Evolution (24 page)

I jump out of the truck to stretch my legs with the others
and end up picking up my own stray.

"How's the ride?" asks the man that I spoke with
earlier—the one who was sitting on the car.  He's clearly interested, and
I'm not, but I don't think it would be wise to be rude right now.  Besides
that, he may look tough, but I get the feeling he's harmless.  I'm
learning to trust my instincts now, rather than looks.  So I humor him,
and we chat on the side of the road about things that don't matter.  I
manage to find out that we're headed for Saint Louis and that it will be a few
more hours before our arrival.  He gives me a hesitating look. 
Before I can ask about it, the vehicles come to life, and we split ways to
climb aboard our separate transports.

The convoy continues on its way.  After about ten
minutes, Jonas leans over and asks, "What is it?"

I shake my head.  "I don't know."  But
I'm starting to get the feeling that Saint Louis might not be that much better
than where we've come from.  I can feel my sense of unease seeping across
the bed of the truck and into my friends.

Not much later, we're traveling in darkness, and not much
after that, we're traveling to the incessant sound of gunfire.  From our
group out into the darkness.  From the darkness toward us.  We make
ourselves flat against the truck's bed, and hope that our protectors have the
better skills and firepower.  It goes on and on... nerve-wracking at
first, but after what seems an endless stretch of adrenaline and thumping
hearts, it almost becomes boring.  I
almost
get used to it. 
Not quite.  Eventually, the sounds die off, further in between blasts,
further away.  Soon there is just the sound of the vehicles, and we're
still moving steadily on our way.

I'm definitely ready to be out of the truck when we finally
come to a halt.  I can hear the men, getting out of the vehicles, shouting
to each other—not in alarm, but the subdued shouts of getting business
done.  We stretch and climb out of the truck bed,  where we linger
amongst the mercenary crews for just a moment.  The boss and some men,
including my "friend", find us and herd us in the direction of the
city gates.  About fifty yards off, we stop and stare.

The gates are open to the road.  A Sentry stands to the
side, making me pull my hood carefully around my face.  But the Sentry is
not the only guard.  Lurking around the gate, carrying silver-gleaming
axes and wicked blades that were surely designed to frighten the hell out of
people, is a group of women like I have never seen before.  Their stances
are well-balanced, ready to fight.  Their mannerisms suggest the easy
confidence gained in successful battle.  They're looking straight at
us.  My first instinct is to run.

Apollon nudges me with one elbow.  "Amazons,"
he says.  "
This
is gonna be fun."

Jonas looks at the mercenary leader and demands, "Who
are these people?"

But apparently our deal is done.  "I guaranteed
you would get here safely," the leader says, walking away. 
"What happens to you once you're here has nothing to do with me."

His men quickly follow him, but the guy I talked to on the
road glances back at me as he leaves.  "Rossanna," he whispers
quickly.  The name barely makes it to me.  Before I can question him,
he's gone.  They climb into their vehicles, turn them, and the convoy
rumbles away.  We're on our own.

We exchange hesitant glances then walk toward the gates and
the Amazons.

They have us surrounded before we complete our
approach.  Their glares are full of poison, their teeth clenched and
bared.  Surely they can't mean to kill us right here beneath the Sentry's
watch.

"Welcome to Saint Louis," one of the women,
apparently the leader of the group, says.  "We're your tour
guides."  She flashes an evil grin.  "Come this way."

We're herded into the city, away from the Sentry.  The
tension in the group is palpable.  They're waiting to spring.  I have
no doubt that they mean to get us out of the Sentry's view, and then put an end
to us.  We walk with them because we're outnumbered and we don't really
have a choice.  But as we sink into the darkness around the corner of a
building, I feel our time running out.  There's too many of them to
fight.  No means of escape.  I'm grasping at straws, trying to think
my way out of this.  Rossanna.  What does it mean?  Someone to
find?  A helper?  I can't imagine how to get out of this mess to find
a helper in the first place.  Our captors come to a stop and turn on
us.  They're all going for their blades.  My friends reach for their
weapons as well.

"Rossanna!"

Everyone freezes.

I search the faces of the women surrounding us. 
They're hiding surprise.  "Rossanna," I say again, this time
with more certainty.

Uneasy glances fly around the circle.

I find the eyes of the leader and insist, "I want to
see her."

A low growl escapes her throat, but she turns and stalks
away, leading us into the depths of Saint Louis.

We follow for blocks and blocks.  Always, our eyes are
searching for a way out.  A convenient escape route.  But the streets
are filled with more frightening women.  They march in little packs, armed
to the teeth, always watching, patrolling.  I don't see a single male
anywhere and I can't say that bodes well for my friends.

One thing I do notice about Saint Louis is that it doesn't
stink, at least not as much as the other cities.  As a matter of fact,
it's the cleanest place I've been.  The buildings are clearly taken care
of, with obvious repairs to windows and roofs.  The only graffiti I see is
one large, artful wall that proclaims, "Girls Rule".

We're marched into a wide plaza with manicured trees and
planters filled with evergreen vines.  There's a large circular fountain
with a statue of a man.  Someone has placed a collar around his stone
neck.  The water is frozen, but clean.

"Kinky," whispers Apollon, before being silenced
with a jab.

Beyond the fountain, six large columns raise the lit-up
entrance of a grand building .  At its center is a tall dome, and above
that a tower, and at the top, a waving pink banner scattered in silver
stars.  But this is nothing compared to the ancient arch that stretches
the night sky behind it, a marvel of engineering that could only have been
built by the Forefathers.  Massive colored lights beam onto it from the
ground below, carefully projecting their different colors onto it to create a
metallic rainbow.  I almost trip over a planter just gawking at it. 
One of the women, behind me, gives me a solid shove forward.

We ascend the wide steps to the building, and move through
the tall, gilded doors into an antechamber.  Here, there are more
guards.  The pack who brought us take up spots at the doors, handing us
off to these new ones.  They look just as fierce, just as
well-armed.  Their limbs are sinewy, corded muscle under tight
leather.  Two of them go in front of us, four behind, and we're moved up
to another set of doors.  I study the backs of the women in front of
me—streamlined, deadly, confident.  The one on the left carries a sword
with a wavy blade.  The one on the right, a battle axe.  They have
daggers at their belts and boots as well.

I'm not the only one studying them.  To my right,
Apollon, eyeing the woman with the axe, nudges Jonas with his elbow, "Nice
ass."

The woman turns around and glares at him, her fingers
tightening on the handle of her weapon.  Her teeth are bared, her eyes
fierce.

Apollon meets her gaze and grins.  "Hi," he
says in a low, sultry voice.  "I'm Apollon."  And he
winks.  Actually winks.

But her friend has already started opening the door, cutting
short the response.  A voice calls through it, female, but low and
musical, "What have you brought us tonight, then Chandre?" 

The axe-maiden turns toward the voice.  The
sword-carrying woman moves into the room and looks up.

I catch Jonas' eyes from the other side of Apollon. 
"He's going to get us killed," I hiss.

Jonas' eyelids lower, but he simply looks forward. 
"You're just now figuring that out?"

We follow the two women into the room, the others pressing
us from behind with their assorted sharp weapons.  I almost stumble into
the two in front of us, trying to stop without being run through.  As it
is, my pack sustains some damage from a blade. 

The first thing that any of us do in this chamber is look
up.  We're standing at the bottom of a rotunda, with levels upon levels of
balconies leading upward toward the dome.  There are railings and columns
around each level, as fancy as anything I've ever seen.  Everything is
painted in pinks and blues and lavenders, alternating into alcoves, and above
us hangs one huge pink banner with silver stars, suspended vertically from one
end.  It reaches across the entire span of the dome, a massive presence
that stretches down toward us.

I'm so busy gawking at it that I take a moment to notice the
group of women standing at the railing on one of the floors above.

The sword carrier—she must be Chandre—clears her throat and
says, "Oh noble sister, I bring you travelers."  Her voice, as
she continues, develops a bit of a bite.  "They asked for
Rossanna."

The woman above squints at us, calculating.  "What
could these know of Rossanna?"

I hear the axe-maiden mutter something that sounds like
"nothing", but it's not loud enough to carry up to the women above.

Chandre gives her a quick, disapproving look and answers,
"I do not know, sister, but this is the way."

"Bring them up," the woman says, striding away
from the railing.  I just see a flip of a charcoal cape as she moves away.

We're hustled up a set of dark wooden stairs that spiral
around and around.  The floor below was stone, and now we pass onto
chocolate-colored planks that are far richer than any wood floor I've seen in
the Outpost.  There's a deep sheen to the wood, and the walls and their
colors are mesmerizing.  They look like candy.  I'm so fascinated by
it all that I can hardly consider where we are going.

We stop climbing and take a hallway that leads us to a
narrow set of ancient-looking double-doors.  They are black, with glass
insets.  A touch of paint on the glass at one point might have been the
number thirteen.  I can't imagine it's a good sign.  Waiting beside
the door is the charcoal-caped woman, and two others who seem to defer to her
authority.  She pushes through the black doors and into the room
beyond.  More women on the other side hold the doors open.  We're
shoved through into the room.  Across the checkerboard floors is a raised
pedestal and what could only be described as a throne.  On the throne—the
very pink throne—sits a small, middle-aged woman.  She raises her eyebrows
and beckons.  We're brought forward.

The women escorting us fall into deep bows. 
Unfortunately, there are more armed guards off to the side.  I glance at
my friends and for an instant I have a suspicion that Apollon is contemplating
a curtsy.  I throw him a warning look and a little smile flits across his
face.  He doesn't curtsy though.  Instead, he gazes humbly at the
woman on the throne.  His blue eyes have somehow gotten larger and
bluer.  The woman looks at him for a long time before she bothers with
summing up me, Jonas, or George.

"And what exactly is this?" she finally
asks.  She raises an eyebrow and waits.

No one answers her.  Not the women who brought us
here.  Not Jonas, Apollon, or George.  I glance at my friends again
and realize that they're giving this one to me.  I can't say I blame
them.  If only I knew what to say.

I clear my throat to buy a little time.  Alright, this
must be Rossanna.  She must think she's something special. 
Therefore, I must think she's something special if I want to live through
this.  These people are just plain weird, but I think I can fake their
gig.  I pitch my voice to mimic Chandre's, and say, "Forgive our
intrusion, oh Lady Rossanna.  We are but humble travelers."

I can feel the boys' eyes turn to me.  They're going to
make fun of me later, if we come out on the other side alive.  Oh well.

Rossanna sits up straighter.  Her voice is higher
pitched, and sharper than is comfortable for my ears.  "Not many
travelers come through my city," she says.  "Only the righteous
can walk these roads, or those who serve the righteous."

I glance again at Apollon.  I bet he's got a few choice
lines to feed me, but his lips are sealed.  So I make it up as I go. 
"We are servants of all that is good, Lady.  Our eyes are open to the
light."

Her eyes narrow on me, then scan to Apollon once again,
where they linger just a touch too long.  I feel a little violated for
him, but he doesn't seem bothered.  He's doing a good job of being humble
and smoldering at the same time.  He meets her gaze steadily.  I'm
surprised he hasn't winked at her yet, to be honest.  Beyond him, Jonas is
keeping his eyes on the floor, but I think he's catching every single movement
in the room around him.  George is practically attached to his shoulder,
eyes wide and unseeing.  The women have not yet relieved us of our
weapons, which is good, because I'm pretty sure we're going to need them.

"A woman who travels with men defiles herself,"
Rossanna suddenly says, waving a hand.

I snort.  "They're guards," I say
haughtily.  "Useful, but nothing more.  They know their
place."

She considers me again.  But I already know she cannot
see through me. 

"You might be of use to me," she finally says, and
though she tries to make her voice sound disinterested, in truth I hear
uncertainty.  "I might enjoy a tale of travels if, indeed, you walk
in the light of righteousness."

"I would be honored to share my tales with you,
Lady."  Inwardly, I'm groaning, but I don't see a quick way out.

She nods.  "Perhaps you shall join me later
then."  She nods to the guards, who immediately begin moving toward
us.  "Let her be tested."

I bow my head appropriately before letting the guards take
me away. 

We're all herded out of the room, and down the
hallway.  The word tested is ringing in my mind.  I really do not
like the sound of it.  Perhaps we've partially passed already, or perhaps
the guards are just lazy, but for whatever reason we are fortunate enough that
half of them split off and take a side passage.  Jonas catches my eye, his
gaze intense.  We're going to have to fight our way out of this soon.

"Tell me, sister," I say to Chandre, who is
leading us, "what exactly does this test involve?"

"Many things," she says, then casts her eyes on me
and spits out, "sister."

"Such as?"

She sighs, then rattles off distantly, "The five points
of pain, the renewal of fire, the immersion of the spirit through water, and
the Goddess' blessing of your survival.  If you pass the entrance
requirements."

I squint at her as we walk.  "Which are?"

Her eyes dart to the side and look me up and down.  She
offers no answer.

Now it's my turn to sigh. "And you passed this test, I
presume."

"Of course I passed," she says.  "I was
only unconscious for three days."

"You must be extra-righteous," I mutter.

She glances at me, but says nothing.

We come around the rotunda and continue into the opposite
wing, until another corridor splits off.  A few of the guards try to herd
Jonas, Apollon, and George into the branching hallway.  They're not really
having it.

"Tell your men to behave," Chandre hisses at me in
irritation.

"I'd rather have them with me."

She gives me a withering look.

"They see to all my needs."

"We have servants that can tend to you."

"These already know my nuances," I insist. 
"I don't have to spell everything out for them."

She sighs again, but a small gesture of her hand beckons
them to follow.  We continue down the passageway.

They lead us down another hallway and into a room. 
This is apparently where I'll be staying while I'm a "guest"
here.  There's a bed, chairs, a dressing table, long curtains at the
windows.  Pretty much everything is pink, but a luxurious pink at
that.  The materials are soft and shiny, and sometimes sparkly.  It's
all a bit much.  There's a small room off the chamber in which a hammered
copper tub is the main focal point.  A bathroom with running water. 
I'm beginning to like this place a little.

"Have your servants bathe you, then let the guards know
you're ready," says Chandre, throwing open the doors of a footed cabinet
to reveal clean towels.  "Don't take too long.  Rossanna will
want to see you and she doesn't like to wait."  One of the other
women places a folded white pile of clothing on the end of the bed.