Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) (4 page)

My eyes lock with hers. I don’t need to lower my wall to know she hopes I say yes. Against my better judgment, which I quickly convince myself has been momentarily impaired by the confining space and my desperation to get out of here, I nod. "Where do you want to go?"

A flashing smile lights up on her face. “Does it matter?”

She lets go of my arm and begins to make her way toward the street, leaving me stunned at the longing burning in my chest. I follow with shaky legs. The weight of my wall increases a thousand fold and for a split moment I just want to let it crumble. I force my feet to keep moving, making sure no one notices the disconcerting conflict taking place inside my mind.

Thirteen stops to look down a particular alley, but I can’t see her face. I somehow manage to convince myself that I have sufficient grasp on my ability to lower the wall just enough to taste her sense of sight. One of the glass structures flickers into my mind, coiling up and around itself like a mountain of snakes. I can feel wonder hiding just beneath the surface of her sense, but I do not wish to linger on the feeling, so I ignore it. Her attention turns to the red sunset behind the building, and the emotions intensify faster than I can retreat. Sadness. Heartache. Anger. Hopelessness. I try to recoil from her despair as the potency of her confinement wraps around me with acute detail. My fists clench, unable to contain the wretched desperation coursing through me. I know this isn’t me. It’s her.

I hesitate, knowing what I am about to do, but her pain is now mine, it has taken hold of me, I can’t just ignore it. I don’t want to. My wall plummets to the ground as I force myself to suffer through her emotions, guiding my ability deeper into her distress. My throat contracts as I try to hold back the tears collecting inside my eyes, and even though my instinct fights against my will, endeavoring to raise the wall and coercing me to stop, I don’t. Instead, I dive deeper, pouring the entirety of my being into her. The darkness inside her consumes me, piercing every inch of my mind, and I don’t fight it. I enfold it, taking it in as my own, and slowly pull it out.

Thirteen turns around, bewildered. “What are you doing?” I can’t speak. Extracting her sense of pain and leaving every other sense intact, while maintaining control of my own emotions leaves me no room for interaction. Thirteen steps closer. “How are you doing this?”

I can feel her sense slipping away, receding back into her mind, and I let it go, knowing it would be too difficult to hold as other emotions take over. My voice cracks as I make my confession. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Could you feel that?”

“It’s the only way I can extract it.”

“I didn’t know you could take it away, though.”

“Pain is a sense, just like sight, or touch. You know I can extract senses, as much or as little as I want to.”

Thirteen takes another step and whispers, “Don’t ever do that again.” I frown confused. “I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.”

“How can you say that? Who would purposefully go through life feeling so wretched all the time?” I hadn’t meant to sound reproachful, but the words were out before I could stop them.

“Emotions are part of my nature. They shape my character. They give meaning to my actions.” I am about to refute, but Thirteen reaches out to place her hand on my arm. “My pain is my own burden to carry. My own darkness to overcome.” I don’t agree with her, but I nod nonetheless. “Besides,” she adds, “it isn’t that bad. I just think you aren’t used to feeling anything.”

I grunt, upset at her remark. “I feel plenty, believe me.”

“Do you, now?”

My chest contracts and expands in uneven breaths. “Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” I chastise myself as the uncontrolled shakiness seizes my entire body. I look at my fingers afraid of what I will see, but they look steady, unaffected by the rampant tempest raging through them.

Thirteen regards me with a curious expression. “I suppose.”

The wind picks up, blowing a strand of Thirteen’s hair across her forehead. I reach out before anyone can see and tuck it behind her ear. An unfamiliar feeling tugs at my stomach as I let my fingers caress her temple. It grasps my lungs, my bones, my heart. My thoughts shake out of control, feeling caged, restricted. The city itself has never felt so heavy around me.

I can’t believe what I am about to do. Against Markram regulations I take Thirteen’s hand and dart down the street toward the transportation shuttles. “Come on. I know something we can do that will lift your mood.”

The glass terminal doming over the transport shuttles comes into view, igniting a thrill of exhilaration. I guide Thirteen through the platform, stopping in front of one of the egg-shaped transports. The glass sphere lights up, hissing open as an invitation to come aboard. I step forward and beckon to Thirteen. She follows tentatively, then takes one of the seats on the circular bench. She is startled as the white bench sinks, accommodating her body and wrapping around the sides of her legs and torso. I watch as two security belts unfold across her chest, and smile at her bewilderment after the shuttle’s computer asks for directions.

I clear my throat before speaking, knowing I have never used my native language in front of her. “Take us to the west gates, pointer one-eight-zero.”

Thirteen’s eyes flash to mine. I feel her curiosity burning through me, and I realize I have completely forgotten to raise my wall after experiencing her pain. My lips tremble into a weak smile. I like it.

We pass a shuttle to our right and Thirteen’s heartbeat accelerates. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

A rasping sound escapes my lungs, catching in my throat. I open my mouth to let it escape, amazed at myself. I don’t remember the last time I laughed. Thirteen laughs, too. The sound rings inside my ears, igniting my chest with a strange warming sensation. “There are three shuttle tracks, one for full speed, one for slowing down, and one for stopping. All shuttles travel at the same speed, only changing lanes when they need to slow down, and again to stop at their destination.”

As if to confirm my statement, our transport moves one track over, lowering its speed significantly. We pass several transports in the resting lane before crossing over to a stop. The belts and bench release as the doors hiss open. I step out and motion for Thirteen to follow me. “This way.”

I lead Thirteen through the darkening alleys, away from the main transportation hub and toward the city wall. The shadow of the white fortification enclosing the city conceals us and I feel Thirteen’s excitement at the sight of the west gates. The faceted glass gates sparkle in spite of the thickening fog. I pull Thirteen into the dark crevice of a building and prepare to relax my mind. My eyes close, enabling my ability to lower my mental barrier to everyone else around me. Like a breaking dam, every sense of every living thing in my immediate surroundings gushes into my mind, engulfing my thoughts and pouring the intensity of each feeling into my body. I concentrate on mapping the location of every source, grinning as the image takes form inside my head.

I release all of the senses, including Thirteen’s, and raise my wall, leaving my mind completely devoid of emotion. The lack of sensations gradually cools my chest, creating a freezing void almost too vast to measure. “Let’s go.”

I make my way toward the gate, using my mental map as a guide. Every sense I extract helps me deduce the physical location of every person in and around the gates. I don’t know what extrasensory abilities the guards have, but I don’t even have time to hesitate. Their location could change any second. I feel Thirteen’s fingers interlace with mine and her touch chips away at my wall, warming my chest and letting her in. Her worry becomes my own and I embrace it. Tightening my grip around her fingers I sprint forward, striding around the guards. I manage to dodge their glances and step through the lower doors unnoticed. The skittish lump in my throat recedes as I relax against the outside wall.

Thirteen releases my fingers and begins to walk forward, baffled by the sight in front of her. I watch the lush outline of the forest enfold her silhouette, wrapping its shadowy fingers around her. The fog condenses even more, as if it were aware of our need for concealment. I push against the white wall and follow her into the night.

Every crunching step beckons me closer, setting aflame my need to know everything she feels. I let her presence crush any barrier left in my mind and her senses dig deep into my core, folding inside me like feather-soft ribbons. The warmth beneath her senses wraps my mind, allowing me to feel the caress of the leaves under my fingertips as if I was the one touching the trees. The deep inhale of her lungs fills mine, tingling my nose with the cool mist of the haze surrounding us. I can feel a profound sadness coating her emotions, striving to find solace in something lost long ago.

“Do you know where we are?” she asks.

By now all human ruins have been absorbed into the outlines of new cities. Markram cities. Even if I knew the names of the human cities that existed here before our arrival, I doubt it would make any difference. “No.”

Thirteen’s anger seizes me, burning through my chest and expanding outwards into my limbs. “Are there any rebel survivors left?” Her question surprises me, and though I open my mouth to answer, no sound comes out. She turns around, retracing her steps. “Well, are there?”

The memory of the green piece of fabric resting undisturbed inside my pocket flashes through my mind, reminding me of my responsibilities as unit leader. I begin to pull away from Thirteen in spite of my own desire to remain connected to her, gripping each mental block and stacking it around my mind. Her warmth withdraws, numbed by the cold barrier growing taller inside of me.

“Why?” I ask. Thirteen looks away, clenching her fists in annoyance at my evasiveness. I take her wrist and tug, hard enough to make her return her attention to me. “Is there anyone in particular you are interested in?”

Her green eyes dart in my direction, flaring up in fury at my words. “You know something, don’t you?”

“I don’t. But you do, so tell me, is there anyone in particular?

Thirteen yanks out of my grip. “What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me.”

“What does it matter anyway, it’s not like I will ever see her again.”

Her.
My mind freezes. “Who?”

Thirteen’s chin quivers. “My sister.”

I swallow, feeling a lump of guilt and hopelessness travel down my throat. I have no doubt Eleven knows about this, he might even be searching for her at this very moment. “We should head back.”

“What? We just got out.” She takes a few steps back. Her hesitation unsteadies me, and I know what she will do before it happens.

I grunt, clenching my jaw in irritation as Thirteen sprints away. I let her senses seep through the crevices of my wall, knowing I wouldn’t be able to follow her otherwise. The heat of her emotions begins to melt my defenses and I scold myself for letting her take so much power away from me. Years of self-discipline wiped out in a few hours. I let my own anger chill over the warmth coming from her, growing colder and even more resentful, and helping me keep some sort of control over the crumbling barrier.

I walk after Thirteen, surprised at her progress in spite of the darkness. Her senses lead me deeper into the forest, where every living creature muddles her distinct essence. I slow my pace and retreat most of my ability from her, discerning her distance and need for space. Not long afterwards though, I find her perched at the edge of a creek, her dark silhouette casting a shadow over the waterfall behind her.

“Do you have a family?” she asks as I approach.

I pause, letting my trained mind take over. “The army is my family.”

“I meant do you have parents, siblings, that sort of family.” Thirteen looks up and the longing in her expression breaks through my charade.

I let out a low groan, rebuking myself for yielding. “I am not sure.”

“How can you not be sure?”

A part of me wants to open to her and let her in again, but I fortify my mental barrier, isolating my emotions and retreating deeper into my core. I can’t allow her feelings to exacerbate my own pain. I swallow hard before answering. “I was drafted into the army at a young age.”