The Rouges

t w e n t y t h r e e

  WE SHADOWED THE Master over the next two rooftops. I had never accessed his building the same way twice. Every time I had entered through an access, it would be thoroughly sealed off by my next visit. Our encounter with The Master had not been as bad as I had expected— a few bumps and bruises, maybe a broken finger. The first time I met him he knocked me out cold for the better part of the day. He said the only reason he didn't kill me was because I was a kid and I could be good trading leverage to a Tribe. When I offered him a long-term agreement of exchanging food, weapons and books for his training he knocked me out again while he thought about it. Apparently my first two lessons were how to take a hit. I was twelve.  

  We went in through an abandoned elevator shaft this time. The Master jumped carelessly into the shaft, zipping downward at an alarming speed. He didn't care if we followed or not. If we were too scared, he wouldn't have to deal with us. If we fell to our deaths, no one would ever have to deal with us again.

I made sure Triven watched closely as I wound my legs around the cables and gripped tightly with both hands. His eyes flickered for just a moment as I slid down the shaft into the darkness. I could feel him climb on above me as the cables whizzed beneath the soles of my boots. It seemed to take forever, the friction beginning to burn even my callused hands. I feared a body would come rushing past me, that Triven would lose his grip. But he held on. The Master waited until both our feet met the bottom of the shaft, then he moved onward. We moved silently in the dark. It had only been minutes, but it felt much longer, the darkness devouring the time. I jumped when light filled the hallway. Repressing the urge to shield my eyes, I followed The Master's outline through the door.

Everything was as I remembered it. There were no windows, only concrete walls adorned with elaborate pillars. There was still a makeshift mat in the center where he had taught me to fight. Old bloodstains still soiled the surface, some of them undoubtedly mine. The polished stone floors were littered with junk. Boxes were stacked here and there, along with random books and bundled paper. Tiny bands grouped the stacks of paper with numbers on them, each group imprinted with a man's face I didn't recognize. Whatever they once were, The Master now used them as kindling. I watched as he tossed two bundles into his dying fire. In the light I could see him better. He had aged since I last traded with him. It had been nearly two years. His dark hair was now peppered with grey. As always he was a handsome man, with honey skin and full lips. His almond-shaped eyes were bright and intrusive as he watched us enter. I stopped just inside the room, Triven stopping with me.

I broke the silence. "Triven this is The—"

"Xavier." Triven cut me off. My eyes jumped to his face. Anger was apparent in his clenched jaw, but only to me.

"I haven't heard that name in quite some time boy. And how did you come by it may I ask." I could see The Master's hand move to the knife I knew was hidden at his hip.

"I recognize your face from my mother's photo." Triven sat back against a table, keeping his calm façade. "It's not every day one meets another deserter from The Sanctuary."

My head whipped back so fast my neck kinked. "You're from The Sanctuary?!"

"Aye child. You didn't think your father came upon my name by luck now did you?"

"But you never told me." I almost shouted, clenching my fists.

"You never asked." He shrugged, his hands relaxing a little. Turning back to Triven, he continued. "You must be Vox and Arstid's child. I can see the resemblance to your father. How are two of my favorite rebels? "

"My father died shortly after coming here and I am sure my mother would be pleased to know you have been hiding here the whole time."

Xavier pressed his fingers to his lips, "I am sorry to hear about your father, he was a good man."