The Lotus Effect (Rise Of The Ardent) (9 page)

My heart sunk heavily to the pit of my stomach—an all too familiar poison was seeping into my veins now, forcing my body to relax, making it lose all its functionality. I started to ease my way to the ground into a wounded heap, but a long hooded and cloaked stranger instead decided to scoop me up beneath the knees and hold me tightly against a chest fitted with the handles of metal objects. Objects that jabbed slightly into my side, weapons hidden beneath the cloth. “Stay with me, Lily. You can go into shock once I get you home,” I heard the stranger grumble distractedly.

Xander
. My mind scrambled to find its sense.

“We can’t . . . just . . . leave her,” I whispered in-between each breath as I looked up at his sternly calculating face. My darkening vision was surrounded by a clouded ring of heavy tears; the blurring droplets causing my lashes to look like the dark spindly legs of spiders.
 

“Yes we can. And we have to.” I watched as his nose and mouth blew out a plume of steam in the crispness of the night, allowing my mind to wander around in the dull, empty shell that it was.

All my fault. This was All. My. Fault.

Mrs. Fawnsworth’s final words of urging me to ‘fight’ and ‘live’ echoed in my head against the other worries.

“Put me down.” I pushed at his neck, trying to slip my hips upwards and out of his grasp. “I said
put me down
.”

He stopped, allowing me to place my boots back onto the stone. I swayed some before I steadied myself.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to pass out. I can sense it,” I heard him say hotly from somewhere at my back.

“I’m
going
back for her body,” I retorted angrily.

Xander grabbed my hand in my retreat, spinning me roughly around to face him. “Now you’re just being stupid.”

“I can’t—”

“
Lily
—there are four guards approaching from the east end, two more from the front entrance. I’d estimate that we have less than fifty seconds to make it down this stairwell, ten of which have already been wasted while arguing with you.” Xander snatched my jacket from Mrs. Fawnsworth’s lifeless body and tossed it back at me. I automatically put it on, but then—then the smell of a tortured Mrs. Fawnsworth hit me.

My eyelashes flitted, I felt my vision sway.

Xander growled, cursing at himself before quickly snatching my left arm, hauling me across his shoulders and lifting me from my feet like I was nothing more than a sack of grain. He secured his hand tightly around the inside of my right knee, holding me firmly in place across his neck. A wounded warrior’s carry.

Not caring anymore, I just lay there, numb, as my head bobbed against his shoulder. Why should I argue? There was no point. Like Mrs. Fawnsworth: it would only get us killed.

Apathetically, I watched as Xander swiftly made his way down the length of the fortress and stopped when we reached an uncovered stairwell. I suppose he figured these had less traffic due to the lack of warmth that the rock provided.

If so, he was right. We found no opposition.

This could have been prevented,
the thought continued to invade my mind like a nagging sickness.

Xander made his way down each step, his breathing becoming heavier, but still remaining steady. Down, down, down we went, further and further away from the only person I had ever truly loved other than my grandmother.

I counted out sixty seconds in my head: I was still conscious.

“I’m not going to have an episode. You can put me down now,” I whispered, my voice gruff, emotionless.
 

He shook his head as he peered around a corner. “Not yet. Patrols.”

Rolling my eyes to the night’s sky, I sighed and remained where I was.

Xander had to stop only twice to evade a group of passing guards. And we were well into the cloud covered streets before even a commotion went up on the Wall. In my delirium, I wondered if they found Mrs. Fawnsworth’s or the guard’s body first?

It didn’t matter. I had failed to save her. I had failed to bring her body back. I had failed at everything.

Closing my eyes, I bitterly gave into the gentle sway of Xander’s steps and his rhythmic breathing. I had lost all sense of time and was shocked back into reality very quickly when I saw that he was now standing behind the concrete porches of the Estate.

“It’s time to wake up,” he said, drawing his eyes sideways and up to meet mine. My head hung lifeless from his shoulder as I looked at him.

Even in my weakened state, I didn’t miss the double entendre he was implying.

He was right. I had most definitely woken up to the harsh realities that the Council presented to City Prosper. One way or another, they had to be stopped.

Embarrassed he had to carry me like butchered meat, I kept my mouth closed as he lowered me to the ground. Not knowing what to say, I looked around. “How did you sneak past the Estate guards?” I finally managed to ask in a whisper, my voice still numb, empty.

My eyes fell upon him then as he stared off into the distance behind me. There was something so intense about the way he studied his surroundings I realized, everything held a secret that only he could decipher. Xander was deadly, I knew that much now. He wouldn’t be underestimated by me ever again.

He looked sideways at me, past the shrouding cowl of his hood. A look that said:
You don’t need to know.

Fine. He didn’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either after tonight.

We walked back in silence to the side entrance of the servant’s quarters. Swallowing hard, I attempted to focus my attention away from the bile that rose in my stomach. The servants would never question why I was arriving home so late. After speaking to the male custodian earlier, they most likely already knew why.

They would also soon find that I had returned alone.

There was a moment then when we reached the door, the both of us standing opposite from one another, motionless: like statues positioned to forever stare at one another. Words were suddenly completely lost to me. I wanted to say something to him, but my mind was a muddled mess. He seemed not to care, looking very perplexed as he surveyed me.

“You know, you might have a chance after all,” he said finally. “Even though, you nearly just got the both of us killed.”

It was my turn to look confused. Then it clicked.

“You know about me volunteering for the Barrage?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He raised his eyebrow at me slightly.

I sighed and shook my head in consent. Images of Mrs. Fawnsworth’s broken body suddenly flashed in my mind, making my throat clench in remorse. I wish I could’ve comforted her just now, just as she had held me the night Grandmother disappeared. I lowered my eyes to the ground as I tried to not give way to the tears that were beginning to reform.

“I failed her. I have failed everything,” I said so quietly it was almost to myself.

Without noticing, Xander had stepped closer. He barely tilted my chin so that my eyes could meet his. A tender gesture.

“You know, you’re right. You’re toast, Lily.”

I frowned, pulling my chin away from him. And just like that: a part of myself came back to me. Like a snapped piano string, I was suddenly struck in the face by my anger. It was hot, unbridled.

“Mrs. Fawnsworth is dead! She’s
dead
because of me,” I spat out at him. “She’s lying lifeless, and cold, and alone, and it’s likely she’ll
never
be sent to the winds! Just tossed over the Wall like a bit of bloody trash!”

My mind was spitting, swirling: it
was
all my fault. Because of a stupid, stupid, selfish choice. But somewhere—somewhere deep down, a part of my mind was clawing its way forward: No. This wasn’t my fault at all.
And they would pay
.
 

Xander pulled a breath in through his nose. He seemed aggravated. “Look. Use this anger.” He looked to the sky, reading something within it before returning his stare. It was potent, marked with experience. “Hatred is like molded bread. It can sustain you. But if you’re not careful, it’ll eventually make you sick.” He paused for a beat. “For what it’s worth, she died a proud woman. Hold on to that.” He fell silent again, turning his head as if he heard someone approaching. “You better get some sleep. Big day tomorrow,” he added absently as he slowly backed away from me.

Big day?
I tried to read the meaning in his expression, but couldn’t—he was already melding into the shadows cast by the designs of the thirty-foot tall wrought-iron fence behind him.

I gasped, covering my face with my hands, eventually drawing the lids of my eyes to my chin in aggravation. I was such an idiot.

The Drawing. How could I have forgotten?

Looking up suddenly, the two words I should’ve remembered the most, came to me. I peered into the foggy mists surrounding the Estate, my gratitude waiting unused on my tongue. My mind, though, had fallen silent, realizing that the mysterious young man who had saved my life tonight, had already disappeared.

Chapter 8

The Drawing ~ The One Word Name

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Prosperitan citizens! Council members! And let’s not forget the little tikes,” the announcer began as he pointed and winked at a young boy and girl no older than seven name days as they ran past. The announcement bellowed from his copper sound amplifier. “I’d like to welcome you all to the sixth consecutive Drawing for the Barrage Tournament!”

The sun gleamed off the amplifier as he turned to address the crowd. I sat near the edge of a Sector 3 row, hoping I wouldn’t be easily recognized. I had packed all of my belongings into the leather satchel that now sat beside my boots. Everything of necessity—my grandmother’s journal and the locket necklace taking precedence over some of my more lacy attire. I did, however, keep the green corset dress that Mrs. Fawnsworth had chosen for my Coronation. It may be of use if I have to make any formal appearances in the future. Or I could sell it, if running low on credits became an issue.

Mrs. Fawnsworth . . . .
My throat clenched and clotted with remorse again as the thought of her invaded my every sense.

I will never get used to this pain.

First Grandmother
,
now Mrs. Fawnsworth. Both gone.

The roar of the crowd brought me back from my grief. I blinked away the resentful tears that started to gather. My mind was clouded by my lack of sleep and, well . . . among other things that happened the night before. I tried to rub the haze of sorrow from my face as the announcer started off on another rant.

“Today I’d like—” The announcer paused as he spotted a group of stragglers making their way to their seats.

“Well hurry up, we haven’t all day. Unless you ruffians would like to volunteer your names, in which case I’d be willing to waste a little more time,” the announcer scolded the group. The three young boys laughed and shook their heads at him as they tripped over one another to find available seats.

The announcer seemed satisfied once all faces, the group of boys included, attentively faced him. He brought the amplifier back to his mouth with a smile. “Today is the beginning in which all Sectors are brought together and unified under a singular cause. A glorious cause!” He shook his finger into the air for effect. “Thirteen years we have waited for this day. And we shall wait no longer! The Barrage allows for the opportunity to revisit the Laws of Prosper in the act of battle and ingenuity. Seventy eight years the Barrage has brought us together, and today we continue the tradition. That’s one year closer to complete Prosperity, which we should all be grateful for due to this flawless system!”

I was not the only dissenter of that notion in the crowd. I could spot a few who refused to clap along with the majority. I guess it was all too easy to forget that the Council Sponsored Sector had always won the Barrage. No Sector acting on their own accord, and resources, had
ever
won.

A flawless system indeed.

It seemed as though the Sectors were all pining for the Council Sponsorship nowadays. For if they won with the Council’s help, the Sector as well as the fighters were rewarded generously. The Council, in return, would get their vote over the Law. Those particular Sectors would prefer instant gratification over a chance to redeem themselves completely with power over the Law.

It was shameful and a disgrace. Though, with my privileged upbringing, I may be overlooking the fact that it was an opportunity they probably couldn’t afford to pass up. If called upon by the Magistrate—I knew where my loyalties stood in the matter.

I risked a glance towards the booth where I knew my parents would be seated. It was an odd feeling to be on the outside looking in after I too had once sat there. If my name was to be called today—or even if it wasn’t—I could never be accepted back into that life again. A scary notion at first, but now that I saw how my mother was seated stiffly next to my father—I realized it was better this way. Almost as if I had been denied my right to the open air. Now, I could finally breathe.

However freeing the feeling may be, I was still unnerved.

“You’re
her
arn’t cha?” the boy beside me whispered in a twangy accent reminiscent of Sector 3.

I said nothing to the boy and turned away, pulling my hood further over my face. The action was pretty much an outright admittance to his inquiry after I thought about it. It wouldn’t make a difference if I told him the truth or not. He’d find out sooner or later if my name was called.

“My uncle is Hugo Miller, and he volunteered his name,” the boy said, leaning closer to me as the announcer continued to babble on about the greatness of the Council. The boy crossed his boots and arms as if nothing could bother him today. “My momma says Hugo better win or she’s gonna kick his arse her own self,” he said with a matter-of-fact nod of his head.

I could not help raising my eyebrow. The child was of an interesting sort with his disheveled hair and dirty boots. He leaned even closer as if he trusted me completely to keep a secret. “I’m personally rootin’ for Bubbles McGee to win. He’s my hero.” He smiled at me, but then looked rather worried. “But don’t go tellin’ Momma I said that or she’ll have my hide!”

I smiled and shook my head, letting him know I wouldn’t
dare
betray his trust. I brought my attention back to the announcer when another round of applause echoed throughout the market square. I was lucky to have even received a seat. Many were made to stand and were continuing to fill the streets and alleyways behind us.

“How about we not waste any more time and get down to business shall we?” the announcer asked as he walked over to his pedestal and waited for the two large men who were carrying the box of Volunteer names. The men sat the golden box on the table before exiting the stage. The announcer smiled and waved his hands in the air to cease the cheering that erupted all around.

“I have here before me all the names of those who volunteered their lives for the greater good of City Prosper.” He surveyed the crowd. “If your name is called, please respond swiftly to the stage so we can have you grouped in your respective pairs.”

My heart raced, and I was making good work of a torn cuticle on my index finger as I waited for him to begin.
Who else could’ve volunteered for Sector 8?
Judging my luck from the past few days, I may not even receive a partner and end up fighting alone.

That scenario would be . . . unpleasant.

At least I knew for certain I would never be paired with Scottie; he was a Sector 7 native and could only serve under them.
I wonder how his nose is holding up?
I chuckled inwardly to myself at the snide thought. The pratt deserved it.

“I will now be drawing for each Sector, starting with Sector 1,” the announcer said as he reached into the box. He swiveled his hand back and forth and it looked as though he was having trouble finding any names at all. He finally stopped and smiled as he removed two tiny slips of paper, one after the other, and took a good look at them.

“Affery and Afina Lin!” he bellowed towards the crowd. “It appears that Affery and Afina were the only two brave enough to volunteer for Sector 1. This will be the first pair of siblings to fight alongside one another! Twins, even!” The announcer was thrilled to have found an outlet to provide more drama to the Drawing.

The crowd erupted in applause, heads bobbing excitedly.

I had always respected Sector 1 for their unique and almost exotic nature. They were known as the Oriental Sector in the past—I closed my eyes at the brief memory of the bright and colorful hanging lanterns that lined the narrowed streets on my one and only family visit there.

I believed the announcer to be incorrect in the assumption that Affery and Afina were the only ones brave enough to volunteer for their Sector. It was more likely that Sector 1, as a whole, agreed to place Affery and Afina into the Drawing and no one else. If they knew the twin’s skills to be great, why have any other applicants? That way their fighters were chosen by them and not dictated by the Drawing.

I hoped the Council never catches on to that. Having too much social concurrence in a Sector can be dangerous. If they were not careful, they could one day end up abandoned, broken, and
Purged
like Sector 9 had during my grandmother’s time. I’d heard stories. All horrible. My stomach clenched again from the dark thought.

I directed my eyes back to the stage. Once the fierce looking Affery, and Afina—with her dark and starkly angled hair—assumed their places on the stage, the announcer went to work on the box once again.

The gears on the box’s side moved and shifted. Any remaining names from Sector 1 would be dispelled into an incineration chamber, so the new ones from Sector 2 could transition into place. There had been no names left for Sector 1, but it was an automatic function that was used as a precaution. Once the names were chosen there was no going back. Either you fought or you forfeited.

More than likely, forfeits resulted in banishment of City Prosper, and the fighters in question were thrown into the Outlands.

Cowards were not to be tolerated.

“I will now be drawing for Sector 2. When called, please come and stand next to Sector 1’s inductees.” He reached into the box, this time with more ease, and again drew two names. “Percival Roberts, and Fin Hughs!”

Two slimy-looking gentlemen stood and began to approach the stage just as Sector 2 burst into applause. The sly smiles on their faces, especially Percival’s, were a bit disturbing, considering they could both die or find themselves exiled to the Outlands in the coming month. They of course knew that. Every applicant did. Some however, volunteered their names simply for the fame of it.

Percival claimed the spot next to Afina and licked his thin lips at her rather suggestively. She paid him no mind. He wasn’t going to get a rise out of her today or any day, judging by her firm and determined stance, eyes straight towards the crowd.

The announcer again waited for the gears to engage before he reached inside and pulled out two more names. “Those who will be fighting for Sector 3 are . . . Gerald Chapman and Hugo Miller!” he bellowed.

The people around me erupted in cheers, hoots, and hollers. The little boy next to me grabbed my hooded jacket and tugged excitedly as he jumped by my side. “That’s my uncle! That’s my uncle!” he shouted to me eagerly.

Against my better judgment, I smiled along with the jubilant 3’s that surrounded me. I could see myself at home in Sector 3. If my name was not called today, I might find a place among them in the future. They were a bit odd with their choice of clothing and twangy accent, but they were good people. They’ve been known to take in strays before.

Perhaps that’s why I choose to sit with them now.

After the ruckus had died down, Hugo and Gerald leisurely made their way to the stage. Though they appeared to only be in their early thirties, they were the oldest inductees chosen so far. The announcer offered them a fake smile, displeased with them taking their time, and prepared the box for Sector 4.

“Sector 4 will have Damaris Wayverie, and Margie Showpak to fight in their honor!”

My jaw dropped as I saw the brutish size of both Damaris and Margie, both of which made guttural grunting sounds as they approached the stage, pounding at their chests with their fists. I would’ve mistaken Margie to be a man if it hadn’t been for the slightly
feminine
timbre of the growling noises that exuded deep within her chest.

Interesting
,
I bit at my lip in nervous thought.
I never believed this was going to be easy, but these two brutes looked like they’d been raised to fight in the Barrage from infancy. Their eyes lusted for blood.

The only physical activity that I was taught from infancy was the elegant art of dance. That and Blacksmithing, which all Mistresses are required to learn. Blacksmithing would help some, but not much.

I closed my eyes and sighed at the thought.

What have I done?

I clenched my fists by my side. Two desires enabled me to keep it together: My lust for justice and for revenge. I wouldn’t let any of the other inductees unnerve me or distract me from that cause. I unclenched my fists and covered my face with fumbling fingers—resting my elbows on my knees and pinching the bridge of my nose to try and relieve the strain. I guess I wasn’t faring too well on that front.

Feeling drained, my mind turned to fog as Sector 5’s inductees were called to the stage. Sir Norbert and Charles Nampier, I think the announcer had said. A pair of stuffy, older gentlemen approached the platform with hands in their pockets and stood next to Margie, swiveling in their shiny shoes to both nod at her before acknowledging the crowd in greeting. Margie snarled at their pleasantry and turned her gaze sharply towards the announcer.