New World Rising (10 page)

Triven cleared his throat.

Resisting the urge to glare at him, I drew back and at a calculated interval snapped my arm forward at the elbow releasing the knife. The hollow thunk as it penetrated the wood was satisfying, but my aim was rusty. The handle quivered as the blade stuck in the left top corner. I had been aiming for the center.

Triven mirrored my stance and let his knife fly. It connected with the center of the board.

To my frustration he was suppressing a smile.

If this was a game, I was losing.

My next throw was more on mark, landing less than an inch from his. His next throw fell wide, barely hitting the post.

My turn to smile. Maybe that first throw was just lucky.

We didn’t speak as we practiced. Each time we finished a round Triven would collect the knives and we would start our silent challenge again. After realizing I wasn’t going to go on a killing spree, people began to continue with their own training.

It was eye-opening.

Every time Triven left to retrieve our weapons I watched them.

There were men and women alike, and to my surprise they were all skilled. I was particularly interested in the two men sparring. Hand-to-hand combat was something that had been nearly lost in the past century. An ancient art traded in for modern weapons. But both of these men moved with sinuous control. Their bodies were the only weapons they needed. When your body is your weapon, you don’t need to rely on guns for protection.

That’s the funny thing about guns; even untrained hands can feel powerful using them. But take that gun away and you’re left with nothing but a coward whose only skill is how to blindly pull a trigger.

But men like these— men trained to defend themselves, to defend others— take the gun from their hands and they could still kill you.

I knew how to move like they were and I had paid handsomely to do so.

Triven placed a knife in my hand. “Care to make this interesting?”

My eyebrows rose, “What did you have in mind?”

“Whoever gets closest to the center of the X gets the cot. Loser takes the bed.” He thrust his open hand to me offering a deal.

I glanced at the X he had carved into the post. This would be easy.

I took his deal, putting my hand in his. It was the first time we had ever touched. I was surprised how warm his rough hands were, how easily they fit over mine. I snatched my hand back, wiping my palm reflexively against my thigh.

I turned to the post, not to be out-done.

“Ladies first,” I reminded him. A smug smile crept to my lips. The tip of my blade was imbedded in the whittled surface less than an eighth of an inch from the center of the X.

I win.

I turned to Triven, my smile still lingering.

“Nice throw.” He nodded, impressed, turning his hazel eyes on me. “But you could work on your stance a bit.”

Without breaking eye contact, he whipped his arm forward. My eyes naturally followed the knife as it left his hand and the smile fell from my face. A small spark emitted as the tip of his blade grazed mine and rooted itself dead center of the X.

“I guess I will be taking the cot tonight.” He said, with a smile.

MY UNDERESTIMATION OF
Triven bothered me. My ability to assess people had kept me alive on the streets but with him I had been wrong. For six years, I could pick out a threat from a mile away. But Triven had gotten close. I had let him get close. And for some unknown reason, no buzzer in my brain went off. There was no warning of an imposing threat. Yet, clearly he was not just a sensitive bookworm.

His knife-throwing abilities had proven that. I waited for my intuition to whisper its warning, but still there was only silence.

A part of me hoped it was because he wasn’t a threat, and the other part of me told the first part to shut up, that I was growing soft.

We found Mouse at dinnertime. She was sitting with several other small children, pushing her food around her plate. It wasn’t until she saw me that her face lit up. Her quick smile warmed something in my heart. Launching herself from the table, Mouse ran to us. The impact as she crashed into me was surprising for how small she was. There were tears spilling down her cheeks as her frail arms wrapped around me.

“Hey,” I crouched and wiped them away with my sleeve. “I promised I would come back didn’t I?”

She nodded, her chin still quivering.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” There was no promise of staying here with her this time. I didn’t want to lie again. Not to her.

“How about you and I go get some dinner while Phoenix finds us a seat.” Triven offered Mouse his hand.

To my surprise she took it, letting him lead her toward the queuing people waiting for their food. Her doe eyes never stopped watching me, still worried I might bolt if given the chance.

I sighed.

What the hell had I gotten myself into? I was a renegade, a loner. I shouldn’t be caring for a child.

As my conscience roiled, I turned to find a table. There were benches and long tables strewn throughout the room. Groups gathered at each, sharing food and talking. Quite a few were staring at me. To my surprise not all gazes were hostile, several possibly even intrigued. But none were welcoming.

There were so many of them. More than I thought. A hundred, maybe more?

A hand waved in the back corner of the room. Arden motioned me to join him and the others at his table. The girl from the training room was there, her dark head turned intentionally away from me.

I wanted to ignore him. To flip him a rude gesture and retreat to Triven’s room, but I could feel Mouse’s eyes on me. So, instead, I wound through the packed tables to join him. When I sat across from him, something akin to shame tainted his features.

“I’m surprised you came over.” He smiled weakly. “I figured you of all people wouldn’t have taken my deception very well.”

“Perceptive of you.” My voice was cold.

“I’m sorry.” Arden was actually being sincere. “It’s not my favorite job here, but we needed to make sure you could be trusted. There are too many innocent lives here to risk a breach.”

His gaze shifted to the table of children and I thawed a little.

“I understand. I would have done the same thing in your shoes.” Surprisingly I meant the words as I said them.

Even within the walls of our shared prison, our comradery had been tainted with distrust. He
had
feigned his true identity, but had I not done the same thing? In another time, in another place, we would have been considered children, barely in our teens, but in our world, we both knew better. We weren’t children anymore. The cruel world we knew had robbed us of that innocence long ago. And looking at those children sitting at the table laughing as they innocently took comfort in each other, looking at Mouse as she clung to Triven’s hand, we both knew we would kill to keep them that way. To give them a chance at what we never had.

I understood Arden’s actions. It wasn’t even about forgiving him, rather it was about respecting him. And I did. Like me, he was a child of the streets. Raised in a Tribe bent on killing and yet here he had reformed and was now protecting others. Could I follow in those same footsteps or was I too broken? Too far gone?

Guilt tightened my chest as Mouse sat down next to me. Could I be good enough for her?

I COULDN’T SLEEP
that night. The bed was too soft and my thoughts were too loud. Mouse’s deep breathing told me she was sleeping soundly beneath me, but Triven was too quiet. His silence gave away his wakefulness, but he said nothing.

“You should have taken the bed.” I whispered. A low chuckle responded.

“You shouldn’t have underestimated me.”

I stared up into the black nothingness above me listening to him breathe.

“Why am I here, Triven?”

He was silent so long I wondered if he had fallen asleep.

“You have a right to be here just as much as any of us.”

That was not the answer I was looking for. “I mean why not let me die in the streets, why save me?”

“Does it really matter why you were saved?” He shifted in his cot.

“To me, it does. Nobody here helps anyone else without expecting something in return.”

“But you didn’t when you saved Mouse.”

My chest tightened. “That’s different.”

“No it’s not. There is still good in people. Sometimes it’s hard to see past all of the pain and cruelty, but there are still good people out there. I saw good in you.”

I rolled away from him not wanting to talk any more.

“I’m not so sure.” I muttered to the wall.

When I awoke it was with my usual stifled scream, my hand pressed hard to my mouth, my legs thrashing in the tangled sheets, my chest heaving with panicked breaths. It took me a minute to realize where I was, and that I was not alone. There was a faint light in the room now. In the murky cast, I could see Triven propped up on his cot with a book in hand and a concerned look on his face.

I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face. “Sorry.”

“Do you wake like that every morning?”

I turned my cold gaze upon him. “Do you ever sleep?”

He still looked sympathetic despite my coolness. “Rarely. The nightmares make it hard to sleep sometimes.”

I defrosted a little. Nightmares were a natural part of life in Tartarus. I kept my head pressed to my knees, unable to meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at his hands.

“Yes… I wake up that way every day. Every night I dream of my parents’ murders and every morning I choke on the screams of my past. I watch again and again as my parents shove me in a sewer drain to save me. I watch, trapped, as the Ravagers kill my father and rape my mother, before killing her too. I can still smell their blood, hear their screams echoing in my mind. I wake up every day knowing I was too weak to save them.”

I never told anyone that. I was not sure why I was telling him now.

“Mine are of my father. He burned to death in a fire started by the Ravagers. We should have all died in it but he saved us. I remember him shielding my body from the flames. The smell of his skin as the fire engulfed him. He threw me from a window to save me. The fall broke my arm but I survived. I watched him burn from the pavement below. His fiery silhouette is still seared on my retinas every time I close my eyes.”

When I finally looked up at him, it was his turn to look away. We were both damaged. No one escaped Tartarus unscathed. Mouse stirred beneath me and we both shifted our focus to her. Was she still unscathed? The way she whimpered in her sleep told me she wasn’t. Something had happened to her too, but her story was her own. I wasn’t sure she would ever be able to share it.

She whimpered again, her tiny hand trembling. I leaned down and squeezed her hand, reassuring her she was safe. She quieted almost instantly.

No. No one escapes Tartarus unscathed.

THE LARGE ROOM
felt over-crowded with so many bodies in it. There were not as many gathered as the day of my trial, but there were still too many to feel comfortable. Bodies jostled each other to gain better vantage points around the round table. I was the only one they did not bump into, a wide berth continuously given to me.

I stood behind Triven, who was seated in a chair directly across from Arstid’s icy eyes. Her face tightened every time she glanced our way.

It was easy to ascertain that those seated held higher rank. Theirs were the voices that were heard above others, their opinions weighed heavier. I recognized many of these faces as ones I had seen in the training room. The lean, one-armed Archer sat to the left of Arstid, her gaze nearly as cold. Arden was also seated at the table speaking in hushed tones to Veyron. To my disgust, Maddox was also seated at the table, the look in his black eyes hungry as they fell on me. I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat and ignored him.

Arstid’s hand raised, signaling for silence. “Where are we on the reconnaissance front?”

Archer was the first to speak. “The city is restless. Tribe violence is escalating and the Ravagers are at the heart of it. They have managed to get their hands on more weapons and based on the caliber, they are not acquiring them on their own. Someone is helping them. We fear your suspicions were right and that they are working with The Sanctuary.”

The room erupted into upheaval at this. There were only three of us who looked unfazed by this news— Triven, Arstid and myself. Her eyes locked on mine as she raised her hand again. Heads swiveled towards me, following her gaze, but she addressed the bald man to her right.

“Have we learned where the exchanges are happening?”

He shook his head. “We have suspicions about their ammunitions warehouse in the lower district. The area is heavily guarded and it seems the most logical place to hide a breach of the wall. We cannot get close on foot, but a team is scheduled to do surveillance from the rooftops at the end of the week. Archer has informed us there is still a building on the fifth block with a scalable drainage pipe—”

“I highly doubt that.” The words left my mouth without my full consent.

Archer’s glare turned on me. “Are you saying I’m a liar?”

I crossed my arms, returning her stare. “The beige building on the left side of Shaker Street. It’s been nearly what? Two months since you investigated that location?”

Her eyes narrowed, confirming my suspicions.

“There is no longer rooftop access there.” I smiled at her.

“And how would a pitiless little recluse like you know that?”

“Because I am the one who disabled it.” Every eye in the room was now on me.

It was one of the last things I had done before my capture. On a routine check of my accesses I had noticed a scrap of clothing snagged on a loose screw and knew someone had found my access point. I dismantled the pipe that same day.

Recognition sparked in the bald man’s eyes. “You’re the one who has cut off all roof access throughout the city.”

“Not all of it.” I shrugged with nonchalance, but knew I had found my golden ticket. No one knew the city’s skylines like I did and if they wanted access they were going to need me. The scowl on Arstid’s face proved it.

Murmurs began spreading through the room. Everyone was now looking at me with a newfound admiration, even Maddox. The only person stoically unchanged was Triven.

“I always assumed it was a man...”

“I thought it was the Ravagers trying to keep us grounded…”

“She must be lying…”

Apparently I had not been as invisible as I had thought. It seems my legend had preceded me.

Arstid spoke above the rumblings, her face reddening. “If you truly know where the accesses are, you are required to tell us—”

“I am not
required
to tell you anything,” I cut her off. There was a collective intake of breath around the room. “But as a sign of good faith I will lead your teams to the access points they seek.”

Arstid’s taut mouth opened, but it was Triven who spoke first. “I motion to second that proposition.”

Several people shouted “Aye” in response. It surprised me that Archer was one of them.

AFTER LEARNING OF
my knowledge, my presence was suddenly desired at every Subversive meeting. Triven and I were constantly relieved of our work duties, were called away from meals and still, I felt we were getting nowhere.

This meeting in particular, seemed to be lasting forever. The balls of my feet had begun to ache and tolerances had begun to wear thin. While half of the room wanted access to The Sanctuary, the other half sought to shut down Tartarus first.

"Take down the leaders and we take down the Tribes." The bald man— whose name I had learned was Willets— spoke as he rubbed his temple in irritation.

I shook my head, for what felt like the thousandth time. "That’s the problem with leaders, someone is always waiting to take their place. If we open up that door, the next generation will not be outdone by their predecessors. They're hungrier and their ambitions will prove more dangerous than anything we have witnessed so far."

“She’s right. Cutting off its limbs won’t kill the city. The Tribes are just pawns, we have to go for the heart. We have to stop The Sanctuary.” Arden shouted over the others.

“And we are just supposed to trust your words, that The Sanctuary is actually worse than the Tribes?” Maddox’s words rung out over the crowd, “None of us have ever seen what’s inside The Wall. How are we to trust you’re not lying to us?”

As much as I hated him, his words were valid. Even I couldn’t remember much from my days within The Wall, but the few memories I had were better than any I had outside of them.

Willets nodded in agreement. “The Sanctuary is supposed to be a utopia. It is supposed to be a safe place.”

I coughed out a sarcastic laugh. “Utopias are not real, human nature sees to that.”

Willets’ face reddened but several others nodded in agreement.

“But it still has to be better than this,” Willets motioned to Archer’s missing hand. “It has to be less evil than this.”

When Triven finally found his voice for the first time in our meeting, it was barely a whisper. But as he refused to shout, everyone else quieted to hear him. “There is no good or evil here, it all depends on what side you're standing. Nor is it about wrong or right, it's about surviving. And right now we are barely doing that. If we are wrong about The Sanctuary, then is that not the place you want to be? If we are moving toward The Sanctuary— be it to destroy it or join it— at least we are still moving in the right direction for both sides.”

There was a murmur of agreement. It amazed me how easily Triven could command the attention of the room. Not only could he command their rapt attention, but they were agreeing with him as well. This boy, maybe a few years older than myself, already showed the signs of being a natural leader. The most curious part was that he had no clue.

Archer spoke, showing her support. “We have never had the numbers, nor the resources to infiltrate The Sanctuary before now. I agree with Triven. Whatever your personal motives are— escaping this city or seeking revenge— our goal is to get into The Sanctuary.” She paused before looking at me. “And with our most recent addition, we may actually stand a chance at that goal.”

As everyone fell into agreement, the intensity of the meeting passed. People were finalizing plans for our expedition to the Ravagers’ warehouse, but I wasn’t listening anymore. After Archer spoke, I began to wonder what side I stood on. Did I want to escape back into the city I once called home or did I want revenge for my parents? Was there even revenge for me to seek there?

My forehead creased as I wished I could remember more from my life before their deaths, but there was nothing. Something must have driven my parents to leave, but what? For years I had trusted so blindly that they had left for a good reason, but as I grew older that was becoming harder and harder to believe. I had seen too many horrible things here to imagine worse. When I was ten, I never questioned my parents’ reasons or wondered what kind of people they were. To me, they were perfect—but look at the way Mouse looked at me now. Her innocent eyes saw nothing of the terrible, hardened person I knew I was inside. Her jaded perception, now made me question my own.

What if my parents weren’t the saints I had made them out to be? What if Arstid’s accusations were true and they had led all those people to slaughter?

I cursed myself for thinking it.

So was I escaping or avenging? Honestly, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I just wanted to see it all burn.