Future Dreams (2 page)

Tigh pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the cot. Accustomed to being clothed in black leather, she gave her white leggings and tunic a puzzled look. She raised her hand to long black hair and found that it had been cropped short.

She turned at a noise and pinned a hapless assistant healer outside the door with an intense gaze. The poor man shook so hard that he rattled the bowls and plates on the tray he held. He put the tray on the floor and fled down the corridor.

Tigh frowned at this extreme reaction to her—considering she was the one behind bars—and wondered if her face was disfigured in some way.

Her legs shook as she got to her feet and she steadied herself against the wall for several heartbeats. She half-stepped and half-lurched to the ceramic basin and squinted into the tarnished mirror. Expecting, at least, bruises and scratches, she stared at her unblemished face. Her skin had a sallow tinge and her face was too thin.

She frowned at the hollowness in her stomach and wondered how long she’d been unconscious. Using the wall as support, she walked to the door and plopped down cross-legged in front of it. Between the amply spaced bars, she lifted the lids off of the plates and bowls. The aromas of Ingoran prepared dishes rose up with the steam and socked the pit of her stomach with an almost physical punch. She snatched up a skin of water and took a long swallow to wet her dry mouth.

Tigh heard what sounded like an assemblage of soft boots padding up the corridor. Five gray-robed healers arranged themselves in front of her door as she lifted a forkful of spiced boiled potatoes and egg to her mouth. She raked disinterested eyes over the group as they studied her with steadfast curiosity.

“So, Tigh.” Loena Sihlor, a plump woman with gray-streaked red hair and the chief healer of the military compound, knelt down. “How are you feeling?”

Tigh stopped in mid-chew to stare at Leona. She then dropped her eyes and stuck the fork into a bowl of asparagus.

The group conferred together for a few heartbeats and came to an agreement that Tigh looked fine.

Pendon Larke, an elderly assistant healer, knelt next to Loena. “In case you’re wondering, you’ve been cleansed. You’ve only been back in your own room for just under two days. But for the last month you’ve been in the cleansing wing. Don’t worry that you can’t remember anything about it. We’ve observed that none of the Guards remember the cleansing process.”

Tigh put down her fork and stared at Pendon. She had been in someone else’s control for a month? She had been defenseless, at their mercy? “A month,” she rasped, surprised at how her voice scraped against her ears. “Cleansed.”

“Yes,” Pendon said. “We’ve also observed that most Guards don’t notice their violent tendencies are gone.”

Tigh looked deep within herself, felt for her very essence, and came up with a stranger.

“You are no longer Tigh the Terrible,” Loena said.

Tigh pinned Loena with hard eyes. “I will always be Tigh the Terrible.”

VISITORS.
TIGH GRABBED the iron bar lodged well over her head between the narrow walls. She pulled up and held the position until her arms burned and her nerves calmed.

The hard clicks of Ingoran boots against the wooden floor echoed in the corridor. She dropped off of the bar and shook her arms out as she watched the door with apprehension. Seven years and a nightmarish lifetime had passed since she had last seen any member of her family. Now her parents had traveled all the way from Ingor to see what was left of the daughter who was heir to the House of Tigis.

The gray-robed assistant healer appeared and slipped a large key into the door lock, the resulting grate of metal against metal echoed down the quiet corridor. Tigh stepped back against the window and the door opened. Her mother and father entered the cell and their presence seemed to suck the air out of the confined space. She could only stare at these living remnants of her shattered youth.

Paldon Tigis, dressed in a well-tailored Ingoran tunic and leggings, had the open confident face of a successful merchant. Her eyes, taking in Tigh’s residence for the last seven years with a quick appraising glance, were of a darker blue than Tigh’s but her black hair and fair complexion left no doubt that they were closely related. Joul Tigis, clothed in a simple, but delicately spun long tunic and leggings, cast sad encouraging green eyes at Tigh. She noticed his light brown hair had streaks of gray that weren’t there the last time she had seen him.

“Paldar.” Paldon stepped forward and opened her arms to her skittish daughter. “Come give your mother a proper greeting.”

Tigh had avoided human contact for the two years she had been a fugitive from the Wars and trembled at the shock of warmth from her mother’s understanding embrace and soothing words of comfort. Joul stepped forward and she was passed into his caring arms.

“It’s good to see you again, Daughter.” Joul’s gentle voice lit a fire of memories in Tigh’s devastated mind.

“Let’s all sit and catch our breaths from the climb up those steps,” Paldon said as she and Joul led Tigh to the cot and sat on either side of her. “We’re not as young as we once were.”

“Thank you for visiting,” Tigh whispered to the floor.

“You’re our eldest daughter, no matter what the state has done to you in the name of service to the Southern Territories.” Paldon rubbed Tigh’s muscle hardened arm. “We want to make sure you get through this rehabilitation process so you can come home where you belong.”

“It’s not as simple as that.” Tigh couldn’t keep down her anguish at the thought of being returned to society and knowing what she had been during the Wars.

“Loena Sihlor appears to be a very competent healer and she feels you’re not giving the process a chance to work for you,” Paldon said.

Tigh took a deep breath and focused on a small knot in the dark wood floor. “Most of the Guards aren’t known by sight. They can return to the world with only their own demons to fight against. The people know me. Not because I was the supreme commander of the last victorious campaigns but because I was Tigh the Terrible.”

“But the healers say you’ve been cleansed of all that nastiness,” Paldon said. “You’re certainly the daughter I remember you to be. A little fitter perhaps, but that’s not a bad thing.”

“Cleansing me doesn’t cleanse the people’s memories of what I was and what I did.” Tigh’s voice cracked with intense despair at the thought of never being free again. “The cleansing didn’t remove the memories of who I was from myself. I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting both society’s memories and my own.”

“Let the healers help you. That’s their job, after all,” Paldon said. “You’re the eldest daughter of the House of Tigis. The talent you showed for leadership in the Guards is a great attribute to our family.”

“That Tigh is dead. May I forever trample on her grave.” Tigh broke away from the loose hold of her parents and bolted to the window. “Whatever it was that made me a leader is also dead,” she said to the flower scented breeze touching her face.

“We’ll be spending a few days here in Ynit,” Paldon said. “We’ll be back tomorrow. All we ask is you think about what we’ve discussed. Remember, you always have a family to come home to.”

Chapter 3

Jame paused as they stepped from the tunnel that burrowed into the southern wall of Emor, the only city in Emoria, carved from a horseshoe shaped canyon high in the Phytian Mountains. The natural caves and shelters that pocked the white rock bluffs of the canyon had been artfully fashioned into residences and shops.

A cobblestone square filled the bottom of the canyon, concealing the stream bed that flowed through the valley. Jame had always enjoyed performing the spring maintenance of the shallow wells that were used to access this water and fortifying the dammed lake further up the stream that protected the city from all but the most severe floods.

At that time of the evening, in the gray dusk, Emor was quiet. She used to know every stone of the city.
Why does it look strangely foreign now?

“As you can see, nothing’s changed.” Argis sauntered into the square.

Jame frowned at Argis’s back but decided not to say anything. Maybe she was just tired after traveling all day. She knew she was hungry.

They walked across the square to the double wooden doors of the palace. Jame couldn’t describe what she felt as she looked up at the towering walls of stone, painted with bright murals of legendary Emorans and speckled with lights flickering behind quartz windows. She was glad to see her home again and she looked forward to visiting with her family and friends, but she knew she was just visiting. Her life lay somewhere else until she had to return as queen.

“I’ll go on ahead and let the queen know you’re here,” Tas said when they entered the main hall of the palace with its cascading walls of etched stone soaring up to the top of the bluff.

Jame caught the conspiratorial look that passed between her old friends and realized that Tas thought that she and Argis wanted to spend some time alone before the evening meal. She and Argis had deepened their relationship during her last prolonged visit two years earlier but she had drifted away from it as she became immersed in her new position as assistant arbiter. Now face to face with Argis again, she wasn’t sure how she felt about the taciturn warrior.

“Welcome home, my princess.”

“Poylin.” Jame hugged a slender scout and ruffled her unruly sand-colored hair. “You have your scout braid.”

“Yeah.” Poylin grinned. “Now Olet can’t tease me anymore.”

“About not having a braid, at least.” Jame ducked Poylin’s playful swipe.

Several other women greeted Jame and she laughed and talked with each of them.
Maybe coming home wasn’t so bad
. She stepped on the wide curve cut into the stone and lined with torches and trudged up the steep incline to the next floor and the next curve.

She glanced at Argis, who was scowling at something. She looked down the corridor and grinned as Sark, Queen Jyak’s right hand, strode to her. She looked back at Argis, who was still scowling.
What’s that all about?

“My princess,” Sark said. “We’re all so happy you could make it home.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Jame said. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

Sark held out her arm. “It’s all healed and good as new.”

“That’s good to hear.” Jame glanced at Argis and was surprised to see the scowl still in place.

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Sark said. “See you at evening meal.”

Jame walked up the next curve carved out of the wall to a short corridor with just two doors on either side of it. The quiet contrasted with the other floors of the palace, reminding her that these rooms were for her to fill with her own family. When she was ready to settle down.

Jame paused outside the door of her chamber and thought of the countless times she had crossed that threshold and had taken sweet refuge within.

Argis, seemingly oblivious to Jame’s mental trips into the land of ambivalence, pushed open the door. Warm air rushed out to meet them from the chattering flame in the fireplace carved into a side wall and the warm spring fed waterfall and pool tucked in the back of the chamber.

Jame was surprised to see that everything was as she had left it. A shrine to a life that felt like it had been lived by someone else.

“I bet it feels good to be home.” Argis grinned as she followed Jame into the chamber. “I’m happy to see you.”

Jame realized that Argis would never understand what it was like to be away from home for so long to pursue something she truly enjoyed. “I missed you, too.”

Argis’s odd uncertain look softened into one of happiness as she wrapped her arms around Jame and kissed her.

Jame’s stomach rumbled and spared her the need to remind Argis that they were expected in the dining hall. If she had been ambivalent about her feelings, Argis’s arms around her brought them into acute focus. She knew at that moment the intensity of their romance from two years before had faded. Maybe returning home hadn’t been such a good idea.

“WE UNDERSTAND YOU have to adjust to having your mental enhancements cleansed,” Paldon said.

Tigh sat on her cot and stared at the piece of parchment in her hand. She listened to her mother’s words and knew that a sheltered merchant could never understand what she felt.

“She knows we understand.” Joul turned from gazing out the window. “She’s just uncertain about taking this next step. Isn’t that right, Tigh?”

Tigh looked up at the use of her nickname, a sign of acceptance of her chosen identity. She was too confused and exhausted to argue anymore. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Paldon knelt in front of Tigh. “We know everything seems hopeless right now. Healer Sihlor said every Guard feels that way when they’re first cleansed. You just have to trust us and take the next step. All you have to do is sign that parchment and let the healers help you to adjust to the cleansing.”

Paldon’s reasonable voice had always soothed Tigh’s unsettled mind when she was young. She stared at the floor. “Did they ask you to come here?”

“We received a letter explaining your situation and we offered our help,” Paldon said. “You’re our eldest daughter and our heir. We’ve long gotten past our bitterness against the state for misleading us about what it meant to be a Guard. We only saw it as an opportunity for you to gain some worldly experience.”

“Besides, they wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Tigh raised sad eyes to her mother. “And the compensation was hard to say no to.”

“All the Guards’ families were equally compensated,” Paldon said. “It was only right that they paid for your services.”

“They did pay us for our services,” Tigh said. “Plus the spoils of our conquests.”

Paldon frowned. “Spoils?”

“War is not the bright glamorous campaigns depicted in the books you like to read.” Tigh gazed across the room and saw in her mind’s eye bloody battlefields and ransacked cities. “We conquered, then we sacked and took whatever we wanted. We were ruthless without mercy. The Guards were used to spread fear to the next city that thought of resisting our advancing armies. We were never allowed to go near a city or army that had surrendered. We couldn’t be controlled enough to act civilized. So we fought armies in the field and were brought in to suck the life out of cities foolhardy enough to think they could beat us. We weren’t treated like human beings. We were weapons tipped with poison, carefully controlled until pointed at a target. Then we were let loose to create terror and mayhem. That’s what I have to carry around up here.” She tapped her head. “And it’s never going to go away. The best the healers can do is help me live with the memories.” She raised bleak eyes to her parents who looked shaken by her words. “Would you want to pretend to live a normal life with memories like that clawing forever against the back of your mind?”