The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf (The Tribe) (11 page)

He ran a hand through his hair in an utterly uncharacteristic gesture and growled, “She was vain and thoughtless and selfish, and she made her own fate, Ashala!”

I lunged at him, forgetting that I was sitting on a bed half-covered with a blanket, and ended up hopelessly tangled. Connor caught me as I fell, then dragged me to my feet and held me against his chest. His heart was pounding wildly, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. For a weird moment, everything seemed upside down and confusing. Then I shoved him away, snarling, “Get your hands off me!”

Connor took three quick steps back, and we stared at each other across the room. He actually looked upset. But even as I watched, his usual composure began to reassert itself, the emotion vanishing from his features. I glared into his distant blue eyes, hating him for everything he’d done, for everything he was, and, most of all, for the glitch in my head that made me react to him as if he were some kind of guardian angel.
No, be honest, Ash — not a glitch in your head. A glitch in your heart, you stupid, stupid girl.

We stood there for what felt like ages, and I was starting to feel vaguely ridiculous when the door swung open. Neville came in, with a red-robed Wentworth following close behind him. Her pretty caramel-brown face was anxious, and I shifted uneasily as her dark eyes flicked over me. “I’m glad to see you’re recovering, Ashala.” She didn’t sound very glad. Turning to Neville, she added, “She is making excellent progress, but I do think she needs more rest. I’d prefer not to discharge her yet.”

“I’m afraid,” Neville responded, “that I must speak with her, Rae. She has information about an attack.”

With a monumental effort, I choked back a gasp of dismay. Then I opened my mouth to deny everything. Before I could get a word out, though, Neville said, “Don’t even try to talk your way out of it, Ashala. You spoke in your sleep.”

Talked in my sleep? How would he even know that?
Connor
. Connor, who hadn’t been outside when Bry and Evan were trying to escape because he’d been waiting by my bed to see if I lived or died. He’d left out the part where he’d been spying on me. I scowled at him as Neville spoke to Wentworth. “She mentioned details that indicate a genuine threat. Lives could be at stake.”

What details? Wait . . . I’d been having that odd dream thing with Georgie and the Serpent.
Whatever I said, it wasn’t the Illegal rebel I was talking about — it was the other Serpent!
But I knew they’d never believe that.

“If you like, Ashala,” Neville told me, “you could talk to me here. Whatever it is that you’ve gotten caught up in, I’m sure you wouldn’t want people to be hurt.”

His voice was gently hopeful, and Wentworth responded to it, smiling encouragingly in my direction. Neville was standing slightly in front of her, though, so she couldn’t see what I did — the hint of something in his features that wasn’t grandfatherly kindness. He was angry. No matter what I said or did now, Neville was never going to stop until he’d extracted every scrap of knowledge from my mind. Dr. Wentworth couldn’t save me. No one could. It was the most awful feeling to stand close to someone who was trying to help and know that I was completely alone.
I carry my friends with me,
I reminded myself, calling up images of Ember and Georgie and the rest of the Tribe.
I carry my friends with me.
The memory of their faces gave me enough strength to hold Neville’s eyes with mine as I slowly shook my head.

Wentworth slumped in disappointment, and Neville sighed. “Then I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you some questions, Ashala. You agree it’s necessary, Rae?”

“Yes . . . I mean, if there’s going to be an attack . . .”

She sounded uncertain, and Neville asked in an amused tone, “What do you think I’m going to do, torture her?” He laughed, and Wentworth did, too, somewhat sheepishly.

“Of course not! I’m sorry — it’s been a long day.” She shot a glance at me, but I just stared flatly back, knowing she’d achieve nothing by continuing to come to my defense. And there was no point in putting her at risk for nothing, not when the other detainees in this place needed a Mender as good as Wentworth. My lack of response must have finally convinced her, because, looking relieved, she said to Neville, “You’ll bring her back if she shows signs of a relapse?”

He smiled his best grandpa smile. “Naturally.”

I made myself take deep, even breaths as the Chief Administrator ushered my only ally out the room, watched as he closed the door behind her, and swung back to me. His usual air of benevolent kindness had vanished with Wentworth, and I didn’t much like what was left behind. “You know,” he said, “it really would be best if you confessed what you knew. Justin has reported that you mentioned the Serpent, and Cambergull.”

It took every ounce of strength I had to keep my face blank. Cambergull? How could I possibly have let that slip? It hadn’t even been in the dream.

Neville waited for a few moments, then asked, “Exactly what were you doing in Cambergull the day you were captured?”

Gathering my courage, I achieved a casual shrug. “I went to check out the new Bureau of Citizenship office.”

His brows drew together, and his mouth hardened. I knew he’d heard that lie before. Bry would have repeated it to him, because it was exactly what I’d told her and the rest of the Tribe, except for Ember.

Only Neville didn’t believe it, not anymore.

“Bring her to the machine.” Neville strode out, leaving us to follow.

Connor and I began walking, eventually emerging from the cool corridors of the hospital into the warm afternoon air. I tipped my face to the sun, savoring the few precious minutes of being outside. Connor was watching me, but I ignored him. There simply wasn’t any point in wasting my energy on arguing with him, or even speaking to him, not when I had to conserve all my strength for what was to come. The wind picked up, swirling through the center, and I caught a distinct hint of eucalyptus. My towering tuarts. I inhaled, drawing the cleansing scent into my lungs as I called out to the trees in my head:
If I could make it back to you, I would
. Except that wasn’t going to happen, because Neville would have me hooked up to that machine until I was broken or dead. My only real hope was that the stress of the ordeal would kill me before I gave him the information he was searching for. They’d probably tell Wentworth I died while trying to escape. I smiled, thinking that it wouldn’t even be a lie.

The world seemed to be receding around me as we entered the building that held the machine, or maybe it was me that was receding from the world, withdrawing into myself. I clung to that feeling of detachment, thankful for the sense of distance that made it seem like it was some other girl who was walking into the windowless room, drinking the vial of stay-awake liquid, and being strapped into the dreadful chair. Grey fussed over the box with Neville at her side, while Connor removed my collar, fitting the final restraint around my neck and the hoop around my head. He retreated to stand beside the door, and I found myself bizarrely transfixed by his uniform, wondering why it had gone all fuzzy and sparkly around the edges. Then I realized that the entire room was filled with faintly blurring shapes and odd swirls of light.

I focused on the tiny flecks of color that now seemed to dance across the composite wall, following them to the ceiling. I smiled in delight at the twinkling field of reds and blues and greens and yellows and pinks. It suddenly struck me as very important that every single one of those miniature lights had once been something else, before they got put into the recyclers to make composite. Maybe they’d come from awful things, like the remains of old-world factories or weapons. Now they were part of something useful, something you could build stuff from. It seemed a shame, though, that they’d been made into a detention center.
When Illegals finally get rid of the Citizenship Accords,
I promised the lights silently,
you can be a house
. No, this place was too big for a house. Perhaps a school? A library?

Neville approached and loomed over the chair, distracting me from the starry ceiling. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me before we begin, Ashala?”

“Yes,” I replied solemnly. “Nothing ever truly ends, only transforms.”

He made an exasperated noise. “There’s no need to put yourself through this ordeal. Why don’t you help yourself and tell me what you know about the Serpent’s attack?”

“He’s not attacking anything. He’s sleeping in the water.”

“What water? Where?”

“In the Balance. And everywhere else, too.” My gaze drifted to the lights again, finding comfort in the sight of all those tiny, twirling spirits. Maybe I’d float up to be with them if the machine killed me. Except I wouldn’t want to be part of a detention center. I called out to them hopefully, “I’d like to be a wolf!”

Neville peered into my eyes and shot a frowning glance at Grey. “What exactly did you give her?”

“She lost consciousness after the last time she was on the machine, even with the drug. I thought it advisable to administer a higher dose.”

“I need her coherent!”

“I don’t see why it matters,” Grey protested. “It’s my machine that will get you your answers.”

“Your machine can be something of a blunt instrument, Miriam.”

“I keep telling you, I’ve improved it. It’s much better than it used to be.”

“It is still far from perfect, and she
will
resist it. She’ll be of no further use to me if her brain ends up completely scrambled.”

He came closer, patting my hand where it lay confined in the padded restraint. “Ashala, I need you to concentrate. Talk to me about the Serpent. What do you know about his plans?”

“Nothing.” I sighed. “The Serpent said I’d forgotten his story.”

He didn’t seem happy with that answer, and I felt bad for disappointing him, especially when he’d asked so nicely. Then an idea occurred to me. “Maybe I can tell you your story instead.”

“I’m not interested in my story, Ashala.”

That was a silly thing to say, but maybe he didn’t realize how important it was to understand your own story. I hadn’t, either, until Ember told me.

“Ember says everyone has a tale they tell themselves about who they are. And if your tale is true, then you see yourself clearly, like looking into still water. But if it’s not, then it’s more like the water’s all rippled, so you can’t see yourself at all.”

“Ember’s one of your Tribe, isn’t she? Does she know the Serpent?”

“Ember knows
stories
. You see, I think your story is the Balance. You tell yourself that everything you do to Illegals is okay because it’s all for the sake of the Balance.”

But those words tasted bad in my mouth, all bendy and askew, and I knew I’d somehow messed up the story. Neville was speaking again, asking about Cambergull this time, but I wasn’t listening. Instead, I tried to work out where I’d gone wrong. Neville had started to blur around the edges, too, and I felt like I actually saw him better this way. Colors seemed to move through his body, showing me the patterns of thought and feeling that lived beneath his skin until, finally, I understood.

I felt cold, the fog lifting from my mind as Neville came back into focus. He looked expectant, but he wasn’t getting any more answers from me. I knew his tale now, and it was a terrible one. The reason Chief Administrator Neville Rose imprisoned and tortured Illegals was simply because he
liked
doing it, and he’d never thought his actions were for the good of the Balance. That was just something he said to other people, part of an elaborate trick he played on the world. He enjoyed causing pain as much as Grey, but he was much worse than her. She was simply mad, a dog gone rabid. Neville held both her leash and his own, and when he let go of the restraint, it was because he’d made a deliberate choice to do so.

Licking dry lips, I whispered, “You’re a very bad man, Neville Rose.”

He scanned my face. Then he smiled. It wasn’t his grandfatherly smile. It was the knowing smirk of a monster who understood exactly how monstrous he was and simply didn’t care. “I don’t think you’re going to help me, Ashala. What a shame.”

He nodded to Grey, who began pressing buttons on the black box. Unable to stand staring at him for a second longer, I let my eyes roam around and fixed on Connor. He was so still and expressionless, he truly could have been a statue, and yet the sight of him was instantly reassuring. I wished I could tell myself that my reaction to him was another strange effect of Grey’s drug, but I knew it wasn’t. For days now, I’d been avoiding a part of my own story, trying to hide from feelings I didn’t want to have. Only here, in this room that I wasn’t very likely to leave alive, it seemed pointless not to acknowledge the truth.
I love Justin Connor
. He didn’t deserve it, but somehow that didn’t change how I felt.

Grey stopped pushing buttons, and Connor’s gaze locked with mine as I tensed myself for what was to come. The very last thing I was aware of before the blinding flash was his flawless features, crumbling into an expression of utter desolation, and I thought,
This is how the angels looked when they watched the world end.