Veracity (The Seven Cities Book 1) Read online

  VERACITY

  The Seven Cities, Book 1

  By

  Lindsey Stell

  Copyright © 2014 Lindsey Stell

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1500127809

  ISBN-13: 978-1500127800

  Dedication

  I have always been a dreamer, relying on my family and friends to help keep my feet on the ground. I dedicate this book to them, for sticking with me and having faith in all the crazy things I dream up. A special thanks goes out to my husband and boys. I know living with my head in the clouds can make life difficult, but you guys have never given up on me.

  I will never be able to express how much I love you.

  Contents

  1 – Awake

  2 – Alone

  3 – Journey

  4 – Town

  5 – Ruth

  6 – Safe

  7 – Found

  8 – Veracity

  9 – Authority

  10 – Outsider

  11 – Garden

  12 – Differences

  13 – Scanned

  14 – Alana

  15 – Cleansing Day

  16 – Farm

  17 – Fireworks

  18 – Fools

  19 – Hero

  20 – Axiom

  21 – Brides

  22 – Air

  23 – Loss

  24 – Rain

  25 – Blood

  26 – Running

  27 – Waiting

  28 – Tunnels

  29 – Generals

  30 – Tracks

  31 – Goodbyes

  32 – Confessions

  33 – Revelation

  34 – Love and War

  35 – Marked

  36 – Dreamers

  1 – Awake

  Where am I?

  The soft sounds of rustling leaves and chirping morning birds fill the air. I watch as their shadows dance across the sheer, fabric wall six inches from my face. Trembling, I run my fingertips over the smooth surface, tracing the sunlight as it filters through the thin material.

  I shift slightly, my eyes following the curve of the wall to the top of the small, domed tent. As I move, the masculine arm draped across my side tightens, pulling me closer to the warm body curled around my own.

  Who . . . ?

  My efforts to recall anything before waking are met with a dull pain at the base of my skull. Wrapping around my thoughts like a dark cloud, it chokes off my ability to think and threatens to consume me. Overcome by the pain, I abandon my attempt to remember and it subsides instantly. I am left with nothing.

  Despite everything, my heart is beating steady and sure. Thump, thump, thump . . . my pulse and the warmth of his arms are enough to sooth me back to sleep. I am calm, too calm. I shouldn't be fighting to stay awake, but I'm just . . . so . . . drowsy.

  I slowly roll over to face the man beside me. Young and handsome, he has a strong jaw and matching features. His unruly, brown hair is slightly too long and curls around his ears. Not quite clean-shaven, he has a rugged look that is absurdly appealing. A line of faded bruises run from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, casting a shadow on his charm. The bruises must have been horrific a few days ago, but now they are a patchwork of pale purples and greens.

  Distracted by his injury, and my own odd desire to comfort him, I don't immediately notice he is awake and staring at me. We make eye contact, and his expression is full of curiosity and pain. His solemn eyes bore into mine, and my heart skips a beat, the first response from my traitorous body since waking up.

  "Do you know who you are?" he asks.

  "No, do you?"

  "Yes, I know who you are," he chuckles. "Are you okay?"

  "I don't know. Everything feels so strange. I can't remember . . . anything, but I'm not afraid. Shouldn't I be afraid?"

  "No, it's normal for you to be relaxed. The drug that wiped your memory has a strong sedative built in. It will make you a little sleepy at first, but its real purpose is to keep you calm. It helps with the recovery process."

  "My memory was wiped? Why? Who did this to me?"

  "I did," he says.

  "But . . . why?"

  Flopping onto his back, he exhales loudly, throwing his arm over his eyes. For a few moments he is quiet, and I wait. When he lets out a ragged breath, I realize he is either distressed over my question or ashamed of his answer.

  "Who am I?" I ask softly, trying a different approach.

  "Katherine."

  "Katherine? Just Katherine? What is my last name? Why am I here? Who are you?"

  "Whoa, slow down, Kat. I can't explain all of that right now. Just know that your life was in danger, and I only did what was necessary to keep you safe. I'm sorry it had to be this way, but the memories of your life before this moment are gone forever."

  "You can't be serious."

  "I'm dead serious."

  Crawling out from under the coarse blanket, I grab a shirt and jeans I find crumpled on the floor of the tent. As I pull them on, dark strands of wavy, brown hair fall into my eyes and over my shoulders. Small feet, complete with stubby toes, step into the pant's legs, and I pull the jeans up and over curvy hips. Fastened, the button lies on a slightly rounded stomach that rests below a surprisingly full bust.

  "What's wrong?" he asks.

  "I'm short and . . ."

  "You're beautiful." he interrupts. "You've always been so self-conscious. I've told you 1,000 times how beautiful you are but you never believe me."

  "Well, that's the first time I can remember hearing it, so thank you. I'm really not complaining about my body, I was just caught off guard."

  "Thought you'd be taller?"

  "No, I just wasn't expecting to be so short," I smile. "I'm also . . . softer than I expected."

  "There is nothing wrong with being soft," he says giving me a little half grin. "But believe me, the softness is only skin deep. You are tougher than you might realize."

  Pulling on my shirt, I sit on the hard floor of the tent, avoiding the various small rocks and twigs poking through the bottom. Finding a handful of hairpins in the pocket of my jeans, I robotically braid and tie back my hair, my hands flying through the motions with a life of their own. While he dresses, I try to wrap my brain around my name. I don't really feel like a Katherine, but then again, I don't really feel like anyone. I feel like a shell, a poor imitation of a person.

  "What's your name?" I ask.

  "Can't tell you. It's safer if I don't."

  "Ok then, who am I?"

  "Your name is Katherine."

  "Right. You said that, but who am I?"

  "You're the best friend I've ever had," he says without looking at me, "and the only girl I've ever loved."

  "You loved me?"

  "Love. I love you."

  "Then why do this? Why take away who I am?"

  "I'm trying to save who you are, and this is the only way I know how to do it."

  "Was I in love with you?" I ask.

  "Yes."

  "How do you know?"

  "How does anyone know?" he shrugs. "You told me, for one thing. Many times. But honestly, I knew you loved me even before then. I knew when you trusted me completely, because no one had ever done that, not even my family. For the first time, it wasn't just about you or me. It was about us."

  "If things were so great, why drug me?"

  "All I can say is that everything is different now, and I don't think it can ever be put right. Believe me, there are things I want to tell you so desperately that it physically hurts to keep it in, but telling you could get you killed and I won't risk your life, ever."

  Despite his efforts to
be strong, his emotions get the better of him, and he leaves the tent abruptly. During his declaration of love, I had watched a battle play across his face as he tried to keep the grief, fear, and regret buried. Each emotion flashed across his face like clouds passing over the sun, brief glimpses of darkness pushed away as quickly as they arrived.Following him out of the tent, I'm assaulted by the strong smell of wisteria. It floats around me with the breeze, loud and pungent in the quiet clearing. Our tent is at the base of a small hill, nestled between a large mound of the flowering plant and a thick cluster of pine. The ruins of an old, white house sit at the top of the hill, and I shudder at the sight of its caved roof and sagging walls.

  The hill itself is a mass of blackberry vines and trees so heavy with fruit their limbs brush the ground. Crouching, I pick a handful of berries. Staring at them, I wonder if I like them or not. How odd. I know these are blackberries and they are safe to eat. I know that if I hold them too tightly, they will stain my hands. I even know that you can make jelly from them. But I have no idea if I will like their taste.

  "They aren't your favorite but you'll eat them."

  Jumping at his voice, I drop the berries and smile sheepishly as I rub my purple hands against my jeans.

  "You startled me. Maybe the sedative is starting to wear off."

  "I sure hope not," he says, grinning; picking a few berries of his own.

  Distracted by his smile, I pick an unripe berry and pop it in my mouth; wrinkling my nose against the slightly sour taste.

  "I'm going to miss that," he says, touching the bridge of my nose before turning and heading back to camp.

  After breakfast, we pack up the tent and supplies. We move together in silent unison, neither of us sure of what to say. While we work he watches me, following my steps with his eyes. More than once I think he is about to speak, but thinking better of it, turns away from me instead. The campsite packed, and the gear stowed away, he sits on an old, fallen log and softly pats the space next to him.

  As I sit, only inches away from him, a familiar connection sparks between us, and I begin to believe his claims of love. Searching his face, I look for some clue, some reason behind the sudden, emotional bond. His leg bounces nervously next to mine, and I lay my hand on his knee to stop it. At my touch, his gaze shoots to mine, guilt written all over him.

  "I need to tell you a few more things before I leave," he says.

  "You can't leave," I gasp, panic eating away at my sedated emotions. "I don't want you to go. Please . . . I can't be out here alone. I need you to stay with me," I beg.

  "You don't know how much it hurts to hear you say that," he says, "but I've got to go. I am so sorry Kat, but I don't have a choice. I know it's hard and I know you're scared, but you have to be strong. Neither of us will live very long if I don't figure some things out, and I can't do that unless I know you are safe. At least as safe as I can make you."

  A tear escapes his pleading eyes, rolling unchecked down his cheek. In an effort to console him, I softly wipe it away, but his composure cracks at my touch. Dropping his head in his hands, he sobs. Whether from guilt or sorrow, he has a hard time regaining control, and I don't rush him. I want to say something to him, I want to make him feel better, but what do you say to sooth a stranger? Using his shirt to mop the tears from his face, he stands up to pace in front of me.

  "Always tell the truth Katherine, no matter what you are asked, never lie. The soldiers will know if you do. Theft or violence of any kind is out of the question, and never, under any circumstances, carry a weapon."

  "But, where will I go?" I ask.

  "If you follow the path on the far side of the clearing it will lead you to a road headed north. Follow this road and you will eventually find a safe house. It will be marked and you can't miss it. Stay there until someone from the city picks you up. It's your only chance for survival."

  Caught up in his speech, his eyes look right through me, seeing the world beyond instead. A world he fears. A world he is sending me into, alone.

  "Don't be scared on the road," he says, his attention snapping back to me. "No one will harm you. If you are lucky enough to find a stocked store, buy what you need, don't just take it. They will know if you have and you will be punished."

  He squats down in front of me and takes my hand.

  "You are going to dream of me Kat, and I am so sorry," he chokes. "I don't know how the pill works exactly and I don't know why it makes people dream the way it does. They are just dreams though, don't mistake them for memories. It will drive you crazy and could get you killed."

  "I'm sorry I don't love you anymore," I say. "I suppose I should be heart broken, or angry for what you have done, but right now all I feel is a slight remorse."

  "Never feel guilty," he says as he wipes his face. "You shouldn't feel bad for not loving me. I took that away, and it's my burden to carry."

  He stands up and hands me an old, worn-out suitcase.

  "This has your clothes and some food. The roll of green paper in there is money. You will know what to do with it when you reach a store. You can take the tent too."

  I consider begging him to stay, but I just nod. If he wants to leave me, he will. The idea that I am about to be abandoned without any idea who or where I am should be unbearable, yet I am still perfectly calm and relaxed. I feel the disconnection between my thoughts and my body like a blade, slowly slicing me in half with every missed emotion. The young man stares at me, and I look at the ground, unequipped to deal with his emotional goodbye.

  "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I know this is strange for you, but I may never see you again, and that's difficult for me, harder than I ever imagined. Be safe Kat. Be smart, and play by their rules. You have no other obligation than to make a life for yourself and be happy. Remember that. You owe me nothing. I wish I could promise to come back for you, but I don't know what I'm going to be facing."

  With trembling hands, he brushes my hair back and lifts my chin to meet his gaze. His eyes never leaving mine, he kisses me softly and walks away.

  2 – Alone

  He disappears into the woods, hesitating several times before shaking his head and continuing on, his hands balled into fists. My lips burn from his soft kiss, and my eyes haunt his steps long after he becomes a speck in the distance.

  Even now there is no panic, no feeling of urgency. My body grows still in the quiet of his absence, with no real desire to move again. How long could I sit here, my eyes glued to the trees in the distance? Would I devolve into the forest around me? Would my legs merge with the rotting wood? If I stayed here forever, would anyone miss me? Would anyone know?

  Something tickles the back of my hand, and my sluggish attention finally drifts away from the empty path. With mild interest I watch a black spider scuttle across my skin, moving over my fingers before plunging into a hole in the log.

  Brushing the back of my hand against my jeans, I stand up, inspired by the spider's haste.

  Kneeling down in the soft grass, I unzip the suitcase and empty it onto the ground. Laying each item out, I create a mental catalog: clothing, toiletries, and the roll of green money. I also find water, re-sealable plastic bags, a small knife, and a box of matches. He has also left me our tent, folded neatly into a bag I can sling over my shoulder. Taking two of the re-sealable bags, I fill them with the tart blackberries and carefully place them in the suitcase.

  After stowing away the rest of my gear, I march up the hill toward the house, weaving in and out of vines along the way. Without a clear path, my trek through the twisted garden is excruciatingly slow. Slipping and sliding on the mushy balls of moldy fruit, I gag on the overpowering smell of sweet decay. The rotten fruit clings to my shoes, making each step a little more perilous than the last. Fighting back a fierce wave of nausea, I bury my nose in my shirt and continue on to the ramshackle house.

  Pausing at the edge of the organic minefield, I am struck by an intense feeling of loneliness. It is as if the dilapidated house
itself is leeching the emotion into the atmosphere. It stands alone on this hill, quietly deteriorating without as much as a witness. It speaks to me of great sadness; the sagging porch and roof a mournful face, begging for understanding. See me, it says. Know me for what I was. There is more to me than this. The broken windows are pleading eyes, staring back at me with their sharp, jagged glass. Show me I've not been forgotten . . .

  Beckoned by its mournful call, I climb up to the warped and corroded porch, the steps groaning loudly with protest under my weight. Creaking as I push it open, the door echoes its cry through the vacant hallway beyond. Soft light filters through the holes in the roof, illuminating the small room. The far end has caved in, only leaving access to two bedrooms and a small bathroom.

  The first bedroom is empty except for an ancient bed frame and a large pile of animal waste. Sidestepping the mess, I cross the room, glass crunching under my shoes as I walk. Pausing at the shattered window, I look out across the clearing. This small oasis in the woods is the only part of the world I can remember. This is the only sense of myself that I have. This is my garden of rotten fruit, my haven of ruin, and my sanctuary from the mysteries of the outside world. Past those trees, and beyond the campsite, lies a world far more complicated than I am ready for.

  Laying my hand on the iron bed frame, I close my eyes as the metal's chill seeps into my skin. Who slept in this bed, I wonder, and where they are now? The image of a young couple flashes in my mind, laughing and kissing as they share secrets and plan for their future. The scene morphs into a mother holding her baby against her, kissing his soft forehead as he sleeps. My hand drops and I move away from the bed, suddenly afraid of what memories it would share if it could.

  A rotting mattress dominates the second bedroom, though it's much too big to belong to the iron bed. Bits and pieces of its cotton-like filler are strewn across the floor, and I wrinkle my nose against the musty smell. With a squeak of terror, a mouse runs across my shoe. It buries itself deep in the mattress as an angry screech rattles through the room. A fierce looking bird is perched in the gutted window, tilting its head to the side and eyeing me warily. He makes no move to leave, but snaps his beak and ruffles his feathers in a show of agitation. This is his home and I am invading it, costing him his dinner in the process.