Shadow Heart
Authors: J. L. Lyon
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Military, #Post-Apocalyptic, #Dystopian
CONTENTS
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Fragments
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Open Wounds
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Corridor Prime
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For Quinn
1
T
HE
D
ISCIPLINER'S OPEN PALM
connected with her jaw, and her fingernails dug deeper into the soft wood of the chair as she braced for the next blow. A whimper threatened to escape from her throat, but she ground her teeth against the pain and stubbornly stared fire in the man’s direction, ignoring the unpleasant tingle from his repeated blows to her face. He glared back with an intensity that would make most children cower, but she did not know fear. He had purged her of that long ago.
“What have I told you about respect, Elizabeth?” the Discipliner asked.
“What have I told you about calling me Elizabeth?” she retorted, and earned another hard slap across the face.
“Insolent girl,” the Discipliner spat. “I’ll never break you of that pride. You have failed in almost every area where the other children succeed. Strength. Bravery. Obedience.”
“Weakness!” she said, eyes flashing defiantly. “They aren’t strong or brave. They can’t even think unless you tell them how.”
“That’s the way all good children should be…all good soldiers. One day, if you’re lucky, you will test into the Great Army. But if not, the matron and I will sell you to the highest bidder.” He reached down and stroked her cheek, a simple gesture that scared her more than any physical abuse ever could have. “You’re going to be a beautiful woman, Elizabeth.” He sneered. “For my part, I hope you fail.”
“I’ll kill you first.”
“Don’t fool yourself. You will never be strong enough to kill a man like me.”
“Maybe not,” she grinned. “But I will be smart enough. Fast enough. One day you will be afraid of me.”
The Discipliner hissed through bared teeth and reared back to strike her again, but a hurried rap at the door made him pause. “Yes?”
“Downstairs, at once,” the matron’s voice came through muffled from the other side. “Something is happening in the streets. Soldiers on the march. Gunfire. I need you to stand watch.”
The Discipliner’s hand fell slowly—reluctantly—back to his side, “Looks like you get a pass, my dear. For now.” He moved to the door and she breathed a long sigh of relief. The Discipliner heard her, and snickered, “Just because I’m done here, girl, doesn’t mean you are. I’ll make a soldier of you yet. Computer, play beta training program.”
“No!” Liz jumped up from the chair and bolted for the door, hoping to escape as he opened it. But the Discipliner slithered through the crack and slammed the door in her face. She pounded on the weathered wood as the monitors came to life. “Please, I’ll say anything you want! I’ll—” The familiar screech drowned out her plea and sent her in retreat to the corner of the room, hands pressed tightly to her ears. Despite her attempts to shut it out, the screech brought her eardrums near the point of bursting, emptying her mind of all thought except the pain. It was her worst nightmare: an enemy she could not fight and could not flee.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the screech transformed into a deep, soothing voice, “Soldiers are the rulers of society. They are the guardians of order, the light of justice. Everyone wants to be a soldier. But only a few are strong enough…brave enough…obedient enough.”
“No! Stop it!” Liz rose to her feet and stared at the screens, bombarded with images that flashed so fast she could barely tell what they were. Still, she was aware of them, somehow—as though she could
feel
what they represented and the message they were designed to teach her. It made her brain feel fuzzy, and she hated it. The first two times the Discipliner had subjected her to this, she had believed herself helpless. But now she embraced her anger and let it deepen, nurturing it into a relentless fire that could consume every doubt and fear in its path.
I don’t have to listen to this anymore
, she thought.
I don’t
! She picked up the small chair and flung it against one of the walls, destroying several of the monitors in a shower of sparks. The voice droned on overhead, “…soldiers are powerful…they are resourceful…”
Resourceful
, she repeated in her head, surprised she understood.
That means I can do anything I want, if I can just figure out how. And what I want is to get out of this room
.
She caught sight of a large shard of glass on the floor in front of the shattered monitors, and bent down to pick it up. The sharp edge nicked her, but she did not let go.
Soldiers are strong,
the words echoed in her mind.
Soldiers do not fear pain
.
Liz turned to the door with the piece of glass and smiled. Once a boy had locked himself in a room on the first floor. Rather than wait for the matron and a key, the Discipliner had taken a thin plastic object and inserted it between the door and the frame, forcing it open. The same concept should work for her as well.
The glass cut into her hand a little more as she shoved it into the crack. She twisted it a couple of times, ignoring both the pain and the blood that covered her hands, until the lock finally released. She was free. Liz dropped the glass and wiped her slick hands on her jeans, then ventured into the dark hallway where—luckily—there was no one to be found.
As she crept farther down the hall, thunder roared outside, along with another sound she did not recognize: intermittent bursts of a strange popping noise.
She made it to the elevator and then back down to the first floor without seeing anyone, but once there she saw the matron and the Discipliner standing by the entrance, arguing. She balanced her desire to escape against her curiosity.
Knowledge is power
, her mind intoned.
A soldier gains knowledge whenever he can, however he can
.
Careful not to be seen, Liz crept closer to hear what the two adults were saying.
“…can’t just throw him back out into the streets, he’ll freeze to death!”
“He’s a stray, Karla. We have to go through normal protocols. Until then we’re not allowed to shelter him. You know the rules. Older than two, no Systemic designation, it’s to the slavers or the Great Army’s pyre.”
“I’m not sending him back out into the freezing rain,” the matron said. “They may call me heartless, but even I am not that far gone. I know you have skills for occasions such as these. You employed them once before. Now I need you to do it again.”
“That was a special case,” the Discipliner growled. “Sanctioned by a member of the hierarchy, and done the moment she was born. This boy is already six years old…what you ask is impossible.”
“I don’t want your excuses. Just get it done.”
Liz prepared to hide in case the Discipliner came her way, but her heart leaped out of her chest as a hand clamped over her mouth and its owner dragged her into the closest vacant room. They needn’t have bothered, for her first inclination wasn’t to scream but to despair. She was discovered and now would be punished for sure. Her captor spun her around slowly, and Liz’s mouth fell open. She had grown up around the five caretakers of the Capital Orphanage her entire life, and the woman standing before her looked nothing like those adults. Long golden curls fell down past her shoulders, shining in the low light as if they had a glow of their own. Liz had limited contact with the outside world, but knew immediately this was probably the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
The woman made a graceful motion for quiet as she silently shut the door. Liz’s instincts placed her on the defensive, but she knew that if it was a choice between being caught by the Discipliner or by this radiant stranger, she would choose the latter.
The woman knelt before her and lit a candle, bathing both of them in warm light. As she looked upon the woman’s face more closely, Liz couldn’t help but blurt out, “You’re beautiful.”
She grinned at the comment but did not seem surprised. She wore her beauty like a garment and displayed it proudly.
Like a soldier wears a weapon
, Liz thought.
“Thank you,” she reached forward and pushed a frayed blonde curl back behind Liz’s ear. “You’re very beautiful, too.”
Liz’s eyes widened. No one had ever told her that before.
“But look what they’ve done to you,” the woman went on, tracing the tender spots of Liz’s face. She reached for her bloody hands, lacerated by glass, and stared at them in horror. Tears misted her eyes, and Liz shook her head in disgust.
Tears are for the weak. A soldier does not know sorrow. A soldier does not cry
. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder who this woman was to care for her so. Or maybe she was just upset that she had gotten blood all over her beautiful hands. Liz hoped she had hands like that someday.
“What’s your name?” Liz asked.
The woman pursed her lips in brief hesitation before answering, “My name is Aurora.”
“Aurora?” Liz repeated, dumbfounded. “But that’s
my
name. Or at least, my last name.”
“Yes, I know,” Aurora said. “That’s the reason I’m here.”