The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf (The Tribe) (4 page)

I stepped through the door and found myself facing a long white chair, one that was fitted with restraints, which were clearly supposed to go around someone’s ankles, wrists, and neck. I took a shuddering breath and gazed around the rest of the room. There was a screen mounted on the wall behind the scary chair, and to my far right, a woman in red medical robes stood at a table, pushing buttons on a shiny black box. She had to be Miriam Grey, and like Neville, she didn’t look very intimidating. She was short and plump, with pretty green eyes and dark hair streaked with silver. Her entire attention seemed focused on the mysterious box, and I studied it nervously, puzzling over what it did. Two cords ran out of it, one leading to the screen on the wall, the other to an adjustable silver hoop that rested on the table. Everything suddenly came together, and I realized,
This is all the machine
. The chair was to confine me, the hoop went on my head, the box was its heart, and the screen was for . . . I didn’t know, but
something
bad.

Miriam Grey stopped pushing buttons and peered at a display on her spooky box, studying a pattern of blinking lights. Then she gave the thing an approving pat, picked up a tiny metal case from the table, and hurried over to where Connor and I were waiting. She stood in front of me, shifting awkwardly on her feet, before finally deciding to smile. At least she curved her lips in a way that would have been a smile on anybody else. On her it seemed somehow wrong, as if she were copying something she’d seen other people do without understanding the reason for it. “Hello, Ashala. It’s good to meet you.”

I almost winced at the grating sound of her shrill voice. Everything about her seemed slightly off. And her eyes — there was something missing from those moss-green eyes, or from the mind behind them. I watched as she opened the case and pulled out a vial of colorless liquid.
Be brave, Ash!
But when she held it out to me, I couldn’t keep myself from taking a step back, almost colliding with Connor. He put a hand on my shoulder, pressing it slightly in a clear warning not to run. It was a gesture I should have found threatening. Instead, warmth flowed from his fingers into my shaking body, and I pulled away, more disturbed by my reaction to him than I was by anything else in the room.

Grey spoke impatiently, “This is to keep you awake, so you can’t Sleepwalk.”

My heartbeat slowed as I put together the meaning of her words. Rhondarite could interfere with electronic devices, so they were going to have to remove the collar to be sure the machine would work properly. They didn’t need to be concerned about me using my ability, since I was too weak and, ironically, too tired. But I hadn’t shared many details with Connor about Sleepwalking, and since it seemed to be a rare talent — I’d certainly never heard of anyone else who could do it — they’d have no other way of knowing what my limits were.

I flicked off the stopper and forced myself to toss the liquid down my throat. Almost immediately, I felt better. Everything became brighter and sharper, and my whole body buzzed with a dizzy kind of energy. I handed the vial back to Grey, doing my best to stare defiantly into those empty eyes.

She gave me another skewed smile and went back to her box. “I’d like you to take your place in the chair, please.”

I took a reluctant step forward, and another. There was a sudden noise behind me — I jumped, looking back, and found that Connor had let the door swing closed.
Guess Neville Rose isn’t going to follow us in
. No surprise there — he would want to be able to pretend to me, and maybe even to himself, that he wasn’t a part of what happened in this room.

Grey began humming, the sound mixing with the low drone of the box to create an unpleasant cacophony. My thoughts scattered, seeming to break and run from the horrors before me, and I found myself remembering an old-world tale about a man who had been thrown by the government into a den of beasts called lions. I didn’t know what lions were, but I figured they were probably a bit like saurs, huge reptiles with claws and razor-sharp teeth. One of the winged humans that Connor didn’t believe in — an angel — had saved the man, although I couldn’t quite recall how. My vision blurred, and for an instant, it seemed as if I was moving past a terrible green-eyed monster, while a black-haired angel stood silent and shining at my shoulder. I blinked, and the strange images vanished.
What a stupid thing to imagine.
The doctor was no lion, and Connor was definitely no angel come to save me. And even if he was, I thought dazedly, he couldn’t fly me away.
He’s given up his wings. . . .

I reached for the chair and slid into it. Connor tightened the restraints around my wrists and ankles, then entered the sequence that undid the lock on the collar. He took it away and put it on a shelf beside the door, giving me time to take a few deep, happy breaths before he returned to clip the final restraint around my neck. He was so close that I could see the pulse beating at his throat, and I suddenly wanted to speak to him, to whisper — I don’t know, something heartrending and brilliant. Ember had told me once that she’d known a girl who wanted to die until someone had spoken six words to her that made her decide to live instead. I’d asked what the magic words were, and she said it didn’t matter; the point was that no one ever knows when something they say will cause a profound change in somebody else.

I’d tested that theory on Wentworth in the hospital this morning, hissing at her as she checked my wound, “They’re going to torture me unless you help me escape.” Her young, cheerful face had grown shocked and a little worried, but she hadn’t helped.
What would Connor do if I asked him to save me?
Laugh, probably. Except whether it was due to some weird effect of the stuff in the vial or an insane desire to torment myself, the urge to say the words was almost overwhelming. I bit down on my tongue, forcing myself to sit absolutely still and totally silent as he finished with the restraint. He retrieved the silver hoop and fit it around my head, then stepped back and stood by the door. I had a clear view of his face, and it was so completely devoid of warmth or feeling that I was glad that I’d been able to stop myself from speaking.

Miriam Grey’s unpleasant voice filled the room. “I need to ask you some questions, Ashala. How many people are there in the Tribe?”

Thirty-eight,
I thought automatically, and waited for her to get annoyed by my lack of response. Only she was strangely quiet. The hoop heated up, though, and sent tendrils of energy burrowing into my skull. They seemed to poke at me, digging around as if they were searching for something.

Grey began firing off one question after another: “How do runaways get to the Firstwood?” “Do any of them have help?” “How many of the Tribe have abilities that can be used offensively?” “What are those abilities?”

The digging sensation, like wormy fingers rifling through my mind, intensified, and fear surged through me.
It’s trying to read my thoughts!
I tried not to think of the answers to her questions, but it was impossible to keep my head from filling with images. First of the Tribe members with relatives who’d helped them escape —
Daniel, Briony, Anika, Keiko, Lia, and Micah.
Then the practice sessions, where we all tried to perfect our abilities —
Trix making the earth rumble beneath us, Daniel moving so fast that he was a blur in the air, Leo lifting a boulder that was three times his own weight.

The energy worms came streaking hotly toward those precious memories. Panicked, I imagined a protective wall springing up around my thoughts. A towering, unbreakable wall. The zooming tendrils slammed into it, falling down to nothingness, and the machine made a plaintive beeping noise.

Ha! Take that!

I was feeling pretty happy with myself until Grey spoke again, sounding creepily pleased. “Quite the strong one, aren’t you? I think I’ll have to set the level higher than I thought. I’ll make the adjustment, and we can get started.”

Get started? Hadn’t we already started? I tried to see what she was doing. The restraint around my neck wouldn’t let me move my head far enough, but I could hear her pushing buttons on the box. She was setting the level? The questions she’d been asking must have been a trial run, a way to work out how high she needed to set the machine to break into my mind.
This isn’t over.
I gripped the arms of the chair, steeling myself in anticipation of what was to come. The hoop around my head warmed, then flashed white-hot. And the world exploded into shards of light.

When my vision cleared, I found myself alone, and elsewhere. I was outside, standing on one of a number of rocky hills that rose up out of a rolling grassy plain. A
familiar
plain, with a familiar forest in the distance. Was I home? I couldn’t be home! Yet this was my grasslands, my Firstwood, my bright-blue sky.
Wait — what’s that sound?
I concentrated on the far-off thumping noise. Footsteps. Something large, approaching at speed. A saur? Seemed a bit loud, even for one of them.

In a sharp moment of clarity, I knew what was happening. I wasn’t home. My body was still strapped into a chair in Detention Center 3, and my mind was — where?
Here
. I was
in
my mind, and the thing that was coming was the machine.

A giant, red-eyed beast came pounding over the horizon. It looked like an oversize hound, complete with a shiny collar that was blinking with bright lights. Only while most of the beast was furry flesh, its legs and tail were glinting black metal. When it saw me, it paused, its jaws opening to display rows of gleaming teeth. I couldn’t understand why it didn’t come for me until I realized what it was waiting for.

This was a hunt, and it wanted me to run.

I skidded down the hill, knowing I would never outpace the beast but that I had to try anyway. I stumbled into the long, yellowy grass and pelted forward, making a dash for the trees. Behind me, the thumping of metallic paws grew nearer and nearer.
I’m never going to reach the Firstwood before it reaches me.
I could feel the heat of its panting breath, and I knew the only reason it hadn’t grabbed me already was because it was enjoying the chase. Still I kept going, running until my legs were burning and my chest was tight. The trees were tantalizingly close, but not close enough.

Someone shouted, “Over here!”

There was a girl standing by the tree line. A chubby, pale figure with a mop of short red curls.
Ember?
She held up a giant meaty bone dripping with blood. The smell of it, a rotting aroma that made my eyes sting, wafted over the grasslands. The beast made a happy noise and swerved away from me, toward Ember.

“Watch out!” I screamed.

Ember grinned and threw the bone. It went flying up into the air, spinning in circles before it began to descend. For some reason, it seemed to be falling very slowly. The huge hound took off after it, and Ember yelled, “Ash! Get to the trees and climb.”

I sprinted, barely pausing even when I reached the forest. Scrambling and clawing, I grabbed for the low branches of a peppermint tree, swung myself up its twisting brown limbs, then leaped across to one of the giant gray tuart trees. I climbed even higher, not stopping until I was sitting, gasping and nearly exhausted, on a sturdy branch a long way above the ground. A voice spoke in my ear: “Hi, Ash.”

I jumped. “How did you get here?”

Ember rolled her eyes. “I’m in your head. Part of your subconscious.”

“Part of my
what
?”

“I belong to the portion of your mind that exists beneath your conscious awareness. Except I’m showing myself to you as a friend so you can interact with the deeper levels of your understanding. You see —”

“That’s okay,” I cut in hastily. “You’re a piece of me, come to help. I get it.”

She seemed a bit put out at not being able to finish her explanation.
Exactly like the real Ember.
It was weird, and yet comforting, too, as if one of my best friends actually were here.

“Ash, have you figured it out yet? The machine — it gets in your head and hunts for memories.”

“It’s going to take my memories?”

“Not take them. It’s going to display them, for other people to see.”

“On that big screen?” I clutched at her arm. “Em, can they see us now?
Are we on the screen?
”

“No, the screen is blank — I promise.” She nodded at where the hound was still chasing after the bone as it continued its too-slow journey across the sky. “The bone is a memory. Once the dog gets hold of it, that memory is what they’ll see, and that’s
all
that they’ll see.”

“How can you even know that, when
I
don’t know that?”

“But you do know,” she replied patiently, “because I’m you, and the machine is interacting with the whole of your mind, so, at some level, you understand it. Only, Ash, I’m afraid this thing is on the hunt for painful memories. Either ones that hurt or ones that it hurts to give up.”

I tried to make sense of that. “Memories that hurt — I guess they’d be significant to a person. While memories that hurt to give up . . .”

“Are the ones that betray. Exposing something about yourself, or others.”

I choked in dismay. “The bone — I mean, the memory — it isn’t one that gives away any secrets about the Tribe, is it? Or about the Serpent? If they find out what he’s planning . . .”

“Don’t worry, Ash. It won’t tell them anything they don’t already know.”

We both looked out at where the bone was getting closer and closer to the ground. The beast, sensing that the prize was almost within reach, had started to leap up, its long pink tongue lolling goofily out of its mouth.

Ember spoke quickly: “I haven’t got much time left, and I need you to understand how dangerous Neville is. Did you notice the windows?”

“What windows?”

“That’s what I mean. There weren’t any. Not in the machine room, and not in the room where you met Neville. Think about it. Why weren’t there any windows?”

The answer was obvious. “So no one can see in.” The Tribe had heard lots of rumors about the machine but never any hard facts, and now I knew why. The only ones who ever saw that machine were helpless detainees or people who were completely loyal to Neville, like Connor. “Neville’s hiding the machine, even from people who work at the center.”