Chapter Six: Old Blood

Ashilis tried to make up a story as he made his way back through the dark room. The best he could come up with was a dramatic retelling of the fight between the Patrol and the Throttlers that he took a part in. He doubted that a story of such a common occurrence would be worth much to the Orators though, no matter how important he made it sound. Maybe he could try to convince someone with more of their memories intact to talk to him, then make a story out of that?

He sighed as he stepped back into his slice. The smoky curls of darkness clung to him for a moment, as always, before burning away in the relative light of the common space. He watched them vanish, searching for some kind of inspiration in their misty shapes. No luck. Instead, he turned towards his cell and began the walk back. He hadn't come back with any morogrib this time, but Drym always had better luck with that kind of thing anyway. Besides, the big man did keep asking him about "The Plan," and Ashilis had gone out to work on that today, so he didn't feel too guilty about coming back empty-handed.

Drym raised a hand in acknowledgement as Ashilis approached the cell, then marched off to get them some food. The post-flood rush for the plates had abated, but not so much time had passed that one of the gangs could march a whole group through the dark room to seize control. It was as close to the perfect time for them to claim a spot as they could reasonably predict.

Ashilis nodded to him as he passed. He wasn't one for passing conversation, and Ashilis had learned to stop trying. He leaned up against the wall beside the cell door—a thick stone slab with a small hole set into it at eye level—and prepared himself for the coming conversation. Talking with Bellavie was a challenge. He had to constantly second-guess his own thoughts, making sure that they aligned with how he usually felt, but Bellavie was also remarkably clever. She had managed to distract him through regular conversation, then implant some opinion or another in his head several times already. At least she usually waited for him to initiate.

He took a moment to listen. Judging by how he couldn't hear the sound of flowing water, it all must have drained while he was gone. That was good. Ashilis hated leaving Bellavie in the cell when it was flooded. Drym had caught onto that and started taking up guard just before each flood. He needn't have worried. Ashilis wasn't about to let Bellavie out just because he felt bad for her—if that were the case, he never would have agreed to keeping her locked up in the first place.

It did feel wrong, though. He told himself that it wasn't that different from normal prison life, or that she was lucky, in a way, because she didn't have to worry about getting her own food. He knew those were lies. Bellavie was a prisoner's prisoner, deprived of even the barest suggestion of freedom. Ashilis was no better than the Vicarts in that regard, and he was about to do another thing that was disturbingly similar to them.

"Hi, Bellavie," he said softly. No response. "I went and visited the Orators today. They said that I may be able to hear one of their histories if I trade them a story for it. I don't suppose you have any interesting ones to share?"

"Hi, Ashilis," Bellavie snapped. "My day was great, thanks for asking. I didn't drown, and Drym only insulted me six times. I think the big softie is finally coming around to my undeniable charms."

He winced. "I'm sorry, Bellavie. I want to let you out, really I do, but we don't know if we can trust you yet."

"You can't," Bellavie said lightly. "Obviously. Because otherwise you would've figured it out already." he heard her move inside the cell, and when she spoke again, she did so from closer to the door. "I haven't lied to you even once yet, you know."

That might be true, Ashilis thought. So far, all of her information has been proven good one way or the other. But no... that isn't the issue here.

"You know that's not the point," he said gently.

"Yes, of course. You don't trust me because I can put ideas in your little head—which you should really be thanking me for, by the way. I'm doing my part to fill the gaps that the Vicarts yank out of you," Bellavie said. Her tone was conversational, but Ashilis could see Anger's bubbling liquid seeping out from beneath the door. She sounded even closer now, and when Ashilis glanced to the side, he could see her purple eyes staring at him through the hole in the door, so close that she must be up on her toes to peek through. "The things I can do are a part of me, Ashilis. I was doing them instinctually before I learned how to control it. Believe it or not, I'm reigning in my little mind tricks. If this much scares you, then Zix forbid you're around when I forget how to keep it all in check."

Ashilis pushed off the wall and turned to face her, meeting her eyes. "I want to trust you," he whispered. "I just need a good reason. Something that will convince Drym."

Bellavie scoffed and moved away from the peephole.

He grit his teeth, then yanked open the door and stepped into the cell, wading through Anger that had filled the room to mid-thigh. What he saw shocked him powerfully enough to draw Surprise. The umbra's presence caused the whole room to become more vibrant. Colors popped and the lines between the bricks of the wall sharpened, as if everything was brought into focus at the same time. None of it improved the state that she was in. The Bellavie that Ashilis had seen when he first set her free wasn't healthy by any stretch of the imagination, but she was only a little below average for the people of the Scarum. This Bellavie was emaciated, barely skin and bones. Her face was gaunt, her thin legs trembled with the effort of standing up straight, and her clothes hung on her body like she was a child wearing her father's tunic.

She frowned at the fading vibrancy of the room—Surprise never stuck around for long—then abruptly looked away as she realized why it was there.

"So when I let you out..." Ashilis began, his mouth dry.

"I needed to look strong enough to give you what I promised," Bellavie muttered. "Besides, people are more likely to help someone if they happen to be pretty. I improved myself so that you would be more likely to help me out." She glared at him. "Happy?"

"Zix's rotting heart," Ashilis said. "Why didn't you say anything? We could've been giving you extra food!"

Bellavie actually laughed—not the fake, friendly laugh she had during that first walk to the cell, but a sharp, rueful sound that carried no real mirth. "Would you act all pitiful for the Vicarts, hoping they would spare you? Would you expect anything?"

"I'm not a Vicart," Ashilis growled, surprised by his own vehemence.

"Might as well be, from where I'm standing."

Ashilis looked away. She was right, and he had already confronted that idea, but the fact that she had come to the same conclusion hit harder than his own realization of it. It took every ounce of his willpower to not throw open the door and set her loose, just to prove that she was wrong about him. Only the whispered concern that she had intentionally planted those very doubts in his head kept him in check.

"I'll get you more food," Ashilis promised, turning toward the door.

Bellavie watched Ashilis leave, and only allowed herself to slump against the wall when the door was fully shut. She put a hand over her eyes, sighing softly. What was she doing? The plan was to act sweet and friendly, give him what he wanted, then escape once he dropped his guard. He walked right into her cell—she had a golden opportunity to club him over the head with her chains and make a run for it. Why hadn't she?

She was still weak, yes, but she could ignore that for a while. Then it was just a matter of finding someone to scam food out of and hunkering down until Ashilis and Drym got taken away to have their memories drained again. She had done it dozens of times before. Why was it so difficult this time?

Bellavie knew the answer without much thought. It was all Ashilis' fault. If it had been Drym who confronted her, she would've had no trouble bashing his head in, but Ashilis... She wanted to hate him, and she thought that she did sometimes, but it was hard to hold onto that anger. Indeed, the boiling red liquid around her had already receded to barely a puddle around her feet. 

Everyone that she had tricked so far—at least those that she could remember—had been some variety of awful. It was easy for her to think that they deserved what she was doing to them, so she could ignore their paper-thin overtures of friendship, and their inevitable turn towards disgust barely bothered her. Ashilis, though, was actually genuine. Initially, she had found his willingness to trust people naïve, but he had proven himself to be more thoughtful than most over the last few days. His trust was a measured thing, and it had its limits.

Obviously, she thought, sliding down the wall to splash in her puddle of Anger. It fully receded as she leaned her head back against the wall. Bellavie watched the red liquid drain away, sinking through the ground as if leaking through gaps. She felt a detached sense of annoyance at the umbra. Stupid thing thinks it knows how I'm feeling better than I do.

Unfortunately, it probably did. That was the trouble with emotional umbra sometimes. You could only draw them with powerful feelings, and they stuck around for as long as the emotion that drew them remained strong. They only disappeared once the emotion had faded. So, as much as Bellavie told herself that she was angry—wanted to be angry—Anger itself disagreed.

She noticed with some surprise that she had been unconsciously projecting to Ashilis, making him doubt his own frustration with her. Was she doing that because she needed him to trust her if she wanted to be set free, or did she actually not want the affable young man to be annoyed with her? It didn't matter. The effect mattered more than the cause, and she had only one path out of here.

She sighed, then glanced over at the door. "Hey," she called. "You mentioned something about the 'Rators?"

Ashilis didn't immediately respond, and Bellavie was briefly worried that her accusations had pushed him too far. Comparing him to the Vicarts did seem to hit him pretty hard.

"One of their members said that I may be able to trade a story to hear one of their histories. That seemed like the best way to get information about the Scarum," he eventually said, his tone carefully controlled.

Bellavie suppressed a spike of annoyance. She was a good way to get information, and she had answered each of his questions as honestly as she could so far. As frustrating as it was that he refused to take her words at face value, Bellavie couldn't deny that she would do the same thing in his place. Well, she had promised that she could teach him how to deal with the gangs—granted, she had thought that they would've all killed one another by now, but her methods might still work.

"Not a bad idea," she said. "You'll have to get something juicy, though. If you ask me, it's a lot easier to just pretend that you're one of them. The beautiful thing about the Scarum is that no one is really certain of anything. Act like you know people and they'll just assume that they've forgotten you, especially if you can find out something about them first. It'll fall apart if you try pulling it on too many people, but if you're careful, the 'Rators aren't organized enough to catch you in a lie before its too late."

Ashilis grunted. "What if I want to do this fairly? How do you suggest I go about getting a story?"

Bellavie rolled her eyes. "I suppose you could hope that someone new gets dumped into the Scarum and ask them," she said. "Or you could try collecting gossip. That'd be challenging, though. It has to be important enough to warrant interest from the 'Rators, but not so important that they'd have already heard it."

"Mooni suggested something fictional. She said that 'The Voices' are always looking for more inspiration. How hard do you think it would be to make something up?"

Bellavie laughed. "For people like us, very. Stories are built out of little snippets of familiar things. You pull apart your own memories, make them shine with a dash of the fantastical, then stitch them back together into a more interesting whole." She shook her head. "We don't have a lot to work with, which is why the 'Rators value that kind of thing so much. You'd have to be really innovative to think of something that none of them, with all their materials, have thought of."

Ashilis was quiet for a long moment. He got like that whenever he was confronted with how little he remembered. "You talk about these methods with familiarity," he eventually said. "Have you done them before?"

"Oh, sure," Bellavie said. "Plenty of times."

"So you must have been in here for a while," he said softly.

Bellavie didn't reply. She stared at the wall of her cell and felt her vision start to unfocus. She had been here for a while. The Vicarts didn't like feeding on her—something about her powers, she guessed—but they wouldn't kill her either. She still got dragged away every once in a while, and she didn't think she was any better at resisting their memory draining than the other prisoners, but her mind was mostly intact, she thought. It was hard to notice the gaps sometimes.

"Sorry," Ashilis eventually said, drawing her attention back to the present. "That was insensitive. If it's any consolation, I think I've been in here for a long time too. I don't remember anything from more than a few days ago, and sometimes people say a word that I can't seem to recall the meaning of. We're both old blood of the Scarum. Funny how that actually makes us less wise than the reds."

"Stop apologizing so much," Bellavie grumbled. She didn't answer his question, though. It had been a little insensitive.

Ashilis let out a wry chuckle. "I'll work on that."

Bellavie rolled her eyes again. This was the problem with Ashilis. He was just so rotting earnest. Even she could tell that he didn't like keeping her locked up, and she didn't even doubt his intentions most of the time. That was practically as good as trusting him in her book. A part of her, the normal part, hated that. Another, deeper part, desperately clung to the feeling. How nice would it be to not worry for a while? To believe that decent people exist, and that someone like that could care about someone like her.

It was probably impossible, she knew, but Bellavie was an expert at lying to herself. What was the harm in pretending for a little while longer? The time for doubt and betrayal could come later. For now, Ashilis needed to learn how to lie.