Shadow Eater, page 11
part #2 of Shadowlands Series
We were walking through an archway of foliage and flowers. The shade was a blessing and I began to feel less light-headed. This Potential stuff was pretty potent. Was it in the ground too? I stopped and bent over to have a proper look at the soil. Varying shades of brown mingled together. It looked fresh and moist and alive. I reached out to touch it.
“What about your parents?”
“Huh?” I looked up to see Daemon watching me with a strange expression on his face. I couldn’t be sure, because I was kind of at a funny angle, but I think he might have been laughing at me.
“Your parents. Where are they?”
I pulled myself up. “Dead.” I waited for the sorrow to hit me, but a tasty, sweet scent hit my nostrils. I veered off the path and through the bracken.
“Ashling! Wait!”
Not likely. The smell was too intoxicating, it made my stomach cramp with hunger and, oh my, the most luscious red shiny apples I had ever seen hung from tiny trees barely taller than me.
There was a garden and a huge house too, but I didn’t care about that. All I cared about were the apples and I was gonna get me some.
“Ashling!” I heard Daemon thrashing around in the bracken that had opened so easily for me. His huge bulk was obviously a hindrance, maybe I should go back and... oh, gosh, that smell.
I reached out and cupped a juicy apple, twisted, and pulled it from its stem, my mouth watering in anticipation of that first bite.
“NO!”
The world fell into complete silence as if even the air was holding its breath and then the tree screamed and made a grab for me. Too stunned to evade, I found myself kissing bark.
Daemon rushed toward me. “Ashling! Shit, what have you done?”
“Get this thing off me!” I struggled but the tree just tightened its branchy grip on me. “Ouch, the fucker just gave me a splinter!”
Daemon tore at the bark but the tree was unrelenting in its grip.
The sound of exclamations filled the air.
Daemon cursed and melted back into the bracken, which was happy to let him in this time.
“What? Wait!” He was abandoning me? I watched, helpless, as men in purple uniforms came barrelling across the grass toward me. The apple induced haze was gone, and my stomach was filled with icy fear, because the men were carrying huge machetes and they looked mega pissed.
EM
The mess hall was buzzing with people on their lunch break. It was a large oblong room with a food bar at one end behind which kitchen staff bustled about, stocking the huge metal pots and ladling out dollops of stew, mash, and whatever else was on the menu that day. The mess hall was underground, so there were no windows to peer out of, not that there would be much to see aside from desert land, and maybe the odd critter that stumbled through the shimmering veil between their pocket and the Shadowlands. They never lasted long in this heat and it was always fun to watch them curl up and die. If only the Shadowlanders were as vulnerable to the temperature.
Em picked at the food on her plate, mash and peas and a sausage.
“Eat up, you’ll need your strength to heal,” Gina said.
Em speared her sausage and took a bite. She hated being off duty. Right now she should be on a mission to tag and bag, maybe a mapping mission; something that contributed to their future survival. She was eating food that she hadn’t earned.
She pushed her plate away.
Gina sighed. “You won’t get back on duty until you heal, and you need to eat to heal.” She pushed back her seat and picked up her tray. “I gotta get back to work. Promise me you’ll eat something.”
Em nodded.
Gina sashayed out the room, her dark bob swinging. She was a knockout and she knew it. Em on the other hand was pretty plain, aside from her hair which was thick and golden, and her eyes, which everyone complimented her on—true green eyes which apparently were very rare.
A shadow fell over her. Em glanced up. Four male figures stood at her table, two she knew and had spoken to—Charles and Paul, fraternal twins. The other two she knew of, but had never talked to.
Charles indicated the empty seats at her table. “Mind if we join you?”
Em shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”
Charles pulled out the seat opposite Em and slid his tray of food onto the table. The other three officers followed suit.
Em picked at her food some more but Charles’s gaze was like a brand across her forehead. “I don’t get it,” Charles said. “Why you?”
What was he talking about? Em frowned in confusion.
Charles shook his head and looked down at his plate as he stabbed a sausage. “You don’t even know, do you?”
Okay, she was starting to get a little annoyed with this line of conversation. “If you have something to say then spit it out. Otherwise, shut up and let me eat my food in peace.”
“That’s why,” Paul said.
The other two officers chuckled.
Charles leaned in. “Word is that Valance is putting together an attack unit, and guess who’s gonna be heading it?”
No, it couldn’t be what she was thinking.
Paul nodded. “Yeah. Parker, you’ve been given another unit, even though you got the last one killed.”
Her chest tightened, producing a dull ache as guilt assaulted her. She pushed it back and summoned anger instead. She had done nothing wrong, she’d followed protocol; the beast’s actions hadn’t been her fault.
“I’d suggest you get your facts straight before you go slinging mud, Charles. If I am up for commanding officer, then it’s because I’m damn good at my job and Valance believes in me. You got a problem with that then take it up with the big man himself. Unless you’re too much of a pussy.”
Charles’s lips tightened and he sat back in his seat. “Know what, I think I’ve lost my appetite.” He pushed his plate away and slid back his chair. “Jameson, Carter, and Bennet were good people.”
“Yeah, I know they were. They were my people...” She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat. “Fuck you, Charles. Fuck you all.” She was done being judged. Scraping back her seat, she left the room.
***
With her unit around she’d never felt alone. For almost seven years they’d worked as a team. Seven years of birthdays and funerals, laughter and tears. They had been her go-to people. Now, with them gone, she was lost, adrift. She realised she didn’t really know anyone else. Aside from Pop and Gina, there wasn’t anyone with a ready shoulder for her to cry on. Gina was on duty in the control room, but Pop might be free. She still needed to talk to him about his over-the-top reaction to the serum.
She found him in his first-floor lab, the one he used for all his basic needs. His high-tech lab was at basement level, and restricted to all personnel except Pop and his assistant Derek.
Pop was hunched over a microscope when she entered, but he didn’t have to look up to know it was her who’d entered.
“Take a seat, sweetheart, I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Em took a seat at one of the lab tables and waited.
Pop fiddled a little more with the microscope and then sat back with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was going to come find you.”
“Well, I’m here.” She smiled but Pop didn’t return it. Instead he stood up and walked past her until he was standing under the wall-mounted surveillance camera. He reached up and pulled out one of the wires.
“Pop, what are you doing?” Em slipped off her stool.
“We don’t have much time before they override.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a syringe. “Do you trust me?”
The syringe glinted in the overhead lights. “Course I do.”
“Then roll up your sleeve, quickly.”
The urgency in her father’s tone galvanised her into action, and the twinge in her gut assured her that she should hurry. Pop quickly injected her with whatever was in the syringe and then ushered her back into her seat before reclaiming his spot at the microscope.
Em had enough time to roll her sleeve back down before an officer appeared in the doorway.
“Mr Parker, is everything okay?”
Pop shot the officer a distracted look. “Hmmm, yes? What do you want?”
The officer glanced at Em, then up at the camera behind her. “It looks like a wire has come loose on your camera. Let me.” He moved past Em and quickly plugged the wire back in.
Pop looked up at her distractedly. “If that’s all, sweetheart, I really do have to work.”
Em bit the insides of her cheeks to stem the tide of questions she had for her father. She was sure he would explain things as soon as the opportunity arose.
Giving him a quick peck on the cheek she left him to his chemicals and slides.
CLAY
Clay sat with his legs crossed in the quiet black. He wasn’t especially afraid of the dark, but the sensation of feeling blind terrified him.
There was no light to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, to see black silhouettes. Had there been anything in the room to cast a shape anyway?
It was all nothingness.
But if this was a test, he’d make sure he didn’t fail. Jiva was too keen on the idea of reading him, and Clay wasn’t keen on the idea of accidently giving up something this man could use. He didn’t know him, didn’t know what his motivations were. Did he really want to keep him safe? Was his survival really significant to Jiva, or was it simply a ruse, a method of coercion?
He wouldn’t crack. Let Jiva lock him in the dark. All he needed to do was ride this out until the borders were safe for him to travel.
If they ever let you go, that is...
He dropped his head into his hands. There was no way out. He was trapped and at their mercy and he hated it. First the tower and now this. His luck was shit.
Clay had never been truly stubborn in nature. Sure, he had his principles, had his own ideas about what was right and what was wrong, but he’d never dug his heels in over anything. Not that he could remember, anyway. There had never been a situation to stir such a reaction in him. He liked an easy life—as easy as life could be in Shelter. Making waves was not for him. His energy was saved for his work, for making stuff. He left high emotion and drama and danger to everyone else.
Yet lately he’d experienced a ton of it. Talk about being pushed out of the box.
Maybe this recent wave of stubbornness was misplaced, brought on by the trauma of the past week. What if this was just holding him back from getting back out there to find Ash?
Choices.
Bloody damn choices.
Would Jiva care about Shelter? About Ash? All he seemed to want to know was whether Clay was a threat, which he clearly wasn’t, so what was the harm in being read? Ash wasn’t here, he knew that. He was no good to Ash dead, or stuck in the dark.
Choices.
He was starting to crack, and maybe that had been the point all along, all he knew was that he was no good to anyone stuck here in the dark.
He had to make a choice…again. There was no one else but him to make it, no indication of the right path to take. It was him, alone now, in the forest by himself, in the—
He stands in the forest in the rain and the night is rich with the birdsong. Not one bird, but several birds, emitting a hoot. He imitates the sound as best he can and they flutter. He waits, let’s them settle, and listens some more. It is the most beautiful sound.
Then comes the mournful cry, a lament, a sad creature wailing in the distance. It is both sad and intriguing. He has to go follow it, to see what made it, to see more of this place…
Clay gasped as the vision snapped away.
“What was that?”
No one answered, of course.
It was like one of his dreams again, this time taking over while he was awake. He could still feel the rain on his skin.
Was he awake?
That was it! He was done with this. There was no way his mind was going to let him sit in the dark, and he no longer wanted to. He’d go crazy and there would be another thing to make him fail.
“Jiva?”
“Yes, Clay?”
Clay jumped, not expecting an instant reaction.
“Congratulations, you beat me.”
“I didn’t realise there was anything for me to beat you at.”
“Yes you did.”
The darkness fell away, the glass room with the spectacular view restored.
“Go ahead and read me.”
“You’ve changed your mind?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know I wouldn’t.” Clay got to his feet. “You knew exactly how to play me. Well done.”
“I don’t play games. Why would I lie? I wanted to give you options.”
“Why?”
“To see what would happen.”
“What am I, some kind of experiment?”
“Yes.”
Clay was taken aback, but not sure why. What had he expected Jiva to say?
“So then it was game playing.”
“Conducting an experiment and playing a game are two different things,” Jiva said. “I could have read you against your will, but then your mind would have rebelled and the reading would have been flawed. I needed you to come to the conclusion that a reading was ultimately in your best interest.” He cocked his head. “Humans are fascinating creatures. They make decisions based purely on instinct and emotion. Logic seems to play little part. I wanted to test your logic and you have passed.”
Jiva approached and Clay closed his eyes as a cool hand rested against his forehead.
“Warm,” Jiva said. “A warm soul…a curious spirit…maker… Human…”
The hand left Clay’s forehead.
“Is that it?”
Jiva stepped back. “That’s it.”
“Well?”
“The reading is over.”
“Oh. So now what?” Man, did he feel like an idiot for resisting.
“Now you take a shower.”
“What about Pearl?”
“You have my assurances, Clay, that the dragon will not be harmed.”
“The shackles…she can’t be locked up like that.”
“I will not argue with you any longer on this issue. She stays where she is until you leave. Understand?”
“Yes.” He was left with no choice but to.
“Hezekiah?”
“Yes, sir?”
Clay turned to see the dark-skinned man behind him.
“Would you please take Clay to get showered and give him a room—on my floor, if you will.”
“I will, sir,” Hezekiah said.
Jiva’s eyes never left Clay. “Once you are done, you will return here. I have something I wish to show you.”
***
The lift he’d gone up to see Jiva in took him down to a glass corridor. Hezekiah led him into a small room with the same amazing view. There was a white bed with a free-standing mirror next to it, a separate bathroom with a shower and nothing else. The partitions were frosted for privacy, but there was also a camera in the room and the bathroom, following every movement. There was nothing at the window—no drapes, or curtains.
“You’ll find towels in the drawer under the bed,” Hezekiah said. “Judging by your size, I’d say you’re a medium. I’ll get you some new clothes and underwear. Your boots are fine, I see.”
“You don’t need to do that, really.”
“You’ll go to all that effort of getting clean, only to put the dirty ones back on again?”
What was it with these people and their put-downs dressed up as questions? Everything he said was met with a shocked disdain at such blatant stupidity—or so it felt.
“Thank you,” Clay said.
“I’ll be back,” Hezekiah said. “Left for hot, right for cold on the shower dial. Push the green button to start the water, and the red to stop it.”
“Got it.”
Hezekiah nodded and left the room.
Clay stripped down to his underwear and stepped into the cubicle. Once the hot water had generated enough steam, he felt comfortable enough to remove his grimy boxers and picked up the bar of soap sitting in a dish mounted to the cubicle.
As he languished under the blissful heat which kissed his muscles and removed the dirt from his skin, Pearl came to mind, and he instantly felt guilty for this moment of comfort. Here he was getting clean while she suffered. No matter what Jiva said, she was bound and scared, unable to be what she was. And Ash was out there still. Was she enjoying a shower? No, probably not. She was fighting and getting her hands dirty—which would stay dirty.
It made him feel like shit even though he knew it couldn’t be helped
I’m coming for you. This was an interval—that was all. He could think, re-strategise, and regain some focus for his mission. He didn’t have to feel useless and trapped. All the best plans needed thought.
He lathered soap into his cropped hair, giving his scalp a good scrub.
When he was done, he wrapped a white towel around his waist and went to sit on the bed.
The air was pleasantly warm, so the exposed upper-half of his body didn’t get too chilly.
Hezekiah returned carrying a pile of black garments. He was completely unfazed by Clay’s near-nakedness, whereas Clay’s cheeks grew hot.
“Is that leather?” Clay said.
“Yes.” Hezekiah walked over to the bed and placed it beside Clay. The man’s scent was smoke and honey—a weird, but not unpleasant combination.
“Thank you.”
“Once you are done, call for me. I will wait outside to protect your modesty.”
“But the cameras won’t.”
Hezekiah simply turned around and exited, closing the white door gently behind him.
Clay inspected the clothes. They were the same black leather that the winged warriors wore. There were also some thick black socks and some black boxers—plus a black jacket.
Without removing the towel, he slipped on the underwear and then the trousers. He then pulled the long-sleeved leather shirt over his head. It was a surprisingly comfortable fit. Though it hugged his body as it did the warriors, showing the lines of his slender form, nothing chaffed or felt tight.
