Continuum (33 page)

I notice the strange rings tattooed on his forearm as his fingers reach up to the gash on his temple.  His tone is groggy but still matter-of-fact, “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know.  Ten minutes?  Fifteen?  Someone... Fallon was... She was...” my voice gets caught in my throat.

He doesn’t hesitate to complete my sentence, “Taken.”  

“I heard the back door open followed by Fallon screaming.  I was upstairs and I came running out as fast as I possibly could.  You were lying here, unconscious.  She was already gone.”

Fallon

The room is completely dark when I awake.  I am seized by panic, unsure of where I am.  I reach out instinctively to turn on the light on the nightstand.  It flickers on and it takes my eyes a second to adjust.  I am in my bed, in my bedroom, in my house, in Everest Heights.  For a brief moment, I feel relief followed immediately by confusion.  My head is pounding and my heart is thundering, a thin sheen of sweat covering my body.

Dread fills my heart as I scramble out from under the covers.  I am unsure whether I am asleep or awake, but I know time is of the essence.  Flinging open my bedroom door, I run outside downstairs in a panic.  I jam my feet inside my sneakers and fly out the front door, not bothering to shut it.  

Ethan.  I have to go to Ethan
. 
Harried, I leap off the top of the porch stairs instead of walking down the steps.  My feet barely touch the ground before I start running.  All the training from my sleepless nights pay off as my feet eat up the pavement.

My hair whips behind me as I pump my legs.  The adrenaline keeps me going at my max all the way to Ethan’s.  When I reach his door, I can barely suck in a full breath let alone fill my lungs with enough air to scream.  I ring the doorbell endlessly and pound frantically on the front door praying his mom isn't the one who comes to the door.  No one seems to be home.  Where the hell are they?  Were they in trouble?  

I scramble around to the side of the house not wanting to be seen by a nosy neighbor.  I have every intention of breaking one of the back windows when a low moan rises from the backyard, instantly pumping life back into my limbs.  Next to the wooden fence, a body is lying motionless in the shadows.  I slowly lower myself down onto my knees and carefully turn the figure over.  The moonlight cast in his eyes make them an eerie bluish silver.

“Are you okay?  Your head is bleeding.”  I gingerly apply pressure to the cut on his head with the sleeve of my shirt.

A sharp hiss of pain escapes through his clenched teeth and he can barely moan out, “It hurts everywhere, Fallon.”

Hearing my name on his lips triggers a memory and I am suddenly conscious that I am unconscious.  I'm aware that I’m inside a dream.  But this is not my dream.  It’s Zefa's dream. 

“Zefa, I'm not really here with you.  You're still unconscious.  I don't know how much time I have or how much you'll remember when you wake up.  Fyro came for me.  You can’t let my father’s enemies hurt Ethan.  This is not his war.”

He groans as he heaves himself into a sitting position, “That is not a promise I can make.  Epir won't let anything or anyone stand in his way.”

“I don't want you to come after me.  They want to use me as a hostage, please don’t let it work.  I don’t want him to use people as bargaining chips.  Just promise me you’ll take care of Ethan in whatever way you can.”

His voice is anguished, showing emotion for once, “Fallon, you do not know what you are asking of me.”

I grip Zefa's hands in mine, pleading with him.  “Don’t let my sacrifice be for nothing.  I was always willing to risk my life for his.  It's too late to save me, please save Ethan.”  

Suddenly, the ground starts trembling and then it begins to shake violently.  His eyes are wide with shock and fear, “What is going on?”  

I give his hands one last squeeze, “You're waking up.  Thank you for everything, Zefa.”

Peering into the endless abyss of a deep, black tunnel, I am waiting for something to arrive.  For a long time, I stare into the empty darkness and there is nothing.  Then two pinpricks of light appear and I can just begin to hear the faint whistle of the oncoming train.  The spots of light grow larger and the roar of the engine grows louder.  Second by second, the train is barreling closer.  A sigh of relief escapes my lips--I have been waiting so long.  

The lights are growing closer, blazing so brightly they hurt my eyes but I can’t turn away.  My eyes begin to water from the searing brightness.  The noise only intensifies the pain.  The wheels are screeching as the train thunders along the tracks, the metallic clang raking my eardrums.  The noise makes my skull vibrate.

Distracted by the paralyzing pain, I realize too late that I am standing on the tracks.  The train is a millimeter away and I have just enough time to squeeze my eyes shut.

I peel my eyelids back and the effort is painful.  My skull feels like its been split open with a crowbar.   Hesitantly, I try to sit up but drop back down, my arms shaking from the effort.  Slowly, I pull myself up against the wall and have to lean against it so I don’t fall over.  The front of my shirt is covered in blood.  Every fiber in my body is vibrating from the aftermath of the pain.  So I wasn’t just obliterated by a train.  

Fyro
.  

I look around, I am sitting inside a similar oval room as the one in Zefa's ship.  Except this one is much smaller and designed more as a cell.  The stark white walls are bare except for a lone black screen next to the door, no windows or control panels to open the door.  The small bed is built into the curve of the wall and directly across from it is a toilet and shower.  No privacy barriers for either one.  

My eyes travel back to the black screen as it flickers on.  An unknown male appears on the screen.  His mismatched stare--one gray eye, one blue eye--is cold and calculating.  His high cheekbones are framed by long, dark waves parted precisely down the center.  He would be handsome except for the flatness of his eyes and the cruel curve of his lips. “Good, I see you have finally regained consciousness.  How are you feeling my dear half-cousin?  I was afraid I had fried you.”

Even the sound of his voice is chilling or maybe it’s because my body knows what he’s capable of.  An involuntary shiver travels down my body, but I steel my voice before replying.

“Hmm, you might want to work on your lying.  That was a pretty weak attempt.  I hope you didn’t have to use too much juice.  My mind must have been stronger than you anticipated.”

He snarls, “I would not anger someone like me if I were in your position. We will be landing in a few minutes.  I suggest you brace yourself.  My brother wants you unharmed.  For now.”  The screen goes black and I collapse back down on the bed, unable to hold myself up any longer.

After we dock, I am taken off the ship by a group of four guards.  Two of the guards flank me, holding me up by gripping my tender upper arms with unnecessary roughness.  My legs are still weak so they have to half carry, half drag me around.  Another guard leads the group down a series of hallways and last one follows the group.  He’s pressing what feels like the barrel of a gun against my spine.  I’m not sure what all the fuss is about since I can barely hold myself up.  They take me up several flights of stairs and another series of hallways before depositing me into an empty room. 

The door slides close with a quiet hiss as they move to guard the exit.  This room designed to be an office.  The design aesthetic seems to favor curved rather than flat surfaces.  The curved walls are completely seamless and made out of a matte industrial steel.  Round skylights stream light into the room, its rays bouncing off the walls.  

My distorted reflection is staring back at me from the wall, the floor, and the ceiling.  A large semi-circle white couch is nestled in the corner against the curve of wall.  An expansive, bean shaped desk sits in the center of the room.  The desk is made out of a clear lucite which gives the illusion that the round black screen on the desk is floating.  A large white enamel armchair with bright red cushions is set behind the desk with two smaller white chairs in front of it.  Hanging from the 15 foot ceiling above the desk, is an enormous chandelier decorated with clear black crystal spikes.  My legs buckle as I plop myself down onto one of the smaller white chairs at the desk, my back turned to the door.

I don't turn around when the door slides open and closes with a hiss.  I grip the arms on the chair but hold my body as still as possible with my muscles still trembling from the pain of Fryo’s assault.  All my senses are on high alert.  There is a momentary pause followed by the soft click of shoes against the pure white marble floor.  I stifle a gasp of recognition as he comes into view.  I know him because I have dreamt of him and his cold gray eyes.  His eyes are as flat and cold as the steel walls of the room as they assess me.

He walks with sure, confident strides around the desk sitting down in the red chair.  He leans back in the chair, crossing his ankle over his knee and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, fingertips pressed together in front of his mouth.  I try to find my father’s likeness in his features but find none.  I wonder how much he looks like my aunt.  

His black hair is perfectly slicked back, not a strand out of place.  He has a handsome, almost regal face with sharp cheekbones and a square jaw.  He is dressed in a pristinely tailored navy suit with a crisply pressed, light blue shirt.  His appearance is more businessman than warlord except for his nose.  It has been broken at least twice adding character to an otherwise refined face.  He says nothing as settles in his chair.

His lips form a thin smile but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.  His voice is even colder than his eyes, devoid of emotion, “My name is Epir, son of Asila.  It is good to finally meet you, cousin.  I have waited long for this moment.”

I keep my tone equally even and detached, “I can't say the feeling is mutual considering the circumstances under which your brother brought me here.”

Epir eyes my bloodied, ruined shirt and rubs his chin with his left hand, “I apologize for my brother's rude behavior.  I asked him to try his hardest to be gentle with you.”  

“You asked him politely instead of giving an order?  I thought you were supposed to be a great military leader.  Oh no, wait, I’m thinking of your father.  You sent an animal to capture me, what did you expect to happen?”  Even I’m surprised by my outburst.

He studies me inquisitively, “You know how wild animals are.  You can chain them up and you can discipline them.  But they will always lack a certain degree of control.”

“Can we just skip all the small talk and niceties and get straight to the point?  My father is not going to give you what you want.”

His mood shifts instantly and his gray eyes darken, his voice becoming deadly, “You really are Izic's daughter, aren't you?  Is that any way to speak to your elder?  Where's your sense of respect?”

This is someone who will kill without the slightest provocation.  I should be afraid, but I feel oddly liberated.  Once I’m dead, he’ll have no reason to hurt Ethan.  “With all due respect, let’s not play games.”

“You are quite bold for someone in your position, Fallon.  Do not forget your fate is in my hands.  As you know, I have those with formidable gifts that support my side.  You would do well to remember that.”

“Why don’t you kill me and get it over with?  Or are you trying to bore me to death?”

Epir slams his fist into the desk, rattling its contents.  “Continue to speak like that and I will be more than happy to once you have served your purpose.  But that does not mean we cannot have some fun while you are with us.”  He presses a button on the side of his desk and a dark haired female appears on the monitor in front of him.  “Please send in Fyro.”  She nods once and then the screen goes black once again.

At the mention of his name, I break out into a cold sweat, the echo of the pain he caused still reverberating through my body.  A knock sounds at the door and Epir presses another button on his desk and the door slides open.  Fyro enters the room and his gray and blue stare is fixed on my face.  He is an imposing figure, tall, broad and heavily muscled and the large room feels smaller with his presence.  Etched on his left forearm are three thin lines circling the circumference of his arm--like the ones I saw on Zefa except these lines are a bright, vivid red.

His lips curl into a cruel smile and he speaks with deliberate slowness, “Fallon, so good to see you again.”

Epir looks irritated and snaps at his brother impatiently, “Fyro, we do not have time for you to play with your food.  Sit down.”  Despite his physical advantage and powerful mental abilities, Fyro obeys Epir's command immediately.  He sits down in the white chair next to me, slinging his arm around the back of it so that he can turn and give me a wink.

The tension has left his face and his expression is devoid of emotion,  Epir continues in a flat voice, “Dearest brother, you know I treasure blood ties above all else.  Well, at least those formed in blood.”

Fyro turns his head to look at his brother, frowning, not understanding Epir’s line of thought, “As do I, brother.”

Pushing off from his chair, Epir stands up and starts pacing around the room, his shoes clicking on the marble floor.  “Fyro, you understand how important our father's legacy is.  Xak is probably the most celebrated figure on the battlefield in the history of the Eku.  His greatest asset was his ability to make hard decisions.”

Fyro nods in agreement, but he is clearly confused.  Epir pauses to remove his jacket and hang it on the back of his chair.  He’s rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he continues his circuit around the room.  On his left forearm are two sets of lines, alternating red and black going up the length of his forearm-- seven in total.  “He knew when to attack, when to retreat, when to exploit weaknesses.  He never let any talent go to waste.”

He stops behind Fyro's chair and leans his arms against the headrest.  Fryo actually cringes away from his closeness as if afraid and my blood runs cold.  “I hope you understand why I have to do this brother.”