Importance

Children run through a quaint village. Parents laugh and scold at the same time, and the children shriek with laughter and continue to scamper around the little field. A party is clearly happening. All faces have smiles, and all faces are healthy. A soft breeze blows from a clear blue sky. But as the children reach the end of the village, they turn and run back, screaming. The sky darkens instantly, and people are shrieking, houses are burning, and the smell of death overpowers the –

I wake instantly, my eyes snapping open to stare at the ugly ceiling. Quickly, I take in my surroundings. Christine is still nestled on my chest. I have managed to lie down completely on the bed, and my arms have wrapped themselves around her. Pale sunlight is peeking through the small window, fresh and new from the rain last night. Khan was the one who woke me. He stands by the door, something like a smirk on his face, and I scowl. Slowly, gently, hesitantly, I slide out from under Christine and pull the sheets up over her before going to Khan.

"What?" I say irritably.

"I just thought you should know," he says, "that Taurin has woken up."

Immediately, I leave the room for the other one, saying, "Stay here," and I am grateful that the other room is almost empty, save Aidan. He is laying out a clean white cloth on a table and merely nods to me before returning to work. Taurin is watching him before he turns to look at me. He looks very much the same – the only difference is that his eyes are open. His half-smile is something more like a painful grimace, and I approach, taking a seat on the chair next to the bed.

"Do you feel as bad as you look?"

His smile turns into a facetious one. "You should not be the one speaking about looks, Erik."

It is my turn to allow my lips to stretch into a small grin. Taurin saw my face a little over a year ago during a night we were attacked by the men from the Oligarchy. My mask was knocked off, and I had no way to cover it before he could see. The only thing he did was grimace, step back a bit, and say, "Good gracious, you're ugly." And we have never spoken of it again.

There is a gentle clink of metals, and I look to see Aidan lining up cruel-looking medical tools. Taurin sees them, too, and says gruffly, "I think I shall leave the bullet in, thank you."

"Don't be ridiculous," says Aidan lightly, setting the last tool down and turning. "An infection will lead to your death. Now – there is no time to be lost. Are you ready?"

I look down to see Taurin nodding, his pale face set, and Aidan removes the thick bandages to reveal a gaping red hole located just below the right ribcage. Aidan picks up a silver, long-handled tool and calmly proceeds to insert it into the bullet hole. Although his face is set, Taurin lets out a muffled shout of pain and immediately twists away from Aidan.

"You can't move!" says Aidan, his voice angry. "I cannot afford to cause further internal damage. Hold still."

Taurin twists his left hand into the sheets and clenches his teeth, closing his eyes. I do not watch as Aidan picks up new tools; I keep my eyes down toward Taurin, who is breathing heavily through the pain. In an undoubtedly unbearable moment, he grabs my hand and presses hard, fighting man's natural instinct to flee from pain. I glance up at Aidan, who is concentrated in his work. There are a few more minutes of white-palm agony, and suddenly Aidan steps back, a tool in his hand and a relieved look on his face. Taurin moans and then sighs, letting his hand slide onto the bed. Onto the white cloth, Aidan drops a blood-coated bullet, small and ugly, and he immediately begins to clean up, washing away the blood and bandaging the wound. The hard pressure in my chest begins to loosen, and I close my eyes briefly before standing and leaving the room. I walk through the small, ugly house. There is no privacy here. The men are sleeping on the couches and floors, exhausted from the events, and I pick my way to the small kitchen, slouching onto a hard chair.

Although I want to rest, my mind will not allow me to, and it speeds up with the problems that face us. The most prominent – the Oligarchy knows that we are hiding in the city, under their very noses. It will not take long for them to scour every house and hovel until they find us. Khan is lost; the inside information is lost until someone rises, but the chances are unlikely. It will be nearly impossible to discover the new members of the Oligarchy, much less find and eliminate the leader – Raoul. And the child that Christine carries will be claimed his if she should ever be taken back. Time and place does not matter. The Oligarchy controls both, and it will use its insatiable power for its own benefit. There will be stronger defenses built – more spies and more whispers. Punishment will be swift, unjust, and brutal. They will not take chances. There will be no mercy now.

I take off my mask for a few brief moments to rub the skin, aggravated, before slipping it back on and leaving the kitchen, my head still aching and exhausted. The afternoon sun is blocked by heavy curtains; the air is musty and hot. Every part of me is commanding me to take the men and solve the problems this very instant – yet I know that the smallest problems must be taken care of before they turn into big ones, and so I head to the small bedroom, opening the door quietly. My stomach plummets when I see the empty bed. Khan is sleeping in the chair, and I wake him quickly with a sharp blow to the head. He wakes with a shout and rubs his head, looking up to glare at me. I point to the empty bed, and his mouth opens slightly.

"What – ?"

"I don't want to listen," I interrupt coldly. "Your only job was to watch her. Now we must go find her."

Khan stands up as I leave the room. My heart is pounding, and I try to calm myself. She was not taken. They could not have gotten in without someone noticing.

As I search the few rooms with little success, my anger mounts, and I smash my fist into the wall and then instantly step away, as Taurin is on the other side, and he is probably still sleeping. But then my mind clears, and I quickly go to his room to find what I knew was there all along.

She has pulled up the chair next to his side, and his hand is being held in hers. Her other hand smoothes his hair and then comes to her own face. I hear her quiet sniffles and know that she is crying. Softly, she brings her brother's hand up and presses it to her lips. He doesn't moves during this, looking pale and weak on the sheets.

I enter the room farther, and she turns quickly, hearing my footsteps. Immediately, she brushes away the tears and stands.

"I know I'm not allowed to be here," she says, her voice surprisingly strong, "but I had to see him."

I frown slightly. "You are allowed here. We simply cannot afford to have you out of sight. Do you realize this, Christine? Do you understand how important you have become?"

A strange look crosses her face, but she nods before clutching the skirt of her nightgown and then letting it fall in a helpless manner.

"I would very much appreciate a bath and change of clothing," she says, "and something to eat, perhaps. If it's not too much trouble," she added hastily.

"Come with me," I say. I take her back to Khan, instruct her to remain there, and I go to the small, dingy washroom to draw a lukewarm bath. It is the only thing she can have. While the tub fills, I attempt to straighten the room a bit. She is, after all, living in a house full of men. The evening sun drifts in through a small window. The issue of clothing drifts into my mind. We have no dresses here, no nightgowns or anything to suit her, and there isn't a way to obtain any at the moment. She will not wish to remain in her current dress, however, so I find something – not what she will want, but it is suitable for the present.

She follows me to the room, quiet and thoughtful. As she sticks a finger into the tub, she draws it back quickly, looking at me questioningly.

"This is what you must have," I say, raising an eyebrow. "It is the best we can offer at the moment."

"Very well," she says. Then she looks at the tub and me. "Will you leave now?"

I shake my head and point to the window. "I have told you that we cannot take chances, even the smallest ones."

Her mouth sets and her brow furrows. "I will not bathe with you in the room," she snaps.

"It is no concern of mine," I reply easily, going to the door. "Come with me, and I will return you to Khan. Heaven knows that I need to bathe. If you will not use the water, I will."

She is still angry, but she does not move, and her eyes drift back to the tub.

"Come along," I say again, placing my fingers on the door handle. There is a moment of silence.

"Oh, very well," she says angrily. "It isn't as if I haven't completely lost all my dignity and privacy before." I turn around, but she instantly says, "Turn back around – you can't look at me."

I do as she commands, a half-smile coming to my lips. After another moment, she asks hesitantly, "Are your eyes closed?"

"Yes," I lie, half-amused, half-exasperated.

"Well – don't turn around," she says. There is the sound of water lapping gently against the sides, and she gasps loudly. "It's cold," is her comment.

"Then be quick."

She does not say anything for a while, and I look at the ugly wall. For a bizarre, unknown reason, I feel quite calm. The problems that gaped at me just an hour ago suddenly seem less threatening and more solvable. Nothing has changed, nothing has been done, yet to be here, sitting in this filthy little washroom, seems to be the only thing I want to do.

"Erik," Christine says, "when you asked me earlier if I realized how important I was, I lied to you. I do not understand why I must be watched and kept inside every minute."

I do not answer her for a while, thinking over how best to explain this. "Have you ever stopped to wonder, Christine, about the contradictions of the Oligarchy? They put so little faith into women, so little trust, yet so much depends upon them. I married you, and now, by law, I have your previous husband's position because you had no sons. It is the same with all marriages. But now that you are carrying a child, it will be claimed as your previous husband's child. I will no longer hold any marital right to you if you are to have his children."

"But…" Her voice is very quiet. "It is not his."

"That does not matter," I say. "He will claim it as his own if you somehow fall back into their hands, and the Oligarchy will continue to raise brainwashed, idiotic children who follow the traditions of their fathers and cannot see the suffering in front of them. This situation is so pivotal, so fragile, that to take even the smallest chance would be completely asinine. What we must do right now is keep you safe and continue to look for the hiding places of the new Oligarchy."

"Must you kill Raoul?" There is a pleading tone to her voice. "He was very kind to me."

I nearly turn around but remember myself and continue to stare at the wall. "Yes," I say. There is another bout of silence, and there is the quiet sound of splashes in the tub. I allow my mind to wander freely for a time, but it wanders back to her. I sit in content quietness until she says something.

I blink into consciousness. "What?"

"Your plan. Do you think it will work?"

This time, I do not lie when I say, "Yes."

"Why? It hasn't thus far." Her tone is not accusing or angry, merely curious.

"I have faith," I say.

"In what?"

"In my men. In our cause. In you."

The last slipped out without planning, and I do not add, nor does she respond. She merely says, "I'm getting out. Don't turn around."

"Your clothes are right next to you," I say. "We will get you something to eat when you are finished."

I hear her wet feet step onto the wooden floor. A few moments later, there is a cry of outrage, and she says, "Do you think you're funny?"

I cannot help but smile just a bit as I turn around, and she does not stop me, for she is wrapped up in a towel. Her hand is holding a pair of trousers and her face is suggesting the most incredible insult.

"It is the only thing available right now," I say lightly. "We certainly didn't plan on accommodating ladies here. You must wait a few more days for suitable clothing."

She continues to glare at me, her dark hair dripping and her small, red mouth somewhat puckered. I look back steadily.

"All right!" She is angry at herself for giving in so many times, and she grumbles as she pulls on the men's clothing. "How do you put this on? This is ridiculous. How can you wear this? I shall never be able to look at myself without disgust."

There is a moment of silence. "These are too big." I turn around and nearly laugh out loud. The sleeves hang off her hands, and the hem of the pants have pooled around her feet. She hasn't buttoned the top of her shirt correctly, and she is holding the trousers at the waist to keep them from falling. The first word that comes to my mind is adorable, but I blink and shake the thought out of my head. She accepts my help, and I spend a few minutes rolling up the sleeves and pants. When I reach for the buttons on her shirt, however, she jerks back, looking at me.

"I'm simply redoing some buttons," I say, an unexplainable surge of annoyance sweeping through me. She then stills, but I know that her eyes are on me as I fix the shirt. Finally, when the last button is fixed, I meet her eyes. There is a strange stillness that settles over the room. It is as if my very heart is still. Her blue eyes are the only thing to see in t he whole world. And then – I'm not sure how it happens – she kisses me softly. When she pulls away, her eyes are on the floor, and I can see her flushed cheeks and neck.

"You need a belt," I say stupidly. My mind is strangely foggy. She nods at the ground. "Come with me," I say. "I'll find you a belt and some shoes." In a strange daze, I walk out of the room, followed by Christine. My head clears when I see that most of the men have woken. They look at Christine with incredulous expressions, and I can practically feel her shrink with embarrassment behind me. They are also looking at me, questions in their eyes, and I know that it will be a very long night. Khan follows me into the bedroom, and I pull out a belt from a pile of clothes. It is also too big, so I cut an extra hole, and Christine wraps it around her waist. She looks, understandably, strange, but in an endearing and childish sort of way.

"We all must speak," Khan says quietly to me. I nod. "Everyone must listen – there is no one to watch her."

I look at Christine, who is pulling on the smallest pair of boots I could find. "She will have to sit in the room with us," I finally say. "She is too valuable to be left alone for even a moment."

Khan replies quietly, "Too valuable for us, or too valuable for you?"