Legion Lost (17 page)

“Do
you think this is a good idea?” I ask Stirling in a quiet voice. “What makes
you so sure the Highlanders will help a boy from the Underground?”

“Think
about it,” Stirling replies. “Any enemy of the System is a friend to the
rebels. It stands to reason.”

“Nothing
about this is reasonable,” I snap back. “We’re giving an injured, innocent boy
to a group that seems to be just as vicious as the System.”

“Vinesh
isn’t from the System,” Stirling insists. “He’s a refugee, and the Highlanders
have a code for that sort of thing.”

“Can
you be sure that that code still stands?” I ask. “You’ve been away from them
for a long time.”

Stirling’s
lip stiffens as he takes in a sharp breath. He hates to be contended, but I
have to know all the facts, for my brother’s sake.

“I
have to trust that this will work,” he says, “and you have to trust me, just
this once.”

If
I was ever going to choose a moment to trust Stirling fully, then one
concerning my brother’s life wouldn’t be my first choice. I can’t help the
indecision that’s plaguing me, even though I know that we really don’t have
another option.

“How
do you know they’ll still be in the woods where we saw them last?” I say.

“Because
of what Stryker told you,” Stirling replies. “If he’s waiting on the Legion’s
doorstep, then he’s not going to move until he’s got what he came here for.”

I
wish I knew what Stryker has come here for. If I could be sure that his
intentions aren’t to massacre a stronghold full of child-soldiers, than I could
probably make peace with the idea that his men won’t harm my brother once we’ve
put him in their hands. As it is, all I can do is march on through the trees
and hope that Stirling’s faith in his former people is not misplaced. Stryker
didn’t kill me when he had the chance in the forest, and that’s got to be worth
something.

*

It’s
nightfall by the time we reach the place where I first saw Stryker, and felt
the push of his gun at my throat. During the trek, Lucrece’s mood has dipped to
an all new low. She has barely spoken since we crossed the river into the
unknown lands beyond. The farther we traverse into the dense woods, the more her
fearful silence seems to infect us all. Every one of us makes tense and
cautious footsteps as the half-clouded moon casts shadows that dance at our
backs. In the daytime, Stirling’s plan seemed risky, but by night it feels like
a colossal mistake.

“All
right,” Stirling whispers, raising a hand to halt the march. “This is the same
clearing Raja and I reached before. We’ll put Vinesh here and observe from a
safe distance, just in case something goes wrong.”

Apryl,
Goddie, and Lucrece help my brother to a flat rock where he can perch and rest
his bound-up leg. When they recede, I step forward under the pretence of
explaining to Vinesh what’s going on. When I’m sure that nobody has followed me
toward him, I crouch close in front of my brother and rest a hand on his knee.

“I
don’t know what will happen when you meet these soldiers,” I say, “but make
sure they know that you’re on their side. Don’t give them any reason to dislike
or suspect you.”

Vinesh
chuckles. “Good thing it’s me here and not Mukesh, eh?” he teases. “Five
minutes with that attitude and anyone’d be turning him back to the System.”

All
I’ve wanted to do since I found my brother is cry for the suffering he’s been
through, but Vinesh’s smile is bright in the faint moonlight.

“You’re
cheerful?” I say in disbelief. “Vinnie, how can you still be so cheerful, after
everything?”

“I
have my life back,” he tells me, “and I’m
outside
. I can feel the wind,
and the noises here are so different. It’s wonderful.”

He
reaches aimlessly for my hand and I let him find it, holding him tightly.

“And
more than that,” he adds. “I have a hero for a sister.”

I
shake my head, and though Vinesh can’t see me, he squeezes my hand as if he
knows he needs to quell my doubts.

“See
you around,” he quips, and I laugh so sharply that I’m afraid the whole forest
has heard me.

When
I make my retreat, Stirling beckons me to climb the branches of a tall tree
with him. The others remain to guard the tree’s base whilst we lie flat on a
high branch, watching Vinesh sit alone in the clearing below.

“This
is a good thing, what you’re doing,” Stirling whispers beside me. “It’s nice to
meet someone whose spirit the System hasn’t crushed.”

“What
do you mean?” I reply.

I
feel Stirling’s body shift closer to mine, those familiar feelings starting to
flutter in my stomach again.

“The
Legion gets inside some people’s heads,” he explains. “For some people, it
makes them feel like there’s no way out. But not you, Raja. You know that you’re
not the System’s prisoner. I love that about you.”

It’s
too dark to see his face when he uses that word, but his whispered voice is
strangely tender. It makes me feel proud and bold, like nothing in the world
might matter except for how I reply to his honesty and his kindness. But a
reply is not on the cards, as the rustling of footsteps echoes through the
trees below us.

“Tracking
body signatures, Malcolm,” reports a gruff voice. “Stationary, straight ahead.”

“Proceed,”
replies a voice that sends a shiver through me.

Two
Highlanders arrive at the clearing a moment later. The first is a short, stocky
man dressed in dark green camo, but the second has glinting metal chains on his
fatigues. Malcolm Stryker’s silver hair catches the moonlight as he glances around
the treetops, his eyes finally settling on Vinesh, who sits patiently before
him.

“You,
boy,” the Highlander barks. “What’s your name? What’s your purpose here?”

“Please,
sir,” Vinesh answers. “I was brought here from the Underground. My name is Vinesh.”

“Brought
by whom?” Stryker demands sharply.

“I . . . I
don’t know,” Vinesh stammers. “They were young people, with ropes and medical
equipment. One was called Raja, another was Stirling, I—”

Stryker
drops to his knees, suddenly grabbing Vinesh by the shoulders. I flinch so hard
that Stirling has to hold my waist to stop me from plummeting out of the tree.

“Are
you blind, Vinesh?” Stryker asks.

For
the first time, there is a little less malice in his tone. Vinesh nods shakily
as the warrior studies his face.

“The
System did this to me,” he explains, “but my saviours showed me mercy. They
told me that rebels like you would take me in.”

“Did
they now?” Stryker questions.

He
looks up, scanning the trees, and I could swear that he can see Stirling and I,
even through the distant darkness.

“We’d
better make good on that promise, then,” the fierce Highlander replies.

He
takes Vinesh by the hand, helping him to his feet. Soon, the three men have
vanished into the undergrowth, the two rebels propping a limping Vinesh up
between them.

When
all is silent once more, Stirling and I descend the tree, and our little troupe
walks solemnly back towards the tree line. I don’t know what it is that’s
keeping our mood so sombre. We should be happy that we did a good deed for
Vinesh, but something is holding that happiness back. A short silence later, we
find ourselves looking at the Legion across the northern wasteland. Goddie
breathes a heavy, regretful sigh.

“We’re
gonna have to walk around de tree line to get home,” he says. “No chance of
getting through de minefield without me sweeper.”

Something
clicks in the back of my mind, and I speak as the idea comes into my head.

“We
didn’t have a map either,” I mumble, “because you lost that too.”

Goddie
tries to argue, but I quickly put my hand to his lips as I continue.

“But
Stirling still led us straight here.” I turn to meet the lanky captain’s gaze.
“You led us back to this clearing without a map,” I say. “How? You’d never been
to the Underground before today, so how could you know the route north without
a map?”

All
eyes fall to Stirling, whose cocky exterior has evaporated. That angry fear is
back in his eyes, like it was the very first time I ever challenged him. He
looks like a cornered animal, his sweat-soaked face glittering in the
starlight. I stare him down in the darkness, waiting for some kind of
explanation for his sudden, hidden skill. It does not come, because Lucrece
chooses that moment to step between us, palms outstretched.

“I
have a feeling it won’t be long before that question is answered,” she tells
me.

After
her bleak, dark mood all day, the young girl looks surprisingly peaceful. The
bruises on her battered face have finally receded to show her small, delicate
features. She is pretty, and filled with lucid, sharp looks.

“What
do you mean?” I ask her. “Lucrece, what do you know that I don’t?”

“I
know a lot of things,” she answers, “and I’m finally sure of everything now.”

She
looks over her shoulder at the austere shadow of the Legion in the distance.
When she turns back to me, she pushes a small object into my hands.

“I
know your story, Raja,” Lucrece begins, “and it’s time for you to know mine.”

She
lets my hands go, and I look down to see a tiny notebook resting in my palm. It
must have been small enough for her to smuggle it into the Legion when she
first arrived, tucked away in her underwear. I look up again, wanting to ask
her why this book is suddenly mine, but Lucrece is backing away from the tree line.
Her frame is tiny in her black fatigues, and she retreats like a wavering
shadow towards the deadly ground behind her.

“No!”
I shout immediately. “Lucrece! The mines! Be careful!”

“It’s
all right,” she says calmly. “The Legion gave me the cure, remember? It’s okay
now. It’s time.”

The
first mine is too close for any of us to reach her in time. I am blown back by
its wild explosive force, even though I’m still several metres away when
Lucrece’s foot lands on it. I fix my eyes on her for one last moment, just as
the blast happens. The explosion rips the slim, black figure limb from limb,
scattering tiny parts into the air all around us, which land in the forest and
on the wasteland itself. When the other pieces land, more mines explode on impact,
until five or six have detonated, leaving me to cower in a trembling heap.

My
ears are covered, my disbelieving eyes closed tightly. I tell myself this can’t
be happening. I can’t have seen things right. Lucrece cannot have walked
willingly into the minefield. Lucrece just can’t be dead.

Fuelled
by shock, the four of us manage to move southwest enough that we cannot see the
craters where the mines exploded. Here, Apryl and Stirling make short work of
setting up our camp. I sit on a fallen log whilst they work, turning Lucrece’s
little notebook over in my hands. I am vaguely aware that Goddie is beside me,
resting his head on my shoulder in mournful silence. Perhaps he is watching the
little book tumble through my fingers too.

It
is a diary. That much is obvious from Lucrece’s cramped handwriting, which
fills up every page except the very last one. Its battered edges suggest that
she has had it for quite some time, and its cover is a faded, stained shade of
sky blue. No matter how much I stare at the cover, I cannot bring myself to
read what’s within. Somehow, I guess I’m still hoping that this terrible moment
is simply part of a dream. Reading the truth in Lucrece’s own words will put a
swift end to my denial.

“Here.”

I
refocus my blank gaze to find Stirling’s palm outstretched before me. I look up
into his eyes, and they are filled with all the sorrow that I feel.

“I’ll
read it,” he offers in a strained voice. “You were too close to her.”

I
nod, slowly relinquishing my grip on the tiny book. Stirling reaches into my
palm, and his fingers are warm from toiling with the tents. They graze my cold
hand for what seems like ages as he takes Lucrece’s diary away. Apryl has set a
fire crackling between the tents, and the four of us encircle it the best that
our small number can. It feels to me as though there’s far too much space to
fill. I suppose, before Lucrece and I came along, the others must have felt
this kind of absence a few times over. By the shock and deep-set sorrow of
their attitudes, though, I’d say the circumstances of losing a team member have
never been quite this dire before.

“Well,”
Stirling says as he thumbs through the pages. “I think I’d better give you the
short version. Lucrece is . . . was . . . a
bit too smart and wordy for the likes of me.”

“It
must be awful,” Apryl croaks, “for her to have done what she did.”

Stirling
swallows hard, his eyes on the book. “It is awful.”

“Tell
us,” I say quickly. “She wanted us to know her story.”

Stirling
nods, running his eyes over a few more pages as the minutes pass. He stares
deep into the fire, inhaling a breath of smoky, warm air, then begins to speak.