*******
The nearby murmur of conversation floated through Kitreena's mind. She could almost feel the dirt floor waver beneath her as she drifted along the edge of consciousness. The voices were muddled at first, speaking of names that sounded faintly familiar yet unrecognizable. A hand brushed her face—her own, she realized—to wipe her dirt-matted hair from her eyes, and she heard herself groan. Her body ached as though every muscle had been tensed for days. Combined with the swirling of senses and the unsteady floor, she felt ready to vomit. The uncomfortable warmth of the cavern was all too familiar, along with the beads of sweat running down her forehead. The voices began to sharpen as consciousness crept over her, and at the mention of the name "Arus," her eyes sprang open.
She'd first seen him in Keroko, fighting Olock to defend the children. It had initially surprised her when she found him in the prison cell of the Underworld, though she couldn't really give a reason. He had been headstrong, and a bit too eager to run into trouble, yet the same could be said of herself. Unconsciously, she reached for her shoulder, and her fingers found a white patch of bandages taped across the injury she'd sustained during the fighting. That's right; he helped me back in the tunnel. Even unarmed, he raced to my aid. She wanted to kick herself for not escorting him safely from the Underworld while she had the chance.
"Are you all right?" a quiet voice came from the darkness. She struggled to push herself to her knees, her head spinning more the higher she rose. But how did I end up here? What happened? Where am I? Her surroundings were slowly coming into focus. The single lantern on the wall provided less light than she would've expected from a flame of its size, but it glowed brightly enough to reveal the steel bars running from the ceiling to the floor. She was in a prison cell. This is the same cell that he was locked in, isn't it?
"Can you hear me?"
Kitreena rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. "Yes, I can hear you." Her voice sounded strained. It felt strained. What happened to me? Why am I here? Where's Arus? "I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine," the voice said. It sounded distinctly familiar, yet her mind was swirling so much that it took her several moments to even comprehend what was being said. "You gave us quite a scare back there."
"I . . ." His last comment caught her off-guard. "What?"
"She doesn't remember," a firmer voice came, no doubt the young man's father. "Just as Arus didn't remember when Truce used the technique on him."
"My name is Vultrel," the young man spoke again. "And my father, Eaisan, is also here. Do you remember us?"
What am I, some sort of addle-brained child? She groaned and forced herself into a sitting position. The light of the lantern, though dim compared to most, was so overwhelming that she was forced to cover her eyes. The room teetered. "Of course I remember you," she muttered. "You're the fools who didn't escape when you had the chance."
"The same could be said of you," Eaisan's voice rumbled with frustration. "For all your arrogant proclamations that Truce and the Vermillion Mages would stand no chance against your might, in the end you didn't put up much of a fight."
Kitreena opened her mouth to argue, but she knew nothing of which he spoke. The last thing she could remember was rushing into a darkened cavern with Arus, worrying that it was a trap, yet determined not to be snared by it. It would seem she had failed in that aspect of things, if their imprisonment was any indication. "What . . . happened to me? To us, I mean? And where is Arus?"
A few moments of silence passed before Vultrel began to explain, detailing the events from the moment he'd heard Arus' voice in the arena to the tragic battle with Truce. His emotion caused his voice to waver more than a few times when discussing Anton's death and Arus' injury. It frightened Kitreena to learn that Truce's implant technology had already been tested. The data she'd been receiving on the project was that he'd barely begun construction on the unit. But if the boy's story was true, then Truce already had test data to work with, and Arus was going to be his next subject. If he survived. And though she refused to allow it to show, it pained her heart to hear of Arus' fate. It was nearly enough to bring her to tears. Fool girl, he's just a naive boy who threw himself into a den of hungry jackals. Stop this ridiculous behavior and focus on the task at hand. Still, the sadness remained, a hollow feeling in the center of her chest that cried out with despair. I hope he's all right. Please, let him be all right.
Vultrel's story had not mentioned a word of her own involvement, or how she'd come to find herself in this prison cell with such a wretched headache. "And what about me? Where was I during all of this?"
For a long time, her question was met with only silence. She briefly uncovered her eyes, but a quick glance at the lantern light set them burning once more, and she squeezed them closed again. Whatever had happened, her body was certainly taking its time in recovering. Eventually Eaisan spoke, though his answer was vague, at best. "Truce used one of his techniques against you. I'm not sure what it was—there wasn't much to it—but you ended up lying unconscious in the sand."
Kitreena thought she heard a snort from Vultrel's direction, as though the answer given was an understatement of the truth. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to it than that?" she asked.
More silence. Eaisan cleared his throat, and it sounded like Vultrel was pacing. This time it was he who spoke. "Kitreena, do you know what a Morpher is?"
Her breath caught. Surely no one but Truce and F'Ledro could've known, but how much had they told him? Did they overhear a conversation not meant for their ears? "Why . . . do you ask?"
"Something strange happened to you in the arena," Vultrel responded. His voice was tense. Nervous. Perhaps even a little frightened. "When Truce's soldiers dragged us in here, we heard one say something to F'Ledro about Morphers, and he seemed to be talking about you."
Again, Kitreena looked up, this time forcing herself to stare through the mind-numbing brightness of the lantern. "What happened to me? Tell me everything that happened! Every detail!"
Finally Vultrel explained, though a bit reluctantly, Kitreena's encounter with Truce, and the bizarre transformation her body had undergone. By the time he'd finished, she was trembling like a terrified child, gripping the iron bars of the cell until her fingers ached. Lightning around my hands? Smoke from my skin? Purple eyes?! I could've killed us all! What would've happened if Truce hadn't released his hold on me? She realized that both Vultrel and Eaisan were waiting in silence, likely expecting some sort of explanation. Unfortunately for them, there were some things not meant for their ears. According to the documented history of Terranias she'd read in the Alliance's archives, humans had chosen to be excluded from interstellar relations with the rest of the galaxy after a war with an invading force several thousand years ago.
She could see the blurred image of Vultrel's face waiting for an answer on the opposite side of the prison bars. Rather than try to lie her way out of it, she turned the conversation in a different direction. "I wonder why he didn't kill me," she murmured, thinking aloud. "He knows I won't stop until both he and F'Ledro are dead."
"Because he wants to do the same thing to us that he did to Anton," Eaisan spoke up. "Nothing would thrill him more than to be able to pull our strings to make us walk."
"Like puppets," Vultrel muttered absent-mindedly. "You still haven't answered my question, Kitreena."
He wasn't as easily distracted as she'd hoped. She gave a shrug and said, "I don't have any answers to give."
They sat there for what seemed like days with only the dim light of the lantern keeping them company. Kitreena rolled onto her back and draped her arm over her eyes, impatiently trying to will her body to recuperate. She could still hear Vultrel pacing across the way; it reminded her of a caged tiger waiting for his chance to break free. Aside from the occasional dejected sigh, Eaisan remained silent for the most part. With nothing to do but sit and wait, Kitre
ena's thoughts returned to Arus. I wish I hadn't allowed him to accompany me. He didn't deserve any of this; he's a good kid. And now Truce is going to make him a slave . . . if he survives at all. I wish Damien were here. He'd know how to fix everything. She shook the thought away. Pull yourself together, fool. You're independent now, remember? Fifteen years old or not, you've got to fend for yourself! You've got to get up and find a way out of this. If Truce is already attempting his second experiment, then his research is farther along than we'd feared. And if he finds a buyer for the technology, there could be hundreds of cybernetic slaves across the galaxy in a matter of months! Maybe even thousands of them! And if the Armada ever got their hands on it . . .
The sudden thought had her stumbling to her feet, clinging to the prison bars to support herself. The room whirled, and her knees shook. Can't let it keep me from doing what must be done, she kept telling herself. Her head pounded, and her stomach seemed to be floating up into her chest.
"Don't rush your recovery," Eaisan's voice came from the darkness beyond the cell. "Lie down. Even if we managed to break out of here, you can go nowhere in your condition. You need rest."
"I appreciate your concern," she growled, "but I can make it just . . . fine—"
Her knees finally buckled, and she found herself lying flat on her back again. After a few moments, the room began to settle, and her stomach returned to its rightful place. Well, maybe just a little rest, she thought, her eyelids sinking. Just until this bloody headache goes away.
"Are you all right?" Vultrel's voice called. "Kitreena?"
"Fine," she murmured, half-awake. "I'm going to . . . save . . ."
Sleep had never been more welcome.