The Forgotten

  It’s a nice building really—white and black striped like some old buildings in other zones, but it’s clear that it’s been shut down for a long time.

  Timofei takes a key from his jacket and I shoot Dalmar a questioning look but he shrugs. Where the jagged edge of a key normally is are two sets of teeth that mirror each other. Timofei slides the key into a lock on the door, and he turns it first left and then right. I don’t expect it to unlock, I don’t understand how the door could ever open, but it does.

  “Weird key,” I mumble as I step through the door Timofei holds open. Dalmar and Hele hurry after me before Timofei swings the door shut with a reverberating bang. A quiet click is followed by a burst of light. The back of the door, where the outside had been aged wood, is thick with metal, and a box juts out where I assume the lock is.

  I turn, slowly, and take in the room. I’d expected old wooden tables and a bar but the walls are coated in silver, and apart from a few clinical tables the room is bare.

  “Homely, isn’t it?” Timofei snorts. “Welcome to Guardian décor. You get used to the lack of … everything.”

  “Really?” Hele asks on a laugh. “I never have.”

  “You haven’t had the pleasure of living here yet. It gets worse—it gets white, and white, and uh … white.”

  “Yet,” she repeats forlornly. “We have the pleasure now, don’t we?”

  Dalmar’s hand seeks Hele’s and he pulls her so that no space is between them.

  “Wait,” I say, “are you guys living here now?”

  Dalmar answers. “It’s not safe for us to be aboveground, and I don’t want to risk anything happening to Hele.”

  “And I don’t want to risk anything happening to him,” Hele adds.

  “This … isn’t because of me is it?” I ask warily. “Because if it is, I never meant to make you lea—”

  “Honour, that’s not necessary.” Hele hugs me with one arm, bringing me into her and Dalmar’s embrace. “We were unsafe anyway. The military found out about us two days ago.”

  “So it is my fault.”

  “They found a trace on my computer from all the confidential records I’d hacked,” Dalmar says in a flat tone. “It was my fault, not yours.”

  “Actually,” Timofei says, leaning against a wall. “If you’re going to blame anyone you can blame the military. If they didn’t restrict our lives there wouldn’t be an underground rebellion, you’d never have allied with us, and you’d never have been searching their systems in the first place.”

  Dalmar snorts, separating himself from Hele and me. “Your logic is so screwed up, Tim.”

  “And yet flawless.” He grins. “Come on, I’m bored of listening to this. You’re a depressing lot, you three.”

  He pushes off of the wall, pivots on his heel, and pushes a string of digits into a keypad. As soon as his finger hits the enter button, a portion of the wall slides down and disappears into the floor revealing a white corridor. It also reveals a girl running down the clinical corridor towards us. She stops dead when she notices the open doorway.

  “Timofei,” she says, breathing heavily. She pushes the mass of blonde curls that have fallen into her face away in irritation. “Where have you been?”

  “I went to get them,” he answers, nodding to us.

  She tilts her head in confusion. “And what about the rest of the time?”

  “That’s none of your business,” he replies, defensive. “What’re you doing running down here?”

  “Looking for you.” She notices the rest of us then, and her bright green eyes fix on us all in turn. She makes a face when she looks at me. “I don’t know you.”

  “Don’t be so nosey,” Timofei says, tapping her nose with a finger. He strides down the corridor and we move after him. When we’re clear of the door it slides back into place with a loud thud.

  “Won’t people outside hear that?” I ask.

  “Nope,” he replies without turning around. “Soundproofing. Now, Marrianne, I’m guessing something has happened while I’ve been gone …”

  The blonde girl takes a deep breath and launches into it. “A boy appeared out of nowhere in our base, literally appeared out of nowhere, and started talking about a lot of stuff I didn’t understand. And that guy that’s been in the infirmary for ages woke up.” Timofei stiffens at that, his spine going rigid. Marrianne doesn’t notice. “And that crazy girl that came with him is apparently not crazy anymore. And we got a message through from Bharat, not that it says anything worrying but still.”

  Timofei groans. “I leave for one afternoon and everything goes to shit.”

  “You know we fall apart without you,” Marrianne says, bumping her shoulder with his.

  “Don’t I just,” he laughs, walking faster.

  ***

  Branwell

  08:46. 03.10.2040. Forgotten London, Edgware Zone.

  I awake with a start to a hand on my shoulder and something tickling my face. My eyes fly open. I am about to lash out and defend myself but it is a girl who has woken me. Her hair hangs into my face.

  “Sorry,” she says in a soft voice as she sits back. She smiles shyly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Someone said you might need clean clothes, and I brought breakfast.”

  I sit up slowly. My back throbs and my shoulder aches. “Thank you,” I say, accepting the clothing.

  She smiles wider and brushes blonde curls from her face. “I’m Marrianne.”

  “Branwell Ravel,” I reply. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Are you all right?” she asks, wrinkles of concern between her brows. “Everyone thinks the military sent you, but I think they’re wrong. It sounds like you’ve been through hell and back to get here.”

  “I’m fine. Is there any word on my sister?”

  Her green eyes flash with something that I can’t determine. It could be confusion but it looked, for a second, like anger. “Your … sister?”

  “Yes. We … travelled together. But we did not arrive together. Has she come to this place during the night?” I chew my lip with worry as my heart increases its beats with fear. What if she never arrives? What if she is lost forever?

  “Oh.” Marrianne frowns. “I’m sorry, but you’re the only person that came.”

  I nod, disappointed. “I had thought as much.”

  I make a start on the food she had brought me—toast and orange juice.

  “I don’t understand how you got here,” she says, gripping her fingers. “How did you do it?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I simply placed a bracelet on my wrist and was brought here.”

  “This bracelet,” she says with bright eyes. She touches the bangle laid beside my pillow.

  “Yes,” I say hastily, batting her hand away from the metal band. “I would refrain from touching it. It could be dangerous. I have no idea how it works or what its capabilities are, and, for all I know, it has a hidden function that kills its wearer.”

  She tilts her head to the side with curious eyes. “Then why did you wear it?”

  “Desperation.”

  “I just want to hold it,” she insists. Her voice is innocent and the slightest bit whiny. “I promise not to wear it.”

  “You have to understand,” I say, “that my sister is lost, and that this piece of jewellery is my only hope of being reunited with her. I am sorry, but I cannot allow a single person to touch it. It’s not only you. I am … protective of it.”

  “I do understand that. I was only curious.”

  I grimace. “I’m sorry. I am not usually so disagreeable. I like to think that I am quite friendly, but being away from my home and separated from Bennet—it’s toying with my mind.”

  She smiles and glances at the clock on the wall. Nine O’clock. “It’s okay. I have something to do. Have a good day.”

  “The same to you,” I reply.

  By now my toast has gone cold but I eat it regardless. The clothing Marrianne has given me is white, my least favourite col
our. White trousers that look to be a little too wide for my hips, a white short-sleeved shirt in a flimsy, thin material, and a white woollen jumper. I wonder at everything being devoid of colour, but I dress myself in the clothes anyway.

  I feel and appear to be an entirely different person once I am changed. My familiar dark clothes are gone with the Bran that had family and friends and happiness. Now I am nothing but a ghost in white, locked inside a prison cell that is more like an asylum to me. I pace the floor as I wait for some miracle to bring Bennet to me.

  It takes me a long time to realise that no miracle is coming, and neither is Bennet.

  If I am to be reunited with my sister, I will have to stop relying on the bangle. If I am to find Bennet, I need to search for her myself. I only hope that this new phantom of me is capable of finding her.

  10:11. 03.10.2040. Forgotten London, Edgware Zone.

  “What crime am I being accused of?” I ask, rubbing my eyes with the palm of my hand. My head is pounding a rhythm in my ears and I can’t keep my brain from thinking about my sister.

  “You’re not. Yet, anyway,” Alba answers. She looks tired. “The things you mentioned—America, and Olympiae—it’s information that nobody has access to. To know about States’s former name, let alone The Olympiae … you’d have to be a high ranking Official.”

  None of this is making sense. “An official of what? The government?” Does this woman think that The Olympiae Club is a branch of the government like my father did? “It is all lies. The Olympiae isn’t the government at all. They’re working for their own sakes, and they are not to be trusted. Their plans … they are horrifying.”

  “Olympiae are an old group of people,” she says. “People I’ve only read about. How did you find out about them?”

  I say bitterly, “I had the pleasure of meeting some of their members personally.”

  She draws in a sharp breath. “That is impossible. They don’t exist anymore.”

  “And, I think, neither do I. Did you listen to a word I said yesterday when I spoke of how I came to be here? How I came from an earlier time? Those weren’t lies. I am being completely honest. I have no reason to lie.”

  Alba does not look satisfied. “In that case why did you come armed?”

  “Armed?” I echo.

  “That thing you had in your pocket. Our technologists say it is a weapon.”

  My mind is empty for a moment. “The Cure! It’s not a weapon, it is the exact opposite of that. It is a device designed to save a person’s life.”

  Sarcasm: “Of course it is.”

  I chew my lip, agitation in my veins. Nothing I say will be believed by this woman or in this place.

  “We tried your bracelet as well. Nothing happened.”

  “Because they weren’t made for you,” I explain wearily. “Or … perhaps because this is where and when you need to be. You have to understand—the bracelets take you wherever and whenever you need to go, but if you are exactly where you are destined to be … they don’t need to take you anywhere because you already know your place.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  Alba looks incredulous, shaking her head at me. “You believe it, don’t you—that you’re from the past, that you’re a time traveller?”

  “I am from the past!” I protest. “I am not from here, that is for certain.”

  “I can agree with that at least.”

  “Tell me something,” I say, and the desperate edge to my voice makes me wince. “My sister, is she here? Have you seen her at all? Perhaps you have simply not noticed her or she’s in some other part of the city. Have you heard even the quietest whisper of a girl appearing from the air?”

  She makes a face of irritation. “Nothing.”

  “Then you have to let me go. She thinks that she is strong and that she is capable of almost anything, and she really is, but she has these turns when she cannot calm herself and … and sometimes I think that she’ll suffocate herself. That her panic will kill her. I need to find her.”

  “Not an option.”

  I stand suddenly, towering over her. I’m sure my face is hellish; like that of an avenging angel. “My sister needs me, and there is no single thing—not these walls, certainly not you, not anyone – that can keep me from her.”

  Alba watches me for an endless minute, and then she draws a chair from the opposite side of the room and seats herself in front of me. “Sit down.”

  I stay standing.

  “I’m going to help you,” she states tiredly, “but you have to help me first.”

  Reluctantly, I take a seat. “What do you require my help with?”

  “Tell me what you know about The Olympiae Club.”

  I launch into everything, starting from my father’s death and ending with my impossible arrival here. I tell her about Morelock, and George explaining to us about The Weapon. I tell her what I can remember from my father’s journals. I tell her about the things we discovered in the Olympiae building that night. And I tell her what the founder of The Olympiae said to us and how he disappeared right before our eyes.

  She listens intently, her hazel eyes calculating the truth of me. Finally, I feel my muscles weaken, weighted by what feels like a confession and by the pain of missing my sister. I wish she was here, not only because I am worried sick about her but because she makes me stronger.

  “Thank you,” Alba says cautiously. “I still don’t believe your insane time travel story, but,” —she takes a deep breath and forces the words out. I get the impression that I have proven her wrong and that she is rarely wrong— “I believe you’re not an Official, and I don’t think you came here to infiltrate or endanger us.”

  “I did not mean to come here.”

  She looks at me seriously. “I know. Listen … The Guardians originally formed to counteract The Olympiae Club. They disappeared around thirty five years ago, but The Guardians never did. We think that the group had something to do with States and the solar flares, and we’re waiting for them to reform. Although, personally, I don’t think they ever left. I think they went underground. They’ll emerge again, and we’ll be ready.”

  She smiles and it’s a smile that holds a thousand secrets. She jolts in her seat when the door is thrown open. A girl bustles through the entryway, half hidden by a stack of dusty books. She wears a pale golden dress that moves through the air like waves in water.

  With a reverberating thud she sets the books on a table beside the bed before she turns, breathing heavily, to Alba.

  “Priya,” Alba murmurs, her mouth curved with amusement. “Is everything okay?”

  “What do you mean? Oh—with me? Yes, I’m fine. He’s telling the truth.” She nods towards me and I sit up straight in shock.

  She smiles shyly and takes a seat at the end of the bed, removing a book from the top of the pile and laying it gently across the white covers. She bends her head as she flicks through the pages and a mass of black hair falls over her shoulder and hides half of her face. She has skin the colour of cocoa and eyes darker, and with greater depths, than any I have seen before.

  “Here,” she says. Her voice is no louder than a whisper. If pages could speak they would have a voice like hers. “The Myth of the Vanishing Twins. I won’t read it to you, it’s quite long, but the basic story is about two children, one boy and one girl, who disappeared in the dead of night. Nobody saw them again, and even the police couldn’t track them down, which back in that time was really something. The police weren’t what they are now, they were a more influential and impressive force.”

  She draws a deep breath, speaking a thousand words a minute. I strain to catch every one of them.

  “At first I thought it was about young children, maybe six or seven years old, but in this story—” She scans another book, this one worn on the edges. “It describes them as youths, and in another: ‘merely adults’.”

  “That could be talking about anyone,” Alba says gentl
y.

  “No,” Priya goes on with determination, presenting yet another book. “This one isn’t a fiction book. This is a book of facts and events that have been properly documented through history. It mentions an investigation into the disappearance, and that none of their family members knew of their whereabouts. One of their relatives drew a sketch for the missing persons search.” She turns the book so that both Alba and I can see it. It is clearly me and my sister. Bennet. The next breath I inhale shudders in my chest.

  “It talks about Bennet, too,” Priya says, her eyes meeting mine. “About your sister.”

  A cold fist has seized my heart. “Does it say what happened to her?”

  “No,” she murmurs, biting her lip. “I’m sorry. I did try to find out, but none of our library’s books mentions her.”

  “This is you,” Alba is whispering, staring at the page. “This is … actually you.”

  “Yes,” I say for lack of a better response.

  “But it’s dated eighteen-seventy-eight. That’s impossible!”

  “I told you the truth, about everything. I was never dishonest.”

  “But this is proof,” she laughs. “This is insane. You’re impossible. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I know,” I say miserably. “I assure you that I wish I wasn’t.”

  “Don’t say that,” Priya says in her hushed voice. “You never know what destinies you may be meant for. You’re here for a reason.”

  I open my mouth to disagree but I remember that the bangle brought me here, to this place, because this was where I needed to be. “You may be right.”

  She smiles before glancing meaningfully at her leader. “You can’t keep him locked in here anymore, can you? He’s not military or anything else we know. He should have a room.”

  “You’re right. It’s not like I have anything better to do than show all these newcomers to their rooms,” she says with sarcasm, already halfway across the room.

  It takes me a second to realise that I should be following her, and then I’m running to catch up. Priya’s laugh behind me is like the sea lapping against the shore.

  ***

  Honour

  12:03. 03.10.2040. Forgotten London, Edgware Zone.