Chapter 35
The first thrall burst from the darkness soundlessly, pounding toward them with unrelenting ferocity. Following closely on its heels was an unending torrent of many, many more.
One of the warriors called out, “Twin scars on its jaw!”
Another shouted, “It belongs to Rasmus!”
Jonathan, Tabitha, and Alex rose to their feet, watching in silent dread as the flow of thralls stretched out endlessly behind the first one, every one of them wearing the scars that marked them as Rasmus’s property. These thralls were not of a lesser caste. Theirs was the cruelest master in the Under. They were accustomed to pain. They were accustomed to torment. They would not fall easily.
The tide raced directly for them, so many that there would be no way to count their numbers even if there was time. The three of them shifted their stances.
“I am proud to fight at your side, Alexander Croatoan,” Jonathan told him tersely, eyes locked on the flood rushing toward them.
Alex swallowed a dry lump of fear. The first thrall was almost upon them.
“Yeah,” Alex answered. “Ditto.”
He glanced askance at Tabitha, wishing he could tell her to back up and join the other warriors, but he knew she would not.
Behind them, the rest of the contingent also locked their stance, shifting so they were braced and ready.
There were just… so many.
Alex zeroed in on the thrall he thought would reach him first. He lifted his blade to the ready…
And the tide of thralls parted, streaming past as if he were but a stone in a river.
Alex moved to strike anyway, but checked his swing. The thralls weren’t slowing down, and they were moving fast. They ran past the Domus warriors as if they weren’t even there and disappeared into a side corridor, away from the city. Even if Alex swung, there was every chance he’d miss. He turned and raised his blade again, but it was pointless. They just weren’t stopping.
The same was happening with Jonathan and Tabitha—not one thrall even looked their way as they careened past. In a rush, the thralls barreled through the arc of warriors waiting at the tunnel intersection, a few of them tumbling to the floor on impact, but they jumped right back to their feet and were running again before the warriors could react.
“What is going on?” Alex yelled.
The sound of the thralls’ pounding footfalls was deafening. They kept coming, and kept going, easily a hundred of them disappearing into the darkness.
Jonathan still held his blade aloft, as if he thought he should strike or believed that at least one of these awful creatures would double back and attack. “I do not know!” he yelled. “But look at them! They are terrified!”
Jonathan was right. What had at first seemed to Alex to be a look of feral rage on the thralls’ faces was actually a look of unfettered fear. These thralls weren’t attacking—they were fleeing.
But from what?
They streamed past until their numbers began to dwindle and then finally there were just a few stragglers. Soon all that remained were warriors from Domus who’d come to do battle, confused and afraid with no enemy to attack.
The silence left in the wake of the stampede made Alex’s ears ring.
“What—” Alex began, but just then a cry erupted out of the tunnel leading to the Antechamber. It was loud, so loud that every single warrior spun and raised their blades in anticipation of battle.
The cry went on and on, finally ending in an exultant note of unholy triumph. It had not been a cry of pain, it had been a cry of rage, and there was no doubt that it had been from a Nocuous.
“To arms,” Jonathan commanded in a low tone.
They waited, tension radiating from every warrior in the corridor.
Seconds ticked past, and still they waited.
But nothing happened.
Silence.
“Is it a trap?” someone whispered.
Jonathan’s only answer was to flex his grip on the hilt of his blade and squint into the darkness.
One of the warriors shifted from one foot to the next.
The cry burst forth again, the inhuman sound startling them all. It echoed through the tunnel and faded away behind them.
“It was no closer than the last,” Jonathan said quietly. He began inching forward on the balls on his feet.
Tabitha matched him, movement for movement.
Alex, on the other hand, had a natural inclination to stay right where he was, especially if whatever was making the sound wasn’t coming any closer. He had no desire to move toward an enraged Nocuous. Nevertheless, he followed after them. Behind him, he heard the rest of the warriors do the same.
Without turning, Jonathan whispered, “Six of you will return to the city with the Marshall.”
Alex didn’t need to look to know that six warriors had silently accepted the duty of bringing Winston’s body home.
They crept onward, each of them listening with their heads bent forward, as if by sheer force of will they could make themselves hear better.
“The Antechamber lies ahead.” Jonathan’s voice was barely a whisper. He turned slowly to face the warriors, now his warriors. “We will pass two bends and be upon it. Be on your guard, for I—”
Whatever else Jonathan had intended to say was drowned out by another bestial roar, but this time there was more than one.
The tunnel reverberated in a chorus of unholy umbrage. Hell itself could not have created a more inhuman racket. Following close on the tail of the roar, the ring and clang of weapons rang out. The sound of battle being waged.
“Who…?” Alex asked.
“Be prepared for anything,” Jonathan cautioned. “It is very likely Nocuous fighting other Nocuous for control of the Core, but they will turn on us in an instant.”
They rounded the first bend and the sound intensified. The red glow from the Core shone faintly, pulsating as darkened figures moved, casting shadows.
Jonathan quietly began issuing orders.
Meanwhile, Tabitha eyed Alex uneasily, doubt in her eyes, and Alex knew why. Jonathan believed it was Nocuous against Nocuous. But if that were the case, why had all of the thralls been running? Surely they would have stayed to do battle against one another, for the Nocuous that won would have its vengeance doubly on any of its minions who fled.
No, it had to be something else. Something the thralls were even more afraid of than their masters.
Now using hand signals, Jonathan urged them onward until they reached the final bend.
Carefully, an inch at a time, Jonathan leaned around the corner. He got one good look into the Antechamber and pulled back, as if he’d been poked with a needle. His face was pale and white. When he turned to face Alex and Tabitha, a cold sweat shone on his forehead. He stared at Alex, in particular, with something close to horror.
Alex waited for an explanation, but Jonathan only shook his head. In the Antechamber, the sounds of battle continued unabated, the roars and curses of Nocuous shaking the walls.
“We can’t just—” Alex whispered tersely, but Jonathan clamped his free hand over Alex’s mouth, shaking his head even harder.
Jonathan was afraid, and Alex had never seen Jonathan afraid of anything.
Jonathan removed his hand from Alex’s mouth and put a finger to lips. A few of the warriors behind them shifted uncomfortably.
They couldn’t just stay where they were. It didn’t matter how bad it was. If they tried going back to the city, there was every chance they’d be pursued, not to mention that there were an untold number of thralls loose in the tunnels now.
Alex pointed at himself and then toward the Antechamber, steeling his nerves, but Jonathan grabbed his arm.
“What?” Alex whispered in exasperation. “We can’t just do nothing!”
Jonathan blanched and shook his head.
“We have to go in there,” Alex hissed.
Jonathan swallowed and looked back the way they had come, weighing
their options. When he looked back at Alex, he put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. “Let us proceed,” he whispered back.
Alex crept forward, his back against the wall. Jonathan followed directly behind him, inching along sideways, their shoulders touching.
Inch by inch, the Antechamber came into view.
At first, Alex saw nothing he didn’t already expect. There was black blood spattered on the floor and walls, bodies lying in twisted heaps, most of them headless. He could hear swords clashing and multiple, raging voices, but he still couldn’t see any of the fighting. It must be farther in, closer to where the chamber sloped toward the Core.
He inched further along the wall until the tunnel entrance on the other side of the Antechamber came into view. There, just outside that tunnel, a small boulder lay on the floor. A long twine had been tied around it and knotted off, a single length of it trailing away across the floor. It was tied like a leash around the neck of a man who sat with his head down, his back against the cavern wall, the remnants of tattered black clothing barely covering him from his neck down.
“Dad!” Alex yelled, startling himself, his dad, and every warrior in the tunnel behind him.
“Alex?” his father’s head shot up, using the wall behind him to scramble to his feet.
Alex made a small sound in the back of his throat and nearly went limp with relief. If his father could still shout, he hadn’t been made a thrall.
He could still be saved.
Alex flicked his wrist and aimed the laser.
“Alex, no!” his dad shouted with his hands outstretched, warding Alex away.
But Alex had already closed his fist and a moment later, was standing next to the boulder.
“I’m going to get you out of—” Alex spun, ready to slice through his father’s bindings, but was brought up short when he realized it wasn’t just him standing there.
“Oh, Alex,” Tabitha groaned softly. She sounded sick.
Alex whirled. She and Jonathan were standing there with him, both swaying on their feet.
“How did you…?” Alex asked.
“I was touching you,” Jonathan replied, panting. Alex remembered his first time using the suit. He remembered how disorienting it had been.
“And I was touching Jonathan,” Tabitha answered, sounding just as unsettled.
They must have teleported with him, the same way Silas had come through the shimmer. He frowned, but then his eyes went wide.
He could bring Dad home that way.
He could bring Dad home!
“Alex…” his father said. He sounded scared.
There was a tremendous roar and a chorus of enraged voices, the same roar they’d been hearing since the thralls had fled past them. Except now they were in the same room. The sound was so loud it was nearly unbearable. Alex wanted to drop his sword and clutch his head, cover his ears.
He turned, and that’s when Alex knew they were in trouble. Big trouble.
He had expected to see bodies. He had expected carnage. But what he saw transcended any horror he could possibly have imagined.
At the far end of the chamber where the floor sloped toward the Core were a group of Nocuous easily ten thick, possibly more. They stood amidst such a pile of headless corpses that Alex knew the sight would be ingrained in his memory forever.
The Nocuous had already noticed Alex. One of them roared an order, turning toward them while leaving the rest where they were. He stepped heedlessly on the bodies beneath them, crushing skulls and kicking aside appendages as if they were stones or branches simply in its path.
“Rasmus!” Jonathan roared.
There could no doubt that this Nocuous was Rasmus. He was a giant, easily as tall as Winston with a mane of dark, dirty hair cascading down his back. He was clad entirely in thick, black fur, all except his arms which were bare to the shoulder, enormous muscles rippling as he approached them.
To Alex, Rasmus looked like a giant, rabid bear.
Rasmus grinned hideously, leering though black-stained teeth. He all but ignored Jonathan and Tabitha, instead fixating on Alex and on the black suit he wore.
Jonathan brandished the Marshall’s blade. “Get your father to safety,” he ordered Alex. “Tabitha and I will hold the beast at bay.”
Alex gave a start. What? No! That was a terrible idea!
But Jonathan was already in a dead run, throwing himself at Rasmus with Tabitha right on his heels. They swung their blades as one, stalling Rasmus’s approach.
“To me!” Rasmus bellowed, easily fending off Jonathan and Tabitha’s attack, but unable to make any headway.
Three of the Nocuous near the pile of bodies moved to protect their leader, but just then the Domus warriors who’d been waiting in the tunnel poured out, screaming a challenge. They formed a barrier, blocking any Nocuous from coming to Rasmus’s aid.
“Alex,” Dad urged, “you need to go.”
“We are, Dad,” Alex told him. “Hold still.”
Using his sword, Alex carefully sliced through his father’s bindings and they fell away from around his dad’s wrists. He felt exultant.
He’d found him. He’d stayed the course and hadn’t given up. After so long, he was finally with his dad again, and his dad was okay. This was it, he had done it!
But something wasn’t right. His father should be overjoyed to see him too, overwhelmed with relief at the chance to escape, but he wasn’t even looking at Alex.
“Dad?”
But his father wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Rasmus.
“He is going to kill your friends.” Dad spoke the words as fact, without emotion. He turned to Alex. His eyes were insistent, piercing. “And you have to let him! He must not die! Do hear me, Alex? You cannot let them kill Rasmus!
Alex tried to sputter out a rebuke, but he was speechless.
“And then you have to leave, Alex! You have to go! Go through the shimmer and leave!”
Let Rasmus kill Jonathan and Tabitha? He would rather die, himself! What was his father talking about? Had he lost his mind?
“Dad,” Alex resisted the urge to slap his father, to bring him back to reality and force him to be himself. “Whatever Rasmus told you—it’s a lie! You can’t trust him! I’m not leaving without you, and I’m definitely not letting him kill my friends!”
Finally, his dad looked at him. He put both hands on Alex’s shoulders and gripped tightly, eerily similar to the way Winston had on the steps of Sanctuary.
“I went to him, Alex,” his father told him earnestly. “I went to Rasmus. Me. And I need him alive!”
“You went to him?” Alex parroted in disbelief. He didn’t understand, his father wasn’t making any sense. “Dad, you’re confused, you’ve been down here a long time. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t come here on purpose, it was the suit.” Alex opened his jean jacket wide. “Remember?” he prodded. “The suit?”
Alex’s dad spun him toward Rasmus. “I am not confused,” he said with conviction. “Look.”
Jonathan and Tabitha were locked in a standoff with Rasmus. They lunged and parried, but neither were able to get close enough to inflict any damage.
“Dad,” Alex was beginning to get frightened. This was not the rescue he’d envisioned. “I don’t understand. Just come with me. Please, just come with me.”
“Alex, look.” His father pointed, a hint of anger finally finding its way into his voice. Frustrated, scared, and mad, Alex followed his dad’s direction.
And then he saw.
Silas.
Alex could only see the top half of his body, but it was definitely Silas. Even if Silas hadn’t been dressed different from every other Nocuous around him, Alex would still have recognized him.
Silas was a dervish, embroiled in a dance of death. His blade was a blur, lethally striking any foe within range. On either side of him bodies lay in a swath, as if he’d carved a path down the slope and was now working his way back up.
; Had Silas been what the thralls were so afraid of? Why?
“Son, you need to go.”
How had Silas killed so many? Who was Silas? What was Silas? Even if he was Nocuous, he couldn’t hold out against so many of his own kind.
Alex shook his head. It didn’t matter what Silas was. Whatever the answer, he wasn’t going to wait for the answer. Not here, not now. Silas could rot in the Under forever as far as he was concerned.
“I won’t leave you, Dad. I just found you—finally,” Alex switched on the laser again and clasped one of the hands his dad had on his shoulder. He looked up at the shimmer. “We are going, Dad, both of us—together!”
“Alex,” his dad jerked away, breaking the contact. “You don’t understand! Rasmus knows where your mother is!”
“What!?”
Alex reeled. How could Rasmus possibly know anything about his mom? He couldn’t. Something must have happened to his dad while he’d been held prisoner.
“What are you talking about?” Alex yelled. “You’re not thinking straight! Dad, we have to go! Come on!” He grabbed his dad’s wrist and pulled, but his father planted his feet.
The cavern continued to ring with the sound of battle.
“Alex,” his dad yelled over the din of the fighting, “I know this is hard for you to understand, but I know what I’m doing. I’ve known about the Under for a long time. Silas told your mother and I about it decades ago. Why do you think Silas founded EMIT in the first place! To get here! To stop this! Alex—I came here to bring your mom home! She’s here! It was an accident, it should never have happened, but it did. It was Silas. It was always supposed to be Silas, but she came instead, by accident!”
“You…”
Words failed him. It was like a bucket of ice had been poured down Alex’s back. He looked over his shoulder at the tunnel that led back to Domus, and then up at the ceiling. The red shimmer was there. He could take them both home. He could do it right now.
Alex looked down at his hand, the one that still had hold of his dad’s wrist. Realization started to set in. He’d been lied to for all these years? Dad—and Silas?—had known what happened to his mother from day one? Silas had funded EMIT? Why would they have kept such a thing from him? Why would they let him wonder if she was alive or dead, if she’d been kidnapped? Why would his dad let him think his mom might have decided he wasn’t good enough for her and wanted a new life? Why?
As if it suddenly burned, Alex let go of his father’s wrist. All that anger, all these years he’d felt so alone, so alienated from everyone around him because of what had happened to his mom… If he’d just been told the truth, it all could have been avoided.
Across the room, Silas was methodically working his way up the ramp while the warriors of Domus came at the Nocuous from the other side. Only a handful of the enemy remained on their feet. It would be over soon.
Rasmus must have seen the same inevitable outcome, because he suddenly roared and flung himself at Jonathan.
Jonathan, who had already begun to tire from the Nocuous’s relentless onslaught, wasn’t prepared for such fury and took the full brunt of Rasmus’s charge. Rasmus drove him backward, lifting Jonathan off his feet and flinging him into the cavern wall.
Jonathan didn’t make a sound. He just crumpled, limp, to the floor.
“Run,” Alex’s dad urged again. “Run now, while you can, Alex. Use the suit. Get out of this place! I will come home with Mom, I promise!”
Alex had never been so confused in his life. All the time, all the effort he’d put into finding his father and saving him had been for what? For nothing?
Rasmus turned, leering, and stomped toward Alex.
“Alex!” Tabitha flung herself in Rasmus’s path, but the enormous Nocuous treated her as if she were but a fly, swatting her with a vicious backhand and sending her to her knees.
“Alex, please!” his father urged.
Alex wanted to believe his father knew what he was talking about. He wanted to believe his old man wasn’t crazy.
He could use the suit and run.
But Tabitha was on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from her nose. Jonathan lay in a crumpled heap near the wall, also unconscious, possibly dead. If Alex left now, Rasmus’s wrath would land squarely on his friends. It was clear the Nocuous wanted the suit, which must be why his dad was still alive. It had to be the bargaining chip his father had been using to find out where Mom was.
Maybe his dad wouldn’t be harmed if he ran, but Rasmus would certainly punish the others to make a point. He was a Nocuous. It was his nature.
“No way, Dad,” Alex said. He switched on the suit and aimed the laser behind Rasmus. A moment later he was there, swinging his blade for Rasmus’s neck.
But Rasmus was far too quick. He’d already spun and brought up his own weapon, deflecting Alex’s.
Rasmus backed away, grinning. “You will make a fine addition to my pets, boy.” He cut the air with his blade. “After I peel the Magnosphere suit from your body, I will feast on you!”
Rasmus lunged, swinging with an overhead chop, but Alex flung himself to the side, rolling across the floor and springing back to his feet. Just in time, too, because Rasmus was already there, lunging for him again.
Alex blocked the next swing, but barely. Rasmus was so strong, Alex nearly couldn’t hold up against it.
Rasmus attacked again.
And again, relentlessly bearing down on Alex. His endurance seemed never-ending.
And then finally it happened. Rasmus swung and Alex blocked, but the force drove him off balance and he stumbled. Rasmus swung once more, and it was all Alex could do to block it. He fell to one knee, struggling to keep his sword up and in front of him.
Casually, almost as if he were bored, Rasmus swiped at Alex’s sword. It flew from his hands and went skidding across the cavern floor.
Rasmus looked down and sneered.
“If you kill him,” Alex’s dad shouted desperately, “I won’t help you! I will do nothing for you! Let him go and I will fulfill my promise!”
Rasmus frowned down at Alex. The battle raged on behind him, screams and roars echoing through the cavern as his fellow Nocuous were slowly eradicated. Rasmus paid it no mind.
“Why,” Rasmus mused aloud, “do I need you at all?” He leered at Alex, and tossed his head indifferently at Alex’s father. “This one still wears a functioning Magnosphere suit.”
“But he can’t make it work,” Alex’s father quickly countered. “Not for you, he can’t. That suit only works for him. But I can. I will do that—I will make it work for you, if you just let him go.”
In one smooth movement, Rasmus reached down and lifted Alex off the floor, holding him like a rag doll.
“Would you like that, boy?” Rasmus purred, holding him close. “Would you like me to let you live?”
Alex was more frightened than he’d ever been in his life. He wanted to curse the Nocuous, to spit at him and tell him he to go to hell. But the truth was that it was all Alex could do to keep from crying out. Rasmus’s mere presence inspired such terror, the Nocuous’s skill with the blade so evident that Alex knew he had no chance. Rasmus had been playing with him the whole time.
The suit was of no use, not now. Not when Rasmus was touching him. If he used it to escape through the shimmer and go back to the surface, he would take the Nocuous with him.
Alex looked helplessly at his father. He wouldn’t leave him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let his father and his friends all die.
Rasmus pulled him closer, their faces mere inches apart. Such cruelty, such strength. Alex was drawn into Rasmus’s deep, soulless eyes. In those eyes, he could see the power that lay within Rasmus, the power that made him what he was—Nocuous.
And then he knew. There was a way. If he could remain strong, even were it only for a little while, there was a way he could end it all.
Alex set his jaw. There was only one way.
He shifted his gaze, stari
ng toward the red glow of the Core.
Maybe he couldn’t use the suit to go back to the surface, but he could use it to take him to the Core. And if he did that, if he touched the Core—wouldn’t that make him Rasmus’s equal?
“Alex, no!” His father sank to his knees, recognizing the sacrifice Alex was about to make.
Across the room, another Nocuous fell under the blade of a Domus warrior. Soon they would all be gone and only Rasmus would remain.
Rasmus, meanwhile, still face-to-face with Alex, witnessed it all: his fellow Nocuous losing the battle, Alex’s father’s anguish, and the resolve in Alex’s eyes as he prepared to make his last desperate move toward the Core.
But what Rasmus didn’t see was Silas barreling down on him. Too late, Rasmus heard the sound of Silas’s blade whistling through the air. He turned, saw the blade, and watched with wide, unbelieving eyes as it sliced cleanly through the air and his neck, relieving him of both head and life in one fatal stroke.
At the other side of the Antechamber, the last two Nocuous suffered a similar fate, felled by the remaining Domus warriors.
Alex tumbled to the ground and scrambled back to his feet empty-handed. His sword still more than a dozen feet away.
Silas towered above him, staring down at him over Rasmus’s twitching corpse.
“Away from him, demon!” one of the Domus warriors moved cautiously toward Silas.
“Alex, no!” his father shouted. “No! He means no harm!”
The warrior, whose name Alex did not know, pulled up short, confused.
“I am not your enemy,” Silas told them.
Carefully, he knelt down and placed his weapon on the floor.
“Dad?” Alex asked, backing slowly away on all fours.
“He is…” his dad trailed off.
Alex finally twisted and scrambled to his feet. “He is what, Dad?”
“He is family.”
Epilogue
In total, Domus lost twenty-seven warriors. For Alex, the heaviest losses had been Winston and Abner. He hadn’t learned of Abner’s death until their return to the city, where vigils were already being held for the fallen. Abner had been among the first slain, having led the original assault on the thralls that had attacked the Core guard returning to the Antechamber after Alex’s arrival.
There had been no sign of the thralls who’d fled from the Antechamber. Nevertheless, the survivors, wounded and bone-weary, had traveled the tunnels with extreme caution on their way back to the city. After so much blood and chaos, the tunnels felt unnatural in the eerie silence.
No attack had come, whether it was because the enemy had scattered in an every-man-for-himself rush for safety, or perhaps simply because they were directionless without a Nocuous alive to command them. The only thing the Domus warriors knew for sure was that the thralls were out there in the tunnels somewhere.
Were there truly no Nocuous left alive?
That was the question at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
Had Rasmus united them all? It seemed unlikely that there wouldn’t be at least a few Nocuous still in their dens, plotting and scheming, probably very pleased to know that so many of those they considered rivals had been slain.
Like most journeying back to the city, Alex spent a great deal of the trek casting sidelong glances at Silas, wondering if he might be the last living Nocuous. It had been no easy task convincing everyone else to allow the tall, pale man to accompany them. Of course, Silas had done nothing to ease their discomfort, remaining generally silent while the subject was debated.
Alex’s dad, also, had said precious-little else following his pronouncement of Silas’s relationship to them. He’d refused to allow Alex to return him to the surface, and demanded that Silas be allowed to accompany them to Domus. Aside from those two things, he would only say that he needed more time to think, more time to figure out what to do.
Jonathan had suffered three broken ribs and severe bruising. After much argument and a bit of swallowed pride, he allowed himself to be carried back to the city on a stretcher so as not to aggravate his wounds and to give the Domus healers a chance to properly treat them.
The city could not afford to lose another Marshall so soon.
Alex had tried to press Silas on whether what his father had said was true, but the only answer he’d received was, “We share the same goals, Alex.”
And so, having no desire to remain in the blood-soaked Antechamber any longer than necessary, Alex had conceded to his father’s wishes. There had been a fair amount of grumbling at the news, but with Winston dead and Jonathan on a stretcher, most of the decision-making fell to Tabitha and Alex. He took full advantage of his temporary status, finally convincing most of them that Silas posed no danger to the city or its people—although privately, Alex wasn’t so sure, himself.
Now, after pacing for hours up and down the streets near Sanctuary, a young Domite informed Alex and Tabitha that the Marshall had requested their presence.
The Marshall. Jonathan. Alex respected Jonathan a great deal, but he didn’t know if he would ever be able to hear anyone speak of ‘the Marshall’ without thinking first of Winston.
With the majority of the population in mourning and the remaining able-bodied warriors on constant guard rotations in the tunnels, the city was quiet, the streets empty. Still, it was eerie to walk in a place that normally teemed with the sound of daily chores and children’s laughter. Now, the only sound Alex heard was his own footsteps.
There was so much of the city Alex had never seen, so many people he had never met. He hadn’t been in the Under long enough for that to matter. But it was different now. Knowing Tabitha was beside him, it felt right to be in this place with her. Natural. It felt like home, and not because he loved the place, but because he loved the people.
Alex was no hero. He had no illusions about that fact. But maybe with his dad’s suit, just maybe, he could be a part of putting an end to the colonists’ exile. Maybe Winston had been right about him all along.
They stepped inside Sanctuary to find Jonathan sitting at the far side of the room. Alex’s father and Silas were seated on the front-row bench, both of them a stark contrast to everything around them. It was clear they didn’t belong in this place. Alex had to wonder if that was how everyone in Domus saw him. If so, it was a wonder that they’d managed to make him feel so welcome in so short a time.
Jonathan saw them and waved them over, wincing a little from the pain in his side.
“I have just finished with the most extraordinary conversation,” he told them when they neared. “One that I am sure you, Alex, will want to hear.”
Alex looked down. His father stared back, his eyes clear. Not the eyes of a man who’d been brainwashed by a Nocuous and gone mad.
Silas waited patiently with his hands in his lap, looking nothing like a demon who had almost single-handedly put an end to a war with the Nocuous. If anything, he looked frail. Thin. Pale.
Alex furrowed his brow. “Okay?” he finally prompted.
“Alex,” Jonathan already sounded like he was trying to mediate an argument, which immediately put Alex on guard.
“Please,” Alex’s dad stood up. “Allow me.”
“Of course,” Jonathan said, clearly relieved.
Alex’s dad sounded calm and in control. Like his old self.
“I’m sorry I never told you about this place.” His Dad faced him squarely, looking him directly in the eye. “I’m sorry I never told you what really happened to your mom. I…” A solitary tear dropped from the corner of one eye. For some reason, it infuriated Alex. “Thank you for coming to save me,” his father told him in a choked voice. “I have never been so proud or felt so loved in my—”
“You’re sorry?” Alex interrupted incredulously. “You’re sorry?” He was shouting now.
“At my insistence,” Silas spoke softly from his seat on the bench. Despite the lack of force in his tone, everyone went silent and stopped moving, even Alex.
“It was at my insistence that he not tell you, both for your protection and because the world can never know that this place exists.”
Alex blinked. “Who are you?” he asked incredulously and then shook his head. “What are you?”
Calmly, as if they were discussing family business over Sunday dinner, Silas replied, “I am Silas Croatoan, son of Benjamin Croatoan, and your grandfather many generations removed.”
Alex swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry.
Silas spoke the truth, Alex knew it in his heart. None of this had been an accident. Everything Alex had ever thought he’d known about himself simply wasn’t true. His whole identity was gone in an instant, replaced by the one Silas had been holding on to for him. His knees felt weak and he swayed a little. His dad jumped up and took his arm to steady him, but Alex jerked it away.
“Son,” his father pleaded. “I couldn’t let you find out where your mother had gone. I knew one day I might have to go after her and I couldn’t risk you knowing enough to follow. I couldn’t risk this. I wanted you to have a chance for a normal life!”
“Are you kidding me?” Alex shouted, waving his arms. “Are you freaking kidding me? You were going to give me a normal life by lying to me and then sending me to live with Frankenstein, who just happens to be my long-lost, should be long-dead grandpa?” Alex spit a curse. “How did Mom know about all this?”
“I told them,” Silas answered in his infuriatingly calm voice.
“He came to us when we were still in college,” his father explained, “told us who he was.” Dad paused. “Convinced… us...” He frowned and swallowed like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “…of what he was.” He looked at Silas. “He told us about the Under, told us what his father had done so many years ago, what he’d become, and how he’d done it.”
“How is this even possible?” Alex demanded of Silas. “That would make you, like… hundreds of years old.”
Silas ignored the question, but took up where Alex’s dad had left off. “I told your mother and father that if they would devote their considerable intellect to creating a means of instant conveyance, I would provide the financial support for them to do so.” Silas’s teeth shown briefly, a lame attempt at a smile. “I am afraid I do not share the mental aptitude for technology that my father and your father possess.”
Alex didn’t want to have anything in common with Silas.
“What about Mom?” he asked. “How did she end up here? And where is she?”
Alex’s father looked down at his feet. “Rasmus knew,” he answered heavily, “or at least he said he did.”
Finally, Alex understood. His anger deflated and he sat down on the bench, suddenly very tired. His dad hadn’t been crazy at all. He’d offered himself up as a hostage in order to find Mom.
And Silas had been forced to kill the only one who knew where she was in order to save Alex.
“Oh, Dad…” Alex breathed. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know,” his Dad answered, an awkward silence filling the room.
Alex twisted his hands in his lap.
“I’ve always told you nothing is more important than family,” his father finally looked up. He swept across those gathered with a somber glance. “These people, this place, they exist here because of the mistakes our family has made. We are not our ancestors, Alex, we did not make these terrible choices—they made them. But we can work to atone for them.” His father stood and squared his shoulders. “After all,” he finished. “If not us, then who?”
Abruptly, startling them all, Silas stood—a quick, decisive movement.
He strode for the exit, but stopped and turned back when he reached the center aisle.
“From the day I realized I was an abomination like my father,” he announced, “I have dedicated my life to finding a way to come to this place. Once here, I vowed that I would find Benjamin Croatoan, kill him, and destroy the Core.”
Turning stiffly on his heel, Silas strode to the heavy outer doors of Sanctuary. He shoved them open as if they weighed nothing.
“Killing my father and destroying the Core is still what I intend to do,” he told them over his shoulder. “But first we must find your mother.”
THE END
FADE
VOLUME TWO OF THE LOST COLONY OF ROANOKE
COMING JUNE 2017
Silas, son of Benjamin Croatoan, endures centuries of misery and heartache until his only purpose left is to kill the monster who gave him life.
A Note from the Author-
If you enjoyed SHIMMER, you’ll absolutely love the Watcher’s series:
WATCHERS OF THE NIGHT
THE RISE OF INDICIUM
THE FALL OF ASTRALIS
DREAMPIRE
Please take a moment to tell the world and leave a short review for SHIMMER. I can’t express how much it means to hear back from my readers.
Thanks so much,
Matthew Keith
About the Author
Matthew Keith is originally from Michigan and now lives in Kentucky with his wife, two children, and their dog Elvis.
In his lifetime, Matthew has been author and a restaurateur. He is an amateur musician, sings and plays bass (badly) in a garage band, and writes music in his spare time.
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