New World Ashes (2 page)

SOMETHING COLD STRUCK
me in the face. It rolled over my skin, down my chest and into my lap. It should have been refreshing, but the chill of the water felt almost violent against my scorched skin, a million minuscule pins and needles stabbing my nerve endings. My head whipped back involuntarily before rolling forward again.

A groan slipped from my lips. My temples were throbbing.

I blinked a few times, trying to focus. Neither my body or mind felt under my control.
Keep your head.
I reminded myself.
My name was Phoenix. I had made a sacrifice. The Sanctuary had captured me. I didn’t want to die.
As I stared at my soaked thighs, I tried to make an assessment of my fuzzy surroundings.

They had moved me.

The floor I could just see beyond my bare toes was grey now and I was sitting up—well, not so much “sitting up” as tied to a chair. While my instincts screamed at me to resist the restraints, I knew they were the only things holding me upright. As much as I wanted to be rid of them, I needed them for support. Without my bindings they would know how weak I was, but with them I stood a chance at feigning strength.

“Do it again.” A snide male voice spoke to my right. I heard the movement of feet and the sloshing of another bucket.

“I would
highly
advise against that.” I meant my voice to be strong and confident, but what came out was cracked and raspy.

The sloshing noise stopped.

“So nice of you to join us, Prea.” A different voice spoke this time. It was deeper, more refined than the first.

Using all of my strength, I pushed against the ropes on my chest and pulled my head up to face the man who said my name. It was like staring at him through a dark tunnel. I forced my eyes to focus.

He was old by Tartarus standards. His perfectly coiffed hair was streaked grey and white. The wrinkles embedded in his face had given way to gravity slightly, but there was something wrong about them. It was as if his face had been stretched back a little to keep the drooping lines tighter. There was something else in his features I couldn’t quite place. Something… familiar. He had a sharp nose like a beak and the most piercing blue eyes. Even in my semi-delirious haze, their gaze sent a chill down my spine.

Focus, Phoenix…

His pressed suit was perfectly white, with a high blunt collar that stopped just below his angular jaw. Two silver bars were mounted on each shoulder. There was something round, shiny and silver over his left breast that I could not quite make out. The tailored uniform gave him an authoritative look, but it was not a soldier’s uniform nor was it like the civilians’ garb I had seen—that I had stolen—before being captured. The attire had been well calculated. He appeared to be a commander yet still a man of the people—white like a citizen’s but cut like a soldier’s. In his left hand he held a brass cane, but wasn’t placing much weight on it. Possibly it was more for show than actual use. He may have looked older, but he carried himself with the authority and arrogance of a much younger man. Clearly, this was the man in charge. He was the one I had heard so much about and yet knew almost nothing.

This was The Minister of The Sanctuary.

This was Minister Fandrin.

As the tunnel of my vision widened, I took in more of my surroundings. We were not alone. Three other younger men stood in the room with us. While I was now aware of their presence, it was The Minister who still held my complete attention. He was the one who had spoken my name. My
real
name.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You must be confused old man. That’s not my name,” I lied.

His returning smile made my hollow stomach flip. “On the contrary my child, I am positive that your name
is
Prea. Prea Mason.”

My throat clenched. No one knew my surname, not even Triven. That name had died with my parents. I concentrated on keeping my face calm. Emotionless.

“And what the
hell
makes you think you know anything about me?” I said through my teeth. My head was getting heavy again, but I forced myself to hold his cold gaze.

His smile shifted, looking more like a snarl.

“Even beneath all of that grime and filth…” There was loathing in the old man’s eyes as they scoured over me. “Did you
really
think I wouldn’t recognize my own granddaughter?”

MY HEAD SUDDENLY
felt lighter. Surely my mind was playing tricks on me again. I had heard him wrong. A sickness unlike anything I had ever felt clawed under my skin. It felt as if my soul had shivered. The smile that spread across his lips seemed to be an attempt at appearing paternal, but to me it was menacing.

“I think you must have me confused with someone else, old man.” I lied again.

His smile faltered as he sighed. “It’s truly disappointing how much you’re like your mother.”

He shook his head like the sight of me sitting before him tied to the chair was an embarrassment. Anger boiled in my veins.
How dare he insult my mother?
I wanted to scream at Fandrin that he was a liar. That there was no way in hell he and I shared any bloodlines. But the longer I stared at his smug face, the more I could see the resemblance. There was something in the shape of his jaw, in the hollow of his cheekbones, that looked so much like my mother…

So much like me.

But more than that—what really chilled me—were those eyes.

They weren’t just bright and piercing… they were
my
eyes.

I tried to swallow. For the first time in my life, I had no quip to cut back. Instead I just stared blankly at the man claiming to be my grandfather. All I had ever wanted was my family back, but as I gazed at the man before me something within me churned. It was as if a tiny moth’s wings fluttered against my spine, warning me something wasn’t right. I tried to ferret out the source of those feelings but nothing came to my broken mind. My memories were too far gone. Whatever it was that my body seemed to remember, my mind could not.

However, one thing I had learned to trust over the years was my intuition. It was what so often kept me alive. While the man reminded me of my mother—of myself—I had no recollection of his face. He was nothing more than a familiar stranger, and a dangerous one at that.

Growing restless, The Minister paced the small space in front of me, his hand twisting over the top of his brass cane as he moved. His withered knuckles turned white as he gripped and re-gripped the handle repeatedly.

His voice was flawlessly controlled when he spoke again. Kind, gentle, just flirting with cold. “Imagine my surprise when I was informed that a band of the exiled had actually managed to penetrate The Wall. And not only had those parasites managed to infiltrate my city, but they had killed several of my troops
and
were being lead by none other than my supposedly dead granddaughter. Disappointing really.”

I wasn’t sure which he was more disappointed in—that I had acted against him or that I wasn’t as dead as he thought I should be.

“You have come into
my
city, threatened
my
people and stolen from
me
. I have had people killed for much less, little girl.” He turned to face me, but I stared determinedly at the barren grey floor. Pressing the tip of his cane to my throat, he jerked it upward forcing me to look at him.

“I have taken nothing from you—” I snarled, trying to disguise my rising panic. I knew almost nothing of this city. I had no bargaining chips here, nothing I could swap for my protection.

Then he gave it to me.

“Oh, but haven’t you? That
child
is not yours.” The tip of his cane pressed down harder, cutting off my airway as a dark shadow flashed across his features. Then he suddenly pulled back just a little, allowing me to suck in a desperate breath. “But unlike your mother,
I
can be forgiving. If you return what is mine, I will be lenient with you. After all, it would be nice to have my bloodline back at my side. We could be a family again.” He eyed me possessively.

A young man in the corner shifted, drawing my attention. His eyes were filled with disdain as they focused on me. They were deep brown and despite their malice they reminded me of Mouse. She was the only one I had ever broken my rules for, the first person I had loved other than my parents. She was the sister I never had and the child I could never be. I sat in this very chair as my sacrifice to save her.
She
was what The Minister was asking for, what he claimed—like property—was stolen from him.
She
was my bargaining chip. My way out. At another time in my life, I might have taken that offer, but not anymore. He would never so much as lay eyes on her again.

As I stared at the older man before me I knew—deep down—that he wasn’t lying. He
was
my grandfather. His blood ran in my veins. But regardless of blood, Mouse was more of a family to me than he could ever be. She and Triven were the only people in the world who mattered. And despite my selfish nature, I now would sacrifice everything to keep them alive—to keep them safe from the monster standing before me.

The longer I stayed quiet, the more impatient he grew. The tip of his cane slowly pressed harder against my throat as he awaited my response. I could feel the bruise forming as my windpipe constricted further. I smiled warmly at him, batting my eyes before speaking.

“Go to hell.”

I only caught a glimpse of rage as it flashed across his face before the brass cane smashed into the side of my head. But in that instant before I blacked out, I took pleasure in his frustration.

I DIDN’T KNOW
how long I had been out, but regardless of the time, it was the pounding headache that woke me. It felt as if my head had been cleaved in two. A steady pulse beat in my skull. As I tried to roll onto my side, the pain flared, causing me to curl into myself in agony. I clutched my head trying to make it stop. There was a bandage just above my left temple. The flesh around it was raised and burning, the gauze sticky to the touch. I forced myself not to shake, scream, or vomit.

I lay still until the pain eased, counting the seconds as I focused on my labored breathing. Even without opening my eyes, it was easy to tell I had been moved to yet another room. Whatever I was lying on now, it wasn’t the concrete floor of the room I had just been in, nor was it the high gloss surface of my personal hot box either. No, wherever I was, there was definitely some kind of mattress—if it could be called that—beneath me. Its scratchy material felt like sandpaper on my blistered skin. When the pain in my head finally subsided enough that I could open my eyes. I took in my new prison.

The floor was coated dark grey and the walls were thick cinderblocks that someone had painted white. In the corner of the tiny room was a silver toilet. At the other end of the room was a hingeless red metal door with a slot at the bottom about a hand’s width high by two hands wide. I couldn’t see the hall beyond it. And as the small gap had an opaque sheen to it, I would wager a guess it was an electrified force field similar to the door I had encountered at the Subversive. Stick your hand in it, and you would get zapped.

If I were to reach my arms out, my fingertips could just graze the wall opposite of me. The room itself was tiny. The whole thing was maybe half the size of my little closet in the old library. No windows. No vents. No electrified open passageways. They wanted to keep me isolated and blind. It felt like being buried in a cinderblock coffin.

Good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic.

Other than my eyes, I hadn’t moved an inch. But the tingling at the base of my skull alerted me to something. I knew that feeling. Six years of being alone, six years of constantly being on the run—on the defensive—had given me a sixth sense for these things.

I was being watched.

Feigning closing my eyes again, I looked up to the ceiling through my eyelashes.

I was right.

In the upper left corner of the room, just off the doorframe was a camera. I had seen many outside of The Wall in Tartarus. They were mounted in streets, falling off walls in decrepit buildings. There, they were old, fragmented and definitely not in use. But this one—while shaped a little differently from the ones I had seen and read about—was most certainly a camera and it was on. A tiny red light at the top warned me it was broadcasting right at this very moment.

I would bet my life there was one in my other torture chamber of a room too. I had just never been able to see it through the blinding lights.

They were watching me. They had
been
watching me.

I closed my eyes all the way, trying to forget that others were still watching, others who never closed
their
eyes.  As I lay still, I took inventory of my body. Old wounds still hurt. The shoulder I was laying on was tender from the healing bullet wound. Aside from the splitting headache, raw skin, and injured shoulder, my body felt drained. Every muscle ached from dehydration. My insides seemed to be withering into dust. Involuntarily, I licked my lips. They were still cracked and bleeding. If I was going to survive, I would need water. As if on cue, there was a grinding noise of something being slid across concrete.

I peeked at the door.

A glass of water had been pushed through the slot in the door. I felt a pang of relief, but didn’t move for it. They knew I needed the water. They knew they had control over my life. We both knew it. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t control some things. I used the last bit of restraint I had and closed my eyes again. Eventually I would have to drink the water, but I wanted to do it on my terms, not theirs.

I lay still for a long time trying to think about anything except what I wanted to think about most—the ones I had sacrificed my life for. But the thoughts kept creeping relentlessly back into the forefront of my mind.

Were they still alive? Did they make it out?
And the worst, and most wasteful thought—
were they coming back for me?
I had never wasted energy hoping someone would rescue me. And despite what Triven had promised, this was not the time to start.

Once again, I was on my own.

It was strange how time moved since my capture. A part of me felt like it had been just hours ago that I had watched Triven’s face disappear into the shadows of that drain. But another part of my brain felt like it was a lifetime ago. Was it days? Weeks? Months? In truth, it was hard to tell.

What if Mouse and Triven didn’t make it? What if I was holding out for nothing?

I shook those thoughts from my head. No. They
had
survived, they
had
gotten away. I had to believe that, if not for them, then for myself. Without them, my being here meant nothing. It meant I had sacrificed my life needlessly and I couldn’t believe that. I surely would never have been careless enough to sacrifice myself if no good came of it. They were alive and I would survive this to get back to them. Mouse and Triven were my only excuse to live now, so they had to be okay.

A bright thought sparked in my slow mind. 

They
were
alive...

The Minister’s reaction had proven that. If he had them, then he wouldn’t need me. But I was still here.
I
was still alive too. He was going to try and use me to get to them. So according to reason, if I’m alive then they are too. The more The Minister tortured me for information, the further Mouse and Triven were slipping from his grasp. A strange giddiness flared in my chest.

Grunting against the pain in my head, I leaned forward and took the glass of water. It shook slightly in my hand, the water sloshing in the clear cup. As much as I wanted to gulp it down, I hesitated. Normally, I would have sniffed it or just risked a fingertip taste, but they were watching me. This was a test, a challenge to look for weaknesses. For fear.

I firmly wrapped my fingers around the cup and raised it in a toast to the camera. My mouth spread into a dry and cracked smiled as I put the cup to my lips and drained it.

Challenge accepted. I’m not afraid of you old man.

Bring on the torture.