her to spy through once again, and to witness her official profile being fed to receptive ears. Satisfied with her plan as it is unfolding and amused by the curious mane of her pawn straightening its tentacles in her direction, she locks her penetrating gaze on Keeto's ruminating one and smiles. The player is stirring.

The pressure clamping her arches signals that the rift has expired. It is rebounding and shortening the depth of the hole. She instantly throws her weight forward, grabs the underside of the link, and swoops her falling legs ahead of her, to land soundlessly on the rooftop beneath. Pausing her climb to collect her thoughts, she visualizes the fastest line to the J block, travels it behind closed eyes and rewinds the sequence as often as her muscle memory deems necessary. Five tiers up and an airy hop launches her to the top of the middle tower. She then aims her advance eastward, jumps down to the abutting link, tiptoes across to the subsequent branch and repeats her stealthy exercise to the north.

As it was at the start of their big adventure, Nathruyu lingers at the cusp of a sharp drop and reminisces as a tiny wave beckons her to come and play.

She reaches for the giggling toddler, stretching her fingers towards her in the mist and enters the mythical world of a dreamer. United, they travel to distant lands, where sundry sorts of fanciful creatures dwell, some gleefully jumping into the joyful chaos whilst others simply choose to watch. Those lacking the visions fear that which they cannot see, and the child weeps as the fearful conspire to fracture their unique bond, alleging unnatural influence on the part of her new friend.

The little voice calling her name retreats to the cloudy distance, leading Nathruyu past the open sunshaft and to the edge of the roof, directly above Elize's room.

Sensing an anomaly in the seal she had meticulously applied, her hands smooth the entire zone and look for signs of willful tampering. They are rewarded by a razor thin break in the consistency of the material, closer to the west-facing wall. Her nails trace a crooked rectangle large enough to enable a slender adult to pass, and she lifts the well-concealed panel to reveal a crawl space between her and the ninth floor ceiling, providing convenient and inconspicuous admittance to any unit on the level, or, conversely, a wily escape. This work was a result of no masterful feat of her own, but accomplished by common etching tools; yet, nonetheless, it efficiently suits her current purpose. She confronts the dark as she readies her emitter for its second assignment today and continues forth on her knees until she encounters that which destroys all semblance of inner peace.

The stupid girl! The immense risks Nathruyu had assumed when she had spent an afternoon in this devious building which is programmed to recognize her return and abduct her, were for not. Any frequency that is able to squeeze through the slit Elize carved can now deliberately invade her dorm, and random entities, adequately adept at locating the obvious breach in security overhead, can pilfer at will.

With the rage still wreathing inside and interfering with her concentration, the simple task of retrieving her cherished treasure becomes an arduous chore as she battles the privyshelf for dominance. After scouring the contents of the shelving, the transfer chest, satchels, clothing, and every conceivable secret nook, she barely holds the fine veneer of calm together, but is transformed into a burning layer of steam consuming her from head to toe as she sinks to the ground in stark realization that it is, in effect, gone.

She drifts in and out of the minefield of emotions shattering her resolve and turns to her freshly enlisted partner for hope. Last evening, her instincts did not betray her. The leap of faith she expressed in revealing her features to Keeto confirmed that he is ripe for one of his own. In the beginning, he had recoiled, afraid of his vulnerability in the company of a suspected stalker, someone who knew where he lived and waited in the shadows for him to relinquish his crypt to her trespasses, but as she toyed with his occult views on synchronicity and teased his ego with concurrence, his jittering nerves relaxed and his heart softened enough for her to slowly mold as she pleases. His sister, she flattered him, did not share his foresight, nor the otherworldly connection with their mother, which ranked his awareness high above that of the ignorant mortal, and that was the reason she had selected him, the sole person she could entrust with knowledge even the Pramam himself had no appreciation for. All this and infinitely more was available to him, in due course, in exchange for his unwavering devotion.

She heeds her wise advice and submits to the present situation, a predicament she has just once previously found herself in and, consequently, has no stable reference point on how to assimilate the disgrace relating to her second failure. With each ill-fated attempt, she jeopardizes her liberation and that of countless individuals, albeit temporarily asleep to her cause, but her preeminence over the feeble-minded detectives, encumbered by a vain pursuit, will expose them to her intrinsic greatness, and the meek shall bow to the sheer magnitude of her selfless nobility when these minor offenses have been forgotten. Her purity will prevail over the farce that purports to be the undisputed messenger and which holds most of humanity captive in a factitious belief system, catering to his delusions of grandeur.

Having internalized her brief struggle with despair, she emerges victorious and electrified by an invisible force nourishing her blood and charging her synaptic clefts with a limitless source of pure abundance. The strength she has attracted further manifests as both clarity of thought and affirmation of faith. Mashrin has become collateral damage in a quest for enlightenment, an unfortunate victim to her past and a role for which any number of young sacrifices could have similarly been suited, but regardless of how her tragic loss has affected their lives, the righteousness of her condemned misdeeds is indisputable, according to the essence of this grand design. The correct solution to this shortly to be proven insignificant crisis is to let it be. Nothing and no one can stop what fate has preordained, and whatever events unfold are in precise alignment with the intended end, despite how they might display themselves in the moment. The real test will arise on the day Keeto's convictions collide against what his intuition would incite him to believe, and Elize's life lies in the balance.