Vision In Silver

CHAPTER 22

Watersday, Maius 12

There had been the sound of dripping, and blood on the floor, and the other girls. . . .

She stood next to the bed and focused on the man who blocked the room’s doorway.

A different place. A new keeper. But he didn’t look like a Walking Name. It wasn’t just the jeans and blue shirt that made him different from the ones who had controlled her in the compound. He seemed . . . wild . . . and his amber eyes made her certain that he wasn’t human.

Why had one of them brought her to this place?

“I’m Jackson Wolfgard. You said you wanted to live. The Intuits couldn’t keep you in their village, so we brought you here to the Wolfgard camp in the terra indigene settlement.”

She had said she wanted to live. Had screamed the words. Yes. She remembered that much. Her memories of how she had gotten from that room to this one were veiled.

She recalled training images of expressions in an attempt to figure out what she saw in his face. Reluctance. Resignation.

He moved to the desk and chair, the only other pieces of furniture in the room besides the bed and small table with a lamp. When he stepped away, she stared at the silver razor he’d left on the desk.

“Meg, the Trailblazer, says you should have the razor, that cutting should be your choice. She says this kind of room will help quiet your mind.” Jackson watched her, just as she watched him. “We don’t know how to take care of the sweet blood, but we’ll try to help you stay alive, if that’s what you want.” A hesitation. “You should choose a name.”

“I’m called cs821,” she whispered.

“That’s not a name.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“If you want something, ask us.”

When she nodded, he left the room and closed the door.

She waited, but nothing happened. When she got tired of waiting, she explored the room. Wood walls, wood floor, wood ceiling. Wood desk, wood chair, wood table, wood headboard. Wood shutters that were open, but the screened window was covered on the outside with white paper that allowed light to come in but prevented her from seeing out.

The adjoining room had a toilet and sink and another small covered window.

Returning to the bedroom, she went to the desk and reached for the razor gleaming silver on the dark wood. The euphoria that came from a cut would make her feel good. So good.

But something Jackson said finally clicked. Meg, the Trailblazer, had told her new keepers that this is what she needed to stay alive. Meg.

Could it be . . . ?

She looked around the room again. Nothing but wood and a covered window.

She walked over to the bed and studied the cover, sorting through training images until she came up with an identification. Patchwork quilt. Different colors, different patterns of fabric stitched together.

Gingerly, she sat on the bed. Timidly, she touched the quilt. Quietly, her finger traced the patterns. Intrigued by the shapes, she forgot about the razor.