BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

for the Authority. At least, that was the life I believed to be mine. Then I saw you at the Contest and I knew, in an instant, none of that was real. Everything disintegrated. Left in its wake was a single realisation. I should be here, with you. Like I once was.”

“You don’t remember?” said Bend Sinister.

Dent shook his head.

“You are a player. Our drummer. Twenty-six years ago, the Authority raided an event. You turned back to help a follower who’d fallen in the rush to escape. It didn’t give you enough time to save yourself. They caught you, tranquilised you and dragged you away. We didn’t know what happened to you. We’ve contacts overground, but nobody could find any information. The Authority had you but said nothing. As the years passed, we came to fear the worst.”

Dent stared, seasick with dichotomous reactions to words he both disbelieved and knew to be true. “I remember nothing of before. Only ever the Allears.”

“Bend Sinister. A word in private,” said Pale Dexter, retreating into the shadows, Chief by his side.

Bend Sinister placed a hand on Dent’s shoulder and smiled. “Look after him,” he said to his players. “Food. And more water. I shan’t be long.” He slowly rose and left the awestruck scene.

He approached Pale Dexter and Chief on the camp’s fringe, meeting their glares with an expression of calm resolve. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No. I don’t think you do,” hissed Pale Dexter. “We’ve risked everything. We have forsaken our life underground to seek sanctuary elsewhere – our only chance to survive. And now we have an Allear in our midst and you welcome him with open arms. You feed him from your own fingertips as if reviving a dying brother.”

“He is my drummer.”

“He was your drummer.”

“And so he remains. Whatever they did to him, however they were able to control him, it does not negate who he is inside. I can see that. As could you if you resisted the urge to let swift judgement cloud the perspective of calm reasoning.”

“Says he who knelt before a single question was asked. This could be a trap. Whatever control they’ve had over him, perhaps it remains still. They could have sent him to lure us into the hands of his paymasters.”

“Pale Dexter has a point,” said Chief. “As an Allear he has, for many years, sought to hunt us down and destroy us. Why the sudden change of heart? How can we possibly trust him?”

“Ask the question if you must,” said Bend Sinister. “I have no need. I know. My drummer has returned. He has my trust, without doubt or hesitation. I offer no explanation because the fact is not contingent upon one.”

“But the risk to our troupe—”

“Risk requires doubt. I have none.”

“We doubt. We recognise the risk.”

“In which case, I urge you both to trust me. Although it may not appear so, I do not make this call lightly. I accept my reaction was swift, but not all knowledge takes time to dawn. You both know me well. I urge you to let that influence the conclusions you draw.”

“I’ve drawn mine,” said Pale Dexter, his voice serrated. “If you bring him in, then I and my players will depart. We’ll pack up now and head west. I will not endanger my players, nor risk my own life, because you want to believe you’ve regained a life already lost.” He turned to Chief. “You and yours are welcome to follow.”

Chief glanced between her comrades, her eyes wide in desperate appeal. “No. We should remain together. We gain strength in our number. Can’t we resolve this?”

“There is no resolution to be found,” said Pale Dexter.

“You are mistaken,” said Bend Sinister. “This can be resolved and we’d do well to try. I’m mindful that we should be on the move as soon as possible. But please, spare a little time. Listen to what he has to say.”

“Even if we did agree to stay together, he will slow us down. He’s barely conscious, let alone able to walk. We have another hundred miles to travel today.”

“I will carry him on my back if it comes to that,” said Bend Sinister. “Please, I entreat you. A short while longer. Then do as your will dictates.”

Chief looked to Pale Dexter, who folded his arms, eyes defiant. Without a word, they followed Bend Sinister back to the heart of the camp, loitering on the periphery – satellite testifiers.

Bend Sinister knelt once more, but further away from Dent than before, widening the sphere that connected them.

Dent looked at him, then at Pale Dexter and Chief, his face pained. “I know you doubt me. You’ve just cause to. The things I have done, the cruelty I’ve been party to, even if not wielded by my own hand. Such atrocities. You have every reason to cast me out.”

“I’m more interested in hearing a reason why we shouldn’t,” said Chief, her eyes dimmed to a dull, dark blue.

“I don’t know what to say, how to prove it to you.”

Chief stepped forward. “How did you find us? We left no trail.”

“I went back to Lyun Mountain – the only place I could think to start. There, I met one of your followers. Estrin. I showed him the mark on my cheek. He took me for a follower. He showed me the escape shaft. From there…” He trailed off, searching for words to explain what he could barely comprehend himself.

“Yes? From there?” Pale Dexter prompted, impatient.

“From there, I ran. Ran as fast as I could, wherever my instinct led me. I felt this pull, a profound magnetism, drawing me onward. Something inside me responded. Somehow, I knew which way to go.”

Pale Dexter raised his eyebrows in exaggerated gesture. “You ran, non-stop, for a hundred miles? In that time? Is that even possible?”

“I appreciate how it sounds. But that’s what happened.”

Pale Dexter shook his head. “It’s all a little farfetched to my mind. I say you’ve got some Authority truck parked beyond the rise.” He