Chapter Ten

 

Two years later…

Lake was glad for the thick wool coat and the deep hood that obscured her face. The weather had turned cold, and she was sure the first frost would come tonight. Even though the moon was just a claw sliver in the sky and the stars were half their glory behind the cloud covering, Lake found her way down to the hidden copse provided by the large, weeping willow tree.

Most nights, if she could escape the house undetected, she’d come down to this spot and help heal anyone who’d come to her. It wasn’t long after Rider was born that the house servants started buying the dark-shelled clams, similar to what she’d seen in Black Creek, from the market. It hadn’t taken long to realize that the black-shelled Mercenaria had a more potent inhibitor than the common gray-shelled clam. It was powerful information. Information she kept carefully guarded from the servants, and more importantly, her husband.

She knew she couldn’t continue like she had at first. Syon would accept nothing less than an ample supply of microbiotics. If taken in liberal amounts, the microbiotics could speed healing and cure sickness. If taken on a continuous basis, theoretically the drug could reverse aging and possibly make a man immortal. But immortality could only be achieved with regular high dosages. Once a person stopped using, the aging process started again. She’d told no one about the secret ingredient that made the microbiotics effective, not even Syon when he made her hand write the formula in minute detail. Her only hope was once she was dead, Syon’s supply of the microbiotics would run out and so would his ability to achieve immortality.

In the end, her decision to make the microbiotics was a selfish one. She did it to save her son’s life and her own, but something inside her changed after she’d become a mother. The parentless boys that were abused and mistreated in the training fields were no longer faceless casualties of the harsh world. She saw them as sons of fathers and mothers. In each of the brown-haired and dark-eyed children, she’d seen her son. She realized the boys in the killing fields were in desperate need of medical attention. The Prophesy either was or was not. The Rebellion depended on that action, not hers. If the New Republic came about then it no longer depended on her. But there were still boys, young but not so innocent, whose lives could be saved by her actions alone.

She might be jaded enough to accept that she’d given Syon a huge amount of power. But she’d never be able to look herself in the mirror if she didn’t use the microbiotics to help young boys survive into adulthood.

Lake made her way around the bend and saw a small figure huddled in on himself, waiting for her. It was moments like this when she knew she’d made the right decision.

Lake came closer, and the little boy stood up. He couldn't have been more than ten or eleven even though his face was concealed behind a hood.

Lake's heart ached. Were they getting younger and younger or was it just her? She swallowed and steeled herself for the worst.

She kept to the shadows and pitched her voice low. There was so much riding on keeping her identity concealed that if she actually weighed out the consequences, she’d never make the nightly trip here. “What can I do for you?”

The boy was so still he seemed to have faded into the night. How sad was it that a mere boy had mastered the skill of disappearing?

“I need your help,” he said.

She nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”

“It's my friend. He's sick. He needs some medicine.”

Lake looked around. “Where is he?” It bothered her that her keen sense of awareness hadn't detected another human being.

The boy was silent again, his form inky black and faded as if becoming part of the tree trunk. She wondered how he’d learned to position himself that way. “He's at the camp.”

Lake resisted the sigh of frustration. “I can only treat him if he comes here. Go get him, and I will wait as long as I can.”

Being away from home, even this long, was dangerous. If her husband found out she was using his precious microbiotics on mere boys, he would be furious. Of course, she’d wondered at times if what she was doing was a blessing or a curse. Was patching these children up just to be slaughtered by the aliens in the killing fields really a good deed?

The boy shook his head. And for a split moment Lake saw something familiar about him. “You have to come. He can't leave.”

Exasperated, Lake picked up her satchel and prepared to leave. “There’s no way I can walk around freely in the camp. Don't you realize if we were caught it would be death for us both?”

The boy squared his shoulders, and as he notched his chin, she glimpsed the pale lightness of his skin. “What I realize is that a grown woman’s afraid of doing what a child does every night. What I don't understand is how all the children can grow up to be such cowardly adults.”

Her lips thinned into a smirk, glad he couldn't see her from behind her hood. “That’s because all the brave ones die.”

“Fine, I was wrong to come and to think you’d help. You’re just like every other stupid adult.” He turned and started to walk away.

Something about how he spoke shamed Lake, and she found herself reaching out to stop him. “Wait, can you promise that you can get me in and out of the camp undetected?”

She couldn't believe she was asking this, but something about this boy made her want to help. She didn’t want to give up on him any more than she would her own son.

He nodded. “You have to listen to me. Every word. If you do that, I can take you.”

Lake swallowed and nodded. “What should I call you?”

“They call me Shadow. You can use that.”

“Okay, Shadow, I’m all yours.”

A small white hand darted out and took her wrist. “Follow me and don't say a word.”

He broke out into a run. Soon Lake found herself zigzagging across an open field, hiding in the shallow silhouette of lone trees, and crawling on her belly through blades of grass and under barbed-wire. Soon they were at the border of where a hundred small white tents were pitched. Most were dark; others held a dim light from a lantern or glow stick from within. The soldiers were armed with guns, mostly for show since bullets were a rarity, but all had deadly swords strapped to their sides. Lake hoped that once the boys got to Dark Planet, they’d be better equipped to fight the aliens with something other than with empty guns and pointy swords.

Lake had to give it to the boy; he seemed to know the camp like the back of his hand. The camp ran like a well-oiled machine and the boy knew every gear.

They sat crouched against the back of a tent, Lake’s heart pounding as they waited for the watchmen to pass. Lake closed her eyes and held her breath as the soldiers walked no more than an arm’s length away. She didn't allow herself even an exhale until the soft step of their boots faded in the distance.

The boy sprang up and darted around to the front of the tent. It took Lake a few more seconds to respond, since all the feeling in her limbs had fled. When she turned the corner, her gaze darted around trying to find the boy. For a panicked minute, she was alone. Nausea gripped her as she realized there was no way she could make it out of the camp by herself. Images of what Syon would do when he found out flooded her mind. Of what type of retaliation he would take out on her and her two-year-old son. She was such a fool. She should’ve never trusted some boy simply because he reminded her of Vonn.

“Psst.”

She whipped her head around, the night blinding her, ratcheting up her panic to new levels.

“Psst. Over here. Come on.”

Then she saw him, half hidden behind the tent opening. A small hand beckoning.

She hurried inside. It wasn't until she was huddled next to the boy that he lit a light stick and a faint orange glow illuminated the inside of the tent.

The tent was bigger than the rest. A simple desk on one side, a map rolled out across the top. A small collection of swords displayed in an expensive looking case. A dark, wooden chest of open shelving that held the brown robes of the Elder Order, and off to one side a small pallet on the floor with a tiny figure curled in on himself.

Even in the dim light, Lake could tell the boy was abnormally thin, his bony shoulders shaking under the holey blanket. A dark, brown stain covered half his face and hair. Lake was pretty sure it was blood. Some dream or a noise they made must’ve scared the boy because he startled in his sleep, and that's when Lake heard the rattle of the chain.

One end was manacled around a bony ankle, the other anchored to the metal pole in the center of the tent.

Lake had seen the casualties of a war-torn land. She'd grown up with death and had been a victim herself of blood feuds, but seeing this boy tied up, and obviously abused in a dirty tent, made her lose all hope for a better future for her, her son, and any child unfortunate enough to be born into this world.

Shadow dropped to his knees and pulled back the thin blanket. Lake gasped as she saw the numerous burn marks, cuts, and whip lashes that decorated the light outline of ribs and the protruding knots of his spinal cord.

“Wh...Why would someone do this?”

Shadow just shook his head and opened her satchel by her feet. She shut her mouth on any more questions and quickly got to work. The dark blood that matted the side of his head was old. Probably from the gash on his temple that already seemed days in the healing, so she concentrated her time on the boy’s back.

The microbiotics were truly a miracle drug. She mixed the fine powder with some nut oil and spread it on the boy's back. The skin soaked up the ointment like dried parchment paper on a wet surface. The waxy, mottled skin of the burns turned pink. The angry red lines of the whip seemed less severe, and the boy's breathing eased a bit. Lake could still feel the boy’s body fight the abuse with fever, but within a few days, she knew that would subside. Time seemed to stand still as she found each laceration and coated it. She massaged the lotion into his bunched-up muscles and the balled knot of each calf. She hadn't even realized that time had passed until Shadow startled her with a tap on the shoulder. “We need to be going soon.”

She nodded. There was nothing she could do about the ragged flesh around the chain. If she healed the wound, the skin would only get abused again. So she ripped some of her cloth bandages and tried to buffer the abrasion from the harsh iron.

She knew better than to ask the boy's name. Some of the more neglected ones weren’t even given names at birth. When a boy entered the military, all individualization was stripped down, and they were known only by the I.D. numbers each boy was assigned. Still she needed to know who would do this to a child. No matter what the training prepared these boys for, this kind of abuse would help nobody’s cause. “Whose tent is this?”

She needed to know. Somehow she’d find a way to let Syon know. As awful and cruel as he was, there was no way he could let this type of abuse stand. He needed every able-bodied person to fight this war. To Syon, this would be viewed as a waste.

Shadow just shook his head and then started to turn the patient over. Lake helped, careful not to bump his head. The boy moaned and tried to fight. Shadow leaned down and whispered something in his ear. Lake thought she had caught a name—Connor? Conrad? She wasn't sure, and it wasn't safe for her to know anyway.

Whatever Shadow said seemed to have calmed the boy, and he fell back into semi-consciousness. Face to face, Lake could tell her patient was older than she’d thought. There was the faint wisp of hair on his upper lip, and though his body was thin, he held the promise of a wide chest and strong shoulders. Lake placed him at twelve or thirteen, just on the cusp of manhood. And who, if he lived through this, would have enough rage to burn the whole world.

Lake went to pull down the dirty blanket he had clutched to his chest. She wanted to check and see if there were any more wounds that needed tending. Shadow stilled her hand.

She looked up at him, and even though his face was hidden deep in the claw of the hood, blue eyes met hers.

Her heart stopped, recognizing something before her mind did. “Who are you?”

She leaned forward. But Shadow’s face was lost to her, and all she got was the top of his hooded head. Without thinking, she reached out to push back his hood, but the boy below her moaned in pain. She looked down and realized she’d accidentally brushed against him. Gently, she pulled at the blanket to find the source of his pain. There on the top left of his chest was an angry, red brand. The shape of the iron had been distinct and deep. The ragged curve of the letter S was unmistakable.

Bile swelled in the back of her throat. Her heart constricted and a scream welled up inside. She'd seen that letter. Knew it intimately. The scar of her husband's name burned into her back was the same as if it had been branded into her mind as well.

She hadn't realized she was screaming until Shadow leaped across the patient and tackled her to the ground, his hand covering her mouth. It wasn't until her mind cleared and she nodded that he let her go. Quickly, he grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the tent opening.

“No wait. I need to put some medicine on that burn. It's infected and...”

“No! He's been marked. If he heals without a scar, Elder Syon will just do it again. Come on, we need to go.”

She’d known it, seen the brand, but hearing Shadow’s words imprinted the truth as secure as the manacle around that boy's ankle. The horror of what this meant, of who her husband was, tumbled around in her mind, not willing to be taken hold of and examined. Lake stumbled as Shadow yanked on her arm. There was no time. She knew that. Her scream had closed any buffer they'd had. But still it wasn't enough.

Without thinking it through, Lake opened her bag and rummaged through the contents. Cloth bandages, antiseptic.

“We have to go now.”

Utility knife, needle and thread, bottle of tea tree oil.

“Come now or you’re on your own.” For the first time since she'd met Shadow, there was a tremor in his voice.

A capsule of microbiotics, and then there, at the bottom was a pair of small metal forceps she'd use to remove debris from a wound.

She placed them in the unconscious boy's hand and wrapped his fingers around them. That and a prayer were as much as she could give. Then she turned and fled into the night.

 

***

 

Leaving the camp took longer than getting in since they had to lie in wait behind the kitchen heap and the wood pile. It wasn't until after breakfast was served that there was a slight lull in the patrols.

The morning sun was up by the time they made it back to the low-hanging willow. Even though the sun was turning the frost into a blanket of diamonds, Lake pulled her hood lower. As the cover of darkness faded, her identity became more obvious. With fewer and fewer shadows, the boy seemed to lose his ability to melt into the landscape, and his hood slipped, showing grimy tuffs of light hair.

Now that Lake was out of the camp, she still had to contend with getting back into her house undetected.

“Thank you,” Shadow said.

Lake nodded, still not quite sure how this night would affect the rest of her life. She turned to go, but the small image of grimy hair slipping out from underneath his hood caught in her mind.

She turned back to him. “If I need you, where can I find you?”

The boy was already walking away, his shoulders hunched. How he seemed to find every dark path, every camouflage, she had no idea.

“If I need you, I'll find you.” He continued walking.

An urging in her heart made her press the matter. “Wait. Please. If I need to get into the camp again?”

He didn't turn and if the wind hadn't carried his words to her, she might not have ever heard his response. “The Market. You can find me at the tent named Black Creek Market.”

And then he was gone.