Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) (59 page)

The conference room door cracked open, prompting Wax to lean
sideways for a glimpse past Merrick. When he saw the curvy red-headed woman in
her floral-patterned dress, he gave her an irritated glance and folded his
arms.

The woman poked her head into the room and gave Wax an apologetic
smile. “I know you said not to interrupt, but… it’s Kayleigh. Something’s
wrong.”

Wax stood. “What is it?”

“I—I don’t know. You’ll have to come.”

“Dr. Kapperling,” Wax said as he strode out after the woman.

The commander of the Medical Division stood, squinting
wide-set eyes and combing his fingers through a thinning sheet of slicked-back
hair.

“You too, Mr. Bouchard,” said Wax. “And you, Shelder.”

Shelder Depliades, Wax’s squat, balding assistant, stood and
followed them out.

Whereas the ninth floor was occupied by Wax’s spacious
office, the entire tenth had been remodeled into a lavish domicile, complete
with all the amenities a man living after the end of the world could want. A
reinforced steel door guarded the entrance to all but the key carriers; film
shades covered the windows to reduce harmful rays; modified bathroom facilities
carried waste from the unit without the need for running water; a natural
ventilation system provided fresh filtered air from the outside, even during
sandstorms; a garden terrace with daylight shields provided food for a dozen
people. The place even came equipped with modified water pipes connected to a
running purification system on the roof. The only thing Wax had neglected to
tell Merrick about the apartment was who lived there.

A raised kitchen of steel and marble led to a cozy living
room furnished in immaculate white leather and a dining area with an oiled
ironwood table. At the back of the apartment, double doors opened onto a plush
bedroom with padded walls, thick carpeting, and an enormous bed. On the bed lay
a sickly-looking girl with pale skin and disheveled blonde hair. Her belly was
swollen with what Merrick could only assume was pregnancy.

Wax went to her, motioning Merrick into the room. “Okay,
healer. Now’s the time. Do for her what you did for me.”

Merrick felt himself flush with nervous heat. He’d healed
countless southers, but somehow all he could remember were his failures. The
cistern, before he’d learned of his powers. The mutie child, when those powers
had failed him. Children were not his strong suit, it seemed—though admittedly
he’d never tried to heal a child in the womb. “Is it—”

Wax shook his head. “Not mine. I wish it was.”

“I was going to ask if it was being born right now.”

“I should hope not,” said Dr. Kapperling. “She’s only
eighteen weeks along.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Give me a moment.” Kapperling opened his doctor’s bag and
spent a few minutes examining her. “It’s hard to be sure,” he said, wiping his
brow, “but it seems she’s suffering from the same phenomenon many prospective
mothers have been experiencing in recent years. Conception rates have
plummeted, but even healthy pregnancies are resulting in miscarriages at an
alarmingly high rate. She could lose the baby.”

“I don’t know if I can help her,” said Merrick.

Wax wrinkled his brow. “Of course you can. Why wouldn’t you
be able to?”

“My gift doesn’t always work like I expect it to.” Merrick
moved toward the bed.

Wax stood, spreading his arms protectively. “Explain what you
mean by that.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I’m not letting you touch her unless you explain yourself.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

“This child is very important,” Wax said.

“Yeah, population growth. I heard you earlier. I understand.
I wouldn’t do this unless there was a good chance I could help.”

“A chance isn’t enough.”

“How about a better chance than her losing the baby?” Merrick
had no way of knowing whether his gift really could increase the odds of
survival for mother or child, but he wasn’t going to let himself make the same
mistake he had with the mutie kid. If he tried and it didn’t start working
right away, he’d stop.

Wax stood aside.

Merrick knelt at the bedside. “Hi, Kayleigh. My name’s
Merrick. I hear you’re not feeling too well.”

She turned her head to look at him through eyes dull with the
ravages of pain. “It hurts. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

He smiled. “I’m going to try something to help you. You’re
going to feel warmth, but it should be a good kind of feeling. If the pain gets
worse, or if anything doesn’t feel right, I want you to let me know right away.
Can you do that for me?”

She nodded.

Merrick laid his hands on the girl’s belly.

“It still hurts,” she said.

“I haven’t started yet,” he said with a chuckle. He took a
deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to start now.”

She flinched when the heat came, gripping the sheets with
delicate hands, knuckles white. A breath sucked in, and she was panting. She
scrunched her face in a tight grimace.

Merrick was about to stop, but when she said nothing, he
continued. “Are you alright?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m fine,” she gasped.

Something wasn’t right, though. Merrick could feel the heat
flowing out of him, but he couldn’t sense whether it was doing any good. Unlike
the mutant infant, which had absorbed nothing, this time the energy was going
somewhere. He just couldn’t tell where.

Kayleigh’s hands relaxed, releasing the bunched sheets. She
drew in a long breath, chest and belly rising. Merrick felt a kick, saw the
skin move around her navel. Her face eased into a smile. She placed her hands
beside his at the edges of her stomach. Her cheeks flushed. A tear rolled down
from the corner of her eye. “Did you feel it?”

Merrick nodded.

“That was the first time I’ve ever felt the baby move.” Her
face tightened, and she began to cry.

Nora, the red-headed woman who’d come to fetch them from the
conference room, went around the other side of the bed to comfort her. Merrick
stood and backed away to let Wax and Dr. Kapperling move in. They helped
Kayleigh sit up so she could blow her nose and wipe her eyes. “I feel so much
better now,” she said.

“Is the baby going to be alright?” Nora asked.

Merrick was no doctor, but she certainly looked less feverish
than before. He could feel the sleep coming on, though the urge wasn’t so
strong that he couldn’t resist it for a little longer. It wasn’t dark outside
yet, and he still wanted to go down to the street and perform a few healings.

Dr. Kapperling scratched his head, his expression blank with
disbelief. “It seems Mr. Bouchard has righted whatever was wrong—for now, at
least.”

Merrick stared at him. “For now? What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“Further complications can always manifest themselves later
in the pregnancy. I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on her, and I recommend you
do the same.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” said Wax. He turned to Shelder
Depliades. “Make up a bed for Mr. Bouchard in the spare room. I want him here
around the clock to watch over Kayleigh.”

“What was that?” Merrick said. “Did I just hear you give an
order, like you’re still in charge around here?”

“Old habits,” Wax said smugly.

“I’m not your nurse, and I’m not staying holed up in here
while there’s so much else that needs to be done.”

“This is more important than any of that. This is the future.
Everything else is noise. Distraction. You’re in a fortunate position, Mr.
Bouchard. You can take whatever you want from us, and we can’t stop you. But
you also have a responsibility to give. This world needs heroes, if you haven’t
noticed. If you refuse to become one—if you refuse to face our most pressing
problems using all the tools available to you—you’re letting your uniqueness go
to waste.”

“Spare me the ‘
you’re special’
bullshit. I’m not a
hero. I never asked for this. And you’re already dead, so I suggest you keep
your proselytizing to yourself. Once I know enough to take your place, I’ll
give you the peaceful death I promised. In the meantime, I didn’t ask you for
tips on how to be a nice person.”

“Alright, Commissar Bouchard,” said Wax, standing. “You want
to get things done? Command your officers to do something.”

“Is there any kind of jail in this building?” Merrick asked.

Wax shook his head. “The prison, which you’re familiar with,
is located several blocks away. It’s been cleaned up and reopened for business.
Why do you ask?”

“Never mind,” Merrick said. “I’d throw you in it, if I wasn’t
so sure one of your loyal cronies would liberate you along the way, or spring
you out once you got there. Shelder, summon the officers from downstairs and
tell them to meet us in the tower lobby. We’re going outside. It’s about time I
started showing these people who rules North Belmond.”

CHAPTER 47

Secrets of the Child

There was a small motel in Bradsleigh called the Acacia
Lodge, a double-decker rectangle with a balcony walkway, a burnt-out neon sign,
and a gangrenous swimming pool in the back. Raith and the Sons spent the last
tradable goods they could spare to purchase a couple of nights in the
stale-mattress comfort of a three-room set on the top floor. They slept two to
a bed, four to a room, and boarded the horses at a nearby stable while the
ever-reclusive Borain Guaidir camped outside town. Raith knew they could’ve
roughed it and camped with him, but the luxury of a real bed was something
they’d had all too seldom lately.

The thirteenth man among them slept on the floor. That man
was Jiren Oliver, who was still no better than the day Merrick brought him back
from death. He still didn’t sleep, either—not as far as anyone could tell. If
you left him standing somewhere, he’d eventually sit. If you fed him, he’d
chew; if you dug a hole in the sand and helped him unbuckle his belt, he’d
oblige your wishes like the star student in some potty-training class for
toddlers. If you laid him down, he’d stay there with his eyes open, staring at
nothing. Then, sometimes, he’d drift off into a state of semi-awareness.

After a series of late-night discussions, most of which had
broken out into arguments, Raith and the others were still undecided on what to
do—about Jiren’s future, or their own. So it came as a shock to Raith when one
day, while he was collecting water from the trickling stream in Bradsleigh’s
underground well, he heard footsteps coming down the stone stairs and turned to
see Savannah Glaive entering the small rocky cave behind him. For an instant he
thought she’d come for water. That theory vanished when he saw no container in
her hands.

“Tell me about my mother,” she said. Then, after a few
seconds, as if it were an afterthought: “I’m sorry about the other day. It’s just…
I can’t afford to be trusting of strangers, the way things are. We’ve got hired
hands to work the pastures and guard the livestock, but in the house… it’s just
me. I had to make sure you weren’t up to no good.”

“I understand. You’re fortunate to have Arnie and his men
around to help you, in case anyone ever
is
up to no good.”

Savannah wrinkled her nose. “Arnie is a creep. He and every
other bachelor in this town… My dad’s body was hardly cold in the ground before
they all swooped in trying to win me over. What they really want is my fortune…
or what they
think
is my fortune, thanks to a whole lot of idle
rumor-mongering. But Arnie, he’s the worst. He’s got this fatherly thing, where
he wants you to think he’s trying to take care of you, but it’s all totally
fake. He’s always putting his hands on me, lurking around the house and then
saying he’s just checking on things to make sure I’m safe. It drives me crazy.”

Watching her speak—the slender cheekbones, the dark hair, the
way she tucked her bottom lip whenever something troubled her—Raith knew this
was Myri’s daughter beyond a doubt. It was like looking at a picture of Myri
from decades earlier. The epiphany put a flutter in his chest. He found himself
stunned, unable to answer.

Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, mister?”

“No,” he said, snapping out of it. “You’re right to be wary
of a man like that. And you were right to be wary of my companions and me when
we arrived. What made you change your mind?”

“Troublemakers come through Bradsleigh all the time,” she
said. “It never takes them long to stir it up. You’ve been here three days now,
and the worst trouble I’ve seen you get into was when your slow-minded friend
pissed on the town hall steps.”

“He wasn’t always like that,” Raith said. “A man—someone who
I believe must be your half-brother—brought him back from the dead.”

Savannah laughed, loud and sudden, as if she thought Raith
was making a joke. When she saw he wasn’t smiling, she sobered.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Raith said. “You wanted to
know about your mother. This is where she comes in. I’ll tell you everything I
know about her, and everything I’ve been able to piece together about her life,
if you want to hear it.”

Savannah nodded eagerly. “Let’s go to my house, though.
People are always coming in and out of here. Not a good place to talk. Nowhere
to sit, either.”

“I’d better get back with this water first,” Raith said. “The
others are waiting on me.”

“You came all the way down here for water and you’re not
going to wash your hands?”

Raith held them out, flipped them over. “They’re always like
this. It’s a Decylum thing. Your mom’s hands were never like this, were they?”

“Nope. Not that I can remember. You sure you’ve got the right
person?”

Raith was sure.
She was a healer
, he might’ve said.
But if Savannah didn’t know that already, either he
was
wrong about her,
or Myriad had done an astounding job hiding her gift. The fingernails never
grew back, as far as he knew. Of course, he’d never seen a healer try… “I
really should drop this off. They’ll be wondering what happened to me.”

She frowned. “Please don’t invite them all over. I’m not in
the mood to feed and entertain a dozen guests.”

“I’ll make up an excuse. Meet you there in ten minutes.”

Six-and-a-half minutes later, Raith was seated in Savannah’s
living room with a warm mug of tea in his hands, inhaling its sweet fragrance.
Savannah came in with her own mug and sat in the armchair across from him,
toned young body silhouetted beneath a thin yellow dress. Raith tried not to
notice, but he couldn’t help sparing a glance. She was barely a woman, young
enough to be his granddaughter. Yet the memory of Myriad at that age, and the
stunning likeness between them, were enough to make his blood run hot.

“Thank you for coming to talk with me,” Savannah said,
cross-legged in the immense cushioned chair. “Again, I’m sorry about the other
day, I—”

“It’s nothing,” Raith said. “You had every right to feel the
way you did.”

She nodded softly. “So… my mother’s name was Myriad.”

“Yes. We grew up together… in a manner of speaking. She was a
healer; one of Decylum’s few. Healers age slower than the rest of us. They
advance through childhood and adolescence at a normal rate. When they reach
early adulthood, their aging begins to flag. In her case, the discrepancy
became quite apparent early on. Although I was several years her junior, I
looked a decade older by the time she left.”

“Why did she leave?”

“She was always so full of wisdom,” Raith said. “Others
revered her for it. Even her elders. She was granted a place on Decylum’s
council, where she served for several years. Although the other councilors
respected her a great deal, she never felt she belonged there. She always knew
how to handle any problem; always arranged solutions that best served our citizens.
But she was restless, too. Looking for more. She felt she was destined for
greater things. Things she could never find in Decylum. And so, one day, she
left.”

“Who were her parents? My grandparents?”

“Scientists. Nearly all our parents were, in those days. Some
were technicians and maintenance workers, but the vast majority were
scientists, working for the Ministry. Your grandparents’ names were Caius and…
let me see.” Raith gave an embarrassed chuckle and scratched his chin, where
the beard had grown thick and oily. “It’s been a long time. Hana. That was her
mother’s name. Hana and Caius Ficari.”

“Did they have the same… powers?”

“Her mother was a blackhand. A healer. Her father, no.”

“And they’re both gone now?”

Raith nodded. “They were older already, by the time they met
and had a daughter. Caius died not long ago, actually. Three years, maybe. Hana
was different. She died before Myriad left. It was a sickness. Not unlike the
one you describe your mother having. She wasted away over a long period of time,
until her body finally gave in. I remember thinking it was as if she’d given so
much of herself—healed so many—that she ran out of… whatever it was that kept
her going. By the end, she had nothing left. And I mean that in a more literal
sense than you might think. Just looking at her, you could tell she was…
drained.”

Savannah was quiet for a moment. “So my mother left, and you
never heard from her again after that?”

“Not until we made contact with the people of Belmond. I ran
into a man I believe is her son.”

“The half-brother. Who brought your friend back,” said
Savannah, her voice hinting at skepticism.

“It was a chance meeting, really. I believe the fates have a
hand in everything we do. There was a reason we found him. And I suppose there
must be a reason I found you.”

“I don’t know if I believe in all that stuff,” Savannah said.
“The fates; what’s meant to happen, and what isn’t.”

“Disbelief in the fates is no reason to underestimate the
larger forces at work in our lives,” Raith said. “I never expected to find
Myriad’s child in Belmond. And I certainly didn’t expect to find you here.
We’re bound together, and Myriad is the thread that connects us. She left
Decylum searching for something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, but I wonder about it constantly.”

“Well if she found it here, she never told us. And she never
did anything about it.”

“You said you had theories as to why she left. Is there
anything that sticks out in your mind? Anything you haven’t told me?”

Savannah sipped her tea. “There
is
one thing. I never
thought much of it until you showed up.”

Raith leaned forward and set his teacup on the coffee table.
“Whatever you remember… there’s a chance it could be important.”

Savannah sighed and set her tea down as well. “I think my dad
always wondered whether she’d found someone else, although he never admitted
it. The theory we settled on was that she felt her sickness was a burden on us,
and she went somewhere to… to die. On the morning it happened, the door to the
study was open. You know, the hidden one I showed you. It was cracked, just an
inch. I think I mentioned my dad never went in there. Uncle Toler loved it, but
Uncle Toler hadn’t been home in days, and I remember the door being closed when
I went to bed the night before. I mentioned it to dad, so he went inside for a
look, but nothing was missing or out of place. At least nothing that he could
tell. He didn’t think it meant anything, so he just kind of dismissed it.”

“So you think your mother was in the study just before she
left.”

“… I think so. Like I said, it’s been a long time.”

“But the door
was
open. You remember that clearly.”

“Clearly,” she said, nodding.

Raith stood. “At the risk of offending you… would you mind if
I take another look?”

Savannah rose and led him to the bookshelf, which she opened
using the same trigger as before. Raith went inside, circled the small room for
several minutes, inspected the shelves, and stared up at the high ceiling.
“There’s got to be something more,” he said. “Something you missed. You don’t
think it’s possible there are any hidden compartments in here, do you?”

Savannah gave him a dry look. “I’ve been living here since I
was born. There isn’t a crack in the plaster I don’t know about.”

“If Myriad lived here all those years, as you say, she
must’ve been trying to find out something about Decylum’s history or purpose.
Perhaps she was looking for the same thing that brought us here—a chance to
learn from the facility’s original architects. The Glaives.”

Savannah frowned. “You make it sound like she was using us.”

Raith knew Savannah didn’t want to believe that. The trouble
was, he didn’t know whether he believed it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
suggest she was insincere. I’m only considering the possibility that one day,
she found what she was looking for. Who knows what she was after, or what she
intended to do with it. You’re sure there’s nowhere else your dad might’ve been
storing old paperwork or documents or records?”

She pondered. “I just thought of this this morning. My family
has a shipping yard a ways outside town. It’s fenced in, though, and my dad
took the keys with him when he left. He always kept those keys close. There are
hundreds of shipping crates in there, like the kind the trade caravans use.
There’s also the old company office. It’s all run-down now, but there’s a
chance something could be in there. I don’t think I’ve been inside but once or
twice, come to think of it.”

“Will you take me there?”

A few minutes later they were standing outside the tall
chain-link fence, regarding the rows of stacked shipping crates beyond. The
gate was chained and padlocked—at least fifteen feet high, by Raith’s
reckoning. A coil of razorwire ran along the top.

“Did your father ever come here?”

“Not really, except when drifters would get through the fence
and nest in the stacks. You can see where they had to mend it in a few spots
after people cut through it.”

Raith nodded. “And your dad always kept the keys close?”

“Yeah. Uncle Toler works for Vantanible. Dad was always
paranoid about him coming by to steal the crates. Half of them were his,
technically, but… they had a falling out a while back and Dad wouldn’t give
in.”

“I see. Did your mom ever come here?”

“Nope. Not that I ever saw.”

“So that building back there is the office, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s been unused for how long?”

Savannah shrugged. “Since my grandpa was alive.”

Raith shook the fence, gauging its durability. “If I wanted
to get in there… would you mind me climbing over?”

She wrinkled her mouth. “Are you planning to float through
that razorwire like a ghost? You’d still need the keys to the building, which I
don’t have.”