Chapter 76 Gedeon
GEDEON
My instincts went on alert, alarm bells ringing so loud they pounded my head like a sledgehammer. But I didn’t need to turn around to know who had admitted their sins.
Sadira’s thick, brownish bottom lip dropped, her mouth falling open. “Shit.”
As she spun around, away from the car and toward the sidewalk, so did I.
Looming above us, the apartment buildings behind him as gray as his button-up shirt, Ezra flashed a grin full of missing teeth. “Miss me?”
“You,” I growled. My fucking brother by blood.
“Yes, me.” He tilted his head aside, his brown frizzy strands a stark contrast to the dotted-in-scarlet gauze secured around his soft face.
The medical fabric protected the hole where his ear had used to be and the five vertical slices in his cheek.
Zion had opened Ezra’s mouth to the elements during his time in our underground.
“Why do you think the Spire exploded? I knew that’s where you’d go. All I needed to do was wait until I was sure you had reached the top floor.” Ezra folded his arms, failing to mask a wince as his nailless fingers brushed against his biceps. “But for some reason, you’re freaking unkillable.”
Shuffling into a fighter’s squat, Sadira brandished her knife. “Want to see if the same theory applies to you?”
But there was no point in preparing for assault when Ezra’s standing form served as a beacon to Ardaton’s men streaming the streets and filling the intersection.
We had been spotted.
And Ezra was well aware—his conceited smile born from Sadira’s taunt proved it.
“What about your father?” Unhurriedly, I rose to my full height. “Did you know he was up there—at the top of the Spire—with us?”
Despite my protesting ribs, I extended a hand to Sadira to help her get up. With the gaping wound in her calf, she staggered before straightening and finding her balance.
“My father,” Ezra scoffed. “After I crawled out of your basement and returned to Ilasall, he left me to fend for myself.” Disdain contorted his features as he spat on the ground. The blob of his saliva darkened the concrete tiles. “He’s dead to me.”
No surprise there. I highly doubted Peter would have succeeded in serving as a fatherly figure, even if he had chosen to try.
But if my brother wasn’t doing our father’s bidding…
I narrowed in on the red thread weaving around the pocket on the front of Ezra’s shirt. “Then who are you working for?”
He lifted his chin higher in a poor attempt at masking the no-longer-there tip of his nose. I had to rein in my smirk at Zion’s work.
“Who do you think? Myself.” Ezra shrugged, as though it was obvious. “I won’t lie that my father’s position helped me to expand my network, but I stand on my own now. Once we clean this city, it will be mine.”
My fists curled. He had said we.
That and the crimson thread in his shirt confirmed my suspicions. He was working with—
The crackle of speakers boomed across the crossroad ensnaring us. Grating sounds shook my joints, eroding the cartilage, and slowly, Ezra’s smile widened.
The public address system had been engaged.
And not by us.
My brother pressed a finger to his chapped, as-pale-as-melting-snow lips. “Listen up.”
“This broadcast is mandatory. We repeat, this broadcast is mandatory.” The mechanical voice coming to life vibrated all the way to my core.
“Compliance is a value we must uphold,” the recording reminded of the Ilasall’s main rule.
“Lay down your weapons, and you will not be punished. Those failing to comply and resisting will be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.” Another crackle, and this time, a female voice declared, “Start of the broadcast.”
Static grated my eardrums before the cracked screen hanging in a restaurant’s window behind Ezra flickered to life.
Ardaton’s leader appeared in front of the six Heads ruling their government, the image undoubtedly displayed on all available devices in the city.
“Ilasall’s upstanding citizens,” the Head of Ardaton greeted.
His beady eyes dragged from left to right, as if he could see everyone. “And those wishing to become such.”
Ignoring the beginning of his speech, Sadira scanned our surroundings, her boot squelching from a film of blood.
All around us, bodies peppered the asphalt. But the commotion in the intersection had waned as Ardaton’s army, Ilasall’s residents, and our people stilled.
Though soldiers remained standing with their standard-issue rifles poised, ready to resume poking the cuffed green-banded and our people to form lines, all of them about to meet their end—being shoved into the military trucks, never to feel the breath of freedom again.
For now, it seemed Ardaton’s troops had ceased stealing men and women, instead allowing them to watch or hear the transmission. The rumbling of engines died, the yells and cries faded, and soon, undiluted stillness ruled the joining of the four streets.
“My name is Adder. For the last ten years, I have dutifully served as the Head of Ardaton—one of your neighboring cities—together with my colleagues.” The camera panned out, bringing into focus the six men hovering at Adder’s back.
“Today, on this unfortunate day, my fellow Heads and I bring you intriguing news.” The visual switched once more, blurring the six Heads and sharpening the visual of the Head of Ardaton.
His full, brown lips stretched into a smile. “Your government is dead.”
Gasps rolled across the crossroad, city dwellers and our forces shocked alike. The majority of Ilasall’s military lay sprawled at their feet, unable to react to the announcement. How could they when their skeletons decayed in the streets, like a distorted memory of a dream.
Unfazed, Ezra leaned against the restaurant’s window, his gray shirt and slacks the color the black-banded preferred—the hue that blended you with the environment, camouflaged you from the soldiers’ scrutinization as they patrolled the streets daily.
On the screen, the Head of Ardaton tousled his tumble of black curls, shaking them out to fall like a halo.
“Peter, the man you knew as the Head of Ilasall, your leader, has been brutally murdered by the resistance.” He traced his jaw, the stubble stylized to look clean and polished. “But the rest…”
His hand fell below the frame, the movement graceful and fluid, emphasizing his casual hold on power. “They had been taken care of.” Adder’s voice dropped an octave, satisfaction coming forward. “By us. You can inspect the evidence in Ilasall’s main square at your convenience.”
The visual switched, and a set of rough-cut gallows appeared on screen. Whoever was controlling the broadcast, they zoomed in on the six men, two of them with protruding bellies, but all with their wrists tied behind their backs.
Ardaton had employed the most savage method of all—the hanging. A barbaric tactic our ancestors had created to warn the enemy, to encourage them to stay compliant.
The half a dozen men’s corpses didn’t swing, and not a breeze ruffled their clothing. Thick ropes dug deep into their necks, stains darkening the front of their pants.
The deceased always emptied their bladders, as a person’s muscles ceased functioning. Similar to how my knees had wobbled when Sadira had informed me of Eli’s and Eislyn’s deaths.
Fixated on the fractured screen hanging in the restaurant’s window, Sadira gripped my upper arm. “They turned on each other.”
As whirlpools of voices rose higher and higher, everyone questioning the implications of the announcement, my temperature dropped. Realization had cooled my gut—Ardaton had ripped Ilasall’s throat out.
Ezra must have wormed his way into Ardaton’s ranks and gathered enough support for a full takeover. Ardaton was using the civil war we had launched for its own gain.
And based on my brother’s cocky smile, they knew we would be too exhausted to stand against another city’s army.
“Welcome to the new age,” Ezra drawled, his tongue flicking the gap where his canine had used to be—Zion had plucked it out.
My pulse skyrocketed, my heart pumping blood so viciously the streaming liquid flooded my ears.
They buzzed as possibilities and probabilities and odds and options and calculations swirled in my mind, incinerating my neurons as I failed and failed and failed to discover the answers to the puzzle in front of me.
How to get Kali and Zion out of here.
How to save our friends and family.
How to salvage the dwindling numbers of our fighters.
How to bring everyone home.
Unaware of my internal battle, the projection in the window changed.
After showcasing the final moments etched into the faces of the Ilasall’s Heads of Nutriment, Labor, Education, Health, Welfare, and Military in detail, the image changed to the Head of Ardaton and his fellows representing the six governmental divisions each city had.
“Silence,” Adder demanded. As though someone had predicted everyone’s reactions, his request had been increased in volume, overwhelming the bubble of murmurs drenching the intersection.
A shove, a threat, or a fist from Ardaton’s soldiers, and the protesters fell back in line. All the while, Ezra yawned, like all this was beneath him.
“Fucking traitor,” Sadira sneered, leaning against me as her injured leg failed to hold her up.
I caught her waist—she didn’t deserve to collapse and be forced to endure Ezra looking down his nose at her.
Yet he managed to do it anyway. “Shut up and listen.”
“You ball-less snake, I will—”
I tightened my hold on her, silently nudging her to keep her mouth shut. Neither of us had the upper hand here. And one wrong move could mean she would never see the light of day again.
Ezra smirked as Adder continued. “We will make this simple. Stand down, and you will be given the opportunity to join our law-abiding city. You will be provided with essentials and will not, I repeat, will not be stripped of your rights.”