Memory lost, p.19
Memory Lost, page 19
part #1 of The Memory Trilogy Series
She crawled and felt her way to the door. Her hand knocked against what felt like a wooden bowl, and she grabbed it. She brought it close to her face and sniffed the contents. If she were right, it was a bowl of reconstituted scrambled eggs. The water bulb had to be near. Touching over the damp stone floor she found it. She grabbed her meager meal and returned to sit against the wall to eat and watch the general location of the door. They wouldn’t be winning A+ grades for quality and presentation, but they were feeding her. Another hopeful sign they didn’t intend to kill her, but the large painful bump on the top of her skull still smarted.
After she took the last bite of food, the bolt slid and the door swung open. She pulled on the goggles hanging from her neck. It was best if no fried eyeballs were on the menu today. Timoteo stood at the entrance, a menacing-looking club in hand, and a youth not fully into his teens, peeked around the angry man’s back—he must be her friend Pedro.
Timoteo pointed at her and said, “Get up, witch. No shenanigans or I will not hesitate to use this on you. I don’t care what the Mother says.”
She sighed aware that sudden moves would provoke him, and she slowly put down her bowl. Not knowing whether to be relieved she was being taken to meet their leader or to dread the results from the encounter, she raised her hands to comply with his order.
“Please put your arms forward. I need to secure them,” said Pedro, walking to her and standing at arm’s length holding a frayed hemp rope. To her surprise, the friendlier jailer was taller and huskier than she imagined him to be.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked, wincing as he tightly wove the rope over her hands. Finished, he tugged firmly to make sure her hands were secured. Satisfied with his work, he left the room. The rope was tight enough that it was affecting blood circulation to her hands, but she didn’t want to complain and give Timoteo the Angry an excuse to delay her being taken to the Head Mother.
Timoteo gestured for her to walk in front of him. Wye hesitated, afraid he was the kind of person who would relish hitting her when her back was turned. Pedro waited for them at the end of a well-lit hallway. She was grateful the goggles shielded her eyes from all the wondrous light. He gave the smallest of smiles as she approached, and he led her to their destination.
Wye gawked. Groups of busy-looking folks carried all kinds of packages to and fro. She wanted to drink in the new surroundings and the feeling of light on her skin. Some sort of opaque, patched-together, and not perfectly aligned material made up the walls and floor. It allowed light in but obscured the view out. Her hands itched to touch the wall, drawn to its warmth, but she was afraid that would irritate her anger-prone captor.
The goggles bathed her new world in a deep amber glow. A sensation she’d never experienced before, her skin felt truly warm for the first time in her entire life. She marveled at the feeling of sunlight. All those sessions in the sunbeam rooms paled when compared to this moment in the real sun, and she would now forever believe the sunbeam lamps were just another cruel Kingdom joke. Couldn’t she spend some time not moving and letting the light touch her all over? The tingle on her skin was glorious. It made her miss Cooper. Tears welled up in her eyes because she’d escaped Ravenrocks’s darkness to emerge trapped in the light.
Wye’s steps slowed. Alone in her closet room, she’d dreamed but never really believed she’d ever experience this moment. They passed an open panel high on the wall, and a breeze caressed her cheek. For that one instant she wanted to stand there and feel that forever. Her nose twitched at all the wonderful, unfamiliar smells. She yearned to learn all about the world that window promised. A world that until this moment had been unknowable. Her curls waved as another breeze came in, and the wind intensified, bringing a fresh scent accompanied by a distant rumble.
Up ahead, Pedro said, “Hurry, miss. Rain is coming.”
She stopped walking even though astonishment electrified the tips of her fingers. Was that what rain smelled like?
Timoteo poked her back with his club. “Keep moving, witch.”
A passing glance through the tall window didn’t let her see much, but were those vines on . . . was that a tree? A real tree? Outside?
All of what she was experiencing didn’t align with the stories the Kingdom had told its citizens through the centuries. Wye’s euphoria came to a complete dead halt, and her stomach flipped as her mind struggled to make sense of what was really going on.
Tatrax wasn’t a toxic wasteland outside. Could everything she thought she knew be a lie?
Pedro stopped in front of an old synthetic wood door and gently knocked. Much like the rest of the complex they’d walked through, the door had seen better days. Paint peeled in several places and dusted the floor. There was a muffled “come in,” and Pedro opened the door, gesturing for her to enter. The inside of her mouth could’ve been sandpaper, but her palms sweated as anxiety and fear brawled for control of her emotions. She whispered her thanks to him and stepped into a room permeated in a warm herbal scent. Something akin to a memory tickled at the deepest end of her mind but remained just outside her grasp. Her chest ached with an inexplicable longing tinged with a fleeting moment of recognition. There was something tugging at the edge of her memory. Her mind tried to catch it, and like a wisp of smoke it dissipated into nothing. The feeling flew away as if it had burst from her chest, leaving a gaping hole where her soul would be.
Were she a tree, her roots wouldn’t have allowed her to move farther into the Head Mother’s sanctum. Wye regarded the amber-tinged, faded red walls and the antique couch that at one point must have been regal. The furnishings matched the tall, elegant woman dressed in homespun garb, Rejuved to an inch of her life.
“Thank you for joining me.” Noticing Wye’s tied hands, the Head Mother’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Pedro, please remove her bindings.”
“But, Head Mother, Timoteo says she’s a—”
“Never mind what he says. Please do as I ask. The rope is unnecessary. This woman is our guest, and the rope looks tight enough her hands are probably numb. This isn’t how we treat our guests. Please wait outside while we talk.” She looked daggers at the angry man. “Timoteo, we’ll discuss later your out-of-control paranoia.”
Wye looked down at her feet and coughed to disguise the laugh that escaped her. She could stand there all day, because it was delightful listening to the Head Mother reprimand him. Laughing wouldn’t do, though, so she clamped her lips together.
Pedro pulled shears out of one of his cargo pants pockets and cut Wye’s bindings. Her hands immediately prickled as blood rushed to her fingers, and she tried rubbing the discomfort away. She was relieved to be free, but now he wouldn’t look at her before following his paranoid, superstitious abuser out. Her mirth withered at the thought of Timoteo escalating his abuse of Pedro to retaliate against her. She could imagine him doing so if he realized she was enjoying him being taken to task.
Her host invited Wye to sit down on the settee across from hers. She picked up a delicate porcelain teapot—it looked just like the set Elder Mason had ordered her to discard two years ago because it clashed with his new office decor—from a tarnished silver tray laid on the low center table between them. “May I offer you some freshly made nettle tea?” asked the Head Mother.
“Perhaps we do away with the niceties and you tell me why I’m your hostage?”
“Not so fast. Not so fast. You aren’t a hostage here,” the Head Mother said, her lips quirked into a gentle smile and her hands raised in a placating gesture.
“You’re kidding, right? Your people beat me and kept me in a filthy, stinking pen for two, three days,” replied Wye.
The Head Mother shook her head before letting her breath out. “I am truly sorry about that. Timoteo sometimes . . . gets carried away. He doesn’t always know how to behave with people that aren’t part of our community. I’m sincerely sorry they hurt you.”
The gentleness in the woman’s voice wasn’t reflected in her eyes, and not knowing the woman well enough, she couldn’t trust the words to be sincere. The more the woman talked, the more Wye’s uncertainty and anger grew. “You want me to accept your apology, but I don’t even know who you people are or why I’m here.”
The woman snorted and extended her hand to Wye. “Frances Iriarte. I am the shepherdess for this flock.”
Wye sized up the woman before clasping the cold, bronze hand—the obvious result of decades of Rejuve treatments.
“The community calls me Head Mother as I’m the last from the Sisters of Mercy. We founded this community.”
“Wait, like the Sisters at the Orfelinato?” asked Wye, astonished to meet someone from the rumored baby farm—where she came from. Everyone believed the nuns had died off, or they’d escaped topside, but no one knew for certain what had happened to them.
“The one and only,” the woman responded with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—this led her to believe the other woman was holding something back.
“Tea?” the woman asked once more, and Wye nodded, not wanting to be rude, especially since the Head Mother was, after all, answering her questions. She watched her pour her a steaming cup of the dark-green liquid and then pass it to her. Wye took the delicate thing in hand and enjoyed the pleasantly herbal scent.
“If you’re a Sister of Mercy, holding a hostage isn’t very merciful.”
“You aren’t a hostage. Don’t play the naive child with me. The men brought you to El Cielo because they inadvertently hurt you. Would you have preferred them leave you for dead in the tunnel?” her host asked before she sipped her tea.
Wye crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her gratitude at learning where she’d been taken—El Cielo—that puzzle piece connected to the scraggly and hungry-looking men in their simple robes messing around power stations and calling her a witch. How could she be so obtuse? These people were the Outsiders the Kingdom had warned citizens about for ages. Families threatened misbehaving children with sending them away to starve with the Outsiders. The earlier glimpse of trees and breezes didn’t strike her as real punishment, though. “No, I guess not. I’m kind of fond of living.”
“We don’t want to hold you against your will, but it’s my duty to protect our community from harm. You and I know the Kingdom doesn’t take kindly to strangers, right? Leopold and his retrograde ways. Trapping all those people underground for outdated reasons is beyond absurd,” said the Head Mother with a sniff.
Wye choked on her tea and coughed. After recovering and wiping the liquid trickling down her chin, she asked, “You know the Overlord?”
The Head Mother reached over and touched Wye’s arm gently. “Don’t be afraid, child. Leopold can’t harm you here.”
“I’m not too worried as long as I’m useful to him.”
A low scoff escaped the Head Mother when she closed her eyes. She seemed to be recalling a memory from long ago. A small, sad smile played on her lips when she reopened them and looked at Wye. “We were once wonderful friends, and back then he was already listening to all the vileness spewing from Mason’s mouth.”
This woman knew the Overlord, so of course she knew the Elder as well. “How is it you know the Patrician leaders and you’re out here?” asked Wye, gesturing to the view out the window.
The Head Mother leaned forward and put her teacup on the center table. “Please enjoy your tea. So many questions before you’ve even told me your name. What’s your name, dear? We couldn’t find a compusleeve when you arrived.”
Her lips formed a sad smile as her old Tunnel Academy training came back to her, and she almost responded with her name and rank but then she remembered she was never really a part of the Tunnel Corps. Even after all these years, that always made her breath hitch a little because she knew that was the time right before her life went all wrong. She needed to forget the past. She was a Patrician now, and she wasn’t sure of the proper level of information to be shared in this type of situation. “My name is Wye Botero.”
The Head Mother’s eyes lit up, and she clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, you are the woman Ramiro mentioned.”
Wye frowned. “You know everyone, don’t you?”
“I make it my business to know all I can about the Kingdom,” the Head Mother said with a smile. “I was a Sister of Mercy at the beginning of this whole mess, but I’m sure you never learned about our role in trying to prevent the Collapse. The truth about the order was swept under a rug in Mason’s office. He was always cunning with his lies to twist reality to what he wanted it to be. Our realities are unrecognizable in each other’s eyes,”
Not that Wye disagreed with what the Head Mother was saying, but she still felt defensive about the only home she’d ever been able to remember.
“The Supreme Great Leader in his mercy charged the Overlord with the safekeeping of the Kingdom and its citizens. The Overlord would not lie to the citizens.”
The Head Mother leaned forward, put her arms on her thighs, and tilted her head. “Tell me, what have they told you about the Collapse? The reason the world ended?”
“The enemy of the Kingdom, Global Eternal, attacked what was . . . bizarre how I’m drawing a complete blank. Global Eternal launched a catastrophic attack with environmental bombs. The devastation from these environmental weapons caused the death of nine hundred million people worldwide. The Supreme Great Leader in his infinite mercy took us all in during our time of need, and the Kingdom, like a phoenix, was born out of the ashes of the world,” Wye recited like a parrot and immediately looked away to try to hide the heat of shame and embarrassment her Kingdom-conditioned response fired up in her cheeks.
“Bah, it’s no use. You can only spout the garbage Mason talks about in his sermons,” the Head Mother said in disgust.
Wye resented the Head Mother’s response. She knew everything Elder Mason said was a lie. She’d witnessed firsthand his lack of interest in the plight of the most disadvantage people in the Kingdom, his quick condemnation of Drones to the recyclers over the most minor of infractions. All done in the service of protecting the tight circle of Patrician families. His actions were unfair, but there was no one to call Mason on his inhumane behavior. No one dared to cross the Elder for fear of being recycled.
“Fine, tell me the truth then.”
The Head Mother leaned back on the couch. “I’ll be honest. Based on what you just told me, I think you’re not ready to process this information.”
“Oh, that’s complete crap,” blurted Wye, and she covered her mouth in disbelief. Had she mouthed off to the woman holding her life in her hands?
At this the Head Mother laughed deeply, her whole body shaking. Slapping her thigh, she said, “Oh, so there is a human brain capable of critical thought under all that regurgitated garbage. I like this side of you much better. Looks like we’ll be friends and tell each other the truth. You might as well call me Frances.”
Wye’s body relaxed a fraction, and she would’ve slid off her seat if her old academy training didn’t steel her spine. It was a relief this conversation was proceeding fairly well, and she gave a slight nod to acknowledge the Head Mother’s request to use her first name. But she was a little tired and wanted all their cards to be on the table.
“I can’t help that Mason feeds me only lies and that I’ve been essentially hostage to either the Kingdom or now you. What is the truth, Frances?”
“Well, the Tatrax nation-states that preceeded your precious Kingdom caused the Collapse. The world died because of us. The actions of your leaders made this world what it is,” said Frances in a somber tone.
This had to be a lie. But why would the Head Mother lie?
“I will provide proof, Wye.”
There were small explosions in Wye’s brain that left her unsure of whether she was suffering an aneurysm. Her eyesight blurred, and her control slowly slipped away. Yes, she was sure her brain was exploding and liquefying inside her skull. Wye’s teacup dropped on the priceless tea set, shattering it. Time slowed, and the racket of the breaking china reverberated inside her mind as her understanding of reality and life shifted. Wye’s perception rippled as if Frances had dropped a pebble in a pond. The walls that protected her mind shook and crumbled.
One sentence from Frances had blown her entire existence apart, and so her brain did the natural thing to protect her, and she fainted.
Oh, this darkness feels kind of nice. This warm darkness here is good. Can I stay here? Forever? But what about Cooper? He is warm and nice, too, but something’s scratchy against my cheek. Ugh, what’s that smell?
When she came to, her vision filled with ragged shoes milling about her. Well, stinky shoes were most definitely not nice or warm. What in the seven hells . . . Wye gasped and sat up, and she immediately regretted the sudden move.
“Take your time, Wye. You fainted,” the Head Mother said.
Wye slowly stood up and saw the destroyed tea set, and everything that Frances told her flooded back to her. “I’m so sorry. Now would be an excellent time for the Supreme Great Leader to strike me dead. That looks expensive.” Wye felt a cold panic take hold of her, because she knew the recycler waited for her for the destruction of someone else’s property. Her chest tightened as if hemp rope were constricting around her body.
Frances put her hand on Wye’s arm. “Hush. It’s okay. It’s just a material possession, nothing more.” Gently touching Wye’s cheek and exuding calm, the Head Mother looked into her eyes. “Breathe. You’re having a panic attack. Let’s head that off now, shall we? Breathe in and out slowly.” She murmured to Wye in a soothing tone.
After a few minutes of Wye concentrating on her breathing, her panicked feelings were replaced by embarrassed heat climbing in her cheeks. She took a final deep breath and let it out ever so slowly, then smiled. “Thank you.”
“There you go. Much better?”
Wye nodded. Her mind cleared enough to recognize that Pedro and Timoteo stood by the door. Pedro looked worried, and his companion looked like she had killed his puppy.
