The Reformation Read online

  The normally cool-headed, composed Jax was now a wild, degraded mess. His dark hair was messy, as if he ran through it, again and again with his fingers, a pattern of anger and frustration. His eyes were wide, the irises of his eyes deep and darting around the room. His chest was rising and falling, his breaths were short. And he winced when he put shifted his pressure onto his right foot. So that’s how it works.

  “Now will you tell me?”

  Celine had thought she had seen it all, from Fey, January, Z, and Jax. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he did deserve to know a bit more.

  …

  If Z had called Celine, she was profusely sorry.

  Because for one hour, her earpiece was discarded beside her, and she allowed herself to let go; her thoughts and concerns and worries finally being voiced. She told a story that she herself didn’t even know existed. She expressed herself, finally, and someone listened. For an hour, she got caught up in stupid little things that no one would care to listen to, the little things that she didn’t care about. Until she found that they did. They did matter, and gradually, they added up, into huge, splotchy mess of problems. And no, she didn’t find a single solution, to a single problem, but it felt good.

  Release.

  Being a girl was exhausting. Because you had to be prim and proper, and keep your mouth shut; all while keeping yourself up with the boys, proving your worth. She hated that part. Proving her worth. How stupid was that? How stupid was, having to work so much harder than a male for half his position? She hated it. Despised it. And now she was here, a leader of something that the king was the head of. She was the one link between the people and the king, and she earned it. For once, she proved her worth. And it felt so unreal, so amazing. Losing it because she contacted a horrible disease was not going to be her end. She braved through Scorchen. She suffered, but luck allowed her to live.

  She couldn’t go on any more field missions due to her damaged heart. She had constant coughing fits, though she disguised it. As of now, Jax was the only person to know of them. He had his ways of disposing ruined handkerchiefs, and she was glad for it. The last thing she needed was Jan finding out, because she knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to push her out of her position and take it himself. And she couldn’t do that—she wanted this position so badly and she earned it.

  Celine didn’t even know that she wanted to be heard the way that she did, but heavens above, did it feel so freeing. Celine, however in denial she was, knew that she wasn’t a perfect person much to her chagrin. And her need to be in control was reflected by how closed in she was; it was a philosophy that she taught herself, that the leader bears the burden alone, so no one else had to. But how much of that weight did she need to carry before she became overbearing and in the way of everyone else? More importantly, how much of that weight did she need to carry before she collapsed in on herself? She was human, she had faults. And trying to keep everything in her control was one of them. It was funny how breaking her body is what it took for her to fix her broken mind, playing distorted philosophies of loneliness and leadership on repeat.

  “Hey,” Jax said, eyes reflecting every ounce of emotion in them, and it made Celine wonder why the world was cruel enough to make him one of life’s many victims, placing the burden of a kingdom on his young shoulders. “Celine, it’s alright.”

  Celine could almost feel the reassuring pressure of his hand on her shoulder, except his hand wasn’t there. Seeing that concern, that familiarity in his eyes was enough for Celine, but it struck her as she sat there confessing secrets of a life she didn’t even know she hated to the king of NNR; they didn’t need physical touch wasn’t needed for comforting or supporting one another. There was always space between them, with the exception of physical support when she doubled over to cough up blood, but Celine honestly didn’t mind; the number of things that could be said in one glance was enough. In moments like these, when they only had each to confide the heaviness of the burdens of leadership (because you can’t let anyone else know—it’s weakness, it’s a bother) there was nothing more needed than a look, than a smile.

  “I’m not sure if I’m alright yet,” she confessed weakly, as if he hadn’t listened patiently to her profession of troubles. “But I might be.”

  “That’s good,” he whispered with a small genuine smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges. Suddenly his head shot up, and his eyes widened, only to crinkle again as he smiled wider than before. “Check out the monitor.”

  Celine whirred around, and true enough, there was a surprise waiting for her on the monitor. Then there was a huge leap on the screen, the line moving up and down. Celine immediately put on her headphones, turning her side of the comm, on.

  “Celine!”

  “Fey?”

  “Thank god you’re finally on; we got a semi-problem.”

  “What did you do?” Jax looked at her questioningly, and Celine forgot that he couldn’t hear their conversation. She pulled out her headphone jack, putting her finger to her lips, effectively shutting him up. Fey deciding to make an ill-timed joke about Celine and Jax was a risk, but some things were just worth the trouble and possible impending doom.

  “We got in. You’re welcome Jax.”

  Celine saw Jax’s dark eyebrows shoot up from the corner of her vision, though he didn’t question it, speaking up. “Where are you, Downcley?” he asked.

  “We’re stuck in a room on the way to the control room—don’t ask why we’re even here—and we can’t get out. And I’m 99% sure they’re getting a battering ram on the other side.”

  “I don’t even want to know your definition of a complete problem,” Celine informed her fellow female Strategist, sighing as she turned back to the king. “Jax, can you get a map up?”

  Jax gave an unintelligible ‘okay’, moving to the computer next to him almost immediately, absorbed by his task, fingers flying over the keys. “I’m horrible at this technology, so hold on for a few minutes,” he told her.

  “Of course,” she affirmed, giving him a quick smile before turning back to her side of the comm. “Okay, so did you get the information?”

  “Um. Well-”

  “Did you?”

  “Would you be disappointed if I said-”

  “Fey!”

  “Yup?”

  Celine proceeded to turn off her side of the comm, listening to Fey’s begs to get her back on, because they needed the map. Then she decided to add a few compliments on Celine’s part, and even Jax, still finding the map, scoffed. Celine deemed it a good enough punishment and turned it back on.

  “Fine,” Celine gave in, informing Fey of her arrival back into conversation.

  “Thank you,” Fey breathed, “Do you have the map yet?”

  “Jax is going to have blisters in the morning with how fast he’s looking. Not yet. Patience is a virtue.”

  “Okay.” There was pause for a second, and in the background, Celine swore she heard rubble crashing and she most definitely heard yells.

  “Is someone dying?” Celine asked, half-joking.

  “Most probably,” Fey said dismissively, and she started to go off about something or another, but Celine couldn’t focus.

  Celine knew the deaths were necessary, but her breath still caught in her throat. Jax gave them orders to burn the stronghold down, to blow the place up after they were done, and Celine was seething after he made the announcement, Z having to physically restrain her to prevent her from hurting anyone. Although she would never say it out loud, Celine saw the reasoning behind it after she calmed down, but so many lives were being lost already, didn’t Jax see that? But orders were orders, and while The Strategists had immense freedom with how they got their intel, when Jax wanted something done a certain way, there was nothing stopping him.

  The thought of all those dead people though, the smell of burning flesh, all those eyes that would never flutter open to recognize the sunlight flooding in overtop the rubble of a ruined yet beautiful world, made her heart ha
mmer out of her chest, and her fingers to clench as she fought her initial instinct to hurl.

  “Oh, did you know that January’s last name is Kurata?” Celine picked up, as she finally shoved those images out of her head, and she felt her interest pique.

  “Seriously?” she asked, desperate to get away from her thoughts.

  There was another buzz, and Jan’s crackly voice came through. “Kurata-Tormont. And seriously Downcley?”

  “Well now you decided to show up? Where are you?”

  “Time out,” Celine called, holding out her hands as if to pacify them, even if they couldn’t see the gesture. “Jan wasn’t with you?”

  Fey sounded sheepish. “Whoops?”

  “And January; you decided to contact us to correct your last name that we don’t even need to know?”

  “Whoops?” Jan this time, offered.

  “Oh god,” Celine sighed, slumping back in her chair. She felt a smile prick at her lips, despite the situation, but she contained herself. Of course, it would take annoyance from Fey and January arguing to steady Celine’s thoughts and make her feel a little more comfortable.

  “Well, where are you?” Fey demanded. Celine was already getting a headache from their argument, and she wasn’t even there. She felt sympathy towards Z, for sure.

  “Well.” Jan started, and Celine knew what was coming next. She knew that tone of voice. “That’s the problem.”

  “Jan…” Celine groaned, but before she could say anything else, Jax said: “I got the map. I sent it, Hollingsworth. Don’t worry.”

  “Well at least one person is doing their job right!” Celine said, her way of both thanking the young king and berating Fey and Jan.

  Fey and Jan started to protest, but they muffled each other out. Jax took this as his opportunity, putting on his I’m-the-king-of-you-lowly-peasants-therefore-you-must-obey-me voice, and they immediately stopped arguing. “What was the problem with getting the information?”

  “We’re not in the control room yet, and judging by the security of this place, it will be hard when we do. Z, I, and maybe even Celine will have to work really hard on it if—when—we get it,” Fey said.

  “And they will. Is Z with you? He’s awfully quiet,” Jax asked, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

  “He’s with me,” Fey replied, her voice wavering in and out. “He’s setting up more explosives.” Celine felt the tops of her ears get warm, and she willed for the blush of anger—the same one she was trying to get away from as soon as Fey mentioned killing people—not to travel down to her cheeks. She didn’t get how the others could kill like that without a second doubt. Sometimes, she was glad she wasn’t on field missions anymore.

  “Can Jax send the maps of the vents?” Z, by the sounds of it, shouted, though his voice was only barely audible.

  “On it.”

  “Oh sh-” There was another round of fire, the comm temporarily disconnecting, crackling into and out of audibility.

  “What happened?” Celine immediately cranked up the volume, leaning forward in her chair. Jax stood up, and took his position behind her, so he could have a better look of the screen, as if there was a video of what was happening on the computer.

  “They’re getting in.” Fey announced, then shouted directions at Z. There was a faint crash and Celine grew anxious.

  “Now what?”

  “I’m taking out my guns.”

  “You better not ruin my scarlet Dolman sleeved top, or I will have your head in a display case,” Celine warned. She could hear Fey’s chuckle, followed by fires.

  “Hollingsworth, I’m on a very messy mission. My shirt will get a little messed up.”

  “You’re lucky I gave you the red one,” Celine shot back, the humour that she was trying for still not cancelling out the clear concern for her friends on the other end, and the mission.

  And then the line went blank.

  Twenty-Seven

  REBEL STRONGHOLD, OUTSKIRTS OF LONDON, NNR | JUNE 20, 326 T.E. | 14:13

  FEY was pretty sure that January was possessed. That was the only plausible solution as to why he was acting so weird. Earlier today, he actually almost made a joke and then he was cold during the entire car ride to the stronghold, and now he was asking her to trust him?

  This had to be a joke, right?

  Raging mood swings aside, the whole non-confrontational approach from Jan was also puzzling. But even though Fey wasn’t exactly the biggest Jan-enthusiast (quite the opposite, really) she knew that he wouldn’t ask for them to put their entire mission in jeopardy without a proper reason.

  But then there was the voice of Jax, the wary weight of his words as he confided his suspicion of a spy in the base to her, echoed in her mind, and she couldn’t help but think, what if this is a trap? What if January is the-

  No. If there was anything that Jan had, it was his pride, and he was nearly begging them to trust him. He would never put his pride on the line unless it truly mattered.

  Right?

  So why they were currently cautiously treading the halls of a beaten-down foreign stronghold, Fey still didn’t know, but the familiar weight of her hidden sheaths and knife straps brought her a sense of comfort, even if the easy ridges of her favourite hilt wasn’t in her grasp.

  She fell back slightly, so that Z was in front of her, because even if she refused to show any of her concern for him, she was concerned for him. This was his first field mission and Fey wanted to keep him alive throughout the entire duration of it, so she allowed him to go forward so she could keep a watchful eye on him.

  Knowing that Z was in between herself and Jan had eased her mind a bit, but she still felt on edge about the whole situation. Not having her weapon in hand was one thing, but not needing her weapon? —they were in a rebel stronghold. There should have been something stopping them from entering so easily. Fey remembered how only a few minutes ago, she had to only touch the cold broken knob for it to fall away, or how even moments before that, a crumbling column that must have been a majestic sight to behold in another lifetime, gave way to dust and rubble.

  The place was dead.

  Even if this stronghold was the smallest out of them all—which she knew it wasn’t- it couldn’t have been this inhabited. Something was off, something that Fey couldn’t quite place her finger on, and that fact bothered her.

  Finally, after she deemed it long enough to walk in silence, with the ancient creaking of a falling apart structure their only accompaniment, she walked up to Jan, dragging Z behind her (because no matter what happened, she still didn’t feel safe having Z behind both of them).

  “Okay, you owe us some explanation. We’re losing time.”

  Jan paused, his mouth opening though his voice temporarily faltering.

  “January? Time,” she reminded, and he hastily nodded, humming in agreement.

  “This is really unstable grounds to be making assumptions, but did you notice the driveway?”

  “I’m lost,” announced Z, head tilted in confusion.

  Jan sighed, though he quickly gave a fugitive scan of their surroundings. “The house is falling apart yet the driveway is in prime condition? Something isn’t adding up. And I suspect that our estimate body count of this place is much higher than we expected. There’s something malevolent at play here.”

  Fey let out a long sigh, breathy and loud. “And we want to play it safe by pretending to be rebels from another stronghold,” she concluded.

  Jan nodded.

  “Alright. We need covers though. A stronghold that we come from, why we’re here. Also, we should use-” a loud crash cut her off, and Fey whirred around to figure out where the sound came from.

  “Change of plans. We go up,” Jan whispered harshly, gesturing to Fey and himself, “Z stays watch down here.”

  “Why me?” Z hissed. Fey just smirked at him, before taking out of her semi-automatic, pressing it to his chest: “Just in case,” she said.

  “Come on Downcley; we’re wasting ti
me.”

  Fey just scowled at his words, though followed him down the corridor directly to their right. “You sure it was this way?”

  “Positive,” he affirmed, cutting all possible conversation short. Not like I want to talk to January anyway. “Stairs.”

  Fey turned, and true enough, there was a staircase. “Not sure you can call it that anymore,” she murmured at the sight of the barely standing upright structure. “Did the noise come from up there?”

  “Yeah. Think so, at least.”

  “Well then,” she said, stepping out on the first stair before Jan put his hand out to stop her.

  “You’re joking, Downcley. You said it yourself. These aren’t stairs anymore, and you shouldn’t go up them.”

  She turned back to him, irritated. “Well someone has to check out what the hell is happening, and I hate just standing here, waiting for disaster to come to us. Like you give a damn about my life anyway,” she added cuttingly, and in retaliation, Jan just let go of her arm, releasing a breathy snort.

  “So burial or cremation?” Ignoring him, Fey skipped up the second, then third steps, ignoring her thudding heartbeat. The steps groaned under her weight, so she took her next step tentatively.

  There was no creak.

  Her racing heartrate slowing down, Fey began her ascension again, but before she could go too far, the creak sounded again.

  She moved to put her right foot onto the next step, before she could move the rest of her body, the step her left foot was on gave way to nothingness. Suddenly, the only preventing herself from falling all the way was her right foot hooked under the slight edge the stair, and there were no hand supports to pull herself upright, leaving her hanging in trepidation.

  “Downcley!” Jan called, and Fey could only press her eyes tightly closed.

  “I’m stuck.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m stuck,” she repeated numbly, and she could distinctly hear Jan let out a frustrated breath.

  “I realized. Can you pull yourself up?”