Shattered Exile

EIGHT Promise-1

EIGHT

Promise

He woke suddenly, startling himself. The weak light of a new dawn encroached into the living space of hab unit one-seven-one, rendering it in full colour for the first time since his initial infiltration. The large space was as he had imagined; minimalistic, polished and above all, expensive. Even the high-backed chair – in which he was now slumped – looked costly, with its silver frame and black suede upholstery. The room itself was well kept, with no visible marks or signs of dust; the space appeared barely lived in, causing him to wonder if Mr L. Cameron contracted in outside help to assist with its upkeep. He made a mental note to apprise Trix; after coming so far, the last thing either of them needed was the added complication of an unsuspecting cleaning contractor exposing their dirty secret.

Working his way around the metropolis, whilst skilfully avoiding detection, had taken its toll on his body; he felt weary, and his limbs ached. Loath to move from the comfortable chair, he turned his head towards the large metal avant-garde table, stationed in the centre of the room. Upon its highly polished surface was the pack that he had wrestled from the blood chocked Peacekeeper earlier that morning. He stared vacantly at the black container, wondering if the trouble incurred whilst obtaining it, had in fact been worthwhile. Willing his tired body into motion, he approached the ostentatious table. He opened the pack inattentively, turning it upside-down to empty it and scattering its contents across the table’s polished metal surface. He scanned the items for anything of note – medkit, light, restraints, ammunition – and there it was, the reason for his recent troubles: a single large ominous black sack. He grabbed the body bag and walked back down the corridor to the master bedroom. The holographic access panel was still active, suggesting that Trix was still in the system, poking around for his prize. Ignoring the tech, he cast his gaze towards the floor and the body of the hab’s lifeless owner. The pool of dark red liquid on the floor had ceased expanding, and the cadaver itself had already changed colour with the conclusion of pallor mortis. It would not be long before rigor followed, so he needed to act quickly, before the grim task ahead of him became that much harder. He knelt down beside the pallid body, and carefully unrolled the sack ready to receive its occupant. Seeing the body bag laid out before him brought back painful memories of his kin disappearing into the black void of other such sacks, never to be seen again – within the metropolis at least. Ironically, the situation was now reversed, yet the thought of stuffing any human, dead or alive, into one of the ominous bags sickened him.

‘Callum, are you there?’ Trix suddenly blurted out, through the antiquated communications device still attached to his ear.

‘Yes, what is it.’

‘I checked the logs. You’ve been busy, so it seems. Why did you leave the building?’

‘You asked me to get rid of the body.’

‘I did, but not to leave the building.’

‘Then, next time, I suggest that you be more specific.’ he said, knowing in fact that there would never be a next time.

‘Why did you leave?’

‘I needed something.’

‘Are you deliberately being evasive?’ replied Trix tersely.

‘Like you?’

‘You’re acting childish.’

‘You used me!’

‘Irrelevant – we’ve talked about this. What we are doing benefits both of us.’

‘You forced me to murder him!’ he said angrily, unable to mask his emotions.

‘Do I have to remind you that he made the Rout possible? He facilitated the forced relocation of the Shadow Class – our kind Callum! Besides, we needed his access – he would not have given it to us willingly.’

‘We didn’t give him the choice.’

‘What choice did he give us, when they rounded up the Shadow Class like animals, before shipping them off?’

‘That doesn’t make it right.’

‘Callum, the world isn’t right – deal with it.’

He chose not to reply, which caused a temporary lull in their conversation. Despite the mediocre reception of their communications, plagued by random white noise, he could still hear the morally grey software engineer’s heavy breathing through his earpiece; Trix had an answer for everything, except for silence, it seemed.

‘What was the thing you needed?’ asked Trix suddenly, intentionally breaking their awkward silence.

‘I required one of their black sacks.’

‘You stole a body bag from the Peacekeepers?!’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you insane?’

‘That’s not it.’

‘Then what is?’

‘I’m not convinced that I give a s**t anymore – I feel numb.’

‘Obviously I underestimated the effect this would have on you, but for both our sakes, you need to get a handle on the situation. We’re in too deep now – we need to see this through. You and I can part ways after, if that’s what you want.’

‘What I want is to not have to bag up the dead elderly gentleman in front of me.’

‘Then you’re in luck.’ replied Trix confidently.

‘What?’

‘Technically, Mr L. Cameron is not dead. I have re-engineered his bio-key to relay healthy vitals. In a sense, he’s alive – so far as the authorities are concerned at least. Plus, I do not consider someone responsible for tracking down our kin to be a gentleman, as you put it.’

‘Screw you Trix!’

‘You’re welcome.’ replied Trix sarcastically. ‘I have left some instructions on how to provision Project Phoenix; you may find the data objects useful. I have copied them – along with the instructions – to Mr L. Cameron’s own…how did you put it…sandbox? You will find some other interesting data objects in there too. I suggest you spend the day familiarising yourself with them – that is, after you’re done with the old man’s body.’

‘Saying goodbye already?’

‘I made you a promise; these tools will help you gain access to the Infonet. In addition, I have located the tracking software. Typical programmer – as I predicted, he copied the source code to his private sandbox. Once I have reverse engineered it, we will be free to come and go as we please, using our new identities.’

‘You’re suggesting that I should acquire more bio-keys?’

‘If you want to live in the metropolis, you’ll come around to the idea.’

‘You’re sick!’

‘Irrelevant. Anyway, come nightfall you will need to get back to the Wild. But in the meantime, don’t you have a body to be getting rid of?’

She felt different now; her soul no longer ached with the burden of her past. Having previously sensed the change – immediately after expelling the darkness inside her – it was only now that she began to understand the consequences of the impressions gained from sharing Alarielle’s history and perspective. Aside from waking unassisted from her latest nightmare – for the first time since her arrival in Freylar – she felt properly rested. Alarielle’s own experiences had somehow desensitised her to death, killing and other such dark acts. The result of this left her feeling at ease, as though her mind had since reconciled the grim events of her past. Lying quietly in her bed, enjoying the feeling of acceptance, she stared curiously at Kirika, who lay sleeping beside her. Due to the lack of space in Nathaniel’s tree, she had offered both Kirika and Darlia her bed for the night. Kirika had gladly accepted the offer. Darlia, on the other hand, respectfully declined, choosing instead to make do with one of Nathaniel’s rocking chairs. Vorian agreed to keep the exiled scrier company for the night, leaving Lothnar, who favoured the hard wooden floor of Nathaniel’s room, alongside Krisis. As she continued to watch Kirika silently, sleeping peacefully beside her, conflicting thoughts occupied her mind. Kirika was an attractive Freylarkin – there was no denying the fact – yet her body was different now. In the past, her physical and emotional reaction to the close proximity of a beautiful woman had been predictable. However, since her arrival in Freylar, everything had changed. Now she felt lost and confused, no longer certain of her personal desires. Her mind turned to thoughts of the Ardent Gate, and her time spent with Heldran, whiling away the cold nights within the heart of the knights’ stronghold. She had greatly enjoyed the Knight Lord’s company, and missed their late evening soirées. Having seemingly reconciled one set of emotions, she now faced the challenges of dealing with others.

‘If you wish, I can help you with that.’

Alarielle’s impromptu offer caught her off guard, sending her mind spinning. She quickly slid out of the bed, careful not to wake Kirika, and proceeded to get dressed. After sitting down at her dresser, she stared vacantly into its mirror, whilst fixing her hair, distracted by Alarielle’s intriguing proposition.

‘I’m not ready to take that step – not yet at least.’ she finally whispered in response.

‘The cycle will come when you fully accept who you are, and when it does, remember that you need only ask.’

She nodded towards the dresser mirror and set down her hairbrush, before proceeding quietly downstairs.

Unsurprisingly, Nathaniel was already awake; he was speaking earnestly with both Vorian and Darlia. Lothnar was nowhere to be seen, suggesting that the Paladin either remained asleep upstairs or – more likely – had already left.

‘You slept unusually well.’ said Nathaniel.

‘I certainly did. Perhaps expelling the invading darkness inside of me also exorcised some of my own.’

Nathaniel gave her a curious look – she could tell immediately that her attempt at misdirection had failed to convince him. Regardless, now was not the time to attempt to articulate Alarielle’s new-found ability to leave lasting impressions on her mind. It had been several cycles since her return to the vale; she was duty-bound to report to The Blade Lord to be debriefed about her time spent with the Knights Thranis, and – more importantly – she had a promise to keep.

‘Perhaps indeed,’ said Nathaniel, flashing one of his wry grins, ‘And most fortunate, given your imminent duel with Lothnar. Will you be spending the cycle training in the arena?’

‘No, I need to report to Marcus, plus there is the matter of The Vengeful Tears to resolve.’ she replied. ‘Besides, if I am not ready by now, one more cycle spent training will be of little consequence.’

‘Actually, I was going to suggest that you refrain from training this cycle; better to allow Lothnar to discover the fruits of your efforts during the Trials – not before.’

‘They should have nicknamed you “Fox” instead.’ she said, with a grin of her own.

Darlia looked confused by her choice of words; it seemed that Kirika’s sister was not yet aware of her former life. Vorian, however, appeared entirely unfazed – such was his habitual demeanour.

‘Perhaps you can explain my past to our guests during my absence?’

‘By the time I am done with all that, you will be home for dinner no doubt.’

She laughed at his dry response – a positive sign that Nathaniel was in good spirits, despite the recent turmoil and the uncertainty of events to come.

‘No doubt. Please give my regards to Kirika, and I will see the rest of you later this cycle, after I have dealt with some loose ends.’ she said, nodding politely to Vorian and Darlia, before grabbing some food for her journey to the Tri-Spires.

It was mid-morning by the time she reached the foot of the southern slope, on the opposite side of the river, leading towards the arena at the base of the Tri-Spires. She decided to visit the arena first, presuming that The Vengeful Tears would be busy training alongside the other Blade Novices. Walking casually through the west gate, she was greeted by her fellow Blades, many of whom offered her a respectful nod as she made her way towards the centre of the arena. The Vengeful Tears were seemingly absent, although she quickly spied The Blade Lord, who sat high up in the tiered stone seating, overlooking the arena floor. Ragnar was also present – the Captain of The Blades was busy presiding over several enthusiastic Blade Adepts, sparring tirelessly before him, over by the east gate. Despite the close attention he paid the Adepts, Ragnar noticed her impromptu arrival and offered her a respectful nod of his own. She returned the gesture, before ascending the stone steps towards Marcus, near the back of the arena.

‘I was beginning to wonder if you were deliberately avoiding me?’

‘What do you mean?’ she replied, before sitting down next to The Blade Lord.

‘You were sighted north of the vale, a few cycles ago, yet only now do you return to the Order – is it something I said?’ explained Marcus, followed by a warm smile.

‘I needed some time alone to clear my head – the cycles have been rather eventful since my arrival.’

The Blade Lord regarded her silently, with an expectant look about him. She suspected that Marcus sought more detail, and that he had assumed that she would elaborate further – which she did not.