Authors: Chris Michaels,Reema Farra
Bound (3 page)
She nodded.
“Your surname is Blue. A Taker of the Dead?”
Another nod.
“My superiors,” he continued, “think you are an assassin. One of Slake Diamond’s agents ordered to assassinate General Everett.”
Her body went rigid. Everett? Jason wasn’t a general . . . but his father was. Of course Jason’s dad would be at his son’s funeral.
The Captain bent closer. “The Family operatives are not captured so easily, and you were nowhere near the General. You were at the casket.”
Hannah stared at the floor. Could she defend herself? Tell the truth? What would she say?
I loved Jason and he loved me. I just had to know, had to see–
The Captain’s sandpaper hand grabbed her chin. “Somewhat pretty.” He tilted her head this way and that and studied her, speaking mostly to himself. “Obviously intelligent. Is that what Jason saw in you?”
Her eyes locked into his gaze. An icy chill slithered down her spine.
“I see,” whispered the Captain. “A slave and a noble. And not
any
noble – an Everett. Must be seduction.” He released her. “In light of your current status as a slave, it is within my power to render judgment in your case. You are guilty. If not of this crime, then one worse.”
He straightened. “I sentence you to hang at sunup tomorrow.”
The next day burned bright. The scent of sweet bread drifted in the air.
Hannah’s stomach churned.
She’d tasted sweet bread once, when Jason had smuggled the two of them into the mess tent. Hannah had eaten greedily, but she’d saved a few pieces. The little slave kids would be hungry and it wouldn’t be fair for only her stomach to be silent that night.
Her mind replayed the rest of that night. The first night he’d said he loved her. That he promised forever. That was the first night he’d made her feel beautiful, made her feel alive.
The faintest smile crept onto her face.
A bayonet pressed into her back, snapping her out of the memory.
Bitter tears crawled into her eyes, bringing loneliness with them. Jason was gone. He would never hold her again. She reached to the beaded necklace around her neck. Felt the dried, yellow flower pedals spun into its twine. At least the soldiers hadn’t thought to take that.
A soldier forced her into the last sunlight she would ever feel. He escorted her around an enormous black-stoned castle. Inside that castle was her Hall of Kings – the secret place she’d always escaped to.
Never again.
She looked away and wondered who would hang beside her. Criminals? Other slaves?
Being a Taker of the Dead, she was responsible for scouring the fields after battle. Battles like the world had never seen. Enormous diesel trucks chewed through Trenches filled with troops. Machine guns splayed young men across No Man’s land. Exploding mines. Poison gas. Hannah’s days were full. It was she who sorted those who could be saved from those too far gone, ultimately deciding which families received a hero’s letter instead of a son or daughter. Death was constantly on Hannah’s mind.
Other
people’s death; never her own. The Ilsans would give her no funeral rites, not even a tombstone. What would her gravestone have said, anyway?
Here lies Hannah Blue, Taker of the Dead
. She didn’t even know her family name. “Blue” was a classification, not a history.
She would rather her tombstone read:
Here lies Hannah Everett, Faithful Lover
.
“Stop,” commanded her escort before shouting ahead. “Halt!”
Another man approached from the castle wall. His spotless uniform gleamed and shadows from his helmet hid his face.
The soldier at Hannah’s side barked, “Identify!”
Without a word, the intruder raised his rifle. Hannah’s escort clamored with his weapon. Both moved professionally. Both took aim. One shot rang out, echoing off the castle walls.
Her soldier fell.
The intruder lowered his weapon and turned to Hannah. “Come with me. Quick.”
Hannah didn’t move.
“Let’s go! Unless you
want
to be hanged?”
She barely blinked.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I am Jason’s friend. There’s something you need to know.”
“What will I do now that my son is dead? Claim an heir, win the war and pray Jason finds his peace.”
– Interview with General Everett
CHAPTER TWO
THE DAY OF JASON’S FUNERAL
F
reedom burned through Jason.
Not that he was any stranger to freedom. As a flying ace with the SkyCorps, he was free from gravity all the time. His father was never around long enough to give him any real restrictions and no one ever dare reprimand the son of General Everett. So Jason had always been free to go where he pleased and do whatever he wanted – so long as he lived up to his noble birth.
But this was different.
This freedom consumed him.
A distant voice called out. Muddled. Unclear.
Jason ignored it. Nothing mattered except the sky. He was flying, without a wing, without a plane. No technology or tricks. Just flight. He soared through the heavens, a cold wind breezing past, tearing
through
him. He skimmed along clouds, danced with birds and swallowed deep his fear that it may all be a dream.
It
had
to be a dream.
Another voice echoed below. Chatter. Whispers.
A gong rang through the mist.
In the next instant, he stood outside a line of soldiers on the ground. He looked up and down the line that stretched into the distance. Black sashes hung around their shoulders and crimson leopards adorned their shoulders. They moved forward under a somber grey sky. Tears and scorn. Mud and silence.
This was a soldier’s funeral. A powerful dread crept into Jason.
His mind writhed trying to contain his memories, like stuffing snakes into a box.
He followed the mourners to a vacant field with makeshift benches along one side. A lone man wearing a general’s uniform that dazzled with medals occupied the front row.
The dread inside Jason burst.
Dad
?
But if Father was on the front row? If this was the airstrip at Camp Thane?
Jason sucked in a deep breath, but felt no air in his lungs.
This was
his
funeral.
He moved to stand next to Father. General Everett sat stock still, expressionless and dry eyed.
Bastard. You’re just here because–
Shots fired behind Jason. He spun to see the Attendings lower their rifles. With perfect coordination, the team struck out several paces, widening their circle to symbolize the bursting of the soul after death. Now they would fire another shot and yield, allowing mourners to pay their respects.
But one Attending didn’t fire. He didn’t re-form. He fumbled with his weapon and froze.
Men called to arms. The Honor Guard sprang to life. The out of place soldier was an infiltrator.
The infiltrator stumbled backward and spun to face the coffin. Removed his helmet.
Her
helmet.
“Hannah!” Jason tore from his father’s side. The Honor Guard was ahead of him, but he raced faster than he ever could in life.
Why has she come? How can I protect her?
What will they do with her?
He threw that thought away and focused on Hannah: her voice, her touch, the way she drew her hair from her eyes. She was all that mattered. She needed him.
He passed the Honor Guard. Close enough to hear her words. “Jason.”
“I’m coming,” he shouted.
“Jason,” her voice trembled, “you promised.” She fell to her knees. “You said forever.”
“I’m here.” Jason flung his arms around her.
The moment he made contact, the air itself ignited. The dreary day transformed. Colors became vivid. Cold burned away.
He whispered in her ear. “Don’t listen to them, Hannah.”
She didn’t respond.
“Don’t let them tell you I’m gone.” He took her hand. “I don’t care what you see. I don’t care what’s supposed to happen after death. I’ll find you.”
She looked up. Did she see him? No.
“Hannah, I love you. You know that, right? Did I say it enough?”
He grew colder. Gravity released him. The open sky clawed him upward. He held tighter. He only wanted Hannah. To hold her. Keep her safe. “Hannah I promise you’ll see me again!”
Jason’s grip broke. He flew into the sky, helpless to watch as the Honor Guard – his own friends – advanced on the only person he’d ever loved.
And as hard as he fought, he couldn’t get back to her.
“We shall rid the world of superstitions, of falsities and ignorance. We shall rule by logic and order. We shall make all things true. We shall destroy majick in Anadell.”
– Ilsan Senate Decree 771 / 4
CHAPTER THREE
H
annah’s soldier-escort lay on the ground. Surprise clung to his lifeless face, highlighted by lines of blood.
Is that how Jason looked when he died?
The man who shot her escort, the intruder, stepped closer. “We don’t have a lot of time. The others will–”
A patch of mud exploded at her feet. She stumbled forward, barely avoiding another bullet that whizzed past her ear. Three soldiers charged toward her, reloading their rifles.