Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) (5 page)

“How old were you?”

“Eight.”

“You were eight years old?” Thirteen’s eyes search mine for any trace of emotion, but she finds none. “What, your parents didn’t like you so they sent you away?” There is a comical undertone to her question, but I don’t find it amusing.

My tone echoes the voice of a soldier, flat, impassive, drowning and disappearing as soon as it comes out. “My family was incarcerated after the fall of our last emperor, before the parliament took over the right to rule. We were sent to labor at a working field in the outer sectors. A few months afterwards, drafters from the conscription division came looking for new recruits. My father convinced me to pick a fight with someone else so that I could prove my potential as a fighter. Entering the army was my only way out.”

Thirteen’s silence permeates the air, increasing in intensity with every passing moment. I sit down at the edge of the creek, letting the water flow around my fingers. Feeling nothing. “Did your father know you would be training as a unit leader?” she finally asks.

“Yes.”

“And he still sent you?”

“Yes.”

“But, Seven.” I look up, meeting her gaze. “Did he not know your chances of survival were slim? You could die in any battle, at any time. Only one unit leader can win. One. How could he do that to you?”

My fingers clench under the water, digging deep into the crevice of my palm. The severity of my own words surprises me, but I can’t restrain them. “What would you have done? Even if my chances are slim, at least I have one. I’ve fought my way this far. I am not about to give up.”

Thirteen looks away, startled by my harsh reply. “The other person you picked a fight with, who was he?”

I laugh bitterly. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Eleven has enough power on me as it is, I won’t give him her sympathy too.

Thirteen walks to me, sits by my side, and places her hand on my shoulder. I swallow, tensing my muscles in an attempt to remain unaffected by her touch. “I’m sorry.”

Her gentle words find their way into me and I don’t have to lower my wall to know that she means them. The numbness inside me warms, but the coldness of my mind shoves it aside, crushing the delicate embers before they can take root.

Thirteen stands up, unzips her jacket, and drops it beside me. I hold my breath as she takes off her boots, followed by her trousers. The gray underclothes frame her body, making me frown as I force my eyes to look away from her exposed skin. “What are you doing?”

Thirteen giggles. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

I really don’t want to answer. I hear Thirteen giggle again, just as she steps into the water.

I turn my attention to the blanket of leaves overcasting our surroundings, willfully trying to keep my eyes away from Thirteen. She splashes water in my direction, but I ignore her, keeping my focus inward. My eyes close, aiming to enjoy the cool breeze bathed in waterfall mist, just as something cold grasps my wrist. The instant I try to shake it off, it pulls me down and into the water.

Like savage fingers, the cold water enfolds my skin in an inescapable embrace. I open my eyes to find Thirteen laughing amid the diffused light beneath the surface. The streaks of silver reflect on her red hair like flickering stars. I swim to meet her, stopping as her long, fiery locks brush my face. I watch as my own colorless hair intermingles with hers, and I can’t help thinking how precisely this simple sign represents us. Every notion, every belief, every idea as opposite as it can be. Like fire and ice.

The flimsy cluster of scattered trailers and tents amid the grove of trees beckons me, and though I try to walk forward, I can’t seem to get any closer. Then, I see
my sister. Her strawberry-blond hair blows in the wind as she waves for me to come closer. I sprint into a run only to move farther and farther away from her, no matter how hard I try.

Water trickles onto my face, but there is no rain around me, only darkness. The sun left somehow. I trip and fall into a puddle, the muggy liquid seeping over my hands and knees begins to increase. I stand up and try to find an escape from the expanding current, but before long it has swept me up. It carries me along and now there are other bodies that pass me by. The undercurrent pulls me down, filling my lungs with iron-tasting liquid. My chest heaves and I gag at the taste of blood. I can feel myself screaming under the surface, trying to find a way out, but I can’t. I am trapped.

My head resurfaces and I inhale deeply before the current can pull me back down. But there is no current anymore, only stillness. I open my eyes and find myself inside a glass box. My head hits the top and I know that no matter how much air I try to inhale, it will eventually run out, my lungs will burn, and I will open them, only to be overpowered by the crimson fluid that surrounds me. Still, instinct takes over. I breathe in my last inhale and plunge down. That’s when I see her, standing outside the glass box, watching me die.

My eyes flash open. The rhythmic contractions of my heart feel like helicopter blades pumping blood through my veins. I know I'm awake now, but I still can't shake the lump that has taken permanent residence inside my throat. The memory of the dream still vibrates through my mind and I have to shut my eyes tight to prevent the tears from falling out. My thoughts linger on the image of my sister, peacefully watching me drown. I can’t think about her without my emotions caving in around me. I shove her memory back into the closet I’ve been keeping her in and sit up.

I know I am not supposed to wander on my own, but I can't remain in bed anymore. The quiet stillness surrounding me creeps into my skin, crawling through my pores like the chilling fingers of an unseen spirit. Still, I prefer that over the fears that lurk in the corners of my mind. I look around the dimly lit hall. Thirteen beds line up in a straight row, one right next to the other. My hands caress the white mattress, looking for a pillow or a cover that I know won’t be there. The self-activating temperature control, which rises and lowers its temperature according to my own, keeps me perfectly warm at night. But I still feel exposed without something to hold onto.

My feet touch the icy ground and I find the solid reality of my surroundings somewhat reassuring, knowing that at least my sister will never know such seclusion. I move noiselessly through the glossy corridors, walking past living quarters and into the bathing hall. The white domed room reminds me of the internal structure of a beehive, except the honeycomb cells on the roof and walls disperse wider on the floor. Motion detectors inside each hexagonal platform and the path leading to them use dynamic technology, allowing the units and trail to flex and fold away from the floor as needed.

I peel my sweat-soaked gray tank top and shorts away from my skin and drop them on the floor. The white surface sinks on contact, absorbing the clothing as if they had fallen in a giant tub of heavy cream. I walk forward. Every cell looks the same, so it doesn’t really matter which one I choose. I step onto one of the honeycomb units, disturbing the interactive, substance-like floor, and watch as circular wave patterns emanate outward from my feet. The platform begins to sink, stretching and flexing downward, creating walls around my body as I descend deeper into the nook.

Then, a small cavity opens in front of me. I reach out to take the black ball from the opening, pressing it slightly with my fingertips. The waxy circle gives in and I know if I squeeze too tight the ball will burst, leaving behind a gooey mess dripping all over my hand. The cavity closes, receding back into a perfectly smooth wall. Several protuberances appear next, almost as if some unseen force is pushing against the walls of the compartment. They flex outward and twist open. Soapy water shoots out, quickly steaming the walls of the small compartment.

I run one hand through my hair, working the foamy liquid into my scalp. The oil ball in my hand begins to melt as it comes in contact with the water and I methodically scrub my body with it. The thick substance flows down my limbs and onto the white floor, disappearing into the newly emerging grate openings. The memory of my sister peeks out of the closet I hid her in and I have to hold back my tears again.

My hands find their way to my lips, and though I clasp my mouth shut and grind my teeth together, the scream building inside my chest rises. My dark and desolate insides have created a monster. I can’t fight it. Not within the recesses of this secluded chamber. I heave, unable to contain it, and let it out, crumbling down onto the floor. I give way to all of my pain, all of my fear, and all of my despondency, feeling powerless, broken. The monster wraps its arms around me, seizing my shoulders and rattling the empty cage my body has become.

A low, continuous beep echoes inside the compartment, informing me that the water flow will soon stop. I force my legs to stand. I may be falling apart, but I will not let anyone see it. Not here. Not anywhere. I run my fingers along the surface of my eyelids, letting the sprays wash away my weakness and subdue the monster back into its cold cave. The water shuts off, and the fixtures begin to melt into the wall, folding back into the white mass and disappearing from view. The walls appear to move, but it’s just the base of the compartment rising back to its original position until I am once again standing on the hexagonal platform.

Water drips onto the white path as I make my way forward and the floor creates small splits in front of me in response, flexing into a grate system and blowing warm air upward. By the time I reach the dressing hall I am mostly dry. I pull down a pair of spandex shorts and a gray tank top from a rack, put them on, and move to the next stall where I grab a clean training jumpsuit. My lungs expand, breathing in a renewed sense of relief as the darkness inside of me recedes and my mind takes control once more. I turn toward the exit doors and stop in my tracks. Eleven’s silhouette comes into view, casually leaning against the curved wall.

Judging by the self-satisfied expression plastered on his face, I am pretty sure he has been standing there for quite some time. I bury my apprehension behind a façade of indifference and make my way forward. My heart begins to race. For a split second I think Eleven will just let me pass, but I am recoiling from his touch before his hand reaches me. His smug look intensifies at my reaction, curving the ends of his lips into an unpleasant grin. My legs lock in place, consciously making an effort to stay grounded. Eleven bites down, emphasizing his angular jaw and muscled neck. His fingers find their way to me and my throat contracts, pressing against my vocal cords with a force so feral I think it will choke me.

Eleven’s purple eyes begin to transform, along with every feature on his face. His cheekbones rise, his hair grows, his purple eyes lighten until they are the perfect hue of blue.

"What is it about you?” His voice isn’t his. I know it and yet I can’t help my own reaction at the sound of
his
voice. Seven. Looking at me, talking to me, and yet not being him. “What could he possibly see in you, I wonder.”

I lean back, anger flaring inside of me. I hold onto it, finding the strength I need to shake out of Eleven’s grasp, and the illusion fades. "Let me pass."

"I wonder if he knows the effect he has on you. Knowing him the way I do, he probably construes your behavior in all the wrong ways.”

My nostrils flare and he smiles at the obvious rage he has ignited. "What do you want?"

Eleven continues as if I hadn’t spoken. "I wonder what you would do for him. How far you would be willing to go. It is admirable really, your own restraint in spite of the depth of emotion he causes in you. Still, everyone has a limit. Everyone breaks sooner or later. Everyone has a weakness. He might not be yours, not yet anyway, but I think I have already found a way around that.”

My heart sinks as I consider his statement. "What in the world did I ever do to warrant your desire to hurt me? Why can’t you just let me be?" I can barely conceal the shakiness in my voice.

Eleven leans back, relaxing every muscle against the wall, and closes his eyes toward the ceiling. “It has nothing to do with you personally. You must understand that I really couldn’t care any less if you were someone else. But Seven’s fascination with you makes you the perfect target. You are his weakness, or at least you will be, when the time is right.”

“You disgust me.”

Eleven’s eyes snap back to me, vivid and full of resolve. “I am not the one you should be disgusted with.”

I rush past him, clutching my training suit against my chest. My wobbly legs carry me half way to the living quarters, before they stop mid-stride. I look at the white training outfit, now wrinkled inside my hands, and step into it with shaky limbs. My world spins around me and I have to place my hand against the smooth wall to steady myself. The revulsion coursing through me rises up to my throat and I am grateful I haven’t eaten anything yet. At least Eleven didn’t take things as far as the first time, when I experienced firsthand the magnitude of his ability to change the reality of the world around me. I clutch my empty stomach as the memory of Earth before the attack seizes my mind. It had seemed so perfect, so real. He had made my sister appear in front of me, too, and I, like an idiot, lunged my arms forward to wrap them around her. I remember sobbing in what I thought was her shoulder, tightening my embrace around her, until I noticed she wasn’t hugging me back. That’s when I realized it wasn’t really her.

I stepped back, and with a sinister smile she gripped my wrist, transforming into the leader I have come to care for against my better judgment. Seven pulled me into him, and though I fought his grip, he didn’t let me go. His wicked expression dimmed to something resembling curiosity. The depth of expression he usually had was completely gone, but still, his proximity unsteadied me and my heart began pounding even faster, making me forget it was an illusion. Seven’s hand found my neck, pulling me closer in spite of my own resistance. My eyes dropped to his lips. He looked like Seven. He felt like Seven. My body relaxed, about to give in, and Eleven appeared in front of me, grinning in understanding.

I shake my head, dismissing the distressing memory of the man that could change my reality with a single touch, and begin to walk again.

“Where have you been?” Nine’s voice reverberates through the hallway, her tone cold and demanding.

I walk past her without looking up. “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business when I have to pay for your negligence.” I know what she means and I can’t blame her. “Thirteen.” Her tone softens and when I look up, I can barely contain my tears. Her forehead wrinkles in confusion and her hand somehow finds its way to my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Her question rings inside my ears, filling it with resentment and bitter sarcasm. I feel the monster waking up again, clinging to my inner walls with its ferocious claws. It shakes me, tearing through me with all its might. I’m caving. I can feel it coming. My eyes close, in a last attempt to suppress the stinging tears. I manage to get hold of the vicious desperation that is eating me whole and clamp it down, burying it deep inside the core of my tormented soul. I will not give in. Not in front of her. Not in front of anyone. “I’ll be fine.”

Nine tightens her grip as a gesture of reassurance. “Please don’t leave like that again. Seven hasn’t been around to notice, but you know wandering on your own is against regulations.”

I nod.

Nine’s cheeks bulge high and her lips curve upward, flashing perfectly white teeth. Her dark skin, smooth like hot chocolate, seems to shine under the pale lighting. “Let’s go.” She taps my shoulder and begins to make her way back into the living quarters.

The entire unit is up and about. Two out of three adjacent rooms accessible only through self-activated sliding doors, which open in the morning and close at night, swarm with physicians and physical assessors. Unit fighters sit at random, while the medical team evaluates every inch of their bodies in preparation for today’s battle. I take a seat at one of the tables in the third room, the eating lounge as we commonly refer to it, and just stare down at the polished surface, glossy and spotless, like the perfect exterior of a teardrop.

Nine sits across from me, placing a breakfast tablet on the table and sliding it in my direction. I don’t look up. I stare at the cream-looking bar, scoffing. It looks like a deceiving rise crispy treat, because it tastes like nothing—a mixture of bland nutrients, which only serve the purpose of keeping me alive and well nourished. Someone else sits by my side. “What is a dictum?” Five’s voice comes out in a whisper, as if she is ashamed of the words leaving her mouth.