Authors: Erin Lewis
“I told you. I woke up in the woods and then
walked here.” I tried to keep my words from shaking and failed. “And I’ve
always had my voice. I never really used it much in my old life… avoided talking,
really.”
“And why is that?”
“Sometimes it would get me in trouble.” Looking
at my hands, I was thinking of growing up again. Just getting through the day
without making an enemy of another adolescent or guardian had been an
accomplishment.
I heard a surprised laugh. When I looked
up he was actually smiling. Derisively, but it was there.
“Something about that is funny?”
“No.”
He left it at that. As I waited for him to
say something else, because I sure wasn’t, I looked distractedly around the
room to delay coming up with some dissertation that would make him accept,
finally, my version of the truth. I was a bit startled by what I saw. Lining
the dusky walls were paintings. There were so many large canvases that I
wondered how I hadn’t noticed them. Having been preoccupied with allusions of
torture scenes, I forgave myself for the oversight. A few works were hanging up,
not exactly on display, but as though they were finished and placed haphazardly
to make room for others.
“Whose paintings are those?” While
whispering the words, I made it a priority to stop saying everything thought that
came into my head. It really was unlike me. Fleetingly, I wondered if a side
effect of the trance was unfiltered conversation. Asher didn’t say anything and
I didn’t look at him, though I could imagine his bitterly imposing stare. I was
too interested in the images covering the walls. They were of harsh landscapes
with hidden figures in various states of duress, each an allegory of beauty
under oppression.
Without warning, my legs stood and walked
to the closest canvas. Halfway there, I braced myself to be thrown sideways and
back into the empty chair. I spared a second to glance at the door. If I made a
run for it, Asher would overtake me in two strides.
The paintings were intriguing. As I was
gazing from one to the next, they reminded me of stained glass windows in a
church, illustrating a story. Asher didn’t answer me, so I moved around the
room with caution, suppressing residual terror that lay just below the surface
of fascination. I wanted to study the artwork as much as I could before he made
me sit down again. Or he threw me down, again. Well, at least if I were going
to be stuck in this room for the rest of my life. The paintings would be an
excellent diversion.
The candles cast shaky light reflecting off
the images, so the figures hidden in the leaves, the tall grasses, and the snow,
came alive in their struggle. The colors were not exactly vibrant—black and
white were dominant, but one constant stood out: a gun-metal gray sky blocking
the light of day. Every single environment in the paintings had the same sky.
It was an atmosphere of repressed joy and sunlight, a forever gray day. I
wondered if the artist painted these skies because it was the color his eyes
always saw.
I fisted my hands. There was no reason to
be afraid of him. He would have tortured me already if he thought I was a
threat. Well, maybe not torture, exactly, because of the whole pacifist thing,
but he would have at least tied me back to the chair.
“Asher,” I asked in a weak voice, “what
suite are you in?”
No answer.
“You painted these.”
I wasn’t sure he’d heard me until his
voice hummed in my ear, brushing the hair against my neck. “If you are as smart
as I believe you to be, do
not
lie to me.”
His words sent me spiraling. I was under
layers of earth; hidden by possible enemies from other more formidable enemies,
and yet, my fear seemed to have evaporated. The sudden assurance could have
been the result of being surrounded by the painted figures. Their anguished
struggle projected strength that could harness a thousand armies. Strength and
anger. It was just what this revolution needed. Before I could say anything, a
moment of lucidity washed over me, and I wasn’t sure it was even my thoughts that
I spoke.
“Why would I lie to you,” I asked, trying
to keep my breathing even, “when you are going to save us all?”
I heard a short grunt of a laugh, deep and
grim, before I felt him move directly behind me. Upon realizing that he was so
close, I had the uninvited impression that he was going to wrap his arms around
me—and not to choke me. Insanity was apparently overtaking my thought process. Swallowing
a deep, unsteady breath, I forced my mind in a different direction.
He was still waiting for a coherent reply,
so of course I ran on with ridiculous statements. Maybe my mouth was so revved
up from not speaking that it couldn’t stop. Another product of the trance, I
was sure.
“I don’t lie about what I believe. I don’t
get in the way if I can help it either. So if you want me out of
your
way, you can just blindfold me, shove me out the front door,
and we can all pretend that this didn’t happen.” Staring at the painting in
front of me and listening intently for any movement behind me, I waited for him
to say something.
“I can’t do that just yet, Elodie,” he
said from across the room. I hadn’t heard him move from my side.
When I turned, he was tucked inside a
shadow by the exit.
“What do I have to do to convince you?”
“We’re going to take a little walk.”
As I forced my legs toward him, he blew
out all but one candle and beckoned me to follow him out the door, now open. To
my dismay, the hall was almost black. Asher’s face was half-lit by the candle he
held. His violent emulations seemed to have passed, and he appeared more
relaxed, for the time being.
He didn’t say where we were going, and I
didn’t ask. I dug deep into my newly found bravery to ask something more
important.
“No one has hurt Dan, right?” I whispered
brokenly; fear for my friend suddenly choking me. “He’s okay?”
Asher laughed under his breath. “Don’t
worry about our valiant leader. Dan is more than equipped to spend a night
without you.”
What did he mean… by
that
?
I felt myself
grimace in the weak candlelight, and he laughed quietly again before placing
his hand on my shoulder as a guide, stunning me to silence. The walkway
resembled a cave while our footsteps grew louder, although that could have been
my imagination.
Asher
veered slightly to the side, turning us to the right, facing a wall.
“Ready to
be scrutinized and dissected?” He curled his lip, and my eyes widened at the baleful
look on his face. “Pacifist, remember?” He almost joked. I cleared my throat, ducking
my head in embarrassment. My fears hadn’t completely dissolved, after all.
Before I
could look up from my feet, a weighty creak announced our presence. The door
must have been a foot thick, but that was not all that surprised me. There was
noise, a lot of it. The scene behind the door reminded me of a party.
There were
at least a hundred people in the cavernous room. Musicians halted their playing
at the far end, and others were gathered at tables with food and drinks. A
larger table in the middle held about twenty people with great sheets of paper
in front of them resembling ancient maps. The number of Caravs was much bigger
than I’d imagined. I wasn’t sure even Dan had any idea of their numbers. By how
he’d spoken, I had assumed that it was only a couple of families. No big deal. Now,
they seemed a stronger opponent to the Speakers, still without the tanks and
missiles, though.
The room
hushed completely when a hundred pairs of eyes turned to me.
“Elodie,” a calm,
familiar voice called. Gwen waved us over to her table. The musicians started
playing again, and I waited for Asher to walk ahead of me. He just stood there
staring out at the room. Was he worried I would try to hurt them? I was the
least lethal person I knew. Remembering the last week, I thought of Petra and
frowned. Maybe I was more dangerous than I realized, unintentionally of course.
Asher
finally moved me through the crowd without fanfare. Thankfully, no one
blatantly stared after our initial entrance. When we reached Gwen’s table at
the edge of the room and away from most of the soirée, she smiled up at me, her
hair shining like silk. I smiled back.
“Elodie,
I’m so glad Asher freed you,” she said, grinning as if she’d suspected all
along.
I answered,
“Me, too.” Asher detached from my side and walked toward another table, the one
with lots of papers and people around it.
“I want you
to meet someone.” Gwen brought me back to her attention. A little boy of about
four stood next to her. “I’d like to introduce my son, Colin.” The boy pushed
sandy blond hair from his eyes and grinned with a little wave. I smiled back
before he ran off to where a few other kids were playing.
“He’s so
cute,” I remarked.
Something crossed
Gwen’s expression when she commented, “He looks like his father.” Then she
glanced Colin’s way and took a deep breath.
Hesitant of
what to say or do, I just stood there for a few seconds while she watched her
laughing son. Gwen suddenly noticed my awkwardness. She stood and offered me
her seat, moving to the next.
“Thank you,”
I said in a low voice. “You’re very kind, Gwendolyn. I don’t even feel like a
prisoner with you here.”
“You really
never were, Elodie,” she admitted sheepishly. “It’s all Asher and his vendetta.
He doesn’t trust anyone. It’s sad, really.” Raising her eyebrows, she leaned back
into the chair with folded arms.
“But he
thought that I worked for the Speakers. Still does, I’m guessing.” For all I
knew, River Elodie did. I recoiled from the very plausible possibility that my
alias could’ve been a double agent.
“The only
reason he thought that was because he had a hunch, and it turned out to be
true.” Gwen eyed me somewhat cautiously. “You
can
talk, but I’m guessing
that has more to do with your father than anything.”
She had a
point.
“I wish I
knew. I wish I could go back and see the truth of my past.”
“To New
York?” she asked quietly. “What you spoke of sounded amazing when you were
tranced. I want to ask you more about it, but it looks like I’m up.” She rose
and grinned at me, turning on her heel.
Wondering
what she meant, I watched her weave in and out of minglers at the tables in her
path to a small box of a stage. The band faded out from what sounded like jazz
music, though different than anything I’d ever heard.
“Gwendolyn
is a composer.” A soft murmur interrupted the quiet that had gathered
throughout the room. I didn’t dare a glance because he still made me nervous;
however, I knew Asher was sitting not a foot away from me. I’d lost track of
where he’d been in the room, yet assumed I was not to be left to my own devices.
Someone would always be watching me.
“She’s in
the music suite, then? A composer?” I really didn’t want to talk to him, but I
was having a hard time keeping any thoughts to myself with newly found freedom
of speech. With too much thinking going on in my head lately, I was beginning
to lose myself a little from keeping it all contained.
“Yes. But
she is truly a singer,” his quiet voice was almost an introduction as the
lights dimmed. Some of the candles were extinguished when a pianist began to
play.
Gwen
emerged from behind a black curtain, placed one hand on the microphone, and
began to sing in a low, sultry tone. I gasped openly at the sound of her voice.
She had such a cheerful countenance; this seemed an entirely different person. Longing
echoed throughout the hall, a river swelling to a flood, capturing everyone in
the room in its wake and drowning us all. It was as if she were a siren trying
to call some lost soul back from the deep. Only someone with an honest knowledge
of pain could produce these notes.
I became spellbound
in loss. As for the rest of her audience, it appeared no one was immune. As if
she’d hypnotized the entire room. We all felt it, the calling of ghosts who
haunted us. Parents we had never met, a love who had vanished or had never been
there in the first place; it could be the loss of our selves. When the song
ended, I stood with the rest of the crowd, applauding her astonishing
performance. Gwen looked beautiful with her dark mane over her shoulder,
blending with her simple black dress. Colin bounded into her arms as she
thanked everyone. I had to take off my glasses for a minute to blot away tears.