Chapter 3

Kieran studied the texture of the wall, working on his calm. He'd cracked a little bit, there; explained too much. Given in to impulse. That had been a junkie thing to do. All day he'd wanted to know what those rusty curls would feel like to his hand, and so he'd just gone ahead and found out.

There was a chill feeling he could wrap himself in, if he could find it, that would make it too much trouble to talk like that again, not worth the effort to reach out to the poor, doomed, pale thing he shared his cell with. Once, he'd been good at it. After Shan, though -- having friends had been a mistake. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd done after watching a bullet take Shan's head apart, but when he'd come to his senses there'd been five cops and a Watchman dead and he himself had been discovering the joys of a sucking chest wound, which sort of indicated a loss of control.

Blaming himself wasn't going to help. The reasons never mattered. Excuses only made you look like an idiot. He had to close up the gaps.

Was Ash going to pry now? Kieran could feel him staring. Maybe telling him all that stuff had scared him; that would be good. He'd keep his distance. Having a clever little mouse on payroll was one thing; getting attached to him was another, and Kieran had no intention of doing that. Ash was going to be useful. The guards seemed to like him, he was intelligent, he was weak and needy, he was an excellent tool. But only if he stayed a tool. His ignorance of the true nastiness of life could be a liability, otherwise.

It was too bad, really. In other circumstances... No. That was a bad place to let his thoughts go. There were no other circumstances.

If wishes were horses, Kieran thought, I'd be the only one walking.

So he chose a spot on the wall in front of his nose, a vein of darker orange running through the yellow stone, and examined it with all his attention. It was a trick he'd invented as a child. He didn't move his eyes, refused his thoughts, concentrated on that one little orange swirl until all the useless anxiety and useless hope had faded. Until he could look at his cellmate's freckled, innocent, blue-eyed face and not want to smash it in or devour it.

When someone spoke his name at the door, he was almost ready to handle it. He almost didn't give a damn why, or what was about to happen. Almost was going to have to be good enough; they weren't going to give him time to finish collecting himself.

"Trevarde," the guard's voice repeated. "Get a move on, freak. Unless you want a taste of this." There was a slapping sound.

Something touched his shoulder. "Kieran?"

"Don't touch me," Kieran said. But he didn't jump. He didn't hit. That was going to have to do.

He got up, and discovered that 'this' was a baton the guard was smacking into his palm, making a show of impatience. Kieran could've easily taken it from him and made him eat it, but knew he would've been perforated by a dozen bullets the next moment. Since he supposed he didn't want that, he came along peacefully instead.

"Where are you taking him?" Ash asked.

"Testing," the guard replied. "You'll get your turn. Probably tomorrow." Ash must've looked fearful, because the man added, "He'll be back by supper, so don't rent out his room just yet." He made up for this non-regulation reassurance by prodding Kieran in the small of the back. Kieran responded with the obligatory cold glare, but inside he was smiling. Good mouse, he thought at Ash. They like you. Make them tell you things. Use your innocence to help me, and I'll see you get to keep it as long as possible.

An explanation was a very tiny victory, of course, but Kieran could never have gotten one, no matter how sweetly he asked.

Testing. That didn't sound like fun, but it was apparently non-fatal, and since he couldn't do a single thing about it he saw no reason to have an opinion. Another guard fell in behind him at the end of the tier, and they marched him down the stairs and through the gated door he'd been brought in by last night. It seemed like they might be taking him outside, to another building, but then they took a left turn and he gave up guessing.

It grew colder as he walked, and the light changed. There was a flight of stairs, the stone painted with glossy gray industrial paint. Up, but still in a tunnel carved out of solid rock. They were inside the mountain.

The walk ended at a metal door that felt cold to look at -- what a weird thought. There they waited for a time. "Now, you mind your manners when you meet the Colonel," the guard said, apparently just to fill the silence. "Or I'll take it out of your hide."

After a while, the door seemed a little friendlier, and then it was opened by a man in a White Watch uniform. Two pins on the collar and one loop of scarlet braid on the shoulder. Not a colonel. "This is Trevarde?" said the uniform. "Come in. Sit down."

As Kieran went in, his mind opened up like the view from a high hill. Like a fever ending. Like waking.

"God," he said.

"Sit down," said a man behind a metal desk. "Chaler, you can go."

"Sir," said the uniform, and went.

Kieran went to the empty chair that faced the desk, and fell into it, a little stunned. The sensation of being imprisoned had gone entirely. He knew that he was farther from freedom than at any previous point, locked into a small white-painted hollow in the middle of a mountain with only one well-guarded exit, and yet some oppression had paradoxically lifted. It left him feeling light and strong and wide-awake.

This room was outside the wards that kept the inmates from using their Talents. He'd barely noticed them, coming in, but it seemed the pressure had built up, and letting his mind unfurl brought a sensation of pleasure that was slightly painful. It threatened his composure.

"Aren't you afraid I'll attack you?" he said.

The man who was undoubtedly the Colonel smiled at him, pleasantly, as if they were just chatting in a bar somewhere. "I think you're smarter than that, Mr. Trevarde."

"Well, yeah. But people don't usually bet their lives on it."

"I'm also rather better shielded than those you've attacked in the past. Your Talent would have little effect on me." He waited for a response, and when he didn't get one, turned to taking things from the drawers of his desk.

He was a fleshy man, the Colonel, with gray hair in a tidy queue and half-round spectacles perched on his nose, a bit past middle age, not at all what Kieran expected from a high-level White Watch officer. The Watch mages who'd grabbed Kieran from the local police had been damn near faceless in their pseudo-military perfection. Maybe this was what they'd be when they grew up.

"I'm Colonel Warren. I'll be performing a series of tests with you, some of which may be unpleasant, but they'll be less unpleasant with your cooperation. I'm aware that being a prisoner tends to make one wish to rebel, to cause difficulty for one's captors, but I think you have a strong instinct for self-preservation, Mr. Trevarde. I think you'll find it in your best interest to follow my instructions and cause as little trouble as possible. Do you understand?"

"Sure. What's this for, anyway?"

"For the greater good, Mr. Trevarde. You should be thankful you have this chance to work off a little of your moral debt, though of course it can never be paid in full this side of the Final Judgement. Now, we'll begin with a simple Survey. You've been through this before, so I expect you to remain calm and facilitate my task by opening up as much as possible."

Oh shit, not one of these. Kieran closed his eyes as the Colonel came out from behind the desk. Okay, you can handle this. It's just another trick, you remember how to do this, you just wait it out...

The Colonel's chilly fingers touched his head, and suddenly Kieran knew he couldn't open up to this. Something in him that wasn't subject to will rebelled. And so the mental rape of the Survey was every bit as painful as it had been at his hurried excuse for a trial.

Icy, alien thoughts like blunt metal instruments battered at his defenses, tearing his thoughts apart. The agony was nothing physical, but something worse; a pain like grief, like shame. Then the probing penetrated below the level of thought to a place in the mind that Kieran knew was never meant to be groped like this. The cold manipulation of a stranger's thoughts dissected his selfhood; peeled apart layers, poked and squeezed, cut and bruised.

Fighting was impossible, but he fought anyway. Not consciously, because volition had been the first layer to be shoved aside, but with an automatic response, like vomiting when poisoned. When at last the alien thoughts stopped pushing, this reflex ejected them, doing as much damage on the way out as they had done coming in.

A scream choked off, and Kieran recognized that it had been his own. He was sweating, shivering, hoarse. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, and bitter hatred, and his stomach hurt. He tried to speak, and only groaned.

The Colonel was back behind the desk. "I did warn you not to fight," he said, in the kind of smug pretense at apology that Kieran had used on men who'd tried to kill him.

"Ah, shit," was all Kieran could get out.

"We'll have to repeat the Survey from time to time, you see. I hope next time you'll make it easier on yourself."

Kieran tried to swallow, couldn't, spat instead. "Anyone who could keep from fighting that," he croaked, "is a sick, sick person."

"Well." The Colonel looked at some of the things on his desk; picked up a pen, moved a piece of paper. "I believe we're done for today."

As if he'd been eavesdropping, the lesser uniform who'd let him into the room a million aching years ago opened the door and said his name. It was an effort to get out of the chair, and when he walked he stumbled.

"Kieran! What did they do to you?" Ash caught his arm as the cell door slammed, to steer him to his bed.

"Quit touching me," Kieran grumbled, but didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry. Here --" The redhead rushed to take the blanket from his cot, and when Kieran lay down he spread it over him, looking even whiter than usual. "You're shaking. You look terrible. What did they do?"

"Survey." Kieran swallowed. "Just a Survey."

"Look how you're sweating. God. Do they do that to everyone?" Ash went away, came back a moment later with a tin cup. "Here. They brought more water while you were gone."

Kieran levered himself up on one elbow and drained the cup. He remembered to be polite, reward the favor: "Thanks. I'm all right now. Just let me sleep."

"Sure." Ash went away, but his voice came back after a moment's pause. "I hate that they call it that. It's a lie. As if they're just asking questions. As if it's your own fault that it hurts."

"Let me sleep," Kieran repeated, too scattered to put any force into it.

When he woke, it was dark, the darkness filled with snoring. He had turned over in his sleep; what he saw when his eyes opened was Ash, sitting on the edge of the cot opposite, chin in hands, watching him.

"What the hell are you looking at?" The words came out milder than he'd intended.

Ash sat up straighter. "Huh? Oh. Sorry. Thinking."

"How long have you been doing that?"

"All my life." Ash sounded embarassed by his own weak joke.

"Well, stop it."

"Sorry."

"And stop apologizing."

The lost look that had been Ash's default expression since the first moment Kieran had seen him went away then, finally chased off by irritation. "Well, what do you expect people to say when you bark at them?"

Ash, Kieran realized with a sinking feeling, was damned good-looking when he wasn't doing his kicked puppy impression. Maybe it was just the dark. The freckles weren't so obvious, the haloing curls weren't as red, so it was easier to see the clean lines of his face.

No. I already decided no. Kieran sat up, then put his hands to his head. "Shit. I am so hung over. I hope the Colonel was just trying to scare me when he said they were going to Survey me again later."

"Is that who did it?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me about him."

"How does it matter? You'll find out soon enough."

"Maybe I can be a little more prepared."

Kieran's laughter brought a guard to tell them to shut up. When the guard's footsteps had gone far enough down the walkway, he made an effort to speak quietly. "What makes you think," he muttered, "that any damn thing you can do will prepare you in any way for the reaming you're about to get? What good would it do?"

"I'd be less scared," Ash whispered back. "If I knew what was coming. I don't know. I just don't feel like giving up yet."

Kieran thought about it, and at last agreed. "I guess making trouble staves off boredom."

"I was thinking more along the lines of analyzing them the way they're analyzing us. If we can figure out what they're looking for, maybe we can mess with them."

"Don't see how."

"Not yet."

Kieran sighed. "Fine. Something to do, anyway. Not much to tell, though. Bastard's name is Warren, and he's got a mind-probe like an ape with a sledgehammer."

"Clumsy, eh?"

"As bad as the jackass who did me at my trial. The last one, I mean. I think worse than the first time, but maybe because back then I didn't have a Talent yet."

"You think he found what he was looking for?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Ssh! I don't know, but when I was Surveyed I could kind of tell. He was mucking around in there, and he hit something that kind of -- flashed -- and then he stopped."

"Huh. Nothing like that."

"I wonder what that means."

"You go ahead and wonder. I'm going back to sleep."

"All right, but Kieran?"

"What?"

A pause. "Never mind."

"No, what?"

Ash's eyes were hard to read in the dark. "I forgot what I was going to say."

Sure you did. You were going to cross a line, I'll bet. Say something personal. Smart mouse, figured out where to quit. Nevertheless, Kieran found some of his bitterness had faded. He was still angry, but he had it contained now. Futile as it was, Ash's idiotic hope had cooled some of the burn inside his head.

The next day, Ash outlined the first stage of his plan.

"We should find out what Talents these other guys have. They don't send everybody here, right? We can figure out what they're studying."

"Sounds about right." Kieran watched oatmeal drip off his spoon. "What's stage two?"

"Uh... I'll figure that out when we get the results from stage one."

Kieran chuckled. "Genius." He bent to gulping down his breakfast, while considering who to approach first. Not that he was real excited about this scheme of Ash's, but it would be interesting to see how people reacted.

No one had bothered them so far today, but it was only breakfast. It would take people a while to work up their courage, after he took down three big guys the day before and didn't break a sweat. Maybe, just maybe, they'd all figured out he was tougher than the lot of them, and there'd be no more fights at all. But Kieran didn't believe in miracles. The structures of power would be more complex than that, and harder to shift. Very few of these men would be able to admit they were outclassed unless the lesson was spelled out in blood.

"That guy," he said at last, pointing with his spoon at one of the half-mad loners no one ever talked to.

"Him?" Ash looked skeptical. "What, are you collecting wimps?"

"Loser unity." Kieran grinned. "No, actually I just figure he won't waste our time with attitude."

"Loser unity. I like that."

"W-what do you w-want?" The man had cornered himself by the fence, and was shaking like an angry kitten. "I d-din' do nothing."

"Must've done something," Kieran said. "You're here, right?"

"Din' hurt you none. Got no fight with you."

"Fine. I just want to know what your Talent is."

"Why? I never done nothing to you!" His voice climbed to a squeak. "I got no fight with you!"

Exasperated, Kieran leaned closer. "Look, just answer the damn --"

The man's eyes rolled up in his head, and he folded into a heap.

Ash cleared his throat nervously. "Um. Maybe you should let me talk to the little ones."

Behind them, a familiar voice said, "You won't be satisfied until you've killed us all, will you?"

Kieran turned with a sigh to confront Duyam Sona, this time with only his broken-nosed monkey to back him up. "What happened to that fat yellow-haired bastard you were dragging around yesterday?"

"You happened, you shit! He never came back from Testing yesterday. Guess they figured it was easier to get rid of him than stick a plaster on those ribs you broke. Now I see you're picking on the crazy ones."

"He's okay. I just spooked him." He looked to see if the fainter was up yet. He wasn't. "Ash, give him a hand, would you?" Then he made a startled noise as something hit him in the stomach, hard enough to hurt.

His body reacted before his mind; the back of his fist sent Sona sprawling. He caught himself beginning the long stride that would lead into a kick to the jaw as Sona started to get up, and was able to turn it into an ordinary step. He planted his feet and waited for Sona to be vertical.

"I'm bored of fighting you. I gave you a free shot and you didn't even break anything."

Sona spat a string of pink saliva. "You killed my brother. You killed my friend. And I'm going to kill you."

"So do it, for fuck's sake. Don't make a speech first, just grind a spoon handle nice and sharp and stick it in my back. Explain why afterwards, if you have to talk about it. Though you oughtta recognize nobody gives a shit about your reasons. Nobody cares whether you kill me or I kill you."

"Kaiyo," Sona accused. "You don't care any more for your own life than for any of the poor bastards you murdered."

"Should I?"

Sona stared for a long moment. Then he gestured to his monkey and turned away; that stiff-shouldered walk that meant they were trying not run.

"Kieran, was that a good idea, telling him that?" Ash was doing his puppy face again. "He just might take your advice."

"So?"

"I see."

"You try and get some sense out of the fainting flower. I'll take my scary self somewhere else. If anyone fucks with you, scream like a girl."

"Oh, yes, very good," Ash said dryly.

No one started anything with Ash. Kieran pretended to bask by the wall, while with half-closed eyes he followed the coppery gleam of Ash's head around the yard. The white boy got barked at a few times, but no one got physical. When they were back in the cell, he reported his results.

"I talked to four pyrokinetics and an entropist. I mean, firestarters and a breaker. Also a bunch of guys who wouldn't tell me anything." A flush rose in his cheeks. "Anything useful," he ammended.

"Did they talk shit to you?"

"Yeah. But that's not important."

"No, it is. You're under my protection, I can't let people trash you."

"Aren't we getting a little sidetracked here?"

"Yeah, just point 'em out tomorrow and I'll take care of it."

"I really wish you wouldn't."

"Don't you listen? That don't matter. Now, you were saying."

Ash thinned his lips, annoyed, then deliberately relaxed his face. When he spoke, his voice was emotionless. "I was saying. There were a hundred and four men in the yard. So it's possible the percentage of pyros was about on the mark. Rebel intel said the Watch had six percent fire Talents, and I think we can expect the proportion to be roughly the same among men who evaded Survey. Which would be our friends here. With me so far?"

"Sure."

"But considering that eighty percent of the ones I spoke to were pyros --"

"And the other one a breaker, which is also a destructive Talent. But you don't end up in Churchrock just for skipping a Survey. We all got grabbed off the gallows. So I'd say we learned jack shit today."

Ash looked a bit taken aback, as if he hadn't expected Kieran to actually grasp what he was talking about. He rallied, though, and went on, "What about kinesis? It's the most common Talent. Maybe I just missed them all, I know the data pool is too small for any kind of conclusion, but kinetics are very common and there were none. Kinetics do crimes too, right?"

"I wish we had something to write on. Or with." Kieran flopped down on his cot, pondering.

"I'll pester the guards."

Kieran raised an eyebrow. "Think that'll work?"

"No harm in trying."

"Not for you, I guess. Anyway, unless you can keep all this shit in your head, it's gone, because I have a brain like a sieve."

"I can remember what we have so far. If the sample reflects the general case at all, we know they've been studying fire Talents, and our inclusion indicates a new direction. I'd like to know what Talent that blond man had, the one who disappeared." After a while he added, "That Burdock fellow, the one from the train -- I haven't seen him."

"Maybe I killed him after all. I sure as hell concussed him."

Ash looked disturbed. "Why did you, anyway? You hadn't decided to make a pet of me yet. What did you care if he attacked me?"

Kieran opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. Ash probably knew what reactions he inspired, how everyone who didn't want to abuse him needed to protect him, but Kieran didn't feel like admitting out loud how reflexive it had been. "I knew him in Burn River," he prevaricated. It was technically true. "The man was a stain."

"Old grudge?"

"Just never liked him. He was muscle for my old boss. Pyro. He was the favorite toy before I came along. Didn't see a lot of him, but when I did he always acted all yessir-nosir, 'cause he was scared of me, and then he'd talk shit behind my back. Guess when he called you a pansy it reminded me."

"Oh." Ash studied the floor, while his ears slowly turned pink. That was interesting. "So you don't think he really believed..."

"Nah. He would've called you a cocksucker, if he thought you really were. That's what he liked to say about me, when he was sure I was out of earshot." Kieran chuckled. "Closet case if I ever saw one."

Blushing in earnest now, Ash said, "Is there any other kind? I mean, it's illegal."

"Well, there's me." Kieran shrugged, pretending not to watch Ash's reaction. "I'm a fucking murderer, what do I care if people know who I sleep with? You got a problem with it?"

Ash's eyes flashed panic, and he babbled. "No! Of course not. You are what you are, right? I mean, thank you for being honest. Not that you care what I think."

Kieran laughed. "Didn't mean to spook you."

"I'm not spooked. It's just you don't often hear someone just come out with it like that. Roughly never, in fact. I wouldn't presume to judge -- if I thought there was a judgement to be made, which of course -- what I mean is --"

"Okay."

"Quit laughing at me!"

"Can't. You're too fucking funny." But Kieran was laughing at himself as well, and at circumstance; after he'd decided not to develop an interest in Ash, it looked like Ash already had an interest in him. But the northerner didn't want to admit it, which was only reasonable, so he figured he could get away with ignoring it a while longer. Maybe it would go away.

Footsteps approached their cell. "Ashleigh Trine."

Ash sighed. "My turn."

"Good luck," Kieran said wryly. He knew that there was no such thing.

Roughly an hour later, he heard a sound like a child crying. As it came closer, he went to the bars; the bawling noise was Ash, walking ahead of the guard with a stiff-legged gait like a broken machine, arms dangling, mouth wide open and emitting periodic gasps and hiccups.

Ash looked like a congenital idiot. The guard looked ashamed.

"Step back from the door." The guard had to repeat himself before Kieran moved. Kieran backed away, staring horrified at the red-eyed, wet-faced thing in front of him.

Ash was let into the cell, and went to the back corner, where he put his face to the wall, hugging himself. After locking the door, the guard stayed for a moment before stomping away. Kieran hesitated quite a bit longer.

There was a dark streak of sweat down the back of Ash's shirt. His rust-colored hair was almost straight now, strands plastered to his thin white neck. His narrow shoulders were shaking irregularly, his fingernails white where he clutched his elbows. Spectacularly pathetic. Seeing Ash like this this made Kieran want to tear down the world and stomp on the wreckage.

The impulse rushed through him to rip the weeping boy apart, to make him stop, to make him cease to be as if he'd never been. He made himself take a deep breath, waited for the urge to pass. Then the second impulse came: to clutch this fragile creature tightly in his arms and never let anyone come near him again. He conquered that as well. Only when he'd let go of both rage and pity did he reason a course of action. He needed Ash to be sane, and to depend on him, to use his harmlessness on the guards and weaker inmates. He had to be helped. But Kieran must not betray the weakness in himself.

Taking the blanket from Ash's bed, he approached with the care one used on an unfamiliar dog. "Hey," he said softly.

Ash sniffed. "Don't look at me." His voice was small.

"Sure. Okay." Kieran draped the blanket around Ash's shoulders. "Come out of there. You should lie down."

"Don't want to." But he let himself be steered, clutching his blanket. On the bed, he curled up in a ball. There he continued to bawl intermittently.

Not enough. Kieran searched his memory for ways to calm a distraught person. There weren't many. It had been a long time since he'd cared whether anyone was upset, and longer since anyone had given him that consideration. After several minutes of watching Ash shudder with sobs, he remembered something -- far too intimate, it would be taken wrong, but he had to make the crying stop.

He went and got the gap-toothed wooden comb they had to share. He sat on the edge of Ash's cot. Steeling himself for the disturbing touch of another person's damp skin, he slid his hand under Ash's sweaty hair and began dragging the comb through it.

At first this just made Ash cry harder. Eventually, though, his sobs subsided to hiccups, then to even breathing. It took forever. By the time he finally cried himself to sleep, his hair was dry enough to curl again, and Kieran's hands were tired.

And Kieran had spent way too long looking down on planes and curves of milk-white skin spotted with tiny freckles, the infant delicacy of Ash's red-bitten mouth, the slender smoothness of his curled hand, and now had to fight with himself to put the comb away and go back to his own side of the cell.

No, he told himself. No. Absolutely not. Never again. They will kill him sooner or later. You will not allow this to scratch you.