Evenfall (115 page)

Although neither of them particularly wanted to leave Monterrey, the life they'd become accustomed to there and the ease with which they could interact and be near each other, at the same time Boyd found the act of planning missions and trying to guess all the eventualities to be almost invigorating and he wouldn't deny that he preferred the times when he could do this with Sin helping him. Sometimes Sin had solutions that hadn't occurred to Boyd, that were far simpler than the complicated strategies he would create. It gave them something to focus on, even if it wasn't something either of them was particularly looking forward to.

Chapter 36

The Grand Ballroom of the Joel K. Solar Convention Center was huge, easily able to accommodate two thousand people despite the fact that there were only about four hundred in attendance at the Global Arts Exhibition. The sheer size of the ballroom could have dwarfed the number of people attending but great care was taken in the way the room was
arranged and decorated. Although the dιcor was obviously on the expensive side, it was a subtle decadence that every guest took in with pleasure, and created a welcoming feeling.

The ceiling rose far overhead with architecture that provided several large artistic skylights as well as intricate designs in the structure of the ceiling itself that gave it dimension and made even the act of looking up a pleasant experience. Crystal chandeliers hung at varying heights, filled with candles that provided dancing light for the four hundred people below. The entire room was bathed in neutral and earth colors; the walls were a rich cream that did not appear to be wallpaper but was almost satiny to the touch, while the thick velvet curtains were a deep shade of forest green that provided a pleasing contrast. The floor was marble with an elegant pattern inlaid in a manner that complemented the design spreading across the ceiling.

A stage rested in the front of the Grande Ballroom, providing a perfect platform for the speeches and presentations that were scheduled later in the evening; it appeared to be constructed of mahogany that had been polished to an understated gleam. Small groups of tables were placed across the main area of the ballroom in a particular pattern; they were each decorated with an elegant crystal vase with long-stemmed yellow roses, as well as a crystal-clear mirror with several small dishes of water with floating candles inside that reflected light in a soothing manner. However, the main attractions were the four exhibits that were situated in each corner of the room. Each space was carefully planned to give the most space for guests to view the works of art while at the same time providing an area for the artists to speak. Rows of soft, comfortable-looking chairs were situated in front of the stage to provide seating for anyone watching the speeches, and similar chairs were located near the exhibits for the artists to rest on.

Many of the attendees were dressed as elegantly as the room, with women in gowns that ended just above the ground, in quicker movements allowing a hint of their perfectly matched high heels. Many of the men wore tuxedos, their cummerbunds and ties carefully pressed and arranged. Waiters moved unobtrusively through the room, offering complimentary champagne to any who tilted in their direction. The guests milled about the room, drifting to and from each exhibit, mingling with each other or resting at the seating areas as the sounds of a husky female voice flitted through the room from the stereo system, the cool jazz and her French accent fitting perfectly with the ambiance of the Grande Ballroom.

Although the guest list appeared to be made up primarily of celebrities and artists, philanthropists and humanitarians, no one appeared to be flaunting their status or their wealth. No woman wore glittering jewels or outrageous fur and not a one of the guests had the assuming air of upper class superiority or prestige. People spoke quietly about the art and about the current events but mostly about the past. Everyone seemed to have a story regarding someone they had lost, someone they wished could be here to experience the evening with them. Everyone seemed happy to be there, honored to have been invited; the Exposition was obviously something that inspired hopefulness in them all, a sentiment that was echoed in the art that was showcased around the room.

There were five main artists at the exposition and although each person’s work had a particular tone, the overall theme was hope and recovery from the scars of war. No one seemed to focus on pointing the blame, on hate or bitterness towards any government or nation which was possibly due to the fact that all of the artists were from countries which had chosen no sides during the war; something which had been difficult for the entire world during that time.

Corrina and Toby, originating from Egypt and Greece respectively, were a husband and wife artist duo whose work seemed to focus primarily on landscapes. One particularly striking, albeit morbid, piece was a painting of a war-torn field. What appeared to have once been grass was charred black and the stain of ash washed over the remnants of buildings in the distance. The field was littered with skulls, skeletons, the burnt remains of clothing and other personal affects, which presumably belonged to the people who had died there. However in the midst of the smoggy clouds which hovered low in the sky, the beginnings of a spectacular sunrise could be seen shining through, beams of light illuminating the otherwise dismal landscape.

Most of their paintings had similar scenes; light from sunsets or sunrises shining through scenes of death and gore. They seemed to use primarily muted colors giving each piece a particularly bleak quality that made the streams of golden light that much more striking.

The artist representing India, another one of the neutral countries during the war, was a middle aged woman named Neha. The centerpiece of her collection was a painting simply titled ‘Nations’. An endless looking ocean dominated the piece, the vivid blues and greens of the sea capturing the attention of nearly anyone who passed. Above the ocean was a flag but it was hard to say which country it was from. There was a portion that was obviously the American flag, the French and English flags and finally the Russian flag; the main instigators of the war. The flags were intertwined in an almost confusing blur but the most fascinating part was the way the red (a primary color in each) seemed to be bleeding out and dripping into the ocean, mixing together until it was impossible to tell which nation’s flag it had come from.

The third exhibit was the work of A.K. Hayes from Iceland, a surprisingly young girl who looked like an ingιnue but was obviously a prodigy at scul
pting.
She seemed to have a preoccupation with the human body and her self-proclaimed masterpiece was a stunning sculpture entitled ‘Venus Reborn.'
The piece was of a tall, voluptuous woman who was mostly nude although there was nothing sexual implied. Long curls tumbled down the woman’s back and spilled over her shoulders, arms thrown back and stretched behind her as what appeared to be bandages hung from her body and revealed scars on her otherwise flawless form.  There was a small brass plaque at the base of the sculpture with an explanation about the title and the piece; apparently it was a recreation of the famous painting ‘The Birth of Venus’ by Alexandre Cabanel but in this version, love was being reborn into a world which had briefly been filled only with hate.

However despite the creativity and talent of all of the other artists, as Sin wandered the edges of the Ballroom, it was a painting in the fourth exhibit that caught his attention. The sky in the painting was gray and brown, exactly how it had looked for a long time after the second wave of bombs had shattered the world, and a lone figure stood in the middle of a bombed out city. It appeared to be a soldier but as Sin moved closer and actually paused to stare, he realized the soldier was actually a teenaged boy. He wore army fatigues and clutched a military helmet in one hand, a rifle lay discarded at his feet; his face, hands and uniform was streaked with blood and soot. However it was the look on his face, the almost lost expression and the eerily vacant stare, which made something in Sin ache, something in him churn and roil and remember things better left forgotten. It was like he was staring at a portrait of himself at that time; the age was right, the expression, the blood…

“Do you like?”

Sin looked to the side, shaken out of his strange reverie and stared at the woman who stood at his side. He recognized her immediately as Yara, the artist responsible for the piece. She was Brazilian, in her late twenties and extremely attractive. She had a kind of understated beauty that was only emphasized by the lack of makeup she wore and the simple dress that hung from her slender shoulders. She would have been the picture of feminine grace if it weren’t for the chunky combat boots and the way she wore her short cropped hair in dozens of spikes.

Sin looked away from her and stared at the painting again. “I guess.”

Yara smiled and crossed her arms over her chest. “It's called Atonement."

He glanced at her briefly. "He doesn't seem to be atoning for anything there."

Yara tilted her head to the side. "It is interesting that you chose to take it in that way." Her almost black eyes stared up at him as though she were trying to read his thoughts. "If I may ask, to satisfy an artist's curiosity about how others view her work, would you mind telling me what conclusion you would have drawn had you known the title without having an explanation for it?"

He didn't speak for a long moment and continued to study the boy on the canvas. "Soldiers-- fighters in general, people who were involved in the war, sometimes feel as though they need to... atone for the things that they did in battle, actions they took... lives they took. I'd probably think this depicted a time directly after the war when he was looking for a way to make up for the past."

Yara nodded and pursed her lips. "A valid conclusion but not exactly what I had in mind when I painted this piece." Her lips abruptly turned up into a small smile and she continued to gaze up at him as if she were trying to figure him out, or more precisely, as if she already had done so. "Perhaps it is not him who is in need of atonement. Maybe it is... the world." She gestured with one slender hand, her fingers barely brushing the painting. "The world, the powers that be... they created a generation of soldiers like him. Boy fighters, child killers, ones who did not have the chance to live before the world armed them and so, they had no idea how to live when the fighting was no longer needed."

Sin said nothing for a moment but once again, something about her words, something about the painting, struck a chord within him. He started to leave, to nod and excuse himself, but before he could the words were coming out of his mouth. "A lot of people would think you're insane for having that viewpoint. They view that generation of soldiers as mindless drones, puppets of the government who killed without questioning why they were killing. Some people think soldiers from that time are monsters."

She nodded in agreement and raised one shoulder in a shrug. "I know. I do know. But I've seen so many of these boy soldiers become empty, soulless men that I feel..." She trailed off for a moment and her eyes seemed almost haunted during that pause. "I feel that despite the fact that many activists show no empathy towards the soldiers of that war, the men they only see as bomb droppers and civilian killers, they were also victims. They also had their lives destroyed." He said nothing to that and she looked at painting again before her gaze slid back to him. "I am usually the more aloof artist in these events,” She said suddenly as if sensing his discomfort, slightly accented voice sounding wry, “But when I saw you looking at my young man, I could not help but think that you reminded me of him.”

That earned the woman a startled stare before Sin covered the expression and shook his head. “I don’t know about all that.”

“It’s true. The eyes I think, your expression…” Yara smiled again, face as serene as her voice. “Something about you seemed lost, haunted, as you stared at him... But I guess it is just me being a strange artsy type who sees more than there is, maybe?”

Another shrug. He maintained the appearance of nonchalance despite the way her comments, her explanations, hit entirely too close to home.  “Maybe.”

Yara stared at him, head still slightly tilted to the side, studying him in a manner that was more than a little unnerving. After a moment someone called out to her and she looked over distractedly before turning back to Sin. “Well…” She peered down at his nametag. “Jason Alvarez, it was nice to be meeting you.”

He looked at her briefly. “Yeah.”

Another sweet smile and then Yara was going on her way. Sin shook his head, gave one final glance at the painting and then continued towards the back of the Ballroom. He felt off-balance, shaken, but he wouldn't let it show. He couldn't let it show. But despite the fact that he was able to maintain his composure, it still disturbed him that some painting, some civilian, could have such an effect on him and his state of mind. But it was just that... he was not accustomed to someone, anyone, understanding. Boyd understood-- he always had, but the idea that there were other people who did, who could, it threw everything he'd ever been taught and told, out the window. "lf I stay here any lon
ger I'm going to hurt myself,” h
e muttered softly, confident that Boyd had heard the entire exchange through the microphone.

"If you do in that room, I guarantee you'll be the focus of about a dozen works of art in no time," came Boyd's voice into his ear.

 
Sin snorted softly, barely moving his lips as he spoke. "How are things on your end?"

There was an extended pause in which Sin could overhear several muted conversations in the background, none of them clear enough to understand. "No one," Boyd said finally, his voice as quiet as Sin's. "Maybe too early."

Sin looked down at his watch and tilted his head slightly. It was still pretty early in the evening and it was a logical move for Janus to wait a while to bring their inner circle in. The more time they spent in such a public place was like an invitation for their organization to be decapitated although that is exactly what was going to happen anyway. "Probably."

They kept their interaction to a minimum for the most part and despite the fact that it was annoying to have to constantly give an abbreviated version of events, the short range radio was so obnoxious that it made him not even want to use it. The convention center was extremely large and the range between his position in the southern wing and Boyd's station in Theater B of the northeast wing was apparently too far at times to pick up a strong signal. Whenever he went towards the west side of the Ballroom he picked up static and came close to losing Boyd entirely. Despite the fact that it was annoying, the lack of range did not really concern him; their plan was set and if something happened to prevent them from escaping together they'd already decided what to do.