Imprint - 16. Ch. 3 Part VII

VII

Something was wrong; he didn't know what, couldn't put his finger on it, but something was wrong. It started with Elleth, she was distant, she was unhappy, she wouldn't look them in the eye; it spread to Dalan, then Elleth's children, then some of the older children, even Zane had seemed unusually smug though he'd long since stopped saying anything. There was a tension in the air waiting to break, waiting for something to happen.

He wasn't the only one who felt it, and Tallen clung to him tighter at night, took longer to sleep.

Today, he knew he had been walking down the hall with Tallen just a step behind him; by the time he arrived in the playroom the other boy was gone and the older kids were brushing him off and planted suspiciously near the door. Tension started rising.

He gave it only a short time, waiting for his opportunity and it wasn't long before a minor scuffle over building blocks drew people's attention and he was able to slip quickly and quietly out the door; not a moment too soon, he had worried he would have to fight for his escape. He started back down the hallway, retracing his steps, trying to find his lost friend.

Passing by the kitchen and the teenagers on dish duty, he overheard an alarming bit of conversation. “-saw it herself when she followed them. That's what they're doing out in the woods every day.”

“Shit.”

“No kidding. We're lucky that freak didn't burn the whole compound down.”

Afraid now and still not sure why, he moved faster down the hall and, seeing nothing along the way, returned to their bedroom and threw the door open.

It took a moment for him to realize what was wrong with what he was seeing: Tallen's belongings, what little he had managed to accumulate, were gone. His half of the room was empty, furniture pushed back into its proper place, there were new sheets on the neatly made bed.

A throat cleared behind him, Linnai had followed him from the playroom and was waiting patiently in the hall; her expression said she was expecting his anger, was ready to take it.

All the skill he had built up speaking with Tallen did not transfer to anyone else; mostly he was happy but sometimes wished for different. His genuine worry and fear made it worse, “...where – is he?”

Linnai was grim, sad for him, “Tallen is leaving, Frost.”

Tension wormed its way through him, twisting brutally, “...where?”

“I don't know, far away. A peacekeeper came, somewhere west where the Wolf is. Interested in Tallen's – skill,” she gave him a look, “Know you know what I mean.”

He did, but had no time to wonder when they had gotten caught.

Linnai held her hand out to him, “Come on, Frost. Come back to the room, Elleth will talk to you about this later.”

He realized again that she was herding him, trying to keep him contained, and why exactly couldn't he stay here and mourn his loss alone? Why did he have to wait for Elleth to come to him with an explanation for this betrayal, why he couldn't have been warned and given a chance to say goodbye. Why, unless...

He took off at a run, easily slipping past her; he knew his way around the compound from all the time spent hiding with Tallen and he got himself outside before anyone could catch him.

Tallen was still here, sitting on the edge of the fountain with his packed bags at his feet; Tallen's face was the carefully constructed blank he'd learned to recognize as a sign that the boy was under a heavy amount of stress. Arms wrapped tight around himself, Tallen stared straight ahead, eyes locked on a man, stranger to them both, talking to Elleth just a few feet away.

At a distance, the man looked to be in early middle age, with short brown hair that was thinning and receding up his forehead, wearing clothing in a fashion unfamiliar to the island and more expensive than what most here could afford. He looked to be healthy and in shape though his right arm looked odd somehow, thinner than the other so the sleeve hung strangely. The man was looking at Tallen, too, eyes cutting between the woman and their conversation, and the boy who was the likely subject of discussion. Contrary to what he might have expected from someone who traveled great distance for a person of interest, the man looked to be uncertain of his charge, blinking at him with a look of confusion, chasing after an answer to a question only half formed.

Tallen, ever alert, knew the second he came through the door and turned in his direction; pine green eyes widened, mouth couldn't seem to decide between a smile and a frown, between beckoning forward and shooing away. He was not going to leave no matter what, moving quickly closer, careful to avoid drawing attention.

Tallen watched him come with a dejected look on his face, speaking when he was close enough to catch a whisper, “I didn't know, not until they dragged me out here.”

“...they said you were leaving?”

“I don't want to,” Tallen insisted, loud as he dared, “She's getting rid of me.”

“...I don't want you to go.”

“I'll run away,” Tallen promised, “I can live on my own, I did it before, I'll come back here, I'll come back for you, we can go together.”

He shook his head rapidly, “No,” he could feel the panic building, Tallen's vow not near enough to soothe it away, “You can't go, you can't leave me.”

He could feel the weight of eyes on him, drilling into the side of his face. He turned his head slowly and found the strange man now looking at him. The previous confusion rapidly vanished from earth brown eyes that now moved back and forth between him and Tallen, open shock on his features as his mind put seemed to put something together.

The man's shift in attention, no longer so subtle, drew Elleth's gaze their way as well, and she was less than happy with what she saw. “Gods within, what are you doing out here?” an absentminded gesture of apology to her guest, Elleth walked forcefully toward them, gathering up every bit of authority she had, “Go back inside, right now.”

Uncharacteristically defiant, he instead stepped closer to where Tallen sat and wrapped his arms around the boy's neck; further out of character, he managed to speak, loud and without pause, “You can't take him away from me!”

Elleth sighed, shaking her head slowly, “We don't have much choice here, dear.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I really don't right now,” she quietly insisted, “I know you're upset, dear, I do. But this man knows better than I what need be done. Its for the good, this way, for Tallen, I promise you.”

He could tell Tallen did not believe that, he could feel how afraid the boy was though he tried so hard to hide it; he held Tallen tighter, gratified when he felt an arm slip around his waist in return. For the first time that he could think of their positions were reversed, Tallen needed him to stand up and he was not about to let him down. He had to think fast, what his options were, “If that's true then – then let me go, too.”

He felt Tallen stiffen at that but still said nothing, counting on Elleth to protest for him, shaking her head, “That's not going to be possible.”

“Yes it is, if he takes Tallen he can take me, too.”

“This is not for adoption, dear, you don't – don't have what they're looking for.”

“I don't care, I want to go.”

Elleth tried to look sympathetic and maybe it was genuine, but he couldn't help but think that she wasn't really so sorry about all of this. “I know it feels like the end of the worlds right now, but I promise you you will adjust to the change, you will be well enough.”

He shook his head, “No – no, I need him and I won't let you take him away from me.”

Elleth opened her mouth but was silenced by a hand on her shoulder; a left hand, attached to an arm that looked full and well formed, filling out its surrounding sleeve. “Pardon me, ma'am,” the stranger seemed to have mostly snapped out of his daze, though earth brown eyes remained fixed on him.

Elleth turned toward the man with a polite bow of the head, “Apologies, sir. The boys were very close, so of course they're upset.”

“Understandable,” the man made an effort to look at her, but the eyes wouldn't stop wandering back to him, “If I may, ma'am...”

Elleth saw his intention, indicating in their direction, “His name is Frost, sir.”

“Frost?” the man repeated, raising a brow; he sounded incredulous.

As was proper, Elleth had turned to him and made introductions in return, “Frost, this is Mr. London.”

Mr. London stepped forward around Elleth, getting down on one knee to be at eye level with him, bracing that strange right hand against his own knee. The hand was metal, a skeletal imitation with dark red aether stones at every joint, allowing the fingers to move, the wrist to turn. The man's face was weathered and aged prematurely, the smile he flashed was strained, and so many emotions swirled in his brown eyes it was impossible to separate them.

London stretched out with his human hand and gripped under his chin, gently urging his head up and their eyes to lock. He bore it without complaint; the stranger's skin was calloused and cool, the latter of which he was grateful for. Pushed the hair back out of his face and looked him over, again and again, always coming back to his eyes. The man's smile started to look less strained, more natural.

Tallen had tensed, frozen in fear as soon as the man approached; now, arm tightening around his waist, Tallen made an attempt to pull him away from London. “Get off him,” Tallen's voice was a low, shaking whisper, lacking all the power and venom of fighting with Zane; this time, Tallen was truly, deeply afraid.

London's gaze snapped back to the other boy, the look he gave killing what little fight Tallen did have, making him tremble. Cold anger, it almost bordered on hate; mouth curled into a snarl, teeth grinding together, eyes promising murder. Elleth, behind him and thus out of sight, spoke before he had the chance to, “Just stop it, Tallen. He's not hurting Frost.”

Tallen shrank further into himself, the arm around his waist clinging more for comfort than protection; before he could think to do something to calm him, those brown eyes were focused on him again. London's previous scorn was gone as though it had never been there and the hand on his face was still gentle. “Hi there...Frost,” he said in a soft voice, “Do you – do you know who I am?”

He blinked in confusion, remaining silent; he wondered if it was some requirement of manners that he ask, as the man knew he had his name.

After a moment, the man nodded, “Ah yes, well...I am a – I believe you would call them peacekeepers here, yes?” He glanced quickly back over his shoulder at Elleth who nodded in confirmation; London's eyes quickly returned to his, “Hunters where I am from. Do you know what that means?”

He thought back to what was taught to the children, the line Elleth had always wanted them to say, “You're...the good guys?”

London laughed good naturedly, “Why yes, exactly that.”

“Then please don't take my friend away from me.”

Something flickered through London's eyes, there and gone too quickly to read. “I need your friend to help me – help me save someone...someone who's been taken away long time ago, who needs to come home.”

He nodded, he understood what the man's job entailed. “I can help,” he insisted, “I can...don't do fires, but I can – something.”

“I'm sure you can,” London watched him grimly, took in his quiet determination, fingers lightly stroked his cheek, “This is important to you?”

He nodded against the man's hand, clutching tighter to Tallen to emphasis; the other boy went along with the movement, still like a rag doll, he wasn't even shaking anymore.

London did not look happy, with some reluctance he nodded his head, “Very well. If its...what you want.” The man patted his cheek before climbing back to his feet; he watched London walk back to resume his discussion with Elleth, who looked much more distressed now than she had been before, trying to argue with the man and apparently without success. Feeling confident now for whatever reason that things would be okay, he let go of Tallen and sat down on the fountain lip beside him.

Tallen's eyes followed him, confused, almost hurt. “What are you doing?”

He glanced calmly over, Tallen's scars looked almost purple against too pale skin. “Trying to help, to...stay with you.”

“I can take care of it.”

“You want to run away, that's not...doesn't help.”

“I don't want you to get hurt.”

“I won't.”

“You don't know that.”

“Not,” he took a deep breath, calming his mind, “Not – leaving you.”

When he glanced up next, London was stepped out of the compound walls, presumably to a waiting vehicle; Elleth was looking at the two of them, shaking her head helplessly. “I hope you are happy, Frost. Appears you have won.”

He couldn't help the smile that came, he was indeed happy. “I...can go?”

Elleth did not mask her displeasure, “You know this man is trying to rally people against the Black Wolf? His base is in the middle of that war zone. I believe you will come to regret this decision and it will be too late by then.”

“You were going to send Tallen,” it was almost accusatory but he couldn't help that either.

Elleth didn't deny it, “Tallen is a different matter. And this is not so much my choice.”

“I...” Tallen took several hitching breaths, trying to raise his head from his lap, trying to meet Elleth's eyes and failing to do either. His voice was choked and weak, he sounded nothing like himself, “I don't want to go...I don't want to go with him. Please.”

Elleth's eyes filled with sympathy, and this time he thought it looked more genuine. “This is out of my hands, Tallen, I told you-”

“Please,” Tallen had started shaking again, “Please, I don't want to go with him, I don't want to go with him.” A tear ran down his cheek, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, I swear I won't. Just – please don't let him take me, I don't want to go with him.”

Elleth took another step forward, reaching out as if to touch him in some attempt at comfort; Tallen, as he always had, shrank away from her and she stopped in her tracks. “I truly am sorry,” she spoke calm as she could, “Never wanted it like this. You're not being punished, Tallen, you didn't do anything, its – its that you can do something, at all. That makes this bigger than me, takes it out of my hands. There's nothing I can do now. I'm sorry.”

The last of his hopes dashed, Tallen quickly forced his features back into that blank mask, every hint of vulnerability gone from sight again. He glared at Elleth, “Make Frost stay.”

“No!” he whipped his head around, staring at his friend, surprised and hurt.

“I don't want you to get hurt.”

“He's not – won't hurt me.”

“You don't know that.”

“It isn't like that, Tallen,” Elleth quietly interrupted, “But that is out of my hands now, as well.”

Tallen's eyes narrowed, he shook his head, “I don't believe you.” Worried, he put his arm back around Tallen's shoulders, afraid for a moment that he would be pushed away but Tallen had never done that to him, he leaned into the touch. He had the thought to kiss him, that often worked to make him happy, but that was always something they did alone and he didn't think it would be a good idea to try.

He watched London come back with a second man in tow, carrying a wooden case with his metal arm that he handed off to Elleth. “Here you are, ma'am, should be sufficient compensation for any inconveniences. We thank you for your cooperation.”

Elleth accepted payment mutely, nodding her head, “I can – get him packed up, then.”

“My man here will assist you with that. Much apologies, we have a long way to go and I don't wish to take longer than necessary.” London's eyes moved back to them, to his own, smiling warmly, “It will be nearly two days to return to my home, provided we don't stop more than we need. Do not worry, the vehicle is well equipped for your comfort. You should be entertained enough.”

And as promised they were tucked away into a vehicle of their own, operated by a single driver that gave them their privacy unless he was paged; there was included a place to sleep (small and meant for one, but no different from their usual accommodations), a cold box stocked with food, and a random collection of books and toys to amuse themselves with. Unnecessary as it turned out, he was left sitting in a corner, Tallen half in his lap with his arms wound tight around him, crying uncontrollably, for the entire long drive Northwest.

The man currently calling himself London (a good enough name, he supposed, if one needed to be used) was sitting alone in his office, staring at the private phone he had placed in the middle of his desk. This phone, unlike the primary one he used day to day, made only one contact and generally stayed hidden away in the bottom of a drawer where he didn't even need to think of its existence between uses, which were thankfully rare occurrences. This was, unfortunately, one of those times.

He needed to be prepared for it, at least an hour most days, two now with recent travel and stress; time to reconfigure, find his thoughts, plan his speech and possible responses to likely questions and arguments. Rally every last scrap of patience that he possessed, a limited supply on his best day and it was never enough, never could be enough, the asshole with the twin phone saw to that, every time.

Reluctantly, he tapped the correct series of buttons, holding the phone to his ear with his one remaining hand; heard the hiss and crackle of static as the threads reached out, made the connection, sent the signal flashing and...

“Yes?” oh that voice, that smug fucking voice, always managing to sound both put upon and mocking at the exact same time, one had to wonder if he practiced in his free time to get it so perfect.

London grit his teeth, taking just a moment to calm that initial flash of rage before pushing on with it; at least it was understood to be a business relationship only, no need for any additional and meaningless pleasantries. “I'm done looking into the orphanage call.”

“And?”

“Goes by Tallen, approximately nine years old,” made like he was reciting from a report he did not have, “displays a moderate amount of independent aether wave control manifesting as fire. Impressive in that he is entirely self taught and yet precise enough to light the end of a cigarette and not burn down everything around him. However,” a pause, as though turning a page, “initial tests show there's nothing additional there, no fragment, no key, no nothing. Just an aberration.”

“And further tests?” the voice already sounded bored, that was a good sign, “Was he just born near a concentrated spot, exposed to one? One I don't know about already?”

“The boy's origins themselves are unknown. I don't believe he's going to answer questions, and further testing would be more trouble than its worth.” Another pause, another page he wasn't turning, “From what information I do have, I believe the trigger was self preservation, under duress, kept alive from a one time event into a full blown talent through his constant state of tension and sheer force of will.”

“That would be unusual. I assume you have some cause?”

“Do you remember the gang that was operating in the Arion region up until late last year?”

“Vaguely. I paid no mind, it didn't interest me.”

“There is reason to believe that Tallen was with them, prior to the orphanage.”

There was a long pause, that got the asshole's attention. “You said he was a boy, yes? Out marauding with half wits?”

“More like a pet. Something they picked up along the way.”

“Ah.”

“He may be the reason that they're dead.”

A lilting laugh, genuine and that was a rarity, “Oh, how delightful! Makes me wish I had paid notice, that would've been something to see.”

“You see my dilemma though,” slowly inching up to it, “Lot of trouble for a passing curiosity. He does not have what we want.”

A moment of thought then a disinterested noise followed, exactly what he wanted. “I suppose you're right. Send him back then.”

“I'm not sure the lady wants him back,” casual like, treading a careful line now, “From what I've seen of him, I hardly blame her.”

“Dump him somewhere else then, what does it matter?”

And here we are, right to the point and sooner than he might have hoped, “Actually, if its all the same to you, I'd like to keep him.”

Another long, confused pause. “Whatever for?”

“I believe he can be of use to me.”

“Did you not just say he's more trouble than he's worth?”

London paused, running through his planned speech again, needing to inspire agreement without reigniting the interest he just carefully doused. “He's an animal. A feral beast, he'd destroy himself quick enough if left on his own. Seems a waste of talent.” His lip curled into a smirk, human hand clenched into a fist; his voice was calm, unemotional, “I do know how to deal with animals, how to tame them and get use of them.” Another pause, “If its all the same to you.”

“Is that your way of asking me for permission?” that amused and mocking tone was back again.

No way to keep the venom out of his voice, “You don't have to rub it in.”

Another long silence and London knew the asshole was considering to do just that, having reached impressive levels of arrogance over the passing years he often seemed unable to help himself. As much as London hated this, hated him, he knew this might work in his favor; if the asshole was distracted with mocking him, then he might not stop to wonder further.

Just as London was wondering how far this might be pushed and whether or not he was willing to beg (if that would help or be counterproductive), he heard that dismissive noise again, “Do what you want. Just don't let your infatuation with the boy distract you from your work.” The you owe me went without saying, though the implication was clear.

“Its not an infatuation,” he muttered in protest, trying to swallow back the disgust the thought inspired, “Just an opportunity.”

“Whatever you want to call it, I don't care. Now do you have anything else to tell me?”

“...no.”

“Well, then. I'll get back to my own business then. I'll be out of range for several months, so have fun with your pet and don't bother trying contact.”

A further blessing, an extended amount of free time, to work freely without having to worry about the asshole popping up like a wraith. “Anything promising?” he didn't truly care, less so now than usual, but there was still the business relationship and appearances needed to be maintained.

“None of your concern,” came the cold reply, “Not everything I do is about you.” The reminder that the opposite was, one way or another, very much untrue, also went unstated but strongly implied.

London remained silent, choking down the angry replies that came readily to mind; didn't want to risk saying something that might amuse the asshole enough to put his plans on hold to visit for a few days instead, just to make a nuisance of himself when he was least wanted, potentially screwing up everything before it could even begin. Inside he seethed. Arrogant upstart bastard, if I were whole again I'd grind you into the earth. The way you run your fucking mouth, you'd think you conquered me yourself, when this was just a happy accident you took full advantage of. If I had been there then to stand in your way, you think you would've made it so far? Would you find me so fucking funny then?

It was a nice thought to have, but he knew even if things had happened differently, he likely still would've ended up in a similar position; London had been given a very thorough education on just how pointless everything would have been.

Another laugh, “Never worry, I can hear your angry tirade, even if you utter no word. Cold, impressively if I may say so, bone chilling even. But then I would expect nothing less of an icy man like you.” Now he was just being cruel. The line was disconnected abruptly, the asshole always needing to have the last word and depart with a nasty flourish if he could.

London's body moved automatically, deeply ingrained in him by now, the special phone disconnects it goes back in the drawer right away, no pause and no thinking; if he did let himself think about it, after conversations like this, he'd smash the phone to pieces in a fit of rage. Wouldn't the asshole just love that, and unfortunately he did still need him and his resources, at least for the moment.

Desk free once more of offending objects, he removed his boots and propped his feet on top; removed the heavy prosthetic arm and leaned back in the chair, eyes on the ceiling. His anger faded away, all thoughts of the asshole pushed aside; he was far too happy now to be distracted by anything else.

London was not a perfect man by any means, he had made many mistakes in his life that he had ultimately paid dearly for; removed permanently from a position of power and glory, cast out and forgotten, demoted to little better than a servant to someone who was once an inferior – yes, he had paid with everything he had. He'd had time between then and now, so much time when there was nothing to do but think, to go over it and over it in his mind, the course of events and how it all went so wrong. At first he was angry, too angry to think rationally; when that, too, faded, he could see clearly how inevitable this all was. His attitude then was embarrassing to recall, so certain of himself when, in hindsight, his error was clear. He had done his best to make peace with it all, the mistakes, the loss, his change in circumstances; he never hoped for redemption, was never foolish enough to want for a second chance, things like that did not come to those who screwed up as badly as he had.

That didn't stop him from thinking about it, that second chance he did not believe was in his grasp; didn't stop him from going over the course of events and picking out what he would do differently if he could do it over. He'd show a gentler hand, a more level head; he'd been too direct, too aggressive, assuming he could speak his verdict and have his will be done, assuming he had the loyalty of those closest to him when he hadn't ever actually done anything to earn it. He wished he had tried better to explain, thought before acting, demonstrated rather than ordered, if he had shown even an ounce of respect for the feelings of others, even if he did think they were trivial and misguided there was no need to be so openly dismissive when you want to be listened to. He was certain that, if he could do it again, he would've done it right, would've found a way to make the point, though not what you want to hear it is still the only way. There would have been tears, there would've been hurt feelings, but it would've been done, no death and no betrayal.

If only.

Sometimes it was a good thing to be wrong. And he had no intention of letting anything go to waste.