Eugene Lambert - Into the No-Zone

Morana gives me one last icy glare, then lets go. Pulling her glove back on, she turns and stalks back towards the open doorway and the waiting Gemini guards.

‘Very well,’ she announces, as cool as you like. ‘I will report back to the Saviour that you do indeed have his beloved sons.’

Ballard says nothing, just looks grim as hell.

Schroeder’s a different story – I reckon the man seems pleased.

Mendela hauls herself to her feet. ‘Is she done here?’

‘She is,’ Ballard says. ‘Take her away.’

‘I’ll see to it personally that our guest,’ Mendela wrinkles her nose at Morana, ‘is returned to the rendezvous point, with all the necessary safeguards so she can’t find her way back uninvited.’

Ballard nods, and Morana is escorted away.

There’s a long, ugly silence.

And I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding.

Our guards bring two new benches, one for Colm, another to replace the one I took out my rage and despair on.

‘Smash these,’ a guard warns, ‘and you don’t get more. Okay?’

I mutter at her that I won’t.

‘This is bullshit,’ I say to Colm. ‘Can you believe it?’

My brother’s not said a word since we were dragged back here to our cell, just stared into space and shaken his head a lot. So I’m glad when he finally looks at me.

‘It’s a trap,’ he says. ‘A clever one too.’

But I’ve also done some thinking since I quit smashing stuff.

‘I don’t see it. The Slayers must be dreaming if they think we’ll chuck our guns away and shuffle off to hold hands out in the Barrenlands. Once we’re there, they’d have us trapped. No way will the Council go for it. They’d have to be crazy.’

Colm takes a deep breath and hisses it out.

‘What?’ I say, irritated.

He clutches at his hurt arm and winces. ‘Kyle, this isn’t about peace or sanctuary in the Barrenlands. It’s about divide and conquer, setting brother against brother.’

I grind my teeth. ‘Just for once, can you speak plainly?’

‘Okay, okay. Look, I grew up a Slayer, so I know how they think. This peace offer’s fake, I’m sure of it. The Saviour has no intention of letting Gemini have a sanctuary in the Barrenlands or anywhere else. He just dangles the thought. It’s bait on a hook.’

‘And when we bite he’s got us trapped?’

‘It’s simpler than that, more cunning. They’ll make sure every Gemini fighter knows what’s supposedly on offer. Some will clutch at the straw. Who can blame them for wanting an end to a lifetime of fear and fighting? Others will want to fight on though, sod the cost. Before you know it, Gemini will split into pro-treaty and anti-treaty factions. We’ll start fighting among ourselves.’

I stare at him, gob open, hairs standing up on the back of my neck. ‘Surely the Council will see that too?’

He shrugs. ‘Maybe. But can they stop it? It’s happening already, here in the Deeps. That’s why my arm’s in this bloody sling. And why we’re stuck in this hole being guarded.’

I twitch. ‘So the hardliners can’t have another pop at us?’

Colm nods and tries for a smile. ‘You’re not as thick as you look.’

We sit there silent for a while.

‘Don’t know about you,’ I say eventually, ‘but I could’ve died when that door opened and Morana walked in.’

‘Seriously,’ Colm says, ‘I could’ve done without that.’

I hesitate, but it has to be said. ‘Murdo killed her. I saw it.’

‘You had just been shot. Maybe you –’

‘Maybe nothing! Ask him if you don’t believe me.’

‘I do believe you. But we’ve got more to worry about than a High Slayer coming back to life. Maybe her body armour saved her. Who knows? What matters is Gemini risked bringing her to the Deeps so she could identify us. What’s that tell you?’

‘Ballard’s not as smart as we thought?’

Colm glances at our guards and they seem not to be listening. ‘Ballard’s no fool. Everything he does, he does for a reason. I think it tells us that the Council will go for the peace deal. You heard the woman – she’s here to check the merchandise, to make sure we’re still alive and kicking, ready to be handed over.’

‘You think too much,’ I croak.

‘Sometimes I wish I didn’t,’ he says, and grimaces.

Another long silence. In my head I play back Colm’s words, trying to find holes in his thinking that hope might fit into.

Nothing doing. There are no holes.

‘Okay, fine,’ I whisper, straightening kinks out of my neck. ‘I get it. We’re screwed if we stay here. Either we’ll be handed back to the Slayers, or we’ll be lynched by hardliners.’

Colm frowns. ‘ If we stay here? You say it like we’ve a choice.’

‘We’ll get word to Rona and Sky. They’ll bust us out.’

He says nothing, but his face is my face – I see the doubt.

‘You got a better idea?’ I ask.

‘I’m working on it,’ he tells me. And then, ‘No.’

I’m squeezing off a last few sit-ups when our guards let Rona in. She’s the only visitor we’re allowed while we rot here like rats in this stinking hole, waiting for Gemini’s leadership to make their minds up about the peace treaty. Three days we’ve been stuck here, and it’s doing my head in.

‘Hey, Rona,’ Colm says, and smiles.

To listen to him, you wouldn’t think he’s gone mad. I nod at Rona and wipe the worst of the sweat off with my shirt.

‘Oh, Kyle, must you?’ she says.

This is so Rona. I’m to be handed over to Slayers or killed by my own kind, and she’s worried I won’t have a clean shirt.

With a sigh, she unpacks her bag. Even though she was searched on the way in, our watching guards stiffen.

‘Any news?’ I ask her.

She shakes her head. ‘I’ll tell you when there is. Now hand over your bowls. No point letting this broth get cold.’

Colm fetches the food bowls while I pull my shirt back on.

‘Maybe no news is good news,’ she says.

‘You reckon?’ I glance at our scratches on the rock wall.

It’s eighteen days to the next doom moon. We’ve been crossing them off. Just thinking about it makes me shiver. Most nights our smaller and faster-moving dogmoon chases the bigmoon around Wrath’s sky. Four times a year however, roughly at the turn of the seasons, it climbs higher in the sky than the bigmoon. That’s when we call it the doom moon, and everybody is all oh no! and moaning about how it brings bad luck and savage weather.

Rona calls it superstition and nonsense. I guess we’ll see.

‘Don’t worry, the Council will do the right thing,’ she says. She slops slimy-looking broth into our bowls from a flask.

‘Right for who?’ I say. ‘What is this?’

Colm dives right in. Being a martyr must be hungry work.

‘It’s all I could get,’ Rona snaps. ‘With everybody too busy arguing, nothing’s getting done, least of all cooking.’

‘What happened to your face?’ Colm asks her.

‘It’s nothing,’ Rona says, but too quickly.

I look up and now I see the swelling under her left eye.

‘Was that . . . because of us?’

‘Eat your broth.’

I push my bowl away untouched. ‘Was it?’

‘When people are scared they can do stupid things. I’m being escorted here now. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.’

‘It’s getting ugly then?’ Colm says.

Rona hesitates. ‘Worse than ugly.’ She lowers her voice. ‘That Schroeder is whipping things up, making pro-treaty speeches. There’s been rioting. Four people died last night.’

‘For the treaty, or against it?’ I ask.