8Language warning: Alley spends most of this chapter cursing. Just in case you're sensitive to that sort of thing, and caffeine, and pollen, and you need to hold somebody's hand when you cross the road.
There was no doubt in my mind that Alley was missing some part of his brain. The most basic part of human instinct that told a man to either fight or flee – it simply wasn't there. With fallen-from-grace city boy Alley West, there was only the urge to fight. Fight, and win.
"Our last chance is transferal." I gave him a look that simply translated to 'explain'. Alley interpreted it as 'tell me more'. That feral glint was back in his eyes as he laid out his master plan. "When they take us from the carriages to the prison, I'll bet they won't chain us all together again. There's no use in it when we're just going to the cells. All we have to do is gain a distraction, and we'll be free. We can blend into the city without a trace. I know some people…"
I eyed Alley's bruised face and bloodstained back skeptically. "People who know how to remove handcuffs?" I questioned, but Alley wasn't listening to me.
"It'll be perfect. I'll distract them and you take out the first guards; then when I give a signal, we both run."
"Take out?" I looked down at my hands. I'd knocked down a thin and wasted Alley, but that didn't mean I could fight fully armed, trained prison guards. Five had made mincemeat of me, not two days ago; that was practically as far as my experiences went, a fact Alley seemed to be blithely ignoring. I was clearly at the wrong end of the situation. He was the fighter.
"You can do it," he said, ever confident. "You've got the muscle."
It wasn't my muscles I was worried about. It was my resolve.
...
chapter 4
capital city
…
The blocky, stone buildings of Capital City rose chunkily into the horizon. Alley stood a little shakily on the swaying foundation of the wagon boards, peering out the tiny barred window. I could hear him let out a long, almost relieved breath. "Hello, beautiful," he muttered.
I didn't think it was beautiful. It was the ugliest, oddest thing I'd ever seen. My home had been sung out of trees, hidden in the depths of a breathtaking forest. This was Alley's home, and it was as strange and ill-fitting as he was.
It was raining as the convoy made its' sluggish progress towards the looming monolith, and I gained a tiny pleasure from the pattering of raindrops on my cell's roof. The soldiers outside were getting drenched and muddy, but at least we were dry.
A torrent of water poured through the bars of the window, drenching Alley's hair and shoulders. He shook his head and spat water, grimacing as the soldiers outside laughed at their prank. I heard the clanking of a tin bucket.
Well, at very least, I was dry.
"Oy, West, shove over and give forest boy a look at the place. He's gonna like the view, it's all brand new to him."
Alley gave up and sat down, wringing the puddle out of his hair. "Hey, they want you out there… and don't forget, you're my forest boy."
I almost smiled at that, his casual throwback to yesterday – it seemed like ages ago. A guard had called me 'his' forest boy. Like we had some sort of connection. It had only been bad luck that led to us meeting, let alone working together. And now all of this had led to a plan to escape. It was mind-fogging to even think about, when less than a week ago, my biggest problem had been finding lunch.
So many things had changed since that day. Including me.
"Hey, forest boy, come and play!" the guard yelled again from outside the wagon. They were getting impatient.
I considered my options. The guards were probably planning to pull the same trick twice, dumping water through the window to shock me; it would be stupid of me to even rise to their efforts. However, I was confident in my ability to duck – now that I was alert, at least. I crossed to the little window, gripping the bars to keep myself steady.
The soldiers were keeping pace with the shambling horses, although they looked a little worn by their efforts. As I'd suspected, they were soaked, and their knees were coated in mud. I said nothing, but the guard I'd heard call for me saw my face appear. He gave me a sly grin and called out. "Hang on, Drog, give me back the bucket."
I moved away from the window immediately, but only a fraction. They couldn't see me, but I could still make out their shapes in the mist of bad weather.
"Hey, wait, forest boy, I was just jokin'. We're not gonna wet ya. Come back out." I suspected the guard in question was bored to death with hearing tales of Drog's heroic fights, almost all of them false. I stepped back to the window, conscious of Alley's eyes on me from the other side of the wagon. I felt like a spectacle.
"What do ya think, forest boy?" the guard asked, waving at the city that was visible even through the fog. I wasn't inclined to answer past a shrug, which he didn't see. The city was a hulking, monstrous thing. I didn't want to go into it, for fear of being swallowed whole. I wanted to be left alone.
Despite his smirk, the guard seemed to honestly be asking my opinion. "Is that all you've got to say?" he asked. I hadn't said anything. "That city was built from the bare stones by the ancestors. It's a legend in every corner of the land." This was a little exaggerated. To me, it was two things; a few hazily remembered stories of slavery and oppression, and a large black shape in the distance. I'd heard of this place, but it was hardly legend material.
"Not impressed?" Alley asked, as I slid back down to sit beside him. "I'm not surprised. They're bloody awful conversation."
"The city looks like a big prison," I muttered, and it was true. The jail had been the sole place in my village that hadn't been sung from trees. It had been cold, rough-hewn stone. The wood of the wagon beneath me was almost reassuring, making me feel as if I were sleeping on the floorboards of my treehouse in the forest, rocking in the wind. But the city was made of the good stuff; hard, unforgiving memories of prison jumped back to me whenever I looked at it.
Alley seemed filled with excitement, tapping his fingers on his knees. "Maybe it looks like that to you," he answered, looking at the opposite wall like it was more than boards. I could almost see his mind ticking over, meticulously planning his – our – escape, to the last detail.
It worried me. Plans failed. Alley's plans had a special reputation for doing so, if only in the face of bad luck and worse odds. While he schemed in anticipation, all I had to contend with was a gutful of squirming apprehension. Still, I had to believe something good would come of this. If I didn't, I would go screaming insane.
"What does it look like to you?" I asked, needing something to take his mind off the plan. His jumpy air was unnerving me. Suddenly, his dark eyes snapped onto me, betraying a little surprise.
"To me?" Alley seemed to think for a moment, as if choosing the right words. "It looks like home. I've finally made it."
Home.
A foreign word for a foreign place. I could feel myself frowning a little, but still I tried another question. "This is your home?"
I felt awkward and intrusive. It was unusual for me to ask people about this sort of thing… or about anything, really. Alley was pretty much the only person I had held a conversation with in ten years. The rest of the convoy was a different breed; I was silent around the other prisoners, sometimes because of the language barrier, but mostly because I was still withdrawn around so many people. After such a long period of virtually no human contact, it was hard to get back in touch with my social side.
"Forever," Alley said, an unusually soft look on his face. It was almost a happy nostalgia, but it was marred by some troubled memory. "I was born in this city, Ro. It's like my heart – I'll have it until I die. I mean, I might not have been back for a few years, but it ain't gonna change the way I feel."
"If it's so good, why did you leave?" It was such a selfish, stinging question; I felt a little ashamed for asking when I saw his expression lose its' nostalgia, becoming a little shaken. But, in typical Alley style, he tried to cover up with indifference.
"No real reason," he said casually. But after spending a week cramped in this hell-born wagon with him, I could tell there was a reason.
I just didn't understand why he was hiding it from me.
The convoy trundled into the city like a long, slow-moving snake. Alley threaded his arms through the bars and hung there, calling out to the passers-by.
"Help me out here! Hey, man, spare some change? …Want to see a card trick? Lady, you have the finest pair of breasts I've ever seen… on a cow!"
After a while, I stopped hearing his antagonizing catcalls. What was the point in annoying the locals? We were going to be locked up, and nobody in the street seemed to take notice. It was a common occurrence, I supposed.
"Hi! Seen a man with a scar on his eyebrow? Name of Jonathon MacLeod?"
"Alley," I groaned, sliding a hand over my hair. It was filthy from not washing, and I felt my hand slick with oil and dirt. It nauseated me to think I hadn't washed in so long. "Alley, what are you doing?"
"Reconnecting," he answered, his eyes alight. "Oh, it's so good to see my people again. Hey, any of you got a loaf of bread? I'm damn hungry!"
One of the guards poked the butt of his pike at Alley, forcing him to yank his arms back inside the wagon. I heard a growl of "stay put and shut up, fool."
"Do you think this is amusing?" I asked him as he retreated from the window, not keen to get acquainted with the other end of the pike.
Alley shrugged, something he was doing more frequently lately. "Yeah."
I folded my arms and said nothing. There was nothing I could say. We were clearly very different in sense of humour, at least. And arguably, sanity.
"You ready?" Alley asked again, tapping his hands on his knees again in that same restless motion. I'm not sure he even realized he was doing it, drumming that frenetic rhythm that so closely mirrored his pulse. Even though he pretended not to be fazed by the wait, he was jumping with nerves inside. Just as I was.
"Remember the plan," he added, and it was all I could do not to make a face. How could I forget the plan, rough though it was? It was all Alley had spoken about today, in between mockery and shouting violently at the guards. I didn't know what had gotten into him – later, I would understand his frantic actions as a sort of setting the stage for what was to come.
Oh, yes – it was all part of the plan. By pretending to go crazy, he was desensitizing the guards to an actual attack. He was pretending he'd run out of plans… and rational brain cells, perhaps.
But just then, I thought he was acting like a complete madman. And I was pretty much correct. Alley sprung to his feet and started banging on things for a few minutes, until the guards demanded that he stop. "Stop me!" he screamed, and carried on until they threatened something sufficiently dire to keep him put. He became very, very still after that. No rhythm section on the knees. No shouting at passers-by. Just perfect inertia, when he resumed sitting by my side again. If I hadn't seen his eyes open, I would have thought he had finally fallen asleep. Yet, deep within that gaze, Alley was far from restful.
I felt the wagon beneath us grind to a halt, in an all-too-familiar lurch. The horses outside clopped their feet against the cobblestones gratefully, glad that the long haul was over. I felt a sense of relief. Whatever came next would decide our fate.
The doors slammed open.
"Come on, crazy. You first."
I saw the flash of a smile on Alley's face. He'd been counting on this. When he saw that the others had come out first, it was a struggle to keep his glee hidden from the guards.
He stepped forward, letting them grab him by the arms and pull him down from the wagon. I followed carefully, assisted by only a single guard; it had long ago been established that there was no fight left in me. I was a steer, of sorts.
"Why you doing this, hey? What's your missus got to say about this? What a demon it's turnin' ya into!"
Damn it. Alley had started already. Since we'd arrived, his city accent was returning in full force, thickening his words with violence. "Damn ya to hell. All of ya, ya dunno what this gig is doing to your families. My dad was a trooper, ya know, and one day, he comes home with bruises. Ya know? A violent man just come n' up n' punched him out."
That was the cue. I gave the man holding me a hard shove, feeling less resistance than I thought I would; the element of surprise had made me strong. He went over easily, hitting the pavement with a thud. Alley was already struggling with the second guard, the first one kissing the cobblestones as he held onto his injured crotch. With a final thrust, the second guard toppled, tripping over the fork of one of the wagons. By then, the first man had recovered enough to grab Alley's ankle, earning himself a kick to the teeth. Guards were closing in on every side, pushing past prisoners who watched in a mixture of awe and opportunism. Alley whipped around to see me staring, lost in the sudden uproar around us.
"DAMN IT, RONAN, RUN!" Alley shouted.
I ran.
Under the arms of faceless guards, like low-arching tree branches, I ducked. Supply crates became the rocks by the waterfall as I scaled them, leaping off the last one with ease. I felt like an animal out of its' cage; my heart fluttered. For a second, I was back in my forest, chasing a hare. Only now, it was freedom just up ahead; my heart racing in anticipation of the catch.
I was dimly aware of Alley to my left, punching his way through a pair of latecoming guards, half a battalion on his tail. I reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him from the last of them, and we were out of the throng.
Neither of us slowed our pace. The way ahead of us was a wide passageway, buildings lining either side, with no crevices to melt into. On a whim, Alley glanced over his shoulder, nearly missing a step when he registered the view.
"Come on," he gasped, and I knew I didn't want to see the mass of pursuing guards that had caused his face to pale another shade. Soon, there'd be no blood left to spill.
I ran with him, as fast as I had ever run in my life. The cobblestones were hard and unfamiliar beneath my bare feet, and if the adrenaline hadn't been pumping through my veins I think I would have worried about tearing open my soles. I let Alley lead – this was his jungle now, and there was no way I could navigate this labyrinth alone.
Down a narrow lane between buildings, and another. The dark stones stretched up to the sky until I thought the clouds might disappear. Alley ran into the doorway of one tall building, and I followed him.
The room we entered was tiny, sparsely decorated and lit by the window-light. It was also occupied. A family sat at the table in the centre of the room, eating their meal together. The sight of them; mother, father, child… it struck a nauseating longing into my heart, a sad nostalgia for what I still craved. Normality, love – these things had been lost to me the day my parents gave me up to justice.
"Hey," Alley said to them briefly, his stride taking him through the room and into the next. I edged past them as well, muttering my apologies for both myself and him. I heard a door swing open in the next room, and Alley calling back,
"Faster, forest boy! Like hell on ya heels!"
As if I knew what that meant, I was out the door and back into the street in a heartbeat. This street was bigger, so much bigger and brighter that it hurt my eyes to look. Never before in my life had I seen so many people in one place… so busy and so loud.
There were hundreds. Selling, buying, haggling, eating, drinking, talking, walking, running, riding, scolding, stealing, rolling their eyes; it was a sea of people, constantly moving and breathing and living. The sensation crashed into me like waves rolling onto a beach, stunning me for a moment. The sheer sight of it made me want to run straight back into the house.
I was back in court again, and hundreds of stares were fixed on me. I was an object. I was a criminal.
"Ro! Snap the fuck outta it! We gotta go!"
Alley's voice cut through my thoughts. The crowd was not looking at me. I was not in court. I had a secret to keep. I let Alley drag me into the ocean of faces, hiding me in their mass. I was surrounded by a press of people, until I thought I might not be able to breathe. The crowd swayed around me until they could have crushed me with their might, until I was invisible.
I was safe.
"That way!"
I heard the shriek from behind me. The woman from the family we'd passed was standing in her doorway, next to a familiar scarred face – shit. She was pointing straight at us.
Adrenaline-fuelled prey, Alley reacted instantly. He dropped to avoid their sight, pulling me down with him, crawling through a swarm of feet. He pushed me behind a pile of crates, apples piled into them, before rolling in after me, cursing profoundly under his breath. Apples. The sweet crisp smell met my nose gladly after so long in the convoy, my senses heightened by the rush.
"Why? Why the fuck has this gotta happen to me? What was that bitch's problem?"
"We interrupted her lunch," I offered quietly, my heart beating terror into my lungs.
"Fuck lunch. Lunch is a relic of the oppression." Despite the draining chase, he was still vomiting up these confusing words. How?
Alley paused, and took a long breath that sounded like he was drawing up his courage. He shifted and peered around the edge of the crate, hoping to catch a glimpse of any approaching guards. I saw him frown.
"That's weird."
"What?"
Alley glanced back at me, still puzzled. "I can't see those monkeys anywhe—"
"Miss us?" a voice asked.
I looked up, horror clenching in my gut. There were at least five of them standing there, spread out so that there was nowhere to run. The one who had spoken was the guard from earlier this morning, the bright spark with the bucket. Jorgen stood at his side, looking savagely proud. Bucket smirked down at me now, full of himself, superior - he was the judge, ready to bring the hammer down on my exile.
I recoiled, both from the memory and the shock, my eyes widening.
Alley reacted differently - by hurling himself at them. All I saw was a blur of obsidian, alabaster and dirty clothes, and Bucket was grunting as he struggled. They both fell, rolling onto the ground and trading punches. Alley was pulled off by three other guards, landing a final kick to the guard's chin before they could get him away.
I got to my feet, blindly struggling for traction, tried to run away; my heart was pounding for air, I was desperate to keep my freedom, to linger over that wonderful taste of safety I'd had, just for one slightly crazy second. I didn't want to be caught like Alley, not like that, I didn't want to go back,
didn't want to,
no!
A guard grabbed me around the legs and we both went flying. I hit the ground hard but didn't stop, rolling over to kick at the guard who had tackled me from behind. But he was faster, if shorter; he pushed my arms down determinedly, pinning me to the rough cobblestones. My head cracked against the stones, making my vision flicker dangerously; dark, foggy pain shot through the back of my head. I think I heard myself groan.
The other guards rushed to join us and I registered their dark shapes in the edge of my vision. More people were already circling around us, curious bystanders drawn to the commotion, flocking like flies on a corpse. The heavily clouded sky started to drip water onto my face and arms, the rain pattering down on the crowd around us.
Somewhere at the edge of my consciousness, I could hear Alley, shouting. He struggled violently but without hope, screaming obscenities at the sky and the guards restraining him. I sensed him distantly, as if I were underwater. The chase was over.
My feet finally started to hurt.
They threw me into the cell after Alley; by the time the gate swung shut he was already back on his feet. Resilience. His hands gripped the bars until they shook.
"You can't keep me down, fuckers! These bars won't stop me! I will get out!"
"Leave it alone, Alley," I said wearily as the guards retreated, their backs becoming one with the shadows. I felt so damn tired, exhausted from the flood of adrenaline that had pumped itself through my veins. My limbs felt like a gel, shaking with each movement.
"Mother of god help me," Alley moaned quietly, turning away from the bars. "Let Jorgen have a sense of humour."
I felt my eyebrows crease at this weird request. "What? A sense of humour?"
"Ronan, you've got hearing like a dog."
The harsh, bitter response only caused irritation to flare in my mind. "Well, excuse me for not reading your mind."
There was a brief silence, where Alley would not look at me. It was oppressive, making me want to squirm under the weight of sadness of which I knew not. He turned to meet my gaze, and it did not help; the melancholy and fear in his eyes hurt to see.
"Jorgen. He's gonna fuckin' kill me," Alley whispered.
Behind him, I saw a familiar shape appear out of the shadows, walking slowly. I knew that face, scarred and worn. It had haunted me for the last week, for the whole morning – it would haunt my dreams for many more.
"I hope you find the furnishings tasteful, West," Jorgen's lightly accented voice rang out across the empty cells that lined the aisle. It was a sudden, sharp sound in a dark silence, and I saw Alley stiffen with surprise – he hadn't heard the old man coming.
The cell we occupied had one solid, stone wall, and three 'walls' of floor-to-ceiling iron latticework. It was a cage in every sense; the floor was even carpeted with straw, for rats to nest in. The only furniture of any sort was a wooden bench, chained to the wall as some sort of seat. It was too narrow to sleep on. The whole cell was lit only by flickering torches in the corridor. There was a tiny window, high up, but it was covered by something; I couldn't tell what.
In short, the furnishings were far from tasteful.
"They're gorgeous, darling," Alley turned on the charm to greet Jorgen. There was an off-colour tinge to his mockery, however; a thin and desperate edge. I felt my heart twist at Alley's brittleness, just as I had the first day I'd met him. Another failed escape.
"I hope you think so, as this is your last check-in. Oh, I tried, Alley –"
Alley spat another, almost indistinct curse word between his teeth. Jorgen shrugged coolly. "I did try. Believe what you want to believe," the Northern soldier said, although a slight smile creeping onto his lips led me to believe he was lying. "The men have told my superiors that you're too dangerous. Bad merchandise, Alley, spoiled goods. They're disposing of you tomorrow."
Alley's eyes grew wide. I could see, in the dim torchlight, his pale fingers curling around the bars again. He was inches from Jorgen now, staring at him in muted horror. "You're gonna let them kill me?"
Jorgen smirked at the question, flicking his fingers against Alley's forehead. "Such a clever one. Oh, Alley, if you weren't so damn ugly, we'd only have downgraded you to the fuck toy section."
"Eat shit and die," Alley growled back, jerking against the bars as if he could somehow push through them to get to Jorgen. He was seething with rage - I felt as if I should back away, my neck prickling with instinct. But, I fought the urge; I stayed exactly where I was. Alley wouldn't turn his radiating aggression on me. I hoped.
Jorgen seemed to find Alley's anger amusing, and chuckled. "For the next twelve hours? I hope you have a nice life, Alley," he said smugly, turning to leave.
"I hate you," Alley murmured at Jorgen's retreating back.
"So do I," Jorgen's words drifted back to my ears, and I watched Alley take his seat on the straw-strewn floor, contemplating this final statement. Antagonism seemed to bubble beneath his skin like a lethal poison, but he did not move. He just sat there, shoulders bent, eyes invisible under matted black hair.
Watching him in this state of defeat, I cringed internally. There was my guilty secret again, rising in my throat like acid reflux. I bit down on it determinedly. To use my talents, even for an escape out of prison, was self-destruction. This was the reason I hadn't sung my way out of the convoy, freed myself easily why I had the chance. I couldn't risk being revealed. No – there were fates worse than this awaiting me if I used my gift now.
In a city like this, if my secret got out… I shuddered to think at what would happen. Treated like a criminal; no, even less than that. During my first stint in prison, many scientists had come to the village. Their proposed schemes had filtered down to me before the trial, sickening me with the horrible details. Some were harmless – most were bluntly inhuman. It shocked me, impressionable as I was, the sheer coldness with which these men regarded me. Was I merely an animal for experimentation? A meaningless subject?
Above everything, this scared me the most. Being reviled, again. And losing Alley… just as I'd lost my parents and friends. Not to a war, or some great disaster, but to their undeniable disgust for what I was.
To see him flinch from me in fear because of my voice. To have him hold me at arm's length in case I did something crazy, in case I took advantage of him, or his kin – I couldn't bear it. Yes, I wanted to save him, and free us both. I wanted it with more fever than the forest had ever given me.
But if he knew what I could do, he'd be…
He would always hate me.
A/N: I'm no Matthew Reilly when it comes to action scenes, but bear with me. For those who have so far; reviewers, I love you. Therefore, I made this chapter twice as long as the last one. My deepest thanks to all who waited to read this, but especially Dreamers-Requiem, who faithfully reviewed the first three chapters, and encouraged me to keep writing this story.