Duplicities (Imaginations Book 2) Page 10

  They had overtaken the guards along the way, all lying dead with their weapons stolen.

  Michael dragged us up the hill, stabbing, shoving, and shooting when he got the chance. I followed the wave into the city. We didn't scatter to the wind, we were a people taught to maintain order and never fall into chaos. So we all ran to the right, like brainwashed minions. Buildings collapsed, dust was stirred, and mud was made thicker. The drunken slavers screamed and tried to fight back, but the people had reclaimed their freedom. They had counted on our memory wipe to keep us slaves. They had never imagined we would rise up, but they never imagined anything like Lyle, Murphy, or me. They too had built their world on a set of rules that were set in stone, and people like us were easy to take advantage of. But that wasn't the truth anymore and now they had filled their city with more of us than them.

  The celebration was over.

  Another boom hit, shooting rock and debris at us but we continued to run, not paying heed to the injuries or the blood. Our bodies were pumped so full of fear and hatred they didn't feel a thing.

  We ran for the edge of the filthy city, squinting against the smoke and fire and dust in the air.

  I grabbed Mrs. Barker’s hand, tugging at her when we reached the gates that had been blown apart. “Is Amber with you guys here?”

  She twitched, shaking her head.

  “Brooke? Is Brooke here?”

  Her eyes darted to the right, to a pathway made of cobblestone I hadn’t seen before. “They take the young ones there.”

  I grabbed Michael’s hand, pulling him as he shouted directions at people. “The younger people are that way.”

  He waved a hand at me. “Go. I’ll take care of these guys.” He ran off, shouting at the people to follow him. Mrs. Barker followed. She left me standing there, covered in blood and disbelief as the slaves ran for the woods, the same as they had the last time I was here. Only this time, I didn't follow them. I went back into the city. I turned and ran through the bodies on the ground, ignoring the cries of the slavers as they died or lost people they loved. I still looked like one of them so they didn't run at me.

  Another boom hit, starting a succession of them. They rocked the city, shaking the buildings and shanties to the ground. Rocks, bricks, and sheets of metal fell but I continued up the cobblestone path. Dust and smoke filled the air as the ground shook with every new blast.

  At the end of the path stood a building that looked like it belonged in our city, not this one. The door was blown open with smoke billowing from it. I crept up the steps, nearly tripping over a dead man at the top of them. Inside there were dead or dying people everywhere. In the mix of dead slavers there were young women my age or a tiny bit older, all dressed in scarves and odd bits of clothing.

  I suspected it was something like the Club of the Unknown, but a version I didn't want to know about.

  The sounds of spilling water, crackling fire, and moaning from the dying filled my ears. I could hardly see beyond the main room as the hallways leading from it were dark and eerie.

  Clutching my blade, I tiptoed through the arms and legs of the fallen. I tried not to look at the faces of the girls, scared one of them would be a friend. I knew there was nothing I could do for anyone on the ground; I had to focus on the ones I could save. I had to see if Brooke and Amber were here.

  I made my way into the first dark hallway, wishing I had just a small flame to see. As I rounded the corner, the dark faded away. A hole had been punched through a wall in a room and light flooded into the large space. The room had a bed and a dead girl on the floor. The next room was similar, a bed and bodies. It dawned on me then I wouldn't find my friends here. I wouldn't find anything but my own death.

  My bravery had limitations and I had reached them.

  I turned to leave but a filthy face met me. He grinned, revealing a few dirty teeth. “What ‘ave we ‘ere?” he asked in the garbled dialect I barely understood.

  In the light a shaking glint from my blade danced around the darkness.

  “Kitty likes to scratch, huh?” He licked his filthy teeth and stepped toward me. I thrust my hand out, grunting to show him I meant business but he didn't stop. He lunged, reaching for my sword. I kicked him back and thrust forward the way he had, lunging and stabbing. He cried out as I nicked him. His dark beady eyes widened in shock. “You bitch!” He knocked the sword from my hand, slapping me across the cheek savagely.

  I flung back, tripping over rubble and landing hard on the stone floor. He picked the blade up, walking to me slowly, menacingly. “I’d like to think this changes your attitude. Maybe you’d like to show me a bit of gratitude and all? Huh?”

  I nodded, searching the hallway desperately for the answer to the screaming questions in my brain. My fingers felt around me but my eyes stayed on him. I plucked a rock from the pile of rubble, holding it but not bringing attention to the fact.

  He started to laugh. “Think me a fool?” He moved quicker, jumping on me and pinning my hand as I brought it up with the rock.

  I cried out as his face landed so near to mine. His rank breath stabbed at my senses, making my eyes water. He ground his body into mine, pressing me into the floor harder. I screamed as he jerked my wrist into the jagged rock I had tried to grab. When I cried out, he laughed.

  I closed my eyes in defeat so as not to watch whatever horrors were about to take place. Stabbing pain hit my stomach, forcing my eyes open.

  The stunned look on his face suggested he might not have been the cause of the stabbing pain, but also a victim of it. He blinked twice before he turned back, revealing the sobbing figure of a girl behind him. She looked younger than I was, but was still dressed in the scarves and bits of cloth held up by belts and ropes. It truly was an odd outfit for anyone to wear. It exposed everything.

  Spit and tears mixed, dripping from her copper-painted lips in what appeared to be a string of beaded saliva. She sniffled and wiped her face, smearing the spit and tears up her pale golden cheek. “You son of a whore,” she sobbed, shaking her head.

  She pulled the sword from him and me, causing me to cry out as the blade slid from my stomach too. He turned back to grab at her but she drove the fat blade into his chest so hard it hit the wall behind him. “Son of a whore,” she whispered into his face as he twitched and flopped into a pile on the rocks.

  Her bright-green eyes darted to mine before she turned and walked from the hallway. I pushed myself up, wincing from the wound in my belly, and followed her down the hallway. Warmth surrounded my fingers where I pressed on the stab wound.

  “Did you know an Amber or Brooke?” I called out after her.

  She didn't stop. She walked until she reached the front door. Then she stood outside as ash rained down on us and nodded. She lifted her face to the darkening sky and sighed. “I knew a Brooke.” Her voice was a whisper still, broken by tears and agony.

  “Did she live through the invasions?” I staggered to the door, desperate to hear the answer.

  She shook her head. “I don't know. I was in solitary.” She started to laugh and I wondered at her being half mad or all the way. She turned, smiling at me with the painted copper lips. Her tears and spit had not smudged the paint. It was not like regular makeup. Her hair was cut in a funny way, jagged and short in places and long in others. Her green eyes were light and bright against the filthy golden skin she possessed. “Had to be punished for biting.” Her eyes were wild.

  I gulped.

  She shook her head. “The explosions broke me free.” She walked to a man who was dead on the stairs and rifled through his greasy pockets. She smiled like she was missing half her sanity at least, and pulled a long brown stick from his pocket. She lifted the stick to her copper lips and reached back to rifle his pockets again. Her eyes lit up when she found a small box. She pulled a tiny twig from the box and struck it on the dead man’s whiskers, creating fire. I jumped as she brought it to her lips and puffed on the stick in her mouth.

  She inhaled the sw
eet-smelling smoke and sighed, closing her eyes again. “Amber sounds familiar too. Did she just arrive? From the kingdom invasion?”

  I nodded slowly, not certain what to make of the girl. Should I fear or adore her?

  She picked her tooth with a long painted nail and nodded. “She was here. Really pretty girl—brown hair and dark eyes?”

  My insides tightened, expecting my whole world to collapse with whatever she said.

  “She got taken, grabbed during the chaos, by men. They dragged her out when the explosions started.” She shook her head. “I wouldn't expect much. Men were using women as shields to get out of here.”

  My shoulders slumped as defeat kicked me around a little more.

  How did my brother dying, Bran dying, and all of the people killed here even come close to justifying the hapless rescue we had launched? I would never feel an end to all of this.

  I walked past her, again nearly tripping on the dead man on the stairs. I walked through the streets completely detached from the fear I had been so wrapped up in only moments before. Her footsteps were my company, even as I left the burning city.

  I made my way into the woods, certain I would find a place to lie down and let myself die.

  The Lost City

  The horse ride was killing me, I was certain of that.

  The girl with the copper-colored lips had found me in the place I decided was to be my deathbed. She helped me onto a horse and pointed in the direction we would flee.

  A hundred slaves made a nasty dent in the forest; it was easy to follow them.

  “Must be going to my home.” She grinned.

  I didn't know what she meant. My stomach was still bleeding and darkness was taking me. I rested my head on the horses back and let death come for me.

  Dreams came fast. Bran smiling and laughing, more at me than with me as was his way. I walked away from Bran, waving and smiling. The smell of apples owned my senses as I walked through the forest. I arrived at our little cottage, knocking because I wasn't sure if I lived there or not.

  Murphy opened the door and instantly memories flooded my brain.

  He and I dancing in the house to candlelight.

  Him cooking me a meal and feeding me from the spoon.

  He and I running through the forest, hiding from each other.

  The months I had spent with him weren’t awful at all. Each morning I woke, confused but calm. Not at all what the doctor had told me. Murphy was a perfect gentleman, always kind and sweet.

  A memory found it’s way into my mind, the last one I had lost. Murphy gave me a drink and told me it would all end the next day. I would start to remember things and everything would get better.

  He looked sad as I drank the tea that tasted like apple brandy.

  I went to sleep next to him, like always. He stayed, swearing he would watch me sleep and ensure I was safe all night long. He reached for my cheek, telling me he was sorry he had kept me for so long.

  The next day I woke and the memories started again. He knew the apple-brandy drink would free me but had kept it to himself. He had wanted to keep me.

  The images and dreams faded away, becoming part of the sounds of the forest and then a river. I knew I was awake, and yet couldn't see a single thing. My eyes wouldn't open.

  The sound of children was the next thing I heard. I blinked to find myself in a white room with beige curtains on the window. No light came through.

  “You’re awake?”

  I turned, surprised to see Mrs. Barker there. She smiled softly.

  “Am I dead?”

  “No.” She smiled but there was something wrong with it. It was broken maybe, destroyed by the hardship of being a slave. “You’re in The Lost City.”

  I tried to sit up but my stomach screamed.

  “Your wound went septic. You nearly died.” She nodded at my stomach.

  I lifted the white covers to see a huge beige bandage wrapped around me. It felt tight against my skin, like it was forcing me to suck in.

  “The girl who brought me here, is she okay?”

  Mrs. Barker nodded. “She’s from here, this is home for her. For many of them.”

  “Did everyone make it?”

  She shook her head. “Some died along the way. It’s to be expected.” She chuckled bitterly. “That is our life now.”

  I scowled, not responding because I had nothing but venomous things to say to her and no energy to say them.

  The door to the room opened with a smiling face joining our silence. Michael entered, closing it quietly. “Now this is a surprise. Thought you were dead, for sure.”

  “Me too.”

  Mrs. Barker stood, smiling at him. “Excuse me.” She left without another word. She certainly was not the woman I had grown up with.

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Some of us handle these changes better than others. She’s a bit of a dramatic sort of woman.” He plopped into her chair and sighed. “Now, tell me how the hell you ended up half dead on a horse with the meanest girl I have ever met saving your life?”

  A smile crept across my lips but tears flooded my eyes.

  He winced. “On second thought, keep it to yourself.”

  “Lyle and Murphy?”

  His eyes lowered. They answered for him. That was the moment everything got worse but I pushed back. I shoved hard and forced myself to see the possibility in the world.

  I shook my head. “They aren’t dead. I refuse to believe that every person I loved died this week. I refuse for that to be a possibility.”

  “You’re probably right.” He shrugged. “Your parents made it though. Your dad actually led all those people here. We arrived only days apart.” He snickered. “We were more motivated to run the whole way than they were. Your father said he had a hard time getting them motivated.”

  “Where are they?”

  He pointed at the door. “Your mom is in a room in the healers building too. She—fell on the walk.” There was something in his eyes that needed more of an explanation, but I could tell that was all I was getting from him. He got up quickly. “I’ll get your father. I’m sure you want to see some family.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

  He shrugged again. “What else was I doing?” He turned and left the room.

  My father entered moments later. His eyes were red and he looked liked he had aged a decade in the week we had been apart. He came to me, hugging me gently so as not to hurt me. He breathed me in, sighing and muttering. “Don't do that to me again.”

  I smiled, coughing a little and wincing from the pain. “How’s Mom?”

  He stiffened and pulled back, sitting in the chair as everyone else had.

  “What?” I was afraid to ask but I needed to know.

  “She’s sad.”

  I scowled. “Isn’t she excited to know I made it back?”

  He bit his lip, reminding me of my brother for the moment. It was then I realized we were mourning and I had forgotten. The chaos and emotion of everything else had gotten in the way. Tears filled my eyes again. “Greg.” I hadn’t gone back and burned his body as I should have. I hadn’t given him the ceremony he required to be freed to the stars.

  My dad swallowed his words but the tears in his eyes told me he too felt it, the loss of something too big to recover from.

  I looked down at my scraped-up hands and let a small sigh out. “I never realized how much I loved you all. I never remembered it the way I do now. Loss is so large it fills my whole heart with sadness.”

  “Your mother feels the same. She’s crushed, completely. She can’t seem to find joy in this world of memories.”

  “Well, I disagree with her there. The memories we have of the people we have lost are like gifts to me now.” I sniffed. “I am grateful I remember them all: Amber, Brooke, Greg, Tyler, and Bran. Without my memories I wouldn't know I had those people in my life once.” He reached forward, gripping my hands with his. Scratches and scabs marred his hands. “What happened?
”

  He squeezed harder, shaking a little. “She tried to jump off a hillside, a cliff almost.”

  I didn't understand and I could tell he saw that.

  “She jumped and hoped she would die. She wanted her life to end.” His voice cracked.

  I flinched, not taking the whole meaning in at once but making it trickle in. “She wanted death?” It took me a whole moment to realize the severity of her sadness. “Because of Greg?”

  He shook his head. “All of it. She did it on the way here. Before she even knew about your brother.”

  It made no sense to me. I was baffled by the thought of my own mother ending her life out of desperate sadness. She was free, did she not see that?

  “She just wanted the memories to go away.”

  It dawned on me then, we didn't know how to cope with struggle. We didn't recall unpleasant things. We didn't know how to be strong. The world we had been made to live in was too gentle for the world we actually lived in. “Is she all right?”

  He rubbed his hands, favoring the wounds. “She will be. She didn't hurt anything but her own heart.” He sighed again. “And mine.”

  Tears filled my eyes for a third time. He moved so quickly this time, hugging me harshly. The pain in my stomach screamed but I didn't care. We just needed to hug each other.

  We were interrupted by a man clearing his throat. We hadn’t heard him come in the room. He smiled but I didn't know him. “I’m the healer.”

  My dad stood, wiping his eyes and waving at me. “I’ll go check on your mother.” He walked out, closing the door behind him. Clearly he trusted the healer more than I did.

  “My name is Rodin. I’m the healer on this floor. I treated your wounds when Nan brought you in.”

  I scowled. “Nan?” The name didn't suit the savage girl she was.

  He nodded. “You recall her?” he asked softly. His long dark locks and dark beard was more hair than I had ever seen on a man. He looked to be about my age if you looked into his light-brown eyes, but his beard made him seem much older.