Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) (20 page)

“Aw. Idn’ that just the sweetest li’l thing,” said Mellobar,
shifting on his splinted leg. His knee was taking a long time to heal, but
since the bullying northerner hadn’t asked Merrick for help, Merrick hadn’t
given him any.

“She was probably an orphan,” said Merrick. “There are way
too few children in this city to begin with. I don’t think there’s anything
wrong with helping a child who’s on her own. For all Pilot Wax’s faults, he’s
right to place so much emphasis on the children. We’ve got no future without
them.”

Mellobar made a stop sign of his hand. “You want to hand out
your rations to disease-infested ragamuffins, that’s up to you. You don’t much
need it for the old girth, anyway. Do you?” He patted his belly to prove his
question rhetorical. The others snorted—as if it wasn’t the same joke they’d
been making for weeks.

Laugh it up, dways
, Merrick wanted to say.
You just
keep right on laughing
. “The way that jerky tastes, my girth could use a
break from it.”

The laughter died away prematurely. Merrick knew Peymer’s
group didn’t like him, and that was fine. After he’d spent some time under Raithur’s
tutelage, he’d make them regret not giving him a chance.

“Light-star’s coming up,” said the alley guard.

Peymer shouldered his pack. “Let’s get moving, boys.”

The air flushed a rose-colored gray as they funneled onto the
open street. Slivers of a sweltering red blob flooded through the gaps between
buildings on the eastern horizon. The nomad camp was already stirring when they
arrived. Merrick wondered how much earlier the nomads might’ve granted them
access to the inner courtyard if Peymer hadn’t been so bullheaded about going
elsewhere to hide.
Shadows masquerading as men
, Merrick recited to
himself.
Shadows with a reputation to uphold
.

The savages gave them wary looks when the guards brought them
in, though they never strayed from their work. Inside the factory, Merrick
found himself glad of Siler’s report. In a far corner on the factory floor
stood a group of light-skinned men dressed like nomads. And in their midst,
standing with his charred black hands at his sides and a flowing gray-white beard
covering half his chest, stood Raithur Entradi.

Raithur turned when he saw them coming. Most of his
companions were standing around him, but a few were still sleeping. He glanced
protectively down at them, though he needn’t have worried; his massive form was
enough to stop the Revs in their tracks.

“Hi, Raithur,” Merrick said.

“They told me you came looking for me,” Raith said, flexing
his fingers. “Who are you?”

Merrick removed his filtermask.

Raith’s mouth fell open, his expression passing from recognition
to bewilderment and back again. “How—” He interrupted himself. “I don’t need to
ask that. I know how.”

“You,” said one of Raith’s companions. Merrick recognized him
as the prisoner—the man who had killed him. “You. It’s you. Raith, that’s—”

“I know who it is, Jiren.”

Jiren spent a moment studying Merrick. “It’s really him. He’s
alive.”

“Yeah, I am,” said Merrick. “And I need your help.”

“You tried to kill me,” Jiren said.

“You
did
kill me.”

“You should’ve stayed dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know how to deal with
what’s happening to me. I didn’t have a clue back then, either. What I did, it
was… done out of frustration. Out of anger. I was wrong to push you aside. I
need you.”

“What is it you need?” Raith asked.

“I want you to teach me.”

Raith’s eyes darkened. “My students spend years honing their
gifts. It often takes weeks just to find a blackhand’s ignition triggers. I
don’t have that kind of time.”

“Please. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m going to overthrow
Pilot Wax.”

“Wax is dead,” said Jiren. “Raith killed him.”

“I’m
relatively
sure I killed him,” Raith clarified.

Jiren was incredulous. “Relatively sure? You said you didn’t
know how he could’ve survived…”

“That’s the truth,” Raith said. “I don’t.”

“I do,” said Merrick.

“What does that mean?”

When Merrick’s eyes met Raith’s, he saw that Raith knew
before he could speak the words. “I healed him.”

Jiren lost his temper. His tirade startled his sleeping
companions awake. He was screaming something about the stupidest thing anyone
could possibly have done when Raith intervened.

“Would you heal me if you could? If I would die otherwise?”

“Of course, but that’s diff—”

“It’s no different, Jiren. There’s nothing to be gained by
punishing a man for his mistakes. Especially if it wasn’t a mistake at the time
he made it. How did you end up here in the south, Merrick?”

Merrick told them the story. His exile, his run-in with the
hoodlums, his chance meeting with the Gray Revenants, and their failed attack
on the old church. He even told them about the raid on the zoom den, and about
all the people searching the city south for the healer whose reputation was
spreading like wildfire.

“So you’ve come to embrace your gift,” Raith said, “and you
want my guidance.”

“It’s more than that,” Merrick said. “I plan to travel the
length and breadth of the city south, and I want you with me so I can train as
I go.”

“Why travel?” asked another Decylumite, still in his sleeping
sack.

“To heal the sick and gather support for my conquest of the
city north.”

The Decylumites shared glances and laughed.

“That wasn’t a joke. I’m going to rally the south behind me
and take back what belongs to us. Open the borders, and give everyone access to
the life enjoyed by the privileged few.”

“The city north would languish if they let everyone in,” said
the same man. “They’re prosperous because they’ve got a controlled system.”

“They’d have to find work for more people, sure,” Merrick
said. “But they’ll have a larger area to draw from. More resources. As scarce
as they are in Belmond, they do exist. We’re going to make it work.”

“I think the Commissar is a son of a bitch,” said Jiren, “but
he obviously knows what he’s doing when it comes to infrastructure, to have
maintained a functional society as long as he has. Twenty years or so, isn’t
it?”

“Seventeen and change,” said Merrick. “Systems can be
altered. We can give everyone a chance at a better life.” He cringed inside as
he heard himself say the words, knowing they were lies. He didn’t believe
everyone deserved a better life. Muties, for example. He hated them. He hated
half the scum in the city south. But they would be the building blocks of his
new empire. The bricks in his staircase to success. It was these heads he’d
step on—these hearts he’d bleed dry—on his way to the top of the Hull Tower.

“You’re sincere in these intentions?” Raith asked.

“Absolutely. I want to make a positive difference in this
city. Will you help me do that?”

“We only came back to Belmond to reclaim our brothers,” Raith
said.

“So stay for a while.”

“There are other factors at play. Our situation is…
complicated. While touring the city south would let us continue our search for
survivors, I won’t make a decision until we’ve had a chance to talk it
through.”

“I can wait.”

“I’d prefer to speak with my brothers in private. It could
take some time.”

“That’s okay,” said Merrick. “Send word when you’re ready.
I’ll be outside the break in the south fence.”

The Revs left the factory and took shelter in an adjacent
building while Infernal’s light spread over the city. Merrick paced the floor,
unable to sit still with his future hinging on a single decision. His unease
dissolved a few minutes later, when Jiren came out to the fence and signaled
them. The young blackhand looked sullen and grouchy, and Merrick took that as a
good sign.

Jiren didn’t wait for them to get back to Raith before
delivering the news. When Merrick and the Revs came through the fence, Jiren
said, “We’ll travel with you. Raith is going to train you along the way.”

Merrick rejoiced, but kept it to himself. “That’s what I
wanted to hear.” He turned to Peymer. “And what about the Revs? Will they lend
me their aid as well?”

Peymer shrugged. “The Revs are in charge of their own lives.
It’s up to them.”

Merrick had been wondering how the Gray Revenants were
organized ever since he met Caliber and Leuk. How did they foster such
cooperation and allegiance without any clear leadership structure? They still
hadn’t told him who was in charge—who governed their various cells throughout
the city.
The Gray Revenants are bigger than you realize, comrade
,
Rhetton had told him.
You haven’t learned the half of what it means to be a
Revenant
. “In that case, anyone who wants to help me take the north is
welcome to come along.”

“We got things to do,” said Oban. “I can’t spare the time to
follow you around.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“I see,” said Merrick. “After I’ve gathered the support I
need, I’ll contact the Revenants again. When it comes time to take the north, I
hope I can count on having you with me.”

No one spoke.

Merrick handed Peymer his jacket and filtermask. “Hold onto
these for me. Take care of yourselves, all of you. We’ll see each other again.”
There was no fondness in his words. He would miss Swy and Cluspith, but the
rest of them could eat dirt. Without ceremony, he turned and followed Jiren
back to the camp.

“Where are your friends, the ghosts?” Raith asked when they
returned. “Have they abandoned you?”

“It looks that way. For now, at least. They’ll be back.”
Merrick caught the sarcastic glance passed between Jiren and his friend with
the shaggy blond mane.
They think I’m crazy
, he realized.
Even the
other blackhands doubt me
.

“How do you suggest we go about touring the city?” asked
Raith. “You know Belmond better than we do.”

“I figure we head east toward the outskirts, then make our
way around the southern perimeter, through the suburbs and around to the rust
bucket in the west. Lots of old train yards and smelting plants and steel mills
out that way. From there we can head through the heart of the city. It’ll take
us a few weeks, but that’ll give me plenty of time to train, and you plenty of
time to search for your brothers.”

“And what do you propose we do about food and water? How will
we survive while we do all this traveling?” asked a short balding man with beady
eyes and a scowling mouth.

“We have our rations for the return journey to Sai Calgoar,”
said Raith. “And we’ve got some coin to spare. We’ll live on what we have until
we can make other arrangements.”

Merrick had a feeling that once he learned enough from Raith
to begin healing people regularly, they would never want for food or drink
again. He kept this thought to himself, however. Better to surprise them with a
future boon than promise them something that may never happen. “It’s probably
best to wait out the day here at camp and leave at nightfall,” he suggested.

“So we have all day to sit here and do nothing,” said a big
man whose blackened right hand was missing a finger.

“Raithur and I won’t be doing nothing,” said Merrick.

Raith lifted an eyebrow. “Oh no?”

“Nope. I’m ready to start learning.”

Raith paused. “We’d better go outside, then.”

They left the courtyard for the large open lot inside the
fence.

“First let’s talk about how your gift has been behaving
lately,” Raith said. “Can you tell me a little about the experiences you’ve had
since I saw you last?”

“I can’t seem to ignite when I want to, unless I’m filled to
the brim with energy. At the same time, my body’s been healing itself faster
than before. These scars on my face… on my chest. I was injured in a fight and
I healed within seconds. Although the scar tissue is hideous.”

“If Myriad were here, she could tell you more about your
body’s ability to self-heal. Unfortunately, that’s something you may need to
discover for yourself. My expertise is in helping you learn to wield and
control the external manifestations of your gift. Igniting, as we call it.”

“Can you ignite whenever you want to?”

Raith smiled. He lifted a hand. His fingertips flared,
darkened, flared, darkened again.

Merrick was reasonably impressed. “You can do that at will?”

“Will… now that’s a good word to describe it. Although it
isn’t by sheer desire that one bends his will toward the gift. It’s a process
of finding synergy between the logical mind and the emotional response; an
awakening, if you understand my meaning.”

“What kinds of different things can you do when you ignite?”

“Many, depending on your gift. It’s different for everyone.
You should be able to do any number of things, if you’re like your mother.”

“So we’ve gone past theorizing and moved to factualism, huh?
She was my mother—you’re sure of that.”

“There’s no being sure of anything. My instinct tells me yes…
Myriad was your mother.”

Merrick tried out the name. “Myriad… that doesn’t sound
familiar. Whenever my dad talked about my mother, it was ‘that whore,’ or ‘that
stupid bitch.’ Or, whenever he was feeling extra-nice, ‘the filthy cunt who
birthed your pathetic ass into this world.’”

“Your father is dead?” Raith asked.

“Fates rest him.” Merrick concluded the comment with an
obscene gesture.

Raith clenched and unclenched his fists. “All the better.
Myri was an incredible woman of unparalleled talent. Any man who spoke of her
like that is fortunate to have met the fates.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it kept him from meeting me.”

Merrick gave a grunt of derision. “You would’ve killed my dad
for saying something like that?”