The Lotus Effect (Rise Of The Ardent) (30 page)

“No. I wouldn’t.”

Chapter 31

Ugly Memories ~ A Product Of Society

Xander’s chest released a tense breath as he pulled the chair out from the small table, spinning it around to take a seat. “There’s something else,” he said grimly.

“What is it?” I glanced his way, still slightly aggravated with him.

“I’m actually quite concerned.” His eyes met mine. “I wasn’t lying that night when I said you weren’t Abnormal. You’re not like me at all.” Xander cleared his throat. “Though, your energy can sometimes be off. I experience it in small doses. For example when you fought me in the Outlands. What I saw, it was frightening. Terrifying even.” He paused briefly. “You should be careful.”

Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I sat up. “I find it difficult to make such promises when I don’t even know what I’m doing wrong.”

Is that why he first followed me when I searched for Mrs. Fawnsworth? Because he was curious of my so-called unique disposition?

He looked at me hard, disbelieving. An expression that reminded me of my mother’s when she told me I could control my episodes.

“I’ll try,” I said tersely. “I’ll—be more aware.” I stretched, kneading my fingers into the muscles of my neck. The knots had disappeared, no longer holding a strain on my highest vertebra. “This Reiki . . . is it what you do for all the ladies who are in need of a compromise with you?” I muttered, hating myself for lightening my own mood.

I didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning.

“Only the ones who fight beside me.”

I stood up and reached for my satchel. Though my neck felt better, my legs ached and my head swooned. “
Technically
. . .” I began, “I wasn’t fighting beside you at all if you do recall.”

His grin withered. “Yes. I haven’t forgotten.” His tone was laced with angry resentment and self-incrimination.

The air tensed around us, I swallowed thickly, hoping to change that. “Well, with compromise sort of met, let’s do something fun shall we? How about we go find Dex? Search for him in all the rafters of the city?”

Xander grunted and chuckled. “Don’t ever tell Dex you think he’s a provider of fun. His head will promptly explode from such knowledge.”

I rolled my eyes and sat down again as I searched through my satchel. I felt Xander’s eyes follow me. “Stop it,” I growled. “Stop reading my colors,” I said experimentally, still unsure of what I thought about this
ability
of his.

“Sorry. Can’t quite help myself.” He then cleared his throat. “Meeting Dex is fine,” he amended seriously. “We need to speak with him about the previous fights. Though, I have a feeling I already know who we will be up against tomorrow.”

“How so?” I asked curious, swiveling around on the squeaky mattress. “Something you can sense?” The question sounded odd even as I asked it.

Xander sighed. “No. I’ve never told you this before, and I’m sorry for not telling you, but I know Percival very well.” He corrected himself. “Well, I
knew
Percival. And I know we’ll not be fighting him until much later.”

“Oh?” I asked, biting at my lip, not sure I wanted to hear the reasoning behind such a bold statement.

Xander sat forward in the chair, his eyes not really meeting mine. “A few years ago, Percival and I were . . . I guess what you could call ‘friends’, back when I had returned from the Outlands. He was a street ruffian much like myself and we soon learned that it was beneficial to tag-team the city instead of braving it alone.

“He liked me because I didn’t have much to say and I liked him for his company. It wasn’t until a few days later after meeting him that I realized that he couldn’t talk. That he was a mute—a mute not by choice.” Xander’s eyes teetered back to mine before he continued. “Percival was victimized because of his beliefs—of not wanting to work as a Warehouse Butcher—by his own uncle of all people. I tried not to pity him, knowing full well that pity wasn’t what he wanted. His disability never changing how I felt about him.”

“What did?” I asked, beginning to pity Percival myself.
 

Xander narrowed his eyes in remembrance. “As the weeks passed, I realized there was something different about him, like you had mentioned earlier. He had something dark motivating him, something one would only see if they looked directly into his eyes—down into the very pit of his soul. Something I could sense in his energy even at a young age.” Xander seemed restless. He stood and approached his bed. As he sat, he crossed his arms, his eyes not really looking at anything as he spoke.

“The darkness came upon him slowly at first, either that or he was hiding it from me, I’m still not sure. However it came, I was well aware of a cruelness that seeped into him and I wanted nothing to do with it.”

“What did he do?” I asked, unintentionally gripping at the leather of my satchel.

Xander paused, his eyes glazing over as the thoughts came back to him, his palms rubbing together. “A Sector 7 guard found our hideout and took from us everything we had. Our clothes, our coin, our food. We were starving. The things you’ll do in that state, the horrible thoughts that transpire across your mind . . .” Xander’s eyes rose from his hands. “Only pure instinctual survival drove us after that. When you have nothing else to lose—it’s hard to remain human.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “After snooping around for a bit, we soon discovered that it had been Percival’s uncle who had sent the guard after us. That’s when Percival snapped—no longer the boy I’d first met.” Xander stood up again, returning to the chair and sat with its backing to his chest, unsure if he should continue. I stared at him expectantly, my eyes never leaving his.

Xander rocked the chair to its back legs before continuing. “We waited until the clouds had arrived early that next morning, concealing us in the alleyway that lay parallel to a street of residential homes, the residents well-off and thriving—the ones who could afford to lose something. Percival signaled to me that it was to be another snatch and grab, and that he could handle this one alone.
That
, right there, bothered me. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

“The way he eerily tilted his head at a certain building, one house in particular: an all-consuming darkness—a seething hatred. I knew something was amiss, but I was so savage myself I didn’t care what energy I read from him.

“I followed him though, keeping myself hidden on the topmost walkway above the old brick residence. I had difficulty hearing what was going on inside so I forced my way through the window.”

Xander’s nose flared as if the thought disgusted him. “The stench alone was stifling, dead things lined the walls in jars and putrid stains covered the carpets. I continued past, finding the staircase, crouching low to get a better look at the room below. I ignored the inner voice, the one telling me that this wasn’t my business and that I should leave it alone. So—I watched.”

Xander swallowed hard. “Without warning an enormous man had stumbled into the room from a doorway hidden from view, bellowing an awful sound. A sound one only makes when they know they’ve been betrayed. The aura that surrounded him was so black, so heavy and soured with rot, that I had a hard time even looking his way.

“Though still, I watched. Doing nothing to prevent what I knew . . . I
knew
was about to happen.

Crouching lower, I backed my way up the steps and saw Percival behind him, a large piece of metal protruding from the side of the man’s neck.” Xander tilted the chair backwards another inch, using the backing almost as a shield between him and his memories.

“At the time, I had never met this man, but I knew instantly this was Percival’s uncle. He still wore the Warehouse sanctioned butcher’s apron, his own blood now mixing and staining the fabric as an animal’s once had.”

I scrunched my face at the thought of such a sight. Xander huffed, nodding his mutual dislike before he straightened and continued.

“While he grasped at his neck, Percival approached him slowly, holding steady just before he dove at him again, grabbing for the knife that hung around his bloated waist. His uncle—who was massive in comparison—swung his arms widely around, knocking books and jars from the walls. Percival didn’t even flinch as they rained down upon him. His eyes intent on killing, but not before he made him suffer.”

Xander’s knuckles turned red as he tightened them around the rim of the chair. He shook his head, his voice turning low, dangerous. “The sound was horrible. Before when I killed . . . it was always quick. Even if they deserved something more.”

I didn’t need to ask to know he was referring to those who worked beyond the Wall, those who had murdered his parents.

“Coming to my senses, I came out of my crouch, wanting to somehow dissolve the situation—but I was too late. Percival removed the knife from below his uncle’s ribs and quickly stabbed him in the eye, twisting it grotesquely until he was satisfied.”

Bringing my knees up to my chest, I shuttered again, seeing the image Xander spoke of clearly in my head. A sour taste produced itself in my mouth, making me feel nauseated.

“Percival seemed surprised when he saw me standing there on the stairwell, but unlike most, he simply smiled at me. There was no guilt to be found in his face or in his aura. He stretched out his bloodied hand, offering the knife to me as a gift, a form of brotherly friendship,” Xander added in a disgusted tone before he paused. “I denied him any such friendship, turned my back on him, and walked out without another word between us. From that day on I vowed that if I was to succeed in making anything of myself—I had to do it alone.”

I sat quietly on the edge of the bed, disturbed by his story. Looking up at Xander, I whispered, “You’re not alone,” bringing my knees away from my face and back down to the floor. “I may not count for much, but I am here for you. We’re partners.
Real
partners. And just think, you’ve come so far,” I said. “Not many end up as Engineering Blacksmiths. A very talented one at that. You’re
nothing
like Percival and you never will be.”

Xander lifted his eyes as his head hovered in the air above the chair and removed his hands from the rim. “Not many street ruffians grew up in the Outlands either. Or were taught by a city Elder to understand the intricacies of diplomatic intrigue, of how to become one with the shadows, of how to fight, to
kill
,” he said the last word with emphasis.

“I became a great Engineer because of the
wrong
reasons, Lily. I had to become the best—”

“—to kill the best?”
My father.
He had wanted to say
.

I leveled my eyes to his, boldly holding his stare. I’d let him know, through my energy I hoped, that I trusted him now and nothing of what he told me changed what I thought about him. “You grew up thinking that what Teizel had taught you served only for killing. You should now know that your purpose is to use that talent to protect others. You fight for the remaining good we have left here in Prosper. Nothing about you is evil, Xander. You should’ve known that the precise moment you turned your back on Percival. You fight for what’s right. Like me, you fight for change.”

Xander nodded sadly, thanking me in the gesture. Even so, I didn’t for a second believe he agreed he was such a person.

He was wrong. I envied his strength. He was wise beyond his years, whose willpower was a force not to be reckoned with. Xander wanted revenge, yes. But a different type of vengeance now. One that I could better respect. One that would strike at the very core of the Council’s existence. A vengeance that was supremely more powerful than anything Percival ever achieved, or will achieve.

He was giving the citizens their freedom—the worst sort of punishment one could bestow upon the Council.

In a flash, Xander swiveled the chair back into its proper position, an action so quick that it made me blink. “And that’s why I believe we’ll be fighting Sector 5, the Gatling gun, and not Venator tomorrow. Percival will do
anything
to get back at me. He will not chance defeat to only have the opportunity to fight us in the elimination rounds. If he is to beat us, he will do it with a flourish.”

Chapter 32

Learning To Walk Away

“You think Dex is watching the fight? We cannot risk being spotted anywhere near the Requiem if he is,” I said as I tried to pull my hood even further over my face.

After trying to clear my mind of the gritty details of Xander and Percival’s past, we exited the hut and made our way from the Compound and into the deserted streets of Prosper. The citizens dared not miss out on the rare opportunity of such brutal entertainment—regardless if they disliked it or not.

Xander looked down at me with a guilty expression. “I have no intention of going near the Requiem today. I actually had another idea. An idea that doesn’t involve meeting Dex at all.”

My brow furrowed. “But I thought—?”

“You remember meeting Eu’jinx in the tunnels of Sector 7?”

I nodded slowly, not following where this was going. “How could I forget?” It seemed so long ago that I had walked into that dark tunnel, but never would I forget Eu’jinx. Of our first terrifying meeting. And the sorrow I had felt for him afterwards.

“He’s found a way into the Council’s treasury through an interconnecting tunnel system and confirmed the necklace was in place. I would never detonate it without knowing for sure.” Xander reached inside his coat. “So I thought that perhaps we could thank him.” In his hand was a large block of cheese and a slice of cured meat, both wrapped in cloth.

I shook my head, impressed and flattered by his thoughtfulness.

“Sector 7 is a bit of a hike away. Since my compromise session was cut short . . .” He eyed me accusingly with a grin. “You sure you’re up for it today?” Xander asked carefully, keeping his face straight, unreadable.

“I know that you’re effectively testing my patience,” I almost growled back at him. “I told you, I’m
fine
.” I knew I was blushing, my cheeks were too flushed and warm for me not to be.

Xander’s face lifted in amusement. He reached inside his coat again and produced a large bottle that held a strange vibrant purple liquid. “I thought I would also thank
you
today . . . for being my partner, and making my time in the Barrage one full of worry and panic.”

I scoffed, scuffing dirt towards his boots. “You could’ve just said, ‘I would enjoy having lunch with you, Lily’,” I mimicked with my best Xander’esk impression.

He squinted, considering my suggestion. “Ah yes, I’ll admit I’ve never really been the best at communicating . . . to the ladies, nor did I ever like talking much. Having my Sense never really calls for it—and most of the time I find it pointless, realizing people hardly ever say what they truly feel.” He looked sideways at me as we walked. “You do that a lot.”

My eyes widened with humor. “I’m a
lady
! We
never
say what we truly feel.”

Xander laughed. “I suppose that’s true. Girls are quite bizarre.”

Pursing my lips, I nodded. “Yes, we’re the weird ones.” I patted him on the shoulder with mock empathy. “Let’s go, Mister I-read-people’s-
colors
.” With a grin I stepped in front of him, leading the way triumphantly towards Sector 7.

~

“Well this wasn’t what I expected,” I said, eyeing the dusty market street filled with people. Normal citizens. Nothing really scary about them at all, unlike how I always imagined those who lived in Sector 7 to be.

We arrived only a short while later to the gates of Sector 7, finding no problems along our way. A few peddlers roamed the streets and the elderly quietly watched our passing from the safety of their porches. The last round had ended during our walk over, and a steady flow of people were starting to filter into the Sector again.

A blue sparkling vase glistened in the sunshine, catching my eye and drawing me near.

Without warning, Xander pulled me to the side of a building, behind a vendor’s cart, and spoke close to my ear. “Listen, I want you to wait for me here. There are more guards than I previously thought.”

“What guards—” I began to ask, but caught myself when I saw that he was right. Briggin’s men, dressed in civilian clothing, were positioned sporadically among the streets. One sat on the curb and gnawed distastefully at the end of a chicken bone while others propped themselves up against the cool, shaded side of a building.

“I’ll find Eu’jinx and be out quickly.”

“What’s Briggins up to now?” I whispered. “What threatens him to double his guard like this?”

Xander shook his head. “I’m not sure, but this energy I’m reading from them . . .” He paused, his attention drawn to a guard who walked past. His gait was slow and lazy, ready to assert what little authority he did have.

“—Scratch that. Turn around. We’re leaving. Now,” Xander said, looking with wild, unfocused eyes towards another guard who laughed and rocked backwards as he tore a strip of meat away from a bone.

I grabbed at Xander’s shoulder as he began to pull away. “We can’t just leave. Eu’jinx did a great service to us and he must be starving in there. You told me you can get to him quickly. I’ll wait here, like you said, if it means we can get food to him.”

Xander narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching with disapproval. “Fine. But make sure you
do
stay here in the market. Pretend you’re browsing. Do not speak to anyone while I’m gone and keep this with you.” He handed over the bottle. Something bunched beneath my fingers and I quickly realized he had hidden a small dagger within the cloth.

I nodded, pursing my lips while depositing the items into my coat.

Xander attempted what I thought was a wan smile but it was difficult to tell as he walked away. The mask of determination and deadly seriousness returned, marking his posture as he turned down the alleyway closest to us and disappeared.
Xander
,
the impossible shadow
,
I thought.
I’m surprised I haven’t gotten used to this by now.

Feeling more exposed in the market and not knowing what else to do, I walked down an alleyway to my left and positioned my back against the damp wall, stretching out my sore legs. Anything was better than standing awkwardly in the open street.
As if that wouldn’t draw any unwanted suspicion.

I patted my pockets to see if I had anything to dawdle with while I waited for Xander’s return. I froze when I felt the unmistakable shape of my grandmother’s journal in my left jacket pocket. “I don’t remember putting you in here . . .” I whispered, careful to keep my voice low. I shrugged and slid to the ground, carefully removing it and concealing it within my palms.

With everything happening as of late, I could’ve put last week’s leftover dinner in my jacket being as addle-brained as I was.
I did get hit in the head, twice, after all.

Skimming my eyes over the pages again, I hid the journal within my coat in an area that had just enough light for legibility. My grandmother’s elegant script scrolled breathlessly across the page like a living entity. Most of what was written made no sense to me, but I marveled at what was there nonetheless. Someone who didn’t have the opportunity to know my grandmother like I did, would quickly dismiss her as having her mind in the clouds and her lips upon the bottle.

That her imagination drove her to madness.

Grandmother Everett was not a spinner of tales. She was a lady of Science and factional reasoning. She wouldn’t make this up for the simple pleasure of pleasing her granddaughter. To her, reality was more fascinating than fiction.

I turned the page and squinted at the inscription of a language not of our own. Arrows and foreign symbols lined the binding, my eyes perceiving for the first time that they may actually be giving some form of instruction—”

“EH! Girlie, whatcha got under there, huh?” I heard a rough voice call out from further down the alleyway, startling me into a standing position.

Now if that didn’t look suspicious.
Good one, Lily.

I watched as four men strutted from the back entrance of the alleyway with a fifth hidden behind. I quickly shoved the journal inside my sleeve, hoping that would be the last place they searched if they planned to steal anything off of me.

“I
said
. . . what you got hidin’ under there, girlie? I asked you a question an’ it’s not very nice of you to brush me off like that. I be hatin’ it when the ladies brush me off,” called out the rough looking man in front who had crooked spectacles.

My eyes went wide when I realized one of the men who stood among them was Giles with that unmistakable mop of greasy hair.
If Giles was here, that could only mean one thing . . . .

Sure enough, Scottie Briggins stepped out from behind Crooked Spectacles, with head down, reading a piece of parchment. He wasn’t paying me or the conversation any heed. In fact, he looked rather bored and distant as if it was a common occurrence for this group to harass lone women in alleyways.

Pretending to not hear the man’s taunts, I turned to avoid Scottie seeing me. I started walking towards the sunlight of the street, hoping to quickly diffuse the situation in a crowd of onlookers.

“Eh! Why you runnin’ away like that? You
mus’
be hidin’ sumin’ you don’t want us to be seein’ . . . . Why you so rude lil’ missy?”

I kept my head down, ignoring them and kept my pace steady as I made my way towards the street, gripping the small dagger Xander had given me in my palm.

“She must be deaf, daft, or dumb, George,” I heard another say, which made me think it was Giles.

“Or all three of those!” Crooked Spectacles—George—responded beside him. They both chuckled, and George spoke again, “An’
that’s
how I like my women.”

I scowled to myself.
Idiots
.
Being
daft
is being
dumb
, you oafs
.

I jumped back suddenly, startled when two men walked casually from the side alleyway in front of me, blocking my exit. “I believe our friend George wants a word with ya, lady,” the one directly in front of me said.

“A word. Yeah.” The other laughed. “Just a
quick
word.”

I heard the footsteps of the five others approach me from behind. Not wanting to expose my face, I resisted the urge to turn around and took my chances with the two in front of me—I kicked out hard, my boot connecting with the knee of the one on my left. I tried to shimmy between him and the wall as his leg gave way, but failed when someone grabbed my arms, crossing them roughly behind me. “Scrappy lil’ bitch ain’t she?” The man said over my shoulder with a laugh.

The jeweled dagger fell from my grip and clamored against the stone.
My nostrils flared, my breathing heated.
I could see Scottie’s face from the corner of my eye, registering the dagger. He seemed a bit more interested at this point, but still looked distracted as if he was above what was taking place.
One’s
pets
must have their fun too now shouldn’t they?

The George fellow smiled grotesquely and reached inside my coat, taking his time, searching me until he landed upon the bottle.

“What we hav’ ere?
For me
? Oh you shouldn’t hav’ missy!” He ineffectively tried to open it, but then decided striking it against the wall and breaking off the top worked just as well.

I held my head low under my hood, passively trying to not draw attention to myself.

“
Wait.”
It was Scottie who spoke now. I heard him grab the bottle from George and inspect it. “This is of the highest quality; where did you get this?” he questioned, stepping in front of me. “If I find that you are a thief, I’ll—”

Knowing my ruse was up, I lifted my face, giving my most piercing look. “
Hello
,
Scottie
.”

To my satisfaction his eyes went wide in shock before narrowing to their usual look of bitterness.

“What say you have your
minions
unhand me for I do not believe the Magistrate will look too kindly upon you ruffing up another Barrage fighter outside the Requiem. My father, the
Head,
will also find this ganging up of seven men against one lone woman rather
distasteful
.”

The grip on my arms tightened as Scottie approached—him shoving what remained of the broken bottle over to George.

Scottie’s rose freckled face lingered close to mine as he coldly assessed me. “If I do
recall
, you no longer have ties with your father, the
Head
, for you defected against him the moment you decided to throw your title away and start this ridiculous rebellion of yours. To what purpose did that serve? To prove that you were better than everyone else?”