IV: The Desian Markswoman
He thought he smelled an animal, he thought he heard panting, the crunch of soil beneath feet. The whisper of the trees in the wind seemed so loud to him—all he wanted to do was reach up and cover his ears, to shut out the sound that rattled his brain, but he couldn't lift his arms. He couldn't move, he lay in a semi-conscious state of paralysis.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, how many creatures of the woods crept up to him, investigated him, and then moved on. His head throbbed, he slipped in and out of consciousness, just trying to keep on breathing. He was sure he was in some state of death, but he wasn't sure exactly where he was or how he had managed to get there.
He felt something on his face, fingers grabbing his chin and turning his aching head around. He couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes, but he managed to groan.
A woman's voice floated in the ether somewhere above him, soft but deep. "Looks like he's been smacked around a bit, but he'll be fine." Something slipped under him—hands, under his shoulders, grabbing him. He tried to struggle, but he didn't know why. "We should get him out of here before Kvar's men come back."
The name rang through his mind like a siren. He twitched, trying to open his eyes, telling himself to get up, just get up and run, but the best he could do was let out an ineffectual moan before the darkness of sleep fell over him again.
When he finally managed to open his eyes, it was dark. He struggled to clear the blur of sleep, and he could make out the glow of a fire, the shadowy movement of figures walking around it. He tried to lift his arms so he could rub his eyes and cradle his agonized head, but he found he couldn't move them. His shoulders ached, his back hurt, and when he tried to roll over, he found his hands stuck behind his back, pinned uncomfortably under him.
He groaned, turning on his side, slowly lifting himself out of the dirt. He blinked, coughed, and managed to sit up. As he sat shaking his head, trying to coax full consciousness back into himself, the figures by the fire slowly came into focus. They turned and looked at him, and he squinted back, trying to make out their faces.
"Might as well get the Lieutenant," one of them said. He stood up, and Lloyd could see the glint of armor on him. He didn't have his helmet on, but Lloyd could recognize the uniform of a Desian foot soldier when he saw one.
His heart started to race, and his eyes darted into the darkness beyond the fire. He looked around for an escape route, struggling to sit up. Hands still tied behind him, he stumbled forward on his knees, preparing to sprint out into the darkness.
The remaining Desian by the fire merely reached down into his boot and pulled a pistol, firing it twice by Lloyd's head. Lloyd ducked, heart stopping, legs shaking. He knelt in the dirt, not daring to move with the gun pointed at him. The Desian's eyes met his own, and they stood locked in each other's stares for a few seconds, before his partner returned with the helmeted Lieutenant.
"He tried to make a break for it, but I discouraged him," the Desian with the gun said.
"Not that I can blame him," the Lieutenant replied. Lloyd recognized hers as the voice he had heard in his half-conscious agony. She removed her helmet, shaking out her shock of silvery short hair, and looked him over. He stared back at her, awed at the intelligent light in her eyes, and her slight smile. She had an air of nobility about her that he had never seen in a Desian.
"You may seat yourself by the fire, if you wish," she told him. He narrowed his eyes at her, then glanced back to the Desian with the gun, still pointed at his chest. Slowly, he walked up to the fire, not daring to take his eyes off her, and sat down on a stump. She gave her helmet to the man next to her and sat opposite him, folding her hands and laying her chin across them.
"May I call you Lloyd?"
"How do you know my name?" He knew it was a stupid question to ask at this point.
"We mostly know you as L033 around Desian circles. If you prefer, we can use your number."
"No, not that." He had not heard his number in a so long, the sound of it seemed foreign to him. Frightening, even.
"Very well then. I suppose you want to know why we've decided to keep you for company."
Lloyd looked at the Desians, fists clenching behind him. "I'm assuming you're gonna take me to a ranch. If you do…" he paused. "Take me to Kvar's. At least let me be with my mother." Even saying it drew something of a choked sob from him. He lowered his eyes, trying to hide their watery sheen, and stared into the fire.
"We're not taking you to any ranch, Lloyd. You don't have to worry about that."
"Then why…" he tried gesturing, but only managed to wiggle his shoulders a little bit. "Why all this? Why not let me go?"
The Lieutenant almost laughed. "Because you have something we need."
Lloyd looked her over. "You're not Renegades, are you?"
"Of course not."
Lloyd was almost relieved. If Yuan tried to use him to get to his father, well, good luck to him. Obviously Kratos did not care. Lloyd had trusted him, he had told him everything, and he had screwed him over. He'd taken his mother from him, he'd handed her over to Kvar. Gods, Lloyd almost thanked the Desians for tying his hands, or else he'd be punching himself to a pulp.
The Lieutenant leaned down, trying to catch his eye with hers, watching his expression change and contort. "Lloyd," she said, sternly, and he brought his attention back to her. "I know you've had it rough. I know that right now you're very confused, and most likely a little upset."
Lloyd snarled. "You think so? My own father just stole my mother away and sent her to die."
The look the Lieutenant gave him was stern but sympathetic. He'd never expected to see such an honest expression adorning a Desian officer. "We know what your father has done. We're well aware of his crimes, all four thousand years of them. And we want to take him down."
Lloyd glanced at her, gears turning in his head. If these guys weren't Renegades, then Lloyd wasn't sure what they were. Maybe they were some other offshoot of the Desian factions, turning against their own. He didn't really care. "If I help you, will you get my mother out of the ranch?" he asked.
The Lieutenant seemed to be thinking, intelligent bluish eyes lowered to the ground. "It's likely that her freedom will be an upshot of our success. But that is in the far future. Kvar's ranch has too tight of security for us to break in—especially now that A012 is in his custody."
"Don't call her that." Lloyd bit his tongue, half expecting to be shot for the outburst. The Desian with the gun twitched it at him, but the Lieutenant seemed unfazed.
"I apologize. You understand that your mother is quite infamous for her escapes. She may be a free woman again, if you'll only help us."
"What do you need me to do?"
"I need you to get me the Angelus Project. Word has it, you know where it is."
"You mean the exsphere my mother made?"
"Yes."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"It would be something akin to treason to reveal to a prisoner the intimate details of our plans, but I assure you we will put it to good use."
"Why should I help you? After all you've done, to me, to the world?"
"I understand why you would hesitate, truly I do. But just be assured that should we succeed, there will be no human ranches. We will dismantle Cruxis from the top down, and destroy the institutions it has put in place." She looked deep into Lloyd's hesitant face, picking him apart. "If you help us, you will never have to worry about Desians again."
Lloyd flinched. Her speech had been almost identical in sentiment to the one Yuan had given him, back in the desert, before he betrayed him and pointed a blade at his throat. His father, too, had convinced him that it was for his own good to follow him. It was just like Barra and Ezra had said so long ago, and what his mother repeated many times: he really was easy to trick.
"I don't believe you," he said. "I'm not going to help you."
"I'm sorry to hear that. But if I can't convince you to come to our side of your own free will, we're just going to have to remind you that my subordinate here has his pistol aimed at your head. Any sign of disobedience will result in a bullet through your skull."
Lloyd gulped.
"I would highly recommend cooperating with us, Lloyd. If you're dead, there will be no one left to save your mother."
"What do you care about her?"
The Lieutenant sighed. "I'll be honest with you. We don't care about her. We do, however, care about what she created. We're merely using her to incentivize you to work with us so we may have a better chance of destroying Cruxis. Saving your mother is just a bonus, for you. We have very similar goals, you see. Yours are more personal. Ours are for the good of our entire race."
Lloyd looked from her, to the gun, back to her. "You think Cruxis is bad for half-elves?"
The Lieutenant nodded. "It's detrimental to everyone."
Lloyd shook his head. "I don't want anything to do with this. I just want to go home. Take her home." His breath came ragged and shallow. His exhales sounded embarrassingly like sobs, and he tried to choke them down.
The Lieutenant stood, brushing dust off her uniform. "I know it's difficult. But you will be reunited with her, if you work with us. You will get to go home. I'm afraid I don't have proof of this, however. You will have to trust us."
"How can I?"
"You figure that out. For now, we will keep an eye on you for the night. In the morning, you might feel a little more inclined to assist us." She turned and walked back to her tent, her right hand man following closely behind.
Lloyd stared at the Desian with the gun, still pointed at him, for a good ten minutes before he lay back down on the ground. He turned around, keeping his back to the fire and the pistol. He curled up, trying not to let himself cry, and tried to sort through his circumstances.
He thought he'd be more surprised that his father had betrayed him. But old habits died hard. He should've seen it coming. Gods, he shouldn't have been so gullible. And here he was, tied up at gunpoint, demanding himself to trust this group of rogue Desians with some harebrained plot to overthrow Cruxis. But the Lieutenant had been brutally honest with him, which was more than he could say about anyone else who had betrayed him. Yuan had been cryptic and silent, and his father had told him all sorts of lies, he was sure.
He closed his eyes, seemingly only for a minute, but when he opened them again, it seemed a few hours had passed. He looked over his shoulder to see that the Lieutenant had let her comrade sleep and now kept watch. She sat by the fire, holding the gun absentmindedly. Her eyes were not focused on him but on an open book in her lap, one of the largest he'd ever seen. He was suddenly filled with that embarrassed admiration he always felt when he saw someone read. He sat up, suddenly fully awake.
"Your turn to watch me?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, not willing to take her eyes off the yellowed pages. "It's standard procedure, but I don't think you're going to run away."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you're desperate. If I turn out to be lying, and take you to the ranch, it will increase the likelihood of seeing your mother again. If I'm telling the truth, then it also increases the odds of your reunion—albeit under more happy circumstances." She looked away from her book and up at him. "I can't profess to know the inner-workings of the human mind, but I can take a guess."
Lloyd crossed his legs, arms numb from being stuck behind him for so long. As she returned to her reading, he got a good look at her. Her bright eyes scanned the pages faster than he could follow, and her silver hair fell to one side haphazardly, sticking out in all places like no helmet could truly tame it.
"You don't look like a Desian," he told her, and she glanced up.
"Don't I? I'm playing the part well enough, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yeah, but you don't seem like their kind. I've never seen one with a book before. So I'm guessing they don't read much."
"That is, unfortunately, too true." She seemed to wish to end the conversation there.
"What are you reading?" he asked.
"You're just full of queries, aren't you?"
He shrugged.
"I'm reading a text on ancient Tethe'allan monuments."
"Tethe'alla… so it really does exist."
"Of course. I already assumed you would've been informed of that."
"My… um, Kratos told me about it when he was traveling with me."
"I see."
"Are you going to take me there?"
"To Tethe'alla? Gods, no. I would rather not go back there. If you knew the plight of half-elves over on that side, you wouldn't blame me." Lloyd wanted to pry further, but she continued in earnest. "We're taking you wherever you tell us. Wherever you think will lead us to the Angelus Project. We're a free unit. We've been given simple orders."
Lloyd shifted uncomfortably. "So you're not alone."
"Of course not. You think three Desians could stand up to Cruxis alone?"
He mulled over the fact that they were apparently not affiliated with the Renegades. "So… which Cardinal?"
"What?"
"Which Cardinal do you work for?"
She closed her book, narrowing her eyes at him with intense interest. "I never said I worked for any Cardinal."
Lloyd matched her stare. It had been a wild guess, but the interest it piqued in her told him that he'd been close when he assumed the one to turn against Cruxis had been high in their ranks. It seemed like a common theme, especially among powerful regimes. And, considering the things he'd heard about Kvar and Forcystus constantly being at each other's throats, it wouldn't surprise him to find out they were fighting amongst themselves. Obviously these loners didn't work for Kvar. There were only four other Cardinals, three of whom he knew by name.
He lowered his eyes and shrugged. "They're always fighting—even the prisoners know that. Even the kids do." He looked at her face for any sign of agreement. She only smiled an oracular, unreadable smile. "So, which one is it?"
"I wouldn't mind telling you, but I'm not so sure you're trustworthy. After all, you don't trust us, either."
Lloyd fought the urge to swear at her. "Fair enough," he said.
She left it at that and turned back to her book, eyes darting across the pages. He liked the sound of the page turning—it reminded him of nights back home, when Anna read for hours after dark, close to the lamplight while she thought Lloyd slept. Even in Palmacosta, when they were both overworked and perpetually exhausted, she found the time to read late at night.
"It's in Palmacosta," Lloyd said.
The Lieutenant looked up from her reading. "The Angelus Project?"
Lloyd nodded. "It's under a floorboard in our old apartment. In the immigrant district."
She closed her book with a sigh. "That's the last place I wish to visit again, but so be it. Tomorrow we leave for Palmacosta."
A few minutes later, after they had both fallen into silence, one of the other Desians came to relieve her of guard duty. "Lieutenant Sage, I'll keep watch until morning."
She stood, nodding to Lloyd knowingly, before retreating into her tent. Lloyd stayed awake until morning, unable to force himself to sleep, but did not converse with the Desian that kept watch.
By morning he'd convinced himself he was some sort of traitor. A traitor to his mother, to his race, to himself. When they un-cuffed him in the morning and fed him some cold beans, he didn't run. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted the glint of a gun pointed at him, and he tried to ignore it.
He was already helping them, gods knew why. His mother would be furious if she saw him now, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He knew she'd rather have him keep bad company than be sent back to her in a body bag. But he could not stop himself from apologizing to her, over and over in his head, for everything.
He should never have trusted his father. He should never have trusted Yuan. He should've stayed away from the Chosen, he should've avoided this situation altogether. He should've killed his father when he'd had a chance—he should've stabbed him again, slit his throat, something. Infinite scenarios in which things turned out differently played and replayed in his mind, and he torturously dragged himself past every fork in his history where he could've—and should've—made a better decision than he had. But "should've" was merely a suggestion that came too late. There was nothing he could do now, but lead these rogue Desians toward Palmacosta, in the vague hope that he might see his mother again.
Lieutenant Sage took the lead, and he walked behind her, her two nameless henchmen falling behind, silently keeping the gun focused on the back of his head. He could almost feel it aimed at him, and every once in a while it would send shivers down his spine.
"Did you save any of the stuff that was with me?" he couldn't help asking her.
One guard shouted at him to shut up, but the Lieutenant turned and commanded him to do the same. He quieted down, mumbling to himself.
"What do you mean, 'Stuff?'" she asked.
"Like… my lute, mostly. I had an instrument with me when I… when my father…"
"No. But it's not a necessity. You'll survive without it, I'm sure."
"I'm not so sure," he muttered, but she didn't hear him.
When they stopped for the night, the Lieutenant invited him to join them around the fire, much to the chagrin of her underlings.
"Lieutenant Sage, I'm not sure if this is appropriate… to accommodate a prisoner like a guest," one said.
"Oh, rest assured, it's not," she answered, and offered Lloyd a plate. He took it silently, still a little suspicious this would all turn into some humiliating ploy. It was an awkward, unnecessarily protracted meal, but he managed to keep everything down. When they tied his hands for the night and told him to lie by the fire, he did so with a full stomach, a luxury he usually did not enjoy in the presence of Desians.
Lieutenant Sage took first watch. And watch she did—she apparently noted Lloyd's every twist and turn of his uncomfortable body, every sigh he released in response to his uncomfortable mind.
"You're having trouble sleeping," she said matter-of-factly.
Lloyd couldn't fathom why this statement would be helpful to him. He rolled over and looked at her, awkwardly navigating his bound arms. The image of his father standing over him, asking why he couldn't sleep, flashed through his mind, and he clenched his fists behind his back. "My arms are uncomfortable."
"Of course they are. But we can't let you sleep out of those cuffs until we all agree you can be trusted. We don't. So you're going to have to live with it."
Lloyd took a deep breath. "You know, I'm wanted in Palmacosta. As soon as we get into the city, they'll be a mob there to kill me."
"Oh, we're well aware of your situation. The murder of a Chosen is news that is wont to travel."
"I didn't do it, though," he said.
"I know you didn't. But that doesn't matter. You're still being blamed for it. But you'll have ample protection when we enter the city."
"You and your two lackeys? Really?" Lloyd laughed. "Obviously you haven't seen a Palmacostan mob before."
She glared at him, and he shut his mouth. "We're meeting another unit on the road. We'll escort you through the city to your apartment, or wherever it was you've hidden the exsphere."
He leaned back, watching the fire, as she read on, interrupted only by the annoying buzzing of what Lloyd assumed was some sort of communicator. She pulled it out, frowning at it, pressed a few buttons, shook it, then lay it beside her. "Damn thing," she said.
It began screeching in response, whirring like it was the end of the world. It panicked, vibrating and beeping, and she groaned.
"Hey, let me look at that," Lloyd said.
She glanced up at him, incredulous. "You think you can fix it?"
He shrugged, and she sighed. She put aside her book, picked up the screeching communicator, and un-cuffed him, and pushed the little thing into his palm. She sat back down on the other side of the fire, watching him.
His fingers searched the device for any cracks or crevices or buttons that would open it up. He found none, but it wasn't very well put together, so he was able to pry apart the two plastic casings with his fingernails. When he looked at each half of the tiny device, vibrating feebly, he saw the problem, pinched it between his fingers, and closed the communicator back up. When he handed it back to her, it was silent, green light pulsing lazily.
"Easy fix," he said.
"Indeed it was," she said, looking the device over. "You have a knack."
"I just need something for my hands to do. I get bored otherwise."
The Lieutenant sighed and dangled the cuffs from her finger. "I'm afraid you're going to be very bored all night, then."
Lloyd's boredom, punctuated only by brief interludes of despair and panic, lasted all the way past Hakenosia, south of the forests that dotted the mountains, and to the main road leading to Palmacosta.
They weren't yet to the House of Salvation when it started pouring. Lieutenant Sage stood outside her tent while they set up camp, hand outstretched, looking disgusted at the droplets that gathered on her palm. It was too wet to build a fire, so when one guard sat down to watch him for the night, he sat under the rain fly of his tent and desperately tried to light a cigarette. Lloyd watched the fame flicker and die in the wind dozens of times before the Desian finally gave up. He instead looked up at the dark grey sky, seeming to count the drops that fell on his head.
The Lieutenant stood in the flap of her tent, arms crossed, watching Lloyd. He looked over at her, slowly soaking, and a shiver ran through him. She sighed. "You can return to your tent for the night," she told the guard. "I'll keep an eye on him." She motioned for him to come inside, and he carefully pulled himself to his feet, following her into her tent.
He sat down in the middle of the tent, looking at her bedroll, her foldable desk, the books she'd unpacked. It took some imagination to come up with a way she could fit all this into her pack. Lloyd supposed she wasn't the one who struggled with this stuff every morning. After all, her two henchmen were tasked with carrying most of the baggage.
A small electric traveling stove sat on her desk, a pot of water slowly heating above it. When the Lieutenant was finished zipping up the tent's flap, she locked the mechanism. He tried to look over her shoulder to see if the zipper was still maneuverable, but it looked like if he wanted to escape, he'd have to slice a hole through the tent's side. The only sharp object in the tent was a small pen on the Lieutenant's desk and his own teeth, neither of which he thought he could use without waking her up.
She watched the water boil for a minute, then removed it from the hot curl of the tiny stove, fishing through her bag. She pulled out one cup, filled it halfway, glanced at him and then filled another. She poured a packet of powder into each one, then removed a nondescript silver bottle from her sack, pouring a dash in each cup.
She had to remove his cuffs before she could hand the cup to him. He sat on the floor, holding the scorching mug between his hands, watching the steam whirl. He took a sip, coughed, made a face at the bitter, burning taste of alcohol. "Strong," he said.
"It'll put you to sleep," she replied, sitting opposite him. "We all need some help resting sometimes."
He looked her over. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I owe you a favor since you fixed my communicator. You haven't tried anything suspicious. You've given us the information we need. You've been a model prisoner, so I have no reason to be cruel. Unless I find out you're lying and the Angelus Project isn't in Palmacosta, but we'll worry about that when we get there."
He took another sip, throat burning. "You really aren't like any of those other Desians," he said.
"How would you know?"
"I've met plenty. They always smile a certain way, when they know you're suffering. You don't, though. You have a different look about you." At this point he wasn't certain if he was being sincere or merely sucking up to her to increase his chances of being let go. "You aren't sadistic."
The look she gave him stopped his thoughts in their tracks. "Oh, I'm plenty sadistic." A bead of sweat congealed on his forehead, and as it dripped past his eye, he knew he had pegged her all wrong. He instinctively took another swig for comfort, then choked on the thought that she'd poisoned it.
She watched him intensely, marking his every move. He could see her eyes picking him apart, predatory, too sharp for comfort. He looked down into his cup, considering making a break for it. He wondered if he could throw himself at the tent wall hard enough to rip through the cloth. She seemed to be pleased with the sort of fear she instilled in him, and crossed her legs, smiling.
"Finish up," she commanded. "You don't like it?"
"I do—it's fine. It's just strong, is all."
"You're lucky I'm not feeding you. I can make a decent hot toddy but my cooking is murder. The only reason I have assistants at all is to wash my clothes and cook for me."
Lloyd just took another sip, not sure what to say.
The Lieutenant finished her drink and poured herself another. Lloyd couldn't imagine another helping—just the first was making his head swirl. He finished it quickly, just to get it over with, and handed her back the cup. She set it on her desk and watched as he lay down on the floor. "We should get to Palmacosta by the afternoon tomorrow. Are you prepared to return there?"
"I don't know," he answered.
"Well, you'd better be by tomorrow," she said. "Or else there's no telling how it'll turn out."
Lloyd tried to figure out if her words implied a threat or not. He just lay on his back, listening to the patter of rain on the tent's sloping top. He closed his eyes, and found that the Lieutenant's concoction practically dragged him off to sleep.
"I have to stop and throw up," Anna said. When she slowed, the sharp prod of a rifle's cylinder kept her stumbling forward.
"You do it on your own time," Kvar said from up front. "Keep moving."
Anna looked to her husband, walking beside her with his slow, deliberate stride. A new wave of nausea overcame her, but she didn't have the decisiveness to simply lean over and vomit on the grass. Kratos looked down at her and her heart skipped a beat. She could not tell if his glance was cold or merely hopeless.
She had tried to warn Lloyd. She had tried to tell him not to trust the man, to run while he could, but he hadn't listened. He had always been a stubborn, naive boy. And now he was gods knew where, eaten by wolves, dead of his injuries, or coming after them. Each situation she hypothesized for him was worse than the last. She wondered why Kratos did not stay behind to finish him off, or at least bring him with them.
A part of her was thankful. Evidently the Desians were not interested in him, at least at this juncture. But a deeper, more selfish part of her wanted nothing but to be with him, even if that meant suffering in the ranch together. She scolded herself for letting herself even think about it.
When they stopped to rest for the night, Anna sat against a tree, her husband keeping watch while Kvar and his men took dinner. They didn't bother tying her—Kratos would subdue her if she got feisty, she was sure.
He brought her some food, and offered it to her, unsurprised that she refused. She looked up at him, his taut mouth, his lifeless eyes, and grimaced.
"I told him, you know," she said, and he looked down at her. "I told him not to trust you."
"So did I," Kratos said simply.
Anna sighed, wishing she could sink into the bark, turn hard and die inside the tree trunk, petrified forever. At least then she wouldn't have to feel anything. "We both should've seen it coming from a mile away. We should've run, when we had the chance. But then I suppose you'd have come after us."
"I'm afraid so."
She clenched her remaining hand into a fist. "So, did you enjoy your time with our son?"
"Immensely."
"He told me you bought him candied walnuts."
"I did."
Anna looked up at him, at his pale face. She watched his mouth twitch into a half-smile, no doubt at the memory of Lloyd gleefully eating the nuts like so much bait. Gods above, he disgusted her. "I hope you burn in hell," she said.
His eyes met hers, and it was almost a confession.
Already there.
