2 - Haven
Sebastian woke up in a hospital bed. He was sore in places he hadn't thought he could feel pain. His head felt stuffed with cotton and his mouth was as dry as the desert. A day just like every other.
Sebastian lay in bed, restrained by both IV and handcuffs. He wondered when his newest caretaker would notice him.
He wasn't alone in the infirmary. He recognized several of the men who had brought him here. They were in worse shape than him, but there weren't as many as he thought there would be. The conflict in the cornfield had been either much better or worse than he’d expected.
Someone in the room noticed him looking around and called the doctor over.
"You're awake much sooner than I thought," she said. She was a woman in middle age, with streaks of gray hair and a kind face.
"Where am I?" he asked, swallowing to clear the grime from his throat.
"This is the home of the Haven of the One Mind," she said. "And your new home as well."
Sebastian didn't particularly like the sound of that, but he kept such thoughts to himself.
"You were very fortunate," she said. "You lost a lot of blood, but the bullet missed the bone. You should recover fully within a few months.”
He noticed she didn't mention the wounds carved into his skin, though they were freshly bandaged.
"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "I do not. But now that you are awake, Master Freeman would like to see you. I'm certain he will know."
More men with guns came shortly to collect him from the infirmary. They sat him in a wheelchair and pushed him outside before quickly bringing him into another building. Sebastian caught a glimpse of the same sky of the cornfields. Beneath was a compound of squat buildings surrounded by concrete walls. The building they brought him to was warmer and better constructed: lighting fixtures instead of bare bulbs, carpet over the concrete floors. The long corridor branched off into kitchens, dining rooms, offices cramped with desks. Sebastian's guards pushed him through too briskly to get more than a passing glance.
The corridor opened up to a small foyer. The door at the end was constructed of heavy wood in sharp contrast to the cheapness of the construction of the rest of the building. Some symbology was painted in fading green over the dark wood. The guards knocked twice on the door before stepping back. Sebastian could smell a faint trace of incense.
The door opened, seemingly on its own. The guards wheeled him into the room.
The room was lavishly decorated. Thick rugs covered the hardwood floors. Dark wood shelves held musty tomes and strange artifacts from an assortment of cultures. Antique furniture was densely packed into the room, throwing strange shadows in the dim light.
A man stood in the center of the room. His face was thin and neat. His hair was slicked back and his spine ramrod straight. He wore deep green robes which hung straight from his shoulders to the floor.
"Make him stand," he said to the guards.
They uncuffed him and pulled him roughly from the chair. Sebastian sank as his leg protested, but they grabbed him by the shoulder and kept him upright.
Sebastian tried to meet the man's eyes as he stared him down, but his eyes barely glanced at Sebastian's face, going straight to the wads of gauze on his back, arms, and legs. He walked slowly around them. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up as the man passed close behind him. Sebastian bit back a yelp as he tore the bandage from the back of his neck.
“‘Freedom or death?’ This appeared before the conflict just outside our walls. And here he is, neither free nor dead, despite his best efforts."
The man's voice was quiet and measured. Sebastian wondered who he was speaking to, as neither of the guards reacted.
"They retrieved records of his past prophecies from Dambel House, Master Freeman," said a small voice from behind him. "They include the doctor's best guesses at the meanings of the prophecies, including recent natural disasters and incidents involving other patients at the hospital."
"Thank you, Sasha," he said, walking back around to the front of him. He held out his hand. A young man, still mostly a child, hurried to deliver a sheaf of papers into his waiting hands. There was some resemblance between them, though what was arch in Freeman became delicate in Sasha. As the Master studied the papers, Sebastian tried to catch Sasha's gaze, but the youth steadfastly refused to meet his eyes.
"You are the Augur, then?" he said to Sebastian at last.
"The doctor liked to give us fanciful names for his guests," Sebastian said, still buoyed up by the two guards on either side.
“A prophecy of yours was brought to our attention. A brief poem, concerning a seed, a flame, a flood. Do you know of which we speak?”
Sebastian nodded, uncertain. “I do.”
“You were brought here, then, to explain its meaning. The seed, the flame, the flood--to whom or what do they refer? Under what circumstances are they to reveal themselves? What can be done to ensure--to hasten their arrival?”
He spoke quickly, almost feverishly. His sudden eagerness was alarming.
“I--I don’t know.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “It is your prophecy, is it not?
You are the prophecy’s author, are you not?”
“In some ways, yes,” said Sebastian. Freeman’s attention flickered the scars on his neck.
"But you didn’t write it? Then who is the author?"
"It doesn’t have one. It appeared on its own, like the rest."
“Then you know nothing, of the seed? Of the flame? Of the mercy between them?”
“Not anymore than you do.”
“Then surely you know something ” he said, losing his patience, “of the future, and the reckoning that is to come?”
“I never claimed to know anything. Prophets know the future. Augurs only interpret signs. I find them hard to miss.”
The master's fingers tightened around the paper. Sebastian thought he might throw the sheet of papers or yell or scream. But as about to lose his composure, he relaxed his grip. He thrust the crumpled papers back into Sasha's grasp. Sasha took them quickly, relieved.
"Have him put in a cell and cared for. Document any new prophecies. If any, by chance , are relevant, report them to me." He turned to leave.
The guards stood to attention and made to dump him back into the chair.
"Wait," Sebastian protested. The master turned back around. "Is that all? Why did you take me from that place?"
“Oh no,” he said, sneering. “There are decisive times before us, through which we might hope for some knowledge to guide us. Your predecessor thought you might provide it to us in his place. But if not,” he smiled, though there was no joy behind it. "then it's simply one more for the collection."
The guards pushed him back down into the wheelchair. The master and his assistant retreated back farther into the darkened room of dust and antiques.
"Disrobe."
Sebastian pulled off his shirt and removed his trousers and other clothes.
"Remove the bandages."
As ordered, he unwound the bandages from his arms and legs, grimacing as they stung in the open air. He did the same with those on his chest and back.
"Raise your arms."
Sebastian did so, hearing the camera shutter click.
"Turn around."
The camera shuttered again.
They picked up the camera, disassembling it and returning it to its case. Sebastian waited for them to leave before collapsing back onto the cot. He was used to such procedures--the hospital had him do the same, but still he found them exhausting.
"Di'it 'urt."
Sebastian sat up suddenly. He had thought they had all left.
Sebastian recognized the man at the bars as one of the many guards who cycled through the rotation.
"What?"
“‘What?’” he said in an overblown accent, mocking Sebastian’s. "I said di't 'urt. Did. It. Hurt. Your cuts."
He stared pointedly on the scars on his shoulders and chest, gaze lingering on the newest marks on his upper thighs.
Sebastian's throat tightened.
'"I don't see why that matters."
"D'you do it yourself? Cut yourself up, when we aren't looking?” His voice was a low hiss. Sebastian shivered and fought the urge to cover himself.
"Of course not. That's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard."
"Hey, hey," he said, holding up a hand. "No need to be rude. Not to the man who's got your food."
He held the tray out in front of him, wiggling it precariously on one hand.
Sebastian sighed.
"Thank you. If you'll leave it by the door, I’ll grab it in a moment."
"Nuh uh," he said, grinning. "This soup is very tipsy, see. Got to hand it off, hand to hand. Otherwise who knows what might happen."
He repeated the wriggling motion. The implication was clear.
"Sure, fine," Sebastian muttered to himself. He rolled off the bed, stooping to pick his clothes off the floor.
"Oh no, don't get dressed on account of little old me."
Sebastian rolled his eyes, went up to the bars. He held his hands out in front of him.
"Nah, you've got to get closer, you need a good grip on it."
Sebastian stepped closer. At long last, the guard opened the slot but not without a blatant leer downwards. Sebastian swallowed nervously.
"Careful now," he said, pushing the tray through the slot. Sebastian grabbed it. While he did so the, the guard reached out with his free hand, grabbing at Sebastian's hair and yanked him towards the bars--
"Charles, now what would your wife think if she saw you...disrespecting the Master's property like this?"
Charles withdrew his hand as if struck. The tray clattered to the ground, spilling over him. Charles stumbled away from the bars, swearing.
"Fucking snitch," he snarled.
"Mhm," said Erika dismissively from where she stood at the door. "Now go fetch Master Augur a new lunch before I find some more things to snitch about."
Charles stormed out, cussing. Erika watched him go.
Sebastian sank to his knees.
"And what do you want?" he asked, trying to keep the tremors in his knees from moving up into his voice.
"Nothing," she said. "I'm leaving now. I'll make sure you get your food, Sebastian. The nurse is on her way with new bandages, too."
Erika turned to leave.
"Wait!"
"Yes?"
Sebastian grabbed the bars of his cell.
“What did you call me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Sebastian? Or do you prefer to be called ‘Augur?’”
“No, I just--” His voice was shaking. “It’s just been a while, since anyone called me that.”
There were footsteps down the hall. “That’ll be the nurse,” she said. “I should go.”
“Wait!” he said again.
She did, expecting him to tell her what he wanted. But Sebastian himself didn’t know.
"Don't--I--Can you help me change my bandages," he said, at last.
"Uh, that's not really my sort of thing. But the nurse is just down the hall," she said, stepping back.
“I know,” he said. “But please--”
Sebastian could see her hesitating. He thought she was going to refuse but her expression softened.
"Fine," she said. "Wait here."
Erika left the room.
Sebastian picked himself off the floor. In the hall outside he could hear Erika negotiating with the nurse. After a brief exchange, the nurse headed back down the way she had come, Erika in the opposite direction.
When she didn't reappear after several moments, Sebastian grew uncertain. Had she changed her mind? Was she coming back?
Footsteps from down the hall. The door opened, and Erika was back.
"Don't have much faith in me do you? I was only gone for a moment."
Sebastian grimaced. He’d thought he’d done a better job of hiding his relief.
"You haven't really done anything to inspire any faith," he said.
"And yet, here you are asking me to change your bandages."
"Just take that to mean of my limited options, you were the least terrible."
Erika cracked a smile. "You mean that lech Charles? Bastard's still hanging around in the hall outside your cell. His wife can't stand the sight of him, but he can’t believe that he might be the problem. Then he does shit like this and wonders why she's leaving him. Sad, isn't it?"
Erika unlocked the door. She slipped the keys into her pocket, not bothering to lock the door behind her.
"The two of you are close then?" Sebastian said, not even attempting to hide his disgust.
"Ha! No," said Erika. "You haven't figured it out yet? I'm an Empath. I feel others' feelings, and if they're close enough, think their thoughts. And unfortunately I spend too much time near Charles to avoid the details of his private life."
Erika pulled a set of gloves out of her pocket, sliding them over her fingers.
"It's also the reason you shouldn't try and sneak the keys from my pocket. No matter how good a pickpocket you are, I will notice.”
“I--” Sebastian swallowed his disbelief. His own situation was hardly any less strange. “I never would have guessed. You don’t seem the type.”
“I get that a lot. They wanted me to do the whole ‘I sense great anger in you’ bit, but when I refused they just sent me off to security.”
“What am I thinking about?”
Erika rolled her eyes. “I said Empath, not mind reader. But you’re thinking about some sort of food. Your mouth started to water.”
“You’re exactly right, it was the doner place by--”
The smile shrunk from Sebastian’s face. The memory felt suddenly so very out of place. Erika didn’t comment on his sudden silence.
“Sit down. Let's get this over with."
Sebastian sat down on the bed. Erika let him redress the cuts within his reach.
Sebastian finished dressing an old scrawl on his leg (... that breeds the triumph of mercy... ) still leaking gently. He looked up and caught Erika staring at him with an expression of intense thought.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I used to be in the same boat as you--locked away. I did whatever I could to get out. Even killing for a cause I don't believe in. If you ever needed to do the same--"
"Are you volunteering to break me out? If not, then I’m not interested," said Sebastian. "Can you help me out with this one?" he said, pointing to a spidery knot of cuts under his chin.
Erika nodded stiffly.
Kneeling down in front of him, she tilted his head up gently. Carefully, she checked for signs of infection before pressing a wad of gauze to his cut.
"Nervous?" Sebastian asked. He raised a hand to hold the gauze in place as she fished for the medical tape. His fingers barely touched hers, but she pulled her hand back suddenly, as if burned. The gauze fell to the floor.
"Yeah," she said. "Don't like being touched," she said, ripping off another bandage.
"Something to do with being an Empath?"
She nodded, keeping her gaze still averted, though the bandage was already prepared.
"At this distance, to be honest, your thoughts are louder than mine," she said. "Any closer, touching, skin to skin, I lose track of me. And I really don't like that, so don't get any strange ideas." Erika gave him a pointed stare to drive home the point.
"Got it. No touching," he said. "Now would you do my back and legs?"
Sebastian laid down on his stomach.
Erika winced. First at the angry slashes into the skin, their edges torn and ragged with violence. Then at the layers of crisscrossing scars beneath. What words they had written were indecipherable, though stray letters here and there were recognizable, written in twisted and raised flesh.
"Does it hurt?"
"What?"
Erika shook her head. "Sorry, that fuck Charles is still in the hall. These scars didn’t heal well, is what I meant to say. Some of these should have been stitched up."
"Well, human menageries masquerading as psychiatric hospitals aren't exactly known for their standard of medical care. That’s what Dambel’s side business was--a collection of disordered minds, for the doctor’s rich friends to gawk and gasp at. They never treated any of their patients, beyond what it took to keep them alive."
Erika began to wrap the still bleeding wounds. With her careful, deliberate touch, Sebastian was reminded that she probably knew what he was feeling even if he didn't say it.
"How long has this been going on for?"
"Five years now. It started my second year of university. Turns out my aunt and uncle only had enough patience and money for two years of wild goose chases and puzzled physicians. When Dambel House was willing to take me in, they jumped at the chance. I haven't seen them since."
"You don't sound too upset about it."
“You tell me,” said Sebastian, flashing a smile. “Am I upset about it?”
His smile wavered as Erika pressed gauze into an open wound. She murmured an apology.
"You just run out of energy to care, eventually,” he continued, when Erika didn’t respond. “Or so I thought, at least. I cared a lot, when I thought I was getting out. But I should’ve known better. I suppose you've been through this yourself.”
Erika moved on to his legs. "I guess I have."
"What about you? How long have you been an Empath?"
Sebastian could feel her hesitate, fingers hovering over his skin.
"For as long as I can remember," she said, unfreezing. Efficiently, she began to tape shut the cuts on the back of his legs. "She thought I was born brain dead, my mother, because all I ever did was scream if she let me go. I didn’t speak until I was seven, when she died. Unfortunately, kids who go from nothing to speaking full sentences tend to attract the wrong kind of attention. An organization, a lot like your human menagerie, picked me up soon after that, and locked me up with all the other things that shouldn’t exist. Eventually I ended up here."
Erika taped down the last of the bandages. "How is that? Too tight?"
Sebastian pushed himself off the bed.
"No, just right, thank you."
Freshly bandaged, he began to dress. Erika looked away, then back when he was done. Sebastian was watching her closely.
“What is it?” she said.
“You’re really an Empath?”
She looked back at him. “Are you really an Augur?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t feel like one, but it’s either that or Dambel was right, and I’m insane, slicing myself up in my sleep. But if there are Empaths, and other things besides, maybe an Augur isn’t the strangest thing to be. This is more normal than I’ve felt in a long time.”
“What, am I that much stranger than you?” Her mouth was pulled into a grimace, but there was some humor in her eyes.
“Yes--no. I guess we’ll have to see. Will you stop by again sometime?"
"I'm on prison duty every three weeks. But I can pull some strings," she said. From her encounter with Charles, Sebastian could only imagine what those strings might be.
"Brilliant. I'll see you soon then?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling, though she seemed embarrassed at herself. "Soon."