Evolution (25 page)

"Right."  I wait for them to leave. 
Chandre shuts the door behind her.

Me and the boys all stare at it for a long moment. 
Jonas is the first to stride to the windows, pushing the heavy pink curtains
aside to look out.

"It's no good," he says, his voice pitched
low.  "There are guards below, too."

George hovers at his side, frowning.

I sigh and look at the door to the bathroom. 
"Guess you guys are gonna have to bathe me, then."

It's a joke, but Apollon cracks a wicked grin. 
"Sure thing."

Jonas gives him a dark look.  "How about I run the
bath for you?  That's the best you're getting."

With my hands planted on my hips, I watch him fill the
bath.  He trails his fingers briefly in the water.  "Cold as
ice," he says.  "Sorry."

"Hmph," I say.  "This must be the first
'point of pain'."

He shakes his head with a small smile as he closes the door,
leaving me alone in the bathroom.

I strip off my clothes and carefully save my piles of fur,
wrapping them inside my coat.  The bath is certainly not enjoyable. 
I rush through it, my breath catching in my chest from the exposure to the cold
water.  Shivering, I climb out and towel off.  I crack the door open,
stick my hand out, and ask the boys to pass me the clothes from the bed. 
Someone stuffs them into my hand.  It turns out to be a white shift. 
The fabric is so soft I feel like I'm not really wearing clothing, which makes
me uncomfortable.  I retrieve my knife from my belt and slide it into my
boot.  The boys eye me as I step out, breaking off their murmured
conversation.

"A plan?" I ask.  They shake their heads.

"I don't like this," they both say at the same
time.

"No shit."  I rub my hair with the towel one
more time before tossing it down.  "Let's just get through this as
quickly as we can so we can get the hell out of here.  OK?"

They exchange looks rather than answer me.

"And you," I point one finger at Apollon as I head
for the door, "stop hitting on the Amazons."

He shrugs and mumbles, "I'll try."

I fling open the door and announce that I'm ready to see
Rossanna.  If all goes well, maybe we can figure out how to get out of
this place before the testing begins.

The guards lead off down the hallway.  We trail along
after them, George taking up the rear.  As I glance back, I get the
feeling that he's watching out for our backs.  He's still not talking, but
he definitely seems a little more with it than he did before.  Maybe, just
maybe, I'll be able to get something out of him.

We head down a series of hallways until we finally arrive at
our destination.  There is a small room before a larger chamber.  The
guards insist that the boys may not follow me any further.

"It's alright," I mumble.  "I'm a big
girl."  They say nothing as I move through the door into the next
chamber, leaving them behind.

 Rossanna is at a long table, laden with food. 
She barely glances up as I come in.  The charcoal-cloaked woman sits at
the other end, and guards line the sides of the room.  I spot Chandre and
the axe-maiden among them.

Rossanna finishes a bite of chicken and beckons me forward
with a flip of greasy fingers.  I do as I'm instructed and walk toward
her.  She does not invite me to sit down.  "Tell me,
Chandre," she says, without looking at the guard in question, "how
did you come to find her?"

"One of the patrols brought her in, oh Lady
Rossanna," Chandre answers in that weird pitch.  I glance at her, but
she has not moved.  "They report that she was brought to the city via
the convoy."

"The convoy does not run today," Rossanna snaps
viciously.  "Do you take me for a fool?"

Chandre's face colors red.  Her voice attempts to
remain steady, but does not.  "Of course not, oh noble Lady. 
There is none wiser than you."

"Then do you mean to tell me that these have been in my
city since the last convoy, and you are only now finding them?"

"N- no, Lady.  They are only just arrived. 
I—"

"Enough."  Rossanna turns her eyes on me,
now.  "How did you get into my city?"

"Exactly as Chandre has said, oh noble
Lady."  I make the words sound good, though inside I'm
growling.  "I had to give the convoy the last of my fortune so that I
might come into your radiant presence as soon as possible."

Her eyes narrow to slits as she sizes me up... or at least
looks like she's sizing me up.  She's already bought my compliment.

"I have heard rumors of your great city from far off in
the north, Lady, and I have been trying to reach Saint Louis ever since."

Her face melts into a gloating smile.  "If you
pass the tests of righteousness, you may serve me well," she says, aiming
for eloquence, but sounding more like a snappy little dog.  She's really
beginning to annoy me, and I barely know her.  She casts a quick glare at
Chandre, then looks at me again.  "I always have places for those who
serve me best."

I glance at Chandre and she's grinding her teeth.

Rossanna flicks her fingers toward the doorway again. 
"Go prepare her for the test.  We'll start when I finish my
meal."

Like that, I'm dismissed.  And utterly thankful for it. 
If I have to spend much more time around this woman, I might throw up.  As
Chandre marches me out the door, I check her face, and she's definitely
pissed.  Time to make a friend.

"Even rulers can be assholes," I whisper to her as
she shuts the door behind us.

Her eyes flick to me in utter alarm.  She can't believe
what I’ve just said.  She gives me a tiny shake of the head, but her
eyes—they're glowing.

I smile and turn to the boys, who are moving toward us,
their gazes questioning me.

"Time to test," I say as Chandre leads us off down
the hallway.  More guards fall in behind us.

"Right now?" Jonas asks.

I nod.

He glances at the pack of guards behind us, summing them
up.  George sticks tightly to his side.  Apollon is the one stuck to
my
side.

"You can't do this, Eden," he murmurs as we
walk.  "I've got a really bad feeling about this."

I glance at him.  "I thought you were kind of
enjoying yourself."

He flashes me a quick smile, but his eyes are grim. 
"It's too dangerous," he says.  "I don't know what the hell
this test is going to be like, but it can't be good."

"Probably not," I say, flipping my hair out of my
face as we walk.  "But it's not like we have a choice.  And
seriously, how bad can it be?"

His frown is laced with concern.

Before he can chastise me for asking a question that most
certainly, in his opinion, will lead us to utter doom, I push on. 
"Look," I say.  I nod at Chandre ahead of us, then glance at the
guards behind us.  "They did it.  If they can do it, I can most
definitely do it, too."

He tries to smile at me, but he's still uncertain, worried.

I nudge him with my elbow.  "I fight bears with
sticks, remember?  I'm a badass."

His smile stretches wider.  The worry is still there,
but he's starting to come around.

And it's a good thing, because we're almost at our
destination.  We emerge through a door out the back of the building into
the crisp night air.  There are packs of guards out here, now.  We
follow a stretch of cracked pavement through tall buildings.  Our guards
lead us a couple of blocks down.  Droves of people are already
coming.  We head for the rainbow arch.  A series of long steps
stretch the distance between its feet.  Chandre guides us to the top,
where we're bathed in the light of the rainbow.

I glance at her uncertainly, but she only looks away. 
I guess we wait.

So we stand there, and I wonder at the fact that Jonas,
Apollon, and George have not been separated from me.  I would have
expected that.  At least thinking about them keeps my mind from wondering
about the test, which will undoubtedly be an unpleasant experience at
best.  But I've been through more than these women can imagine, and I'm
tougher than they know.  I don't doubt my ability to meet whatever
challenge they throw at me.  And my friends are here, at my back. 
Their presence is a comfort in this land of strangers.

The waiting takes a long time, and none of us speak. 
The crowd grows, encircling the steps until all I can see around us is masses
and masses of armed women.  It's a good thing I'm confident, because if I
wasn't, this would be downright scary.

Eventually, Rossanna shows up in a litter.  As she
brushes aside the filmy pink curtains and climbs out, Chandre's jaw
clamps.  She glances at me, finally.  "Whatever you do,"
she whispers,  "don't hesitate."  She walks away from me
and takes up a spot amongst the other guards.

Hesitation is not something I plan on doing.  Whatever
these women might pit me against, I'm going to take it down like there's no
tomorrow.  I take a deep breath, remind myself of the knife tucked into my
boot, and start counting backwards from one hundred.  My palms are
sweaty.  I'm wiping them on my dress as Rossanna, flanked by guards,
addresses the crowd.

"This woman has come before us tonight to prove her
righteousness.  To prove her worthiness to serve me.  Let us welcome
her to the trial of her soul."

A cheer goes up from the women around us.  Moonlight
and rainbows glint off the masses of weapons they raise in the air as they
cheer.

When they fall quiet, she says, "But first, she must
prove that she is fit to be tested."  She turns calmly toward
me.  "Which of your servants will you sacrifice in honor of the
ceremony?"  Her eyes flit to Jonas, Apollon, and George.

Don't hesitate.

"Alright."  My eyes shift slowly from
Rossanna to my three companions.  Frowning, I touch my hand to my chin and
rub.  To Rossanna, I must be deliberating over the choice of which one to
sacrifice.

During the span of five seconds, a million things flash
through my mind.  Rossanna closely surrounded by guards.  My knife in
my boot, too far away to draw quickly.  The boys—weaponless.  When
did the Amazons have time to disarm them?  A crowd of thousands
surrounding us.  The Sentries.  Where are the fucking Sentries? 
My limbs, like rubber.  Chandre's warning:
don't hesitate
.

I cling desperately to logic.  There is one clear truth
here:  Either one of the boys is going to die, or we all are.  I can
see no way out.  No weakness to exploit.  No vulnerability. 
We’re trapped.  I can't let us all die, so which one will it be? 
Apollon, my best friend?  Jonas, the love of my past?  Or George, who
is possibly the key to everything—the piece of the puzzle that could save
Miranda, Neveah, and Matt?  My five seconds is up.  There never was a
choice here.

I let my hand drop and look back at Rossanna.  I
sigh.  I cannot appear to be too detached or she will see my ruse. 
Anyone would be reluctant to lose a well-trained slave.  I move one finger
between Apollon and Jonas.  "You can have either of them," I say,
keeping my voice flat with disinterest.  I nod at George.  "Just
not that one."

Apollon's eyes go wide.  Frozen with fear and
shock.  Betrayal colors his face in a rush of red.  Jonas is as solid
and unreadable as ever.

A cruel little smile twitches at Rossanna's lips.  She
gestures toward George.  "The sacrifice means more if it is difficult
to part with."

Two Amazons step forward and seize him by the arms.  He
glances from one to the other, but he doesn't struggle.  I'm counting
backwards, trying to bury my relief and the guilt that goes with it.  Did
I really just choose his death?  I had no choice.  I had no
choice.  I had no choice.

Rossanna sweeps away from the center of the steps toward a
pink throne that has materialized at the edge—front row seating. 
Chandre's wave of guards encompasses Jonas and Apollon, herding them roughly to
the other side.  I want to retreat with them, close my eyes and hide from
what’s happening, but somehow I am still here.  That leaves me, George,
the two Amazons holding him, and a third, who thrusts a gleaming silver dagger
toward me.

"So that you may prove your worthiness to be
tested," she whispers, pressing the blade into my hands.  I fumble,
unable to accept it.  My eyes dart wildly through the crowd as I realize
the full weight of what is required of me.  I lock gazes with Chandre,
standing at the edge. 
Don't hesitate
.  My fingers curl around
the blade.  I look at George.

He's not Apollon.  Not Jonas.  Just some guy that
I don't really know.  Either I'll find another way to save the Outpost, or
it's too late already.  He might not even ever regain his sanity.  I
could be doing him a favor.  Surely he's not aware of what's happening
right now, or he would be struggling.  Wouldn't he?

George looks directly into my face.  Then he looks past
me, at Jonas.  There is something reverential in his eyes.  Some
hidden communication that passes between them.  George's gaze falls to the
ground, to the cement steps stretching away before him.  He freezes, a
statue awaiting death.  A willing victim.  I cannot imagine the agony
of his mind right now.  Cannot imagine how he can face this so bravely, or
all the multitude of loss that this moment is carving out inside him.  It
pours out of him in massive waves, crashing over me.  I know in an instant
I will be unable to act.  Unable to save us.  Jonas. 
Apollon.  Can’t breathe.  Can’t do this. 
Don’t. 
Hesitate.

One strike of flashing silver, lightning shooting across his
throat.  A torrent of warm crimson splashes onto me—onto my face, my white
robes.  He falls.  I can’t look.  George's lifeblood flows down
the steps, a quiet red river carrying away his soul.  Just like that, so
easily, he is gone.  At my hand. 
My hand.
  Utter silence
stretches beneath the arch.  Then, as the blood reaches the bottom of the
steps, a cheer like a million carrion birds upon their prey.

The dagger falls from my grip before I can stop it.  I
can't take my eyes from the river—can't sense anything but the smell of blood,
my robes sticking to my skin with quickly-cooling liquid, the darkness of my
soul plummeting into the furthest reaches of Hell.  Evil, rage, disgust,
rises swiftly within me, filling me with the most terrible conglomeration of
emotion I have ever experienced.  Layers upon layers of wrongness. 
George's agony cast upon me tenfold, contorted, writhing with living
darkness.  As it bursts out of my innermost being, I lose control of my
body.  Though I fight it, my face begins to twist in pain.  
What
have I done? 
Tears are coming.  On top of everything else is the
knowledge that I have failed.  I know that when Rossanna sees the reaction
that I cannot hide, we will all die.  I have become a murderer for
nothing.  I've not saved us.

As the scream builds within me, there is sudden awareness of
my fingertips.  I gape wide-eyed at the contraption of wires that the
grey-cloaked woman is clamping onto them.  The jolt of physical pain
shoots up my arms at the perfect moment.  Lightning.  Fire. 
Every nerve in my hands and arms exploding.  It's nothing.  My screams
are detached.  They come from a place far deeper.

I stumble on the steps as she attaches the next device on my
head.  A pickaxe through my brain.  I'm blind.  Pain and pain
and pain.  My shrieks pour out, a release of everything inside.  The
torment from without competes with the agony from within.  I'm laying
down, steps pressing into my back.  Hands are on me.  Boots yanked
off.  My toes.  My neck.  My hips.  Thrashing.  Raw
throat.  White light.  Screams far away.  Collision of brain
chemicals.  Nothing.  Except.  Agony.

***

Shuffling down an echoing corridor.  Awareness sinks
in.  My body is shaking violently, occasionally wracked with spasms. 
Jonas and Apollon support my arms, though I don't want them to touch me. 
Every touch is raw nerve, but more than that, I don't want anyone to come in
contact with the foulness of my soul.  Certainly not these, who I
love.  But they won't let me cast them off, just as I won't let Jonas pick
me up when he tries again.  So we stumble toward our room, make it through
the door, and close the guards outside.

I tear at my robes.  "Get these off of me! 
Get these off of me!"  My voice seems to come from someone
else.  My hands aren't working right.  I'm in a pile on the
floor.  Jonas kneels and helps me remove the bloody clothing, talking
softly to me, telling me something I can't seem to understand.  I don't
care about my nakedness.  Just getting rid of the blood.  So much of
it stays when the robes are gone.  I scratch at my skin, trying to claw it
off.  I'm shrieking through clenched teeth.

Jonas peels my hands away from the skin I am trying to tear
into ribbons.  Apollon presses a wet cloth into Jonas' hands and he starts
wiping me.  "There," he says.  "There."  His
face is so tender.  So sad for me.  I don't deserve his pity.

There's a bowl beside him with clean water.  He washes
all the blood off with patient, gentle motions.  I stop fighting
him.  Stop fighting myself.  I'm too exhausted, and my body is still
busy using all its energy on shaking and convulsing.  Even the tears have
to pour quietly down my face because I don't have anything left to give them.
 I watch the water turn blush.  Then red.

Jonas wipes my face last, when Apollon replaces the bloody
liquid with clean water.  He's turned down the bed, and now he brings my
clothing and helps Jonas dress me.  Apollon takes away all the evidence of
blood as Jonas swings me up into his arms and carries me to the bed.  I
hang limply until he places me into the middle of the mattress.

The lights are doused.  My friends climb in on either
side of me, draping warm blankets and comforting arms over my shivering
body.  They don't try to say anything.  There is nothing to
say.  I weep and weep in the darkness.  The strangest thing is I am
not weeping for George, or for what I've done, or for the rawness of every
nerve in my body.  The only thing I can think about is Oscar.  If I
had never lost him, none of this could have happened.  Oscar made me
better than this.  My beautiful little Oscar.  But even that was my fault. 
I didn't save him.  Now, without him, there is no hope for me.

***

I wake in the early hours of the morning, my body aching
tremendously.  I clamp my eyes against the rush of memory, pushing it
away, and focus on the sensations in my body.  Everything hurts like I
have the flu.  I know what it's from, but I choose not to acknowledge
it.  I lie still for a moment, orienting myself.  Behind me, a mass
of warmth and deep breathing.  Apollon.  In front of me,
nothing.  I touch the vacant mattress, a slight impression where Jonas
used to be.

I open my eyes and give them a moment to focus.  He's a
motionless mass of darkness against the window, sitting on the wide sill, the
curtain barely shoved aside.  His face is turned to the landscape below,
undoubtedly analyzing the possibility of a way out.

I manage to climb from the bed without waking Apollon,
though it takes tremendous effort just to make my body move.

Jonas looks at me as I approach.  He reaches out a hand
to steady me.  Instead of pushing him away, or pretending to be OK, I let
myself fall into him.  He stands, catching me into his arms.  I bury
my face in his shoulder and just let him hold onto me.  I breathe the
smell of him and think that maybe, just maybe, I can come through this to the
other side.

He holds onto me for a long, long time.  There are
still no words.  How could he possibly know what to say?  Maybe he's
as disgusted with me as I am.  But even so, his forgiveness is
apparent.  He hangs onto me like I could slip away to nothingness if he
faltered in the slightest bit.  I rest against him, and his words from a
very long time ago form in my head, as though he's whispered them now: 
You
do what's necessary to survive.  Sometimes you make choices that you don't
like.  But in the end, you're alive
.  There is comfort in the
words, but they also bring a new dose of fear.  How far do you go? 
At what point is it too much to ask?  What if Rossanna had demanded I kill
Jonas or Apollon?  Could I have done it?  Wouldn't it have been
better for us all to die together?  What about George?  He knew us,
even if we didn't remember him.  He died for us, willingly.  I'm sure
now that's the whole of it.  Maybe I should have defied Rossanna for
him.  Gone down with some remnant of my soul intact.

As light begins to seep in through the window, Jonas finally
speaks.  Really, it's a growl through clenched teeth.  "We have
to find a way out of here."

"No shit," says Apollon from the bed.  I
don't know if Jonas realized he was awake, or if his words were for me. 
Apollon sits up and stretches.  "Any ideas?"

Jonas, still clinging to me, shakes his head in my
shoulder.  "No," he mutters.  He sounds so defeated. 
"We're still heavily under guard."

Apollon goes to the window, yanks the curtain aside, has a
look at the patrol of Amazons below, and sighs.  He turns to us, puts his
hand on my shoulder.  Jonas finally lets go of me and Apollon scoops me up
in a bear-hug.  It's like he's squeezing all the pain to the
surface.  I can't breathe.  I clamp my eyes but the tears leak
out.  I can't see his face, but I know that his expression is the same as
mine.

Later, I'm the one sitting in the window, gazing out
despondently.  The boys are all hushed, intense words.  Not arguing,
exactly.  Just debating the best possibility for escape.  I can't
hear most of what they're saying—they don't want me to.  But there are two
things they clearly agree on.  One: They will not let me go through any
more of this ‘testing’.  Two: There is no way out.

Grim reality is settling over me.  I don't care about
what I might go through now, so long as they are safe.  Surely, if I just
pass this stupid test, I'll be trusted enough to have the opportunity to
escape.  I don't know what the Amazons can possibly do to me that is any
worse than what they have already done.  No.  What
I
have
already done.

There's a soft knock at the door.  The boys cut off
their conversation and look at it.  Finally, Apollon gets up and answers
it, a dark expression plastered across his face.

It's Chandre.  The axe-maiden is with her, but this
time Apollon hardly glances at her.  He steps aside to let them enter, but
he and Jonas exchange a look.

"I brought your knives," Chandre says, holding out
the knife I was given by Coyote Dan in one hand and the dagger I used to kill George
in the other.  There is no longer any sign of his blood. 
"You'll want to have them later."

I don't like the sound of that, but all I can do is grunt
acknowledgement.  Chandre places them on a small table.  She and the
axe-maiden exchange glances then turn to go.  At the door, Chandre says,
"You did well not to hesitate."

I want nothing more than for them to go, but at the last
second, I say, "Chandre?"

She turns back.

"What would have happened if I had hesitated?"

She blinks, as if my question is unexpected.  As if the
answer isn't apparent.  I want to believe that it is, but I need to hear
it spoken aloud.  A little flicker of understanding passes her gaze. 
"The crowd would have torn you all limb from limb until you were nothing
but scattered pieces."  She allows the words a few heartbeats to sink
in, then she gives a small nod and leaves.