Authors: Jennifer Wilson
“I was bait.” My tone was flat, but pain stabbed at my chest with acute precision.
I wanted the truth.
I reminded myself.
Truth hurts.
Inessa’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she held them back. “In a way, yes… but it was more than that.” She hastily added. “It killed your parents every day to send you to The Minister, but you—of all people—should have been the safest under his watch. You were his heir, his progeny, his only hope of lineage survival. Fandrin cherished you. Jutta and Coen would have never sent you to him if they thought he would hurt you.”
“But he did.” My nostrils flared. “And he taught
me
how to hurt others.”
“Despite what we are led to believe, parents are not always right in the decisions they make. They are human too. And they screw up sometimes.” Inessa grimaced. “In an effort to do right by you, they inadvertently put you in harm’s way. Your parents didn’t want you to hurt others, Phoenix. They wanted you to be able to defend yourself. No one knew better than them that a war was coming. They wanted you to be prepared.”
I thought of Mouse and the books I insisted she read. Yet if it came down to a fight, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.
What help was schooling if you didn’t learn anything practical?
Words from the past slammed into the forefront of my mind. Something my father had written in his journal. My fingers tingled as if retracing the familiar words.
“
Non scholae sed vitae discimus
.”
I said out loud.
Inessa surprised me by translating. “We do not learn for school, but for life. Seneca the Younger.”
“They were using The Minister—to train me against him.”
“Yes. Who better to teach you, than the man who trained the army you would one day fight against.”
It took me a minute to swallow Inessa’s words. It was strange. Despite the fact I could remember nothing of the past, it still held power over me. It still caused inexplicable anger to boil in my veins. But it was pointless. The past had happened. It couldn’t be changed. Hell, I couldn’t even remember it. One thing was true, though. As much as I was hurt by my parents’ choices, those choices were the only reason I was still alive today. If they hadn’t sent me to Fandrin as a child, I would have never survived in Tartarus. Even The Master was impressed by my skills when I found him. It wasn’t that I was a natural, it was because my body already knew what my mind had forgotten.
In truth, I wasn’t even sure if I could still be mad at them for dying to save me. My mother and father may have abandoned me in that alley, but they did so to give me a future. Life in Tartarus was hell, but I shuddered to think what it would have been if we stayed. I could have been dead at my own grandfather’s hand or worse yet, grown to stand beside him like the cold and merciless Gage.
I shook away those thoughts, returning to matters at hand.
Learn from the past, don’t dwell in it.
“At this time, Ryker and I seek the same outcome. Fandrin’s death. Our paths toward that goal may be different and our reasons are our own, but for now we are united in that same objective. Ryker and the other rebels are…
confident
in their cause. But others have failed where they seek to succeed. I wasn’t here when these plans were put in motion. It is not in my nature to trust. Nor is it to act the fool. So, why did the rebels—my parents—fail the first time?”
I had heard Arstid’s side—her tales of betrayal and blame. What I needed now were facts, not emotions. I watched Inessa with rapt attention as she pondered my question. Her delicate thumb idly traced the rim of her glass as she began to speak.
“Things were not as…
organized
then as they are now. We didn’t have safe houses where we could talk without being seen, or bunkers where we could hide our secrets from the Ministry. All of our decisions—our rebellious inclinations—were whispered in passing on the streets or murmured about in dark alleys. We knew very little about one another. Most of us were only on first name basis for fear of being turned on, for our own protection. We figured the less a person knew, the less they could divulge if captured. Trust was an issue back then.” She puckered her lips.
It still is,
I thought.
Inessa continued. “Back then we knew so little about what lay outside of the Wall. We were told of the terrible Tribes that hunted outside of our walls, but no one had ever been outside and returned to tell us first hand. Some thought we were being trapped in here—held captive when a better life was outside. Others thought only barren land awaited us, that maybe the Tribes had died off. But many feared the nightmare stories of the Tribes were true. Not even your mother really knew.”
“But The Minister was working with the Ravagers, how could that have gone unnoticed?” I asked.
“Their alliance was very secretive. Only the highest council members knew of it,” she replied. “We couldn’t even confirm those rumors until Ryker became a higher ranking official. And even still, his knowledge has its limits. Honestly, it was Triven who verified those rumors for us.”
“Then why did The Minister associate with them at all? What could the Ravagers possibly offer that he didn’t already have?” It was the piece of the puzzle we were missing. Why integrate the two worlds you worked so hard to keep separate?
Inessa’s face tightened, her graying eyebrows knitting together in thought. “Power would be my best guess. Maybe our worlds are not as divided as we once thought. To be honest, I’m not sure. I really don’t think anyone but Fandrin himself could answer that question. The man is a sociopath.”
My gaze fell to the floor as I wondered if that mental affliction was genetic. Too many of my family members had made decisions that had cost the lives of so many others. My parents included. I shied away from the next thought creeping into my consciousness.
Was I following in their footsteps?
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I should try and get some rest.” I rose. Inessa mirrored me, extending her hand to take my cup. Respectfully, she was careful not to touch me as she took it.
“May I impart a few final words from a silly old woman?” She waited for me to nod. “War is never a good thing. A necessity… maybe. But it is ugly and in a way both sides always lose. Fighting for others—for a cause—can liberate you. But when fighting for vengeance, one must be careful. It’s a slippery slope. And once it’s over, you may not find the peace you sought.”
Startling both of us, I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for your honesty tonight, Inessa. I hope to find you again when this is all over.”
She patted my hand with tears in her eyes. “You came home once, I am sure you will do so again.”
I nodded politely and turned away. As I walked the dim halls to find Triven and Mouse, I could only think of one thing.
Was this my home too?
If I was being honest, we were leaving in barely twenty-four hours and despite what horrors awaited us outside that wall, it still felt like I was going home. Even if Death was waiting for us on the other side, his arms would be open in welcome to his lost children of Tartarus.
AS RYKER HAD
promised, Mae led us to the bunker after dinner. Mouse had eaten hungrily as Triven and I struggled to swallow our meals. I knew we should eat as much as we could, since after tonight meals would undoubtedly become harder to come by for a while. But my stomach didn’t seem to care.
While there was still a frostiness between us, Mae’s demeanor had been more benevolent in the past few nights. She wasn’t the only person either. Between my time spent in the underground of the Subversive and within the walls of The Sanctuary, there were a few things I had gleaned from being around other people. One was that people were usually kinder when you had something they wanted. Another was that a strange mix of kindness and pity seemed to emerge when they thought you were going to die. Since our proclamation to help them, the rebels’ attitudes had changed on both accounts. For the most part anyway.
Fiona, the stern-faced soldier with the hawk nose I had noticed from the meeting was one of the few whose attitude continued to be sour. It was her haughty face that caught my eye as we entered the training room. It pinched with displeasure as I held her glare. Breaking away from her fixated stare, I scanned the room full of murmuring rebels. Ryker had not been exaggerating about the number of people here tonight. There were at least thirty-two people in the room. My earlier fears were confirmed, however. I recognized about half of the faces and even with the new additions I still only counted nine soldiers. Their stances always gave them away. Everyone else was civilian. It did not go unnoticed that the only two familiar faces I did not see were Inessa’s and Ryker’s. Those waiting were gathered in little groups huddled along the curved walls and hidden behind weaponry racks. As we made our way through the door, the murmurs lowered but did not cease. More than their voices, it was their looks that rattled me. My skin began to crawl with all of their eyes watching me. As if their gazes carried actual weight. It was like standing trial before the Subversive again. Reflexively I took a step back, bumping into Triven’s chest. His hand discreetly soothed my lower back.
This was not a trial.
Nor was I expected to fight anyone.
I was not alone.
He and Mouse were with me.
I reminded myself.
I stepped to the center of the throng, pulling myself up to full height. And still feeling short. People here were not malnourished, they all seemed suddenly tall in the crowded room.
We were the last to arrive.
Thaddeus closed and latched the door behind us, locking us in and keeping others out. As the latch fell, the room grew silent. Mouse stepped to my side, taking my hand. I smiled down at her before addressing the room.
“As I am sure you already know, we are leaving soon. I have made no promises to Ryker and I will make none to you tonight.” My voice was louder than I had expected, bouncing off the curved walls. I lowered it slightly. “When The Wall comes down in two week’s time, I hope that we will be waiting on the other side with reinforcements. That said, only an idiot would wager a bet in our favor.”
Several people averted their eyes. Idiots.
I continued, “
AND
would think that we could save them.” A few more eyes fell away, others hardened.
“But you saved Mouse.” A smaller black-haired woman in the back corner spoke. Her almond shaped eyes flittered between me and the girl holding my hand.
I stared down at the little girl I had been willing to give my life for. She squeezed my hand. I squeezed back before returning my attention to the woman who spoke. “I did, but I understood the gravity of my actions. I went into that alley with the intention to die. I don’t regret my choice—it was the best I ever made—but it was a reckless one. Don’t mistake my choices as heroism.
Never
expect someone to save you. Learn to save yourself.” My voice had risen in frustration.
The woman recoiled as if I had slapped her. She was not a rebel I had seen before and like most of my rebel admirers, I obviously was not what she had been expecting. My mother may have had a way with people, but tact was forever lost on me. It showed.
“Not that your motivational speeches aren’t moving and all, but aren’t you supposed to be training these people?” Fiona’s cool eyes shimmered with spite. “Unless words are all you have to offer us.”
I opened my mouth with a string of venomous words ready to spill out, but a minute squeeze from Mouse made me shut it again.
We needed allies, not more enemies.
“You’re right. Let’s not waste time.” I said with an even tone. “But when you say ‘these people’ I am sure you are not forgetting to include yourself, Fiona. Even soldiers need a little refreshing now and again.” She glowered at me, but said nothing in return. I turned to address the rest of the room. “I need to see where your skills are. Break into three groups—mechanical weaponry, hand-to hand combat, and manual weapons. We will rotate.”
I leaned down to Mouse as the groups began to form themselves. “I want you to watch and learn everything you can tonight, but I don’t want you sparring. Okay?”
Mouse bobbed her dark head. Her deep eyes widened, a trickle of fear mingled with excitement. Despite my desire to keep her innocence, I knew I couldn’t send her into the future ahead of us without some training.
Triven oversaw the mechanical weaponry group while I split my time between the manual weapons and hand-to-hand combat teams. We focused on basics at first. Holding weapons, disarming and arming them, basic attack moves and self-defense, then we moved to more technical tactics like sparring and target practice. We corrected them where we saw fit and most were receptive to our advice. It was oddly satisfying to teach them skills that came so second nature to me. Very few rebels could wield a knife to my standards, but they were better than I expected. Even Triven seemed pleased by their knowledge and skills with the guns, stunners and bombs. I was even more shocked to see many of them could fight. Once I began selecting the pairs to spar, their real skills came out. When sparring, a person never fought their hardest when paired with someone they loved. But if I pit them against someone with better skills, then the lesser fighter always fought harder. We were careful to keep most of the blows to parts of the body that were easily hidden by clothing. While there was healing serum at the ready, it would be unwise to waste it on training. They were going to need as much as they could get in the upcoming weeks.
Satisfyingly, there were even a few people who surprised me. Mae was one of those. Despite her thicker stature and age, she was surprisingly quick on her feet and packed a lot of power behind her punches. More than twice she earned a pleased smile from me. The less I saw of her chilly disposition, the more I could understand why Inessa loved her. I had learned we alpha-females rarely played well together, but we could certainly admire one another’s strengths. Thaddeus was another surprise. His skill with a gun outrivaled most of the snipers we had in the Subversive’s numbers. His calm demeanor and calculated shots made him a lethal ally. But he was lacking in hand-to-hand combat. While I was impressed with their overall skills, they were still far from ready for a war. Especially not where the Tribes were concerned.
Time in the training room was moving like a blur, feeling much too short. We had been through three full rotations and three and a half hours when there was a collective groan of sympathetic pain from the room. Fiona had just laid out her third opponent. She looked at me, grinning like a shark through her ragged breaths. It was difficult for me to admit she was good, but she was. Fiona’s skills were honed to military precision. Against most opponents she would be deadly. She was confident too. If The Master had taught me one thing, however, it was that over-confidence was a fast way to get yourself killed. Only an idiot thought there was nothing left to learn. Still smiling, Fiona walked closer to the gathered crowd. Almost everyone had abandoned their posts and were now watching the hand-to-hand combat, drawn by Fiona’s unrivaled successes.
As she drew nearer I tilted my head toward Mae, who was standing next to me. Making sure to speak loud enough for the entire room to hear me, I posed her a question. “You have plenty of the healing serum in supply, right?”
Her brow furrowed as she answered. “Of course, but we—”
“Good,” I spoke over her response.
At that moment, Fiona drew level with us. Twisting to the side, my fist flashed out like a snake, smashing into Fiona's unexpecting face. She staggered backward as the room fell into utter silence. Blood began to pour from Fiona’s nose, staining her face and marring her white shirt. She doubled over in pain, grabbing at her gushing nose with both hands in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
“YOU BITC—,” she began to scream behind her hands but I cut her off, stepping out of the crowd.
“Have you ever fought for your life with a broken nose? Have you had to fire a gun or throw a knife while your tear ducts were opening like flood gates? How about when your airways are blocked off and you are choking on your own blood?”
She stayed crouched, glaring at me over the top of her blood-soaked hands. The crimson tide was seeping between her fingers now. Unwanted tears were blurring her eyes. I leaned in as I lowered my face to her level.
“Well, have you,
sweetheart
?” I smiled sweetly, baiting her. As predicted, she took the bait.
Releasing her face, Fiona shot upright, bringing her fist up with the force of her movement. I twisted with her. The air flexed next to my temple as she missed her target. In the same movement, my left elbow collided with the side of Fiona’s head, sending her tumbling head over heels. Her long limbs curled and tumbled with trained precision. When she emerged from her calculated roll, a knife was now clutched in her right hand. The smug smile that had lit her face mere minutes ago had been replaced with a feral snarl. From my peripheral vision, I could see several people move to step in. Both Mouse and Triven were in the forefront, but I held up my fingers telling them to stop. Triven’s hands clasped over Mouse’s shoulders and they stayed put, as did the other concerned rebels. No one intervened, but each of the anxious onlookers had slipped to the front of the watching group.
While these marginal movements happened, my eyes never left Fiona. Lunging like a cat, she closed the gap between us in two strides. Her hand flashed with quick short strikes, keeping the weapon close to her body and well under control, the blade of the knife whistling as it cut through the air. Though her attacks were well marked, I was faster. I easily danced away from the singing blade. It never even grazed the fabric of my shirt. The tighter she gripped the blade the more it began to slip in her bloodied grasp. Fiona’s face blazed red with fury. The more I eluded her, the wilder her advances became. With an erratic, powerful thrust she drove the knife toward my stomach.
Pivoting outward, I twisted around her extended arm until I could feel her shoulder in the square of my back. Utilizing the impact of my movement, I brought my right elbow down into the back of her skull. The hollow sound echoed in the still room as Fiona went sprawling face first onto the ground. The knife slid from her bloody hand, clattering loudly across the floor.
With intentional nonchalance, I turned away from her. Addressing those who watched us, I pointed blindly to the knife fallen from Fiona’s hand. “Rule one, never try to staunch your bleeding during a fight with your hands. Blood only makes your hands useless and slick.”
Even without the collective intake of breaths from the watching rebels, I knew Fiona was on her feet again. She had the knife and was charging once more. I turned to face her just as she bore down on me, her arm thrusting to kill.
Using her own momentum against her, I grabbed her wrist pulling her toward me. Twisting myself into her arm, I curled my back into her chest like a deadly lover’s embrace. I dropped my body and yanked her arm downward, flipping the woman who was nearly a foot taller than myself over my back. As Fiona’s body flew air bound, I clung tighter to her wrist, twisting the knife with ease from her still bloody hand.
Air coughed from Fiona’s lungs as her body slammed into the floor. Her back arched in pain as she rolled to the side gasping for air. She wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
I flipped the knife twice in my hand, feeling the weight. The only sound in the room was Fiona’s gasping breaths.
“Rule two, fight with your head, not your heart or you’ll make stupid decisions that will get you killed.” I glanced at Triven and Mouse, both of whom I was willing to make stupid decisions for. Triven’s hands were still firmly clasped on Mouse’s shoulders, his own broad shoulders showing subtle signs of stress. Mouse was gripping Triven’s hands with equal intensity. While her knuckles were nearly white with anxiety, her eyes were alert as she took in my lessons. Fiona was stirring again. Unable to look into Mouse’s perceptive eyes any longer, I turned away. Several other rebels were now offering her assistance up, but she batted them away, wiping at her nose, obviously humiliated.
“Get off of me!” She yelled. I raised the knife in my hand and the others quickly backed away, leaving her to fend for herself. Fiona glowered at me. With a flip of my wrist, the knife soared across the room. It imbedded into the mat with a dull thud, the hilt quivering between her legs. An inch higher and I would have hit her pelvis.