Renegade: A Young Adult Dystopian Page 4

  He bowed mockingly and rose, his voice rang clear, cutting into Adair’s heart. “I am Tadeas of the Shattered Isles. My companions and I have travelled a great distance, Roque Fae, to come deliver news to you all but specifically to your wife.” Tadeas shrugged past Roque, a menacing glint in his eye. “Your father has been killed, Nei, and usurped. The Shattered Isles no longer recognizes the peace agreement that was made with Kiero nor do we answer to this pitiful fabrication of a government. Most importantly, you all have terrible manners. Don’t you know you should bow before the king, which I am pleased to say is me.”

  Nei’s skin paled of all color, and her jaw dropped. Tadeas’s companions drew their weapons, steel hissing with freedom from the scabbards. Flanking their king, Tadeas spat blood and saliva at Nei’s feet, musing aloud. “We have a lot to talk about, but I must say we are famished. Perhaps dinner and some wine are in order?”

  Adair’s heart pumped as he desperately tried to disappear in the shadows, but Emory gripped his hand hard, yanking him back and forcing his body to walk with her, fleeing from the scene. They couldn’t get away fast enough before Nei’s shaky voice chased at their heels, “Of course.” Swallowing hard, the world spun and they sprinted. A shooting pain raced up his side as his blood trickled down his wrists and spattered onto the floor. Turning, his heart dropped into his stomach and he knew that this was the moment everything crashed together, creating beautiful chaos.

  3

  Memphis

  The voices were consuming and suffocating. Roaring and crashing, taking up all that he was and leaving a trembling boy in its wake. Memphis Carter sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his temples, willing that blissful wall of reprieve back. He truly had no such luck today. He had lost control coming back from class, and he was now drowning beneath the beating waves of the collective conscious that was the Academy. Gnashing his teeth together, he growled, sitting up too fast, and paced around his simple room. His stomach churned, bile threatening to claw its way up. Taking a deep breath, he forced his pained features into smooth acquiescence as he paced his room. His body knew the drill: breathe, walk, breathe, walk. Circling around the two bunkers, the desks, and the bookcases, the room spun. He had been lucky enough to land a suite this year. The simple cavern-like walls provided more space than previous years, and it was pure bliss.

  Another wave of white noise crashed down on him, and he cringed, picking up his pace. Snippets of conversation wove tightly around his mind, piling up thicker and thicker. It wasn’t coherent sentences when it was this intense, but as always, a tone, always an overall feeling. Snippets of words, of internal battles. And he knew one thing without a doubt—the Academy was in unrest. Groaning aloud, he sat back down, shutting his eyes. He hadn’t slipped this bad in a long time. The chaos blanketed him, and his stomach lurched violently again. He really might be sick. Spreading his knees wide, he gripped his thighs and lowered his head below his heart. A sharp ringing pierced his ears as he breathed deeply, rooting himself to this moment. His ability was strong, but he had learned to be stronger. Thanks to the Academy and his private tutor, Professor Ida, Memphis had learned one thing that he could not have learned otherwise—not to give in to his fear.

  It had taken years of getting through episodes like this, of grueling private lessons, of learning he was more, that he could have a life worth living. That titles like freak could be morphed into strength. That he could show the people who feared what happened behind these walls that they weren’t so different. Curled into himself, Memphis did what he knew and used the crippling pain, fuelling his anger to guide him. Memories dropped into his mind like stones into a lake, disturbing the thick layer of assault that blanketed him as he succumbed to it.

  He was transported in memory to his childhood home. It was picture-perfect, a small cottage by the coast, hours away from the capital, Sarthaven. Breathing in, he could practically remember how the salt-crusted air tasted on his lips, the roaring waves, the endlessness of the horizon. How the clouds consumed the sky or how they dissipated, and nestled far above, the stars winked down at him like gems. The comfort of the memory vanished, and Memphis saw himself at the age of six, curled in a ball in their living room, knives and dishware levitating around him in a flurry. His parents screamed at him to stop, to calm down. He remembered that day like it was yesterday, through the tears, the anger, the names.

  Freak. Monster. Uncontrolled.

  His emotions were unhinged, and he didn’t know, didn’t understand what was happening. His ability had been quietly building inside him until a fissure was exposed, and it overtook him. He cringed as he remembered the glint of steel, the cry of pain. The knife lodged in his mother’s shoulder and her blood trickling down her blouse, her shocked expression. The blame in her icy eyes. His parents were desolates, which had never bothered Memphis because he was told he was exactly like them. Unchosen and without ability but living a peaceful life without fear. Until everything changed. He remembered his apologies, his racking sobs as his father yelled at him to get out, to get help. That he wasn’t safe to be around, they didn’t want him to stay. How could they have a son like him? They couldn’t help him, wouldn’t help him.

  The weight of the bag, the ushering of strong hands. The snap of the door. His panicked pleas wallowed up against the crashing waves. His fists beating, bloodied against the door. Then darkness. The memory stretched too thin, dissolving like smoke. He never saw his parents again after that day. He had wandered aimlessly for hours, young and helpless, trees bowing in his wake, pebbles floating after him in a trail as he walked. Memphis had vaguely remembered the cries, the strong hands, the rocking of the carriage beneath him. The whispers. The overpowering chaos exploding in his mind as he saw one blaring sign reading, Sarthaven. The rest was history to him, and the capital had brought him to the Academy.

  He sat up straight, taking a deep breath. The pain of that memory always worked to ground him and to force the chaos of his mind to a quiet purr. That he was not just his ability. He could go back to his parents one day and show them that he had control. Memphis stood, angrily brushing away his tears. Right then, his door exploded open, and his best friend stalked in, his anger etched into his features.

  “You look like you have had a similar day to me.”

  Brokk opened his mouth then closed it tightly as he took in Memphis’s ashen complexion. Sighing, he ran a hand through his unruly golden hair. “How bad is it, Memph?”

  “Bad,” he whispered, resuming his grounding walk.

  Brokk was basically bouncing on his heels as he gushed, “Well guess who was taken in to see Roque, with the lingering threat of expulsion.”

  Memphis felt the corners of his mouth pull upward. “Well that would make sense, seeing as you punched a teacher.”

  He could practically hear the words before Brokk said them. “Memph, come on. You’re not telling me you agree with them?”

  “Brokk, how many times have we already talked about this? The Academy and the teachers here aren’t the enemies. The people who abuse their gifts, the people who prey on the desolates, the people who threaten the peace of our country are the enemies.”

  Brokk huffed, cutting off his course, forcing him to stop. “I’m telling you, Memph, something more is going on here. I can feel it. When I was brought in, Cesan was there, and I interrupted something big.”

  “Did your heightened sense tell you as much?”

  Brokk cuffed the back of his head, growling. “Can’t you be serious for once? There is tension between the Faes and the Strattons, and that doesn’t concern you one bit?”

  “No, it doesn’t. Friends fight, Brokk. It doesn’t mean it’s a threat to us.”

  Brokk poked him in the chest. “Well I’m going to find out exactly what is. I’m tired of being told what I should and shouldn’t know.” For the second time within a few short minutes, the door exploded open, making them both jump. Memphis whirled around, and instantly everything else was whisked away. Emory
stood in the doorway, her face flushed as she supported Adair, who looked half dead, nails cracked and streaks of blood smearing his hands. Dread filled Memphis’s core as he saw dried blood smeared on her cheek as well.

  “Emory.” He breathed her name, his heart practically jumping out of his chest.

  “Can I get a little help here?” she snapped, focusing on them. He leapt forward, wrapping one arm around Adair’s waist, shifting his weight to him.

  Adair looked up to him murmuring, “Thank you, Carter.”

  “Let’s just get you to the bed, Stratton. You look like you’ve seen better days, too.”

  Adair chuckled darkly as they shuffled to the bunker. Memphis swallowed hard as the edges of his mind pushed and pulled, and he shut down his wall hard. He would not slip, not when his friends needed him.

  Brokk cut past them, his low voice rumbling. “What happened?”

  Emory snapped the door shut behind her, her shaking hands lingering on the handle. “My grandfather is dead. The new King of the Shattered Isles is here.” Memphis lowered Adair onto the bed, his friend groaning as he covered his face with his hands. Brokk glared at Adair, mistrust filling his golden eyes.

  Memphis stood between them and ignored Brokk’s glare as he whispered, “Em, I’m sorry.”

  She faced them all. “I never even got to meet him. My parents thought it best. They told me the Shattered Isles are dangerous, the treaty is in a precarious position with them. They always talk to me in riddles, yet they expect us to uphold the Academy. To uphold the future.” Her voice cracked. “I’m tired of it. Who else wants to find out why the new King of the Shattered Isles is here?”

  Brokk lit up, his grin sharp and wicked. Groaning, Memphis murmured, “You can’t be serious?”

  Emory sauntered up to him, patting his cheek. “I’m serious. Besides, I will need your help, Carter. If you’re up to it.”

  Flushing deeply, he growled. “Fine.”

  Clapping him on the back, Brokk drawled, “Excellent. Stratton, can you stand?”

  Uncovering his face, his brows furrowed. “Oh don’t feign you care. I’m coming whether you like it or not.”

  Waggling her eyebrows at them, she threw the door open. “Well, there isn’t a moment to waste.” They filed out, Adair shuffling out last. The door clicked closed, and the hallways were deserted, luckily. Emory set the pace, and they all moved as fast and silent as shadows.

  Memphis already knew she had a plan, she always did. He threw a sideways glance to Brokk, who was warily watching Adair. Sighing, he pushed forward. It was a wonder Brokk hadn’t tried to rip Adair’s throat out, but the two tolerated each other. And so their mismatched group was formed, the two royals and the two lost boys, as they blatently ignored all the preconceived ideas of each other. At least, for the moment.

  Sharply veering left, Emory quietly slipped into an unoccupied classroom, waving them quickly in. The room was filled with long desks, and various hanging herbs covering the walls and the ceiling. Round basins filled the back wall, notes and articles of the properties of different natural healing techniques still on the chalkboard. Memphis briefly took it all in before a cool hand wrapped around his own and he twisted to see Emory smirking at him. “Sorry, time is of the essence.”

  After all the years of knowing her, he would never get used to this feeling. It was like being winded, and he froze as he felt his ability drain from him, flowing into Emory. Being a leech, she couldn’t break the connection, and so with furrowed brows, she concentrated at the far corner of the room where screws started to twist and turn, floating down to them, the panel following. It was a tunnel big enough for them to fit if they crawled. Loosing a breath, she let go of his hand, and Memphis’s power snapped back into him with a startling fierceness.

  “Quick, help me with this.”

  Brokk grabbed the other end of the desk, and they slid it underneath the opening.

  Memphis muttered under his breath, “Not your first eavesdropping session, is it?”

  Hopping up on the table, she raised an eyebrow at him. “When it comes to my parents, I always find a way to figure out what they are hiding from me.” With that, she lunged forward, hands gripping the ledge, and pulled herself into the darkness. Brokk shook his head smiling and followed, not looking back.

  “Memphis.” Adair’s voice was small, and he sidled up beside him. “Can you help me?”

  “Of course. Come on, I will give you a leg up.”

  They moved slowly, Memphis taking in the angry welt on Adair’s wrist. Adair’s jaw worked silently back and forth as he pulled himself up on the desk. His movements were slow and deliberate. Memphis could tell he was swallowing his pain in leaps and bounds. Silently, he crouched down, cupping his hands. Adair stepped into them, and standing, he boosted him up. Cursing under his breath, Adair slid into the panel and with ease he followed, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. On their hands and knees, they could easily maneuver, and they shuffled forward.

  “Stratton, watch where you’re crawling there, will you?”

  Brokk’s eyes were luminous in the space, and he was muttering under his breath. They all moved as fast as they could, following Emory’s lead. The air was cool in the vent, the cool metal slick underneath their palms. The space curved upward, and after several minutes, Emory stopped, murmuring, “Memphis, they are down there.” Nodding, he knew what to do. Closing his eyes, he dipped into his consciousness, meeting his iron wall. He stripped it down. Voices barreled into him, but concentrating, he wove through the web.

  “Please sit while you inform us on the manner of your declaration, Tadeas.” Roque’s voice was wary, and Memphis gritted his teeth, holding onto the connection as he pushed the wave of other voices back. He flinched, but his hold held true, and taking a deep breath, he wrapped his wall protectively around the room below them and was transported.

  Tadeas chuckled darkly. “This place isn’t a school as you say it is. Anyone can see the power here at your disposal. Besides, while you have been kindly making no progress with your project, rumors have been coming back to me. Sailing, a man can hear many rumors, some false... but some hidden gems that ring of only the truth.”

  Nei growled. “Be careful of what exactly you are saying.”

  “Ah, now that is the Nei Runnard I was told about. I know exactly what I am saying. Your Academy has only created more unrest, more resentment, and more fear. How can the people of Kiero have their freedom when you are grooming the most powerful people for them to answer to if they step a toe out of line?”

  “The students here are to help protect the borders from threats, not become them.”

  Tadeas laughed. “You are blind if you actually think that.”

  Roque slammed his fist down on the table. “We are not blind. Don’t you remember what happened before we had a peace treaty with the Shattered Isles? When my father was King? A constant war, while we enslaved your people, and your warriors pillaged and stripped out towns. I refuse to recess back to that after we have built what fragile peace we have. It’s not perfect, but I promise you that this is a safe place for both the exceedingly gifted as well as desolates. Why throw away the peace you have achieved for your people as well?”

  Tadeas snorted. “Peace? What do you know of our people’s peace? The treaty has isolated us, and while you flourished here, we have been left barren. Nei, your father ruled with an iron fist, limited our sailing routes, our raiding routes, and absolutely under no circumstances were we allowed to trade with Kiero. Now I wonder how this came about because it was not always like this. Maybe you can enlighten us?” Silence rang sharply throughout the room as Tadeas smoothly continued. “That’s what I thought. Now, since you have obviously done something or are doing something that would’ve made your father leave his eldest daughter severed from his alliance, I am here to help. I am a man of change and of vision. I do not recognize any treaty of the past that was constructed, and my people will raid and sail wherever their hearts d
esire. My people also recognize me as their king, and they respect my command. Now I am a reasonable man as well and don’t want to start another war. I am here to see if you can gain my respect and we can find new terms to move forward with.”

  “You’re a reasonable man but have insulted everything we have worked toward, and can we even gain your respect?” Cesan sneered, malice dripping off every word. “I could move forward with a man of similar vision to the Shattered Isles.”

  “No.” Roque’s voice quivered. “I refuse to go back to regency.”

  Tadeus scoffed. “You would allow your people to burn? If you were to be king, there would be structure and order across the country. People will learn to fear the king across the Sea, Roque, if you are deemed a weaker man than me.”

  Nei cut in. “Allow us, Tadeas, to gather our thoughts. At least allow us the honor of hosting you during your stay.”

  His balanced was tipped as he slammed back into his own mind, breathing hard. “What did you hear, Memphis? What’s happening?”

  Swallowing hard, he looked at his friends, shaking his head, “Let’s go back to my room. We can talk there.” Their pale faces took him in as they shuffled back the way they came, Memphis reeling the entire way.

  Kings. War. Unrest. The Faes are hiding something. Something that broke alliances.

  Goosebumps prickled across his skin, and he couldn’t shake that Brokk was right. They pressed forward against the darkness, the tide of voices finally at rest within him as he clawed through the chute, trying to calm the dread pooling in his stomach.

  4

  Adair

  It was late into the night when he limped down the hallway. His body ached with every movement, but it was nothing compared to how his heart wrenched with every passing second. They had talked for hours, going over what Memphis had heard, every possible outcome, every possible way that it would change their lives. Emory’s strong reassurances that her parents wouldn’t allow anyone to change what they had built, the safety within the Academy. But he saw through her façade and saw the fear that lingered there. Gritting his teeth, he slowly made his way back to his bunker, where he was certain either a message from his father was waiting, or his father himself.