16th of Arrestre

The next two weeks were a long, confusing blur that I couldn't keep straight for the life of me.

I was questioned a few more times, but then the interrogations and the beatings stopped.

At some point, I developed a raging fever. I also quit eating the slop they left for me, which resulted in an intervention of sorts by the High General. I was dragged out, examined, medicated, and forced to swallow gruel.

Whatever they gave me, it brought me back from the edge, but that only meant that I was fully aware of the hours I spent staring at a wall in the dark. I slept a lot. They put something in the gruel to make me drowsy and compliant, but it only lasted a relatively short time. When I wasn't sleeping, I thought a lot. Mostly about why I would be left alive, while they made me watch as they executed Meera, the guard who had been posted to the High General's office, and a whole string of Illyrian prisoners. I thought about Karalli, too, and whether or not she might still be alive. I thought about why the General was so afraid of Arramy, and how he knew so much about him. I thought about how much the General had taken from me. How much the Coventry and their beliefs had hurt so many, tearing apart families, creating convenient divisions between those who had power and those who were powerless... And I thought about Arramy. It was difficult to tell myself he was gone when he was there with me all the time, memories of him haunting me as surely as if he were a ghost in that cell with me. It was foolish, clinging to him so much, but I didn't care. Somehow, he was protecting me. The pendant he had given me linked me to him, and more than anything else, I suspected that was the only reason I wasn't dead.

Occasionally, when my thoughts sank too low, I tried to work up the courage and the energy to give myself a permanent escape. That was the only power I had left, the only thing I could do to keep the general from using me. Taking a running start and braining myself on the wall was something I considered more than once. Starving myself would have been easy also. A few skipped meals, and I would have drifted right off. Planning didn't turn into action, though. I continued lying there in the corner. It turned out the spark of survival was not so easy to wipe out, no matter how dimly it glowed. When they shoved my ration of boiled grain through the grate at the bottom of the door, I always wound up creeping over there to fill my hollow stomach, no matter how disgusted I was with myself for doing what the high general wanted, or how much I hated the thick, dreamless nothing that always followed.

Then, after what could have been weeks or months of darkness and dirt, I woke to the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The footsteps weren't so strange. There was a guard who regularly patrolled in the hallway, my sole means of tracking time when I made the effort. What had me hinging myself up off the floor was the number of feet.

There was a rattle of keys, and the door squealed open. I shielded my eyes against the light of the mirrored lantern in the high general's hand, blinking from behind my knuckles as another, shorter man stepped into the cell ahead of him.

The other man was the same man who had come to the med hut to collect nearly-dead slaves. The same man I had seen on every wall in the Paradazh, right up there with the high general and the high councilor. High Minister Karronido peered at me through a set of wire-rimmed spectacles on a chain that disappeared into the breast pocket of his jacket. "Even parrots can be taught to speak," he said in High Altyran, continuing a conversation that must have been ongoing before they arrived. "Four languages? You are quite sure?"

"At least," the high general muttered. "I will warn you, it speaks High Altyran rather well."

"Intriguing. And this is the same subject that you brought in to translate for Rammage, correct?"

The high general simply nodded, looking less than enthusiastic.

"Well," the High Minister straightened and put his spectacles in his breast pocket. "It's in rough shape... But I would certainly like to add this specimen to my stable, if you're willing. I have several theories on the mental capacity of the lowborn that I would like to test." He turned to General Erkhaldt."Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Every ounce of research helps move us toward our goal."

The General pursed his lips. "Just... keep it in one piece this time, Yrigo. I may have other uses for it."

Both men walked out of the cell, then, their discussion moving on to the possibilities presented by the latest harvest of something or other.

I hunched up, shaking my head, croaking the word "no" from my scratchy throat, but the guards grabbed me anyway, pulling my weak, bony frame out of the corner.

They escorted me down the hallway, trailing after the High Minister, their faces as hard and unfeeling as the concrete they dragged me past. They always had been, these guards. I had long ago stopped looking for even a shred of humanity in their eyes. Instead, I made them do most of the lifting, barely shuffling my feet as they took me past the inquisition room and then on into the lift.

The Minister and the General fell silent as the lift rose from the depths of the Headquarters. They stopped it before it reached the parking yard level, and the doors accordioned apart to reveal the rail platform. The minister stepped out, leaving the high general behind, his boots clicking a sharp, echoin staccato as he headed for the sleek traveling compartment on the rail, the guards going along behind him like a train of large, muscular ducklings.

They put me on a padded bench seat by the window. Listless, I sat watching the tunnel fly by outside, mildly surprised when, instead of stopping at another underground platform, the engine hurtled out into a bright, sunlit morning.

It hurt.

All I could see was bright, unbearable white for several seconds.

Squinting through watering, cave-blind eyes, I kept watching, catching hazy, washed-out glimpses of a grassy bank dotted with wildflowers and small shrubby weeds. It was so normal, the grass growing where it always grows, the sky still blue overhead, pine trees standing calmly here and there. None of it had changed while I was down there in the dark, and that felt vaguely like an insult. But why would it change? A familiar, cruel voice whispered that I was too small to matter. I had risked everything, but it hadn't been enough. It would never be enough, because the Coventry was too big to be stopped by one small woman. I had been a fool.

Abruptly, the rail ran past the White Sector fence, a blur of corrugated metal and coiled wire blotting out my little piece of nature.

Then, almost as suddenly as it came, it was gone, and we were hissing to a stop at an elevated platform decked out with the Blue Sector flag, with its emblem of hand and wing.

I was taken from the padded bench and carried out onto the platform, then down a loading ramp and into a doorway built into the mountain. The ruined medical sector building had been razed, the wreckage of the low, hulking bunker now replaced by new walls of concrete reinforced with metal girding. They were rebuilding it with all the swiftness and efficiency of a colony of ants. Whatever had happened, they would overcome it, and they would only come back bigger and stronger.

The insides of the bunker had been ruined too, however, and the damage was still obvious in lower level I was brought into. The smell of burnt rocks lingered in the long, tunnel-like hallway that lay on the other side of the door they took me through, and the gas lamps flickered and sputtered as if there were a leak in the line somewhere. Shrouds of tarpaulin hung from the walls, canvas sheeting muffling the tramp of boots on the scorched stone slabs of the floor as the guards took me into the depths of the mountain again.

Dimly, I thought maybe I should be more frightened. After several maze-like turns and twists, Karronido and the guards pushed through a set of broad swinging doors and into a section that was obviously still fully functional. The stories the Red Sector slaves told of the girls who had been brought to the Blue Sector took on new life as I was dragged past cold, clinical, white-tiled rooms full of strange equipment. It was very clean, and very brightly lit, but all of it bore a marked resemblance to the rows of gleaming tools in the high general's inquisition chamber.

A sign on one wall said this was the Gestational Ward, and I got a look at a room full of small, cage-like beds. Children sat inside them. Quiet children, who watched me through the bars with dull, disinterested eyes.

High Minister Karronido turned through another double swinging door at the end of the hall, this one with a sign above it that read, "Theoretical Testing Wing".

I was carried through that doorway, down a short corridor, then into a room marked, "Decontamination."

I was placed under a bathing apparatus, and 'decontaminated' by a severe looking woman wearing a blue frock apron and a fearsome scowl.

She said nothing, and when she happened to meet my eyes, her gaze held only derision and the pinched-up spark of the permanently dissatisfied. In short order, I was stripped, scrubbed, deloused, then dressed in a blue jumpsuit.

No shackles or chains, although a padded collar was fixed around my neck, as if I were a dog. The collar had small metal points in it that aimed inward, grating over the skin of my throat.

After I was cleaned up, I was shoved into a small room lined with a dizzying array of panels that bristled with toggles and levers and tubes and lights and sonulator-like receivers.

High Minister Karronido was waiting for me there.

What followed quickly became a fog of mindless repetition. I was made to sit on a stool and say single syllables over and over into a recording machine. Recite poetry in Edonian. Read a shopping list in Tettian. Listen to and then repeat strings of words in several languages. If I didn't respond fast enough, I was punished with a strange, glowing device that Karronido held in his hand. As soon as the pointy end of the device touched the back of that spiky collar, a prickling jolt of energy raced through me, seizing my muscles and setting my nerve endings on fire.

His tasks weren't difficult, but I was so absolutely tired that eventually I couldn't stay awake long enough to answer anything, no matter how often Karronido jabbed at me with that horrid glowing device. In fact, the last one only sent me toppling headlong into a thick, inky well of welcome oblivion. Then there was nothing at all.

~~~

For what seemed the thousandth time — and, I supposed, could very well have been the thousandth time since I couldn't keep track anymore — I woke up in a cell.

This one was white.

And dry.

There was also a window, letting in a soft blue glow.

And apparently there was a mattress that wasn't on the floor.

That was nice, at least...

I took a breath. In. Out.

Turned my head to the left.

The other side of the cell was made of mirrored hexglass.

A small, bony, paper-pale ghost stared back at me, her eyes wreathed by purple smudges of exhaustion beneath a wild shock of dark hair. She looked a little like my mother, this ghost; an older version of me. There was a streak of silver in her hair, now. Right up front and a little to the left.

I frowned.

The ghost frowned.

I lifted my hand to my forehead, feathering out that flash of grey, and the ghost followed along with skeletal fingers.

I lowered my hand, grimacing as the cuff of my blue jumpsuit slipped over protruding wrist-bones.

It didn't matter what I looked like, but now I knew how small I really was.

A knock at the glass made me jump, my heart leaping into my throat.

"Miss Anderfield?"

My heart lurched to a halt. The ghost in the glass sat absolutely still, eyes wide as a dazed rabbit caught in a floodlight. That accent... even the timbre of the voice...

"Miss Anderfield, I have something for ya t'eat, if you're hungry."

A faint swishing sound broke the spell, my attention flying to the bottom of the glass wall as a metal tray came sliding through a gap that had magically appeared near the floor. A mug of something hot steamed on the tray, next to a thick slice of bread.

"I'll be back for the tray in a —"

"Arramy?" I gasped, lunging off the bed, crumpling to the ground by that gap, careless of the tray and the food as I tried to get my head low enough to see out.

A rather large pair of patched-over canvas slave shoes stepped to one side, and my lips parted on a ragged, breathless sob. Someone was actually out there.

"How... How do you know that name?" That achingly familiar brogue asked, moving now, dipping toward the gap too.

And then I was looking into a pair of eyes that were nearly the same shade of silver that haunted my dreams. Nearly. Just a little more blue-green than grey. They were almost the same shape, too, with the same well-defined eyelids and long lashes, but they were set in a younger, square-jawed, less angular face, beneath a pair of thick dark blond eyebrows. Whoever this was, he was barely my age, if that.

The jumble of emotions snarling through my chest quieted into dull-bladed acceptance in an instant. "I'm sorry," I whispered, pushing upright and sitting back on my heels, looking away from the gap. "I thought you were someone I knew."

The young man didn't move, staying down there by the floor, a sliver of his cheek and nose still visible. "Someone... " His voice took on an almost pleading note. "Please, Miss... My family name is Arramy. Who did' ya know? "

I regarded the gap for a moment. This might be a ploy by the high general to get information out of me. Send in someone who looked like Arramy, with an excruciatingly similar voice. I couldn't really make myself care what the general might be up to, anymore. He didn't seem to operate on such a subtle level, and I wasn't even sure I was awake. "What's your name, then?"

"Kenoa Arramy. I'm Kenoa Arramy... " He said, the repetition stronger, as if he had to remember how to say it. "D'ya know what happened t'my maer? Have ye seen her? Heard anything about her, maybe?"

"I haven't seen her," I rasped, my throat tightening. How was this even happening? My mind was stumbling to keep up, tripping over implications and memories from Vreis. "I ah... I knew a Captain Rathe Arramy."

"He's my brother," the man said quickly, excitement making his words jumble together. "He's my brother," he repeated, this time his voice thick with emotion. He choked out something in Roghuari, then asked, "How is he? When did ya last see him?"

I closed my eyes, my stomach knotting up. This must be a dream. Why else would I have to explain to Arramy's supposedly dead brother what had happened to their mother? Or Arramy, for that matter. I could barely accept what I had seen in that porthole myself. I took a breath. "It's been" months? A year? "... a while," I managed. "He... ah... was on the Isle of Phyrros last I saw him." I swallowed hard. "But he was well. Working at a dockyard."

Silence. Then a hand appeared, reaching through the gap, palm up and flat as if in greeting.

I hesitated. If this was a hallucination, it was extremely detailed... I placed my hand over his, then nearly wished I hadn't. A hallucination would have been pathetic, but easy to dismiss. Not this. I dragged in a breath at the solid weight of skin and bone, the heat and the rough rasp of calluses, the strength of his grip as his fingers closed around mine. He was real. And his hand was very like Arramy's, long and lean but strong and well-made.

"This may be awful of me, given the circumstances, but I'm glad ta meet ya," Kenoa gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.

I was holding hands with Arramy's dead brother. I wasn't sure if I should break down and start crying, or let the insane laughter building in my chest come spilling out. My face didn't know, either, a smile tugging my lips askew while tears began coursing from my eyes. The only thing I could think was that I'd give anything to see Arramy's reaction, which sent a shaft of pain through my chest worse than anything the high general or Karronido had ever been able to dish out. Reeling, I jerked free of Kenoa's grip, then instantly wanted to apologize because the pain was not his fault. Instead, I sat there, holding my hand to my chest as if I had burned myself, ribs heaving, while the silence between us grew suddenly awkward.

Kenoa let it out on an audible sigh, then moved, pulling his hand to his side of the glass. He didn't leave, though. There was an odd metallic shushing, like razorblades sliding along each other, and then the faded blue of a slave's jumpsuit appeared in the corner of the gap. He was sitting with his back against the wall.

I was being rude. I scrubbed at my leaking face with the fabric of my sleeve. "So what happened? How did you wind up here?" I asked the glass between us.

"I have no idea," he said. "Maer and I were eating dinner one night, and then we were arrested, accused of murder and sent to Wychending prison. There was no trial. Maer thought it had something ta do with Rathe, but they split us up before I could find out more. Then Karronido came and took my left arm... Gave me a shiny new one," he quipped, his brogue rolling bitterly, that metallic slish-slish-slish coming again. "Brought me here oh, nigh on a year ago, now. I've been grubbing around down here ever since, trying ta make myself useful so he doesn't decide ta turn the rest of me into one of his metal monsters... How about you?"

It was an exquisite kind of torture, listening to him, the longing of a thirsty desert teased by the shadow of clouds, but I found that I didn't want it to stop. I crept over to settle my back against the wall too. "It's a long story," I hedged. Suspicion was a difficult dragon to slay after so much time spent living with it, but eventually I settled for a safe truth, "I was taken by Coventry slavers. Then I stole something from High General Erkhaldt's office and got caught..." I narrowed my eyes, a thought occurring. "What is a karai-dan?"

"That's a Roghuari word. I wouldn't go flinging it about unless you want trouble," Kenoa said, his voice coming from closer to the gap, as if he were bending to be cautious. "They keep me around as a novelty, but don't mistake that for tolerance for the people of the Old Rebellion."

"Can you tell me what it is at least?"

A pause. Then, "It's a necklace that's handed down from one family leader to the next. Shaped like a shield, usually has the family crest on it... usually a bit ugly... Why?"

"What does it mean when a man gives one to a woman?" I asked, my breath catching as I waited for that Northlander accent again.

"A variety of things," Kenoa said slowly. "It's a... a seal, sort of. The word means guardian or promise. Vow might be close. Mostly, it means the lady in question has been given an important place in his family, and she has his protection... Operated a bit like a pledge. Ya know... 'Harm this woman and bring down all the wrath and vengeance of the Roghuari upon your worthless head.'"

I grinned at the flicker of dry humor, so like Arramy it made me wistful. Kenoa's voice wasn't as deep and raspy, though, and the longer we talked, the more I heard other differences. He had an easier way of talking, as if he were comfortable telling stories to entertain.

Then his words began sinking in... Oh.

"Did Rathe give ya his karai-dan, then? Is that why you're asking?" Kenoa murmured.

"Yes," I admitted, picking at the cuff of my jumpsuit leg. It was strange, saying that out loud to another human. No tall tales, no hiding anything, just a plain, simple, 'yes.' Apparently I had been important to Rathe Arramy. Something loosened in my chest, frigid tightness giving way a little.

Kenoa grunted. "Well it's about time. Maer had just about given up hope."

I hid a wince by looking at the far wall. How was I going to tell him? I couldn't tell him. "Well, High General Erkhaldt has it now... You aren't a spy for the general, are you?"

A snort. "Nai. I'd sooner cut off my other arm... Are you a spy?"

"I would also rather cut off my own arm."

That drew a low chuckle. Then, after a moment, "What are the odds that we would both be down here in this hole?"

Knowing what I did about the person we had in common, the odds were probably smaller than he thought. The question might be more, 'what did the general need us alive for?'

The scent of the food on the tray beside me began tugging at my senses, and my stomach suddenly rumbled.

I picked up the mug, taking an experimental sip. I knew better than to eat too quickly. It was much easier to keep things down if I went slowly. The contents of the mug turned out to be a thick, rich, brown broth with bits of root vegetables in it, much better than the gruel of boiled grain I was used to. It was probably drugged, but I had ceased being picky. Nothing happened right away, so I began dipping little pieces of the bread in the soup.

Kenoa waited a few more minutes, then got up. "I have to continue my rounds, but I'll be back. Alright?"

I hummed and kept eating, making myself chew each bite thoroughly before swallowing.

Quiet footsteps padded down the hallway a short distance, with a faint creaking moving along after, as if he were pulling a cart on wheels. Then, through the gap, I heard that Northlander brogue murmur, quietly, "Lex... Lex, ya have ta eat."

The familiar feeling of lightheadedness was beginning to take hold. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it did make it difficult to finish my soup when my hand couldn't quite bring it all the way to my mouth. My tongue was going numb. I stared at the bread, wondering vaguely if I could manage another bite before the drugs caught up with me..

Out in the hallway, a rather rich, velvety voice demanded:"Why?"

"Because I said so. Come on. Up." A click and a scrape, as if he had opened a door, then: "If I can do it, you can do it. Up." His voice took on the strained tones of someone lifting a heavy object. "While there's life there's hope."

That rich, velvety voice again: "Has anyone ever told you you're a mean person?"

For the second time, I lunged for the floor, although only partly on purpose. The floor was going to come up and hit me anyway, I just happened to twist myself on the way down so I landed with my face to the gap. Beside me, the mug clattered against the tiles, splattering soup all over my jumpsuit. I couldn't do anything about it. My arms were turning to lead bricks and my vision was swimming and blurring. Still, I managed to croak a surprised, "NaVarre?"