Persona (The Island Book 2) Page 12

  “You can't do this,” Della's voice whispers from the darkness below. “You're too weak.”

  “Watch me,” I imagine myself telling her. “Just watch.”

  A moment later I feel my left hand coming free and I make my move, quickly gripping Walter's wrist and holding tight. I feel bursts of pain running along my entire arm, but if I let go now, I'm dead.

  “And what's this in aid of, eh?” he asks, his voice once again filled with amusement. “Do you think I'll show pity for you and haul you up? You poor, weak little thing, why haven't you given up yet? Are you so desperate to cling on to life? Let me give you a word of advice here... Life isn't worth a dime! There's only misery and pain here on the island, so do you really want to fight so desperately to experience more of that horror? Just let go, and soon you'll be able to leave this world behind.”

  Ignoring his taunts, I tighten my grip.

  “I'm not going to bring you up,” he continues as he looms above me, silhouetted against the starry night sky. “You're going to die down there, girl.”

  Letting out a grunt of pain, I squeeze his wrist even harder, waiting for the right moment.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he tells me, “I can assure you, I'll never forget the way you've fought to survive. You've shown me just how tough and resilient the human spirit can be, even when face with insurmountable -”

  Before he can finish, I use my legs to kick away from the side of the pit. There's a brief pause as he tries to stop me, and then he lets out a cry as gravity does the rest. As I start to fall, I squeeze his wrist tighter than ever, tight enough to ensure that he comes tumbling after me. We fall through the darkness, and a fraction of a second later we crash down together into the soup below. He lands on top of me, pushing me down until I feel myself hitting the submerged bodies at the very bottom of the pit, but I quickly twist around and swim back up, finally reaching the surface and gasping for air. Frantically, I start wading toward the side, so I can start climbing up again.

  Suddenly Walter grabs me from below and starts pulling me down. I try to struggle, but I barely have the strength to fight back. He grabs my shoulders, pulling on me with all his weight until finally I'm submerged again. Hauling myself up, I manage to break the surface after a few seconds, just as Walter starts trying to climb up the side of the pit. I lunge at him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back, but he elbows me in the face and sends me tumbling back. I crash into the water, but this time I manage stay on my feet and I reach out for him again, pulling him around and slamming him against the pit's muddy wall.

  “You're a dumb bitch!” he hisses, grabbing my face with his right hand and trying to dig his thumb into my eye. “You're never going to -”

  Before he can finish, I push his head down under the surface of the soupy water. His right arm, reaching up from below, is still trying to gouge my eye out, and I gasp in pain as I feel him struggling to get back up. Deep down I know that this is my last chance, so I focus all my remaining strength on a desperate attempt to push him further into the depths. For a moment, I feel as though his thumb is actually going to burst straight through my eyeball, but finally I realize that he's starting to weaken. I let out a cry of pain as I force him deeper into the water, and slowly his struggle starts to fade until he falls still. After a moment his thumb stops pushing against my eye, and his hand slips down my face before splashing lifelessly into the soupy water. Refusing to accept that he's dead yet, I hold him under for several more minutes until I realize that there's absolutely no way he can be alive.

  When I let go of his head, he sinks down into the depths.

  Leaning back against the muddy wall, I desperately try to get some air into my lungs. Every breath is agony, and I'm starting to think that I might have fractured a rib, but after a moment I realize that if I'm going to get out of here, I have to start moving. Turning, I dig my hands into the wall and start climbing, pushing through the pain. My tunic has been soaked since I first fell into the pit, but now the water's extra weight seems to be dragged me down with more force, trying to make me fall. Somehow I manage to reach the top, and when I clamber over the edge I feel the metal spikes digging into my side. I roll away, finally stopping on my back and staring up at the vast starry sky.

  Closing my right eye, I find to my relief that despite Walter's best efforts, I can still see through it perfectly. At that very moment, a shooting star arcs across the night sky.

  “Remember when we saw one of those?” Della's voice whispers.

  “Yeah,” I try to say, momentarily forgetting that I can't speak. All that emerges from my mouth is a faint gurgle, and then a moment later I roll over and start to vomit, bringing up some of the foul human soup that I accidentally swallowed during the struggle.

  “Walter was right,” she continues. “Life is too hard. Not only here on the island, but everywhere. Little moments of pleasure, like watching a shooting star, aren't enough to make up for all the misery we have to endure.”

  That's not my sister.

  She'd never say anything like that.

  If she was here now, she'd tell me that things are going to get better, that I can get out of this mess. She'd tell me to get up and start walking, and to make sure I find Steadfall so I can warn Asher.

  “Believing in something is one thing,” I remember Bran telling me once, before I betrayed him, “but you have to actually fight for it. No matter how hard it feels, you have to haul yourself up and fight for what's important.”

  “It's too hard,” I imagine myself telling him. “I'm not that kind of person.”

  “Everyone has to die some day,” he continues, “but what day do you want that to be? Do you want to die right now, alone and sick, shivering in the mud, with your friends in danger? Or do you want to last at least a little longer, and try to help them all?”

  For a moment, I feel my mind dimming, as if I'm losing consciousness.

  “You have to warn the others,” Bran reminds me finally. “You can't rest now.”

  He's right, but I'm too tired. I just need to rest.

  “Iris,” Della's voice continues, as I roll onto my side, “what are you doing?”

  “Sleep,” I imagine myself reply. “I need to sleep.”

  “Iris, no,” she continues, “you have to get up!”

  “I'll sleep for a little while.” My mind is fading now, as I start to lose consciousness. “The morning sun will dry me, and then I can...”

  For a moment, my thoughts fade to darkness.

  “You'll die if you try to sleep!” Della's voice hisses.

  My eyes flicker open.

  “Iris,” she says firmly, “you have to get up!”

  Even though I'm in agony, I know I have to find a way to let Asher know what's happening. I might be too late, but there's still a chance I can get to them in time. I might have been tricked into betraying people in the past, but this time I can do the right thing. There'll be time to sleep later, but right now I have to help the others.

  Hauling myself to my feet, I use the north star to work out the right direction and then I start walking, stumbling through the forest. I feel almost like a zombie, as if my mind is fading and I'm simply making my way through the darkness with a single goal in mind. I don't even know how far I have to walk, although I'm pretty sure that I doubled back around toward Steadfall over the past few weeks, which means I shouldn't have to go too far. A few days at most, maybe even less. All my addled mind can think about is the fact that I have to warn the others that there's danger on the island.

  “That's right,” Della's voice whispers, as if to encourage me. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You can do this!”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Asher

  “Don't be an idiot, Asher!” Doctor Phillips hisses, making some more notes on the chart at the foot of my bed. “Frankly, I expected better from you by now. What's wrong? Is military training too hard for you?”

  I know this is a drea
m, I know it's just a recreation of something that happened a long time ago, but that knowledge isn't enough to keep me from panicking. Pulling on the restraints that are holding me to the bed, I try desperately to get free. The metal frame shudders, but after a few seconds I realize that I'm completely powerless.

  “Focus, Asher,” Doctor Phillips continues, stepping around the bed and leaning closer to my face. “Ignore your fears. Ignore any pain you might be feeling. Just try to focus on your training. Remember what -”

  “Go to hell!” I gasp.

  “Do you think you're improving, Asher?” she asks. “Can you feel yourself becoming a better warrior? It's not just a physical change, it's also about your attitude. Can you feel yourself getting stronger?”

  I want to tell her yet again to go to hell, but I figure it's just a waste of energy.

  “Come on,” she says with a smile. “If you just admit that you're getting better, you might start to embrace the change. Don't you want to be the best possible soldier? Don't you want to push yourself to the limits of your potential?”

  Holding my breath, I try to focus on the restraint around my left wrist. If I can just get that loose, I might be able to work on the rest.

  “Come on, Asher,” she continues, “don't be obstinate. The next phase in your program is acceptance. We've done all we can while you continue to struggle, but now you must come to terms with your role in life. You were born with exceptional gifts, and we simply want to help you make the most of your potential.” She pauses for a moment, watching as I struggle with the restraint around my wrist. “Asher, this childishness is unbecoming.”

  She leans over and presses something on the side of the bed, and the restraint immediately snaps twice as tight around my left wrist, causing me to cry out in pain.

  “Are you satisfied now?” she asks dourly, clearly unimpressed by my efforts. “Accept what you are, Asher, and then you can move on to the next level of the academy.”

  “Never!” I spit back at her.

  “Asher -”

  “I'm not a soldier!”

  “You're absolutely a soldier,” she replies, setting her clipboard aside and making her way along the side of the bed, before leaning down to smile at me. “Not only that, but I have a feeling you're going to be one of the most effective soldiers we've ever produced. After all these years of training, you -”

  “I'm not a soldier!” I scream, trying to lunge at her but quickly held back by the restraints. “I'll never be what you want! I'm -”

  ***

  “Steadfall!” I shout, suddenly sitting up in the morning air and letting out a gasp of shock. Short of breath and with half my mind still emerging from the dream, I look over at the fire and see that it's burning brighter and stronger than ever before. My clothes are nearby and I've been sleeping naked, but I'm not remotely cold thanks to the flames nearby.

  Looking around, I realize that there's no sign of Harold.

  He must have set the fire going and then gone back to town.

  Grabbing my clothes, I get dressed as quickly as possible. My mind is racing with half-remembered memories from last night, but by the time I'm fully-dressed I feel a sense of nausea creeping through my belly. Stopping for a moment on my knees, I try to work out how the hell I managed to do something so stupid. I've made some mistakes in my life, sure, but sleeping with Harold might well have been the biggest of all. I don't even like the guy, but somehow he slipped through my defenses and persuaded me to take a chance. Just because I was cold and shivering, that was no reason to give in to my baser instincts and...

  A fresh wave of nausea rumbles through my guts, and I take a moment to steady myself.

  “Idiot,” I mutter finally, stumbling to my feet. As well as the incident with Harold, I've also been shaken by my dream from a moment ago. It's been a long time since I had such a vivid nightmare about the old days, but obviously something has gotten loose in my soul, rising slowly to the surface. Trying not to panic, I nevertheless notice that my hands are shaking as I smooth down the front of my tunic. At least I'm not sick, which means I can get back to town and show the others that none of Mary's blood got into my system. After taking a moment to put the fire out properly, I turn and start making my way through the forest, while trying to work out how I'm ever going to face Harold again.

  I just have to be straight with him.

  “Last night was a mistake,” I imagine myself saying. “It won't happen again. I was cold, I needed warmth. We were just helping each other.”

  Damn it.

  How could I have been so utterly stupid? Stopping for a moment to lean against a tree, I feel as if I need to scream with pure frustration. My whole body is shuddering thanks to a toxic combination of shame, anger and regret, and the worst part is that I feel as if I'm not even the same person anymore. Taking another deep breath, I try to pull myself together, but a moment later I realize I can hear footsteps coming closer. Expecting to find that Harold is coming back, I turn and look toward the town, only to find to my surprise that one of the other men, George Umbolt, is heading this way.

  “I'm fine,” I tell him, taking a step toward him as he stops nearby. “See? I'm not sick at all.”

  “That's great, Asher,” he replies.

  I open my mouth to ask what's wrong, but I can see from the look in his eyes that he's troubled by something. After a moment, it occurs to me that maybe Harold told everyone what happened.

  “Is anyone else sick?” I ask, trying to control my slowly-growing sense of panic.

  “Not so far.”

  “Then maybe it's been contained,” I continue. “Maybe we got lucky.”

  “Maybe.”

  I wait for him to continue, but finally I decide I just need to get back to town. When I try to step past him, however, he deliberately moves to block my way. He's a large man, maybe the strongest citizen of Steadfall, and he knows how to use his size.

  “What's the problem?” I ask cautiously. “George, I just -”

  “We've been talking,” he says firmly, “and we've come to a decision. We voted on it.”

  “Voted on what?”

  He stares at me.

  “Let's get back to town,” I continue, trying once again to slip past him, “and then -”

  “You're not going back to town,” he says firmly, still blocking my path. “Asher, don't make this harder than it has to be. Don't make me spell it out, either. You must have seen this coming.”

  “Seen what coming?” I ask, even though I can feel a shiver of fear in my chest.

  “After you left last night,” he continues, “Harold suggested that we should hold a vote about your future.”

  I wait for him to continue.

  “And?” I ask finally.

  “The result wasn't even close, Asher. We decided almost unanimously that we want to move ahead without you.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we see a better future for ourselves if we make some changes.” He pauses again. “Asher, you know I've always been one of the people who sticks up for you, but even I started to see that you... Face it, you've been losing control. That's sad, and I'm sorry about it, but we can't let the whole town get dragged down with you.”

  “Steadfall is my town,” I tell him.

  “It was,” he replies, “but it's grown.”

  “I've always said people should leave if they don't like how I run the place,” I continue, trying not to panic. “That was always the rule, everyone understood when they arrived that they could -”

  “No-one wants you there anymore,” he says firmly, interrupting me. “Harold gave a speech yesterday and he made some good points, and then the vote took place and only two people wanted you to stay as leader. It wouldn't work with you still hanging around, Asher, so we figure the best option is for you to just get going. I know that's tough, but -”

  “What speech?” I ask. “What did Harold say?”

  “He just -”

  “D
id he speak out to defend me?” I continue, as my anger grows, “or...”

  “It was Harold's idea to hold the vote,” he tells me. “He said what we all knew deep down, which is that you've lost control of Steadfall. When Deckard was still around, he managed to keep things under control, but you made a big mistake when you forced him to leave. Harold helped us understand that we can do better, that we need to focus on defending the town in case aggressors show up. There's -”

  “No way,” I say firmly, pushing past him and hurrying back toward town.

  “Asher!” he calls after me. “Wait! I'm not supposed to let you go that way! Asher, it's over!”

  “Try and stop me,” I mutter darkly. A moment later, I hear footsteps coming up behind me, and then a hand grabs my shoulder.

  “Please,” George starts to say, “just -”

  Swinging around, I punch him square in the jaw, sending him slumping down to the ground. I let out a gasp of pain as I look at my hand, but I figure one more injury is just another for the list. With George unconscious on the ground, I turn and resume my march toward Steadfall, and soon enough I can see the main perimeter fence up ahead. I keep walking, determined to show them that they can't keep me away, but suddenly a group of men comes to meet me and we stop just a few meters apart. My heart is pounding now, but I know I can't let them see my fear.

  “Asher,” one of the men says, “you need to -”

  “This is my town,” I say firmly. “You don't like it, you can leave.”

  “Only one person is leaving today,” he replies, “and that's you. Sorry, it's just the way things have to be.”

  “Because of some speech Harold gave?” I ask, trembling with anger. “Where is he? I want to see his face!”

  “What he said made sense,” Carly suggests, loitering a little further back.

  “And then he came to see me and...” Pausing, I realize exactly what must have happened last night. Harold persuaded the people of Steadfall to rise up against me, and then he came out to my makeshift camp and had a little fun. Suddenly I'm able to see how cold and calculated everything has been, and how he's systematically worked to overthrow me. “Where is he?” I ask.