Solus, page 1
part #2 of Walking Shadows Series
SOLUS
A WALKING SHADOWS NOVEL
TALIS JONES
Solus is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Talis Jones
Cover Design by Andrew Jones/Stalejive Design Collective
Map copyright © 2018 Talis Jones
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN 9781797560366
Published in the United States of America.
www.talisjonesofficial.com
Proverbs 4:26
1 Corinthians 13:7
THE WALKING SHADOWS SAGA
Alarum
Solus
Vicinus
Ultio
Initus
Table of Contents
PART I
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
PART II
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
PART III
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE AUTHOR
PART I
WHEN FROM EYES
THE SCALES FALL
CHAPTER
1
They took my boots. Grave dust and human ash encrusted in the seams, a thousand miles in the soles, memories of my only family tangled in stiff laces…and the moment I joined Sanctuary they snatched them off my feet. They said they had an order here, an order of fairness. They said my boots were in too good condition for a newcomer like me so they took them. I was handed filthy boots of weeping leather while my own were handed to someone more deserving. They’d served Sanctuary longer and desperately needed them. But they were mine.
I let them take my boots, my clothes, my pack. But when they eyed the chain around my neck that held the rings of my rescuers I brought a full-grown man to his knees. After spending the first eleven years of my life locked in a lab run by Dr. Xi in the Rochester Alliance I’ve developed a hidden genetic anomaly that allows me to catch flashes of the future, to force a tongue to spill truth, and with further training I learned to slip inside a mind and…play. Only for a moment. But it only took a single thought to project a nightmare into the man eyeing the wedding bands. He’ll never forget it and neither will I.
Sanctuary has rules of course. Rules to keep the peace. But I didn’t come this far to have my identity wiped. I agreed to follow the “law” so long as I got to keep my chain and shotgun. Fury’s shotgun. Fury and Riker, the people who rescued me from the lab, who brought me to the Dakotas and safety, safety they thought I’d find in Sanctuary. And I did. Until I didn’t.
Another dawn, another day. I wake with the sun and beat dust off my boots. Dust that isn’t Fury or Riker’s. Boots that aren’t mine. Sleep makes my fingers clumsy as I button my shirt but I splash cool water on my face and head for the barn. The people here are good people, I just prefer horses.
Grabbing a pick from the tack box I get to work cleaning their hooves. It’s simple work in seasoned hands and I make my way down the line quickly making note of which ones are ready for new shoes. The sun burns a molten orange across the horizon as I beat the nails through the curved steel into the waiting hoof. One after another I go. Some are on their last set so I’ll have to shape more tomorrow.
With the last horse shoed I stand, my back cracking like a xylophone and I wipe the sweat from my brow. A brief flash of Fury curled by the fire with a single traitorous tear rolling down her cheek enters my mind. Riker told me she’d loved her horse better than any person and had had to turn her loose. Some nights she still felt the guilt. I lean my forehead between the eyes of the moonlight white Arabian before me. For just one moment I allow myself to miss them.
“If I didn’t know better I’d say you liked horses better than people, Bones.”
I turn to face the husky voice. “Then you don’t know better.”
Tori ties her graying hair back with sun-darkened hands. “So you keep saying,” she grins. “It’s fitting you should have that anomaly for a ride.”
I glance at where my pale hands stroke the horse’s soft coat, our colors eerily close. Whether genetics or a side-effect from the experiments and drugs I was put through in my eastern prison I don’t know but even after all this time exposed to the sun I’m still only the lightest shade of gold, still practically porcelain.
“He’s not my horse,” I remind her, although I’m sure she knows this. Sanctuary is big on sharing.
“He’s yours now,” she congratulates. “Just needs a name.” At my silence Tori shifts uncomfortably. She likes being in control and my silence gives her nothing to hold. “We need you in the clinic. We’re bringing in some newbies.”
“Alright.” I unhook the tethers and guide the horse back into his stall before sliding off the bridle which I hang on a hook beside the door. I begin heading out the barn when Tori stops me.
“Bones.”
Without looking back I toss out, “His name’s Silver.” I can practically feel her smile searing into my back as I head towards the clinic.
My nose twinges at the sterile smell in the medical hut more out of habit than distaste. I’ve worked long hours here as an apprentice. I double as a vet apprentice but it seems like humans are the ones constantly breaking themselves.
“I hear we’ve got some newcomers,” I call.
“Back here!”
I pass through the room stuffed with mismatched chairs and dished candy into the back where the smell grows stronger, the walls whiter, and the décor begins reflecting your tired face from every angle you try to avoid.
Settling onto a wheeled-stool I spin round a few times waiting for the older man to step out of the supply closet. “You need any help, Walter?”
Two owlish eyes blink down at me as he faces my smile. “Naw, it’s just a few cuts and the like. Go ahead and git down their info though, yeah?”
With a nod I snatch a clipboard preloaded with paperwork and head to the next medical room. Two quick raps on the door and I push it open to see three freshly washed humans staring back at me. It’s clear they just arrived by the way their hands automatically reach for a weapon that’s no longer there and I know they just washed because they’ve all got that uncomfortable subtle fidgeting as if they feel naked and exposed without a layer of grime covering their skin.
“Right, sit on down,” I say with a friendly smile. “I’m Bones and I—”
“You a doctor?” the biggest of the three accuses.
“Yep. Now I just—”
“You don’t look like a doctor.”
With an impatient sigh I reach over and grab a white lab coat from a hook and slip it on. “Happy?”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough. Now I need you to answer some questions. That manageable for your sunbaked brain capacity?” I stare them down and besides a few glares they remain silent. I take that as acceptance.
“What do you need to know?”
I look at the red-haired woman addled with nerves, noticing how intensely she twists her fingers. “Look, I know this all probably seems too good to be true but there’s food, water, shelter, and it’s well protected. So long as you don’t start trouble and are willing to help out with the running of the place, then you’re welcome here.”
She gives me a brief nod.
“What’s your name?”
“Cynthia.”
“Any last name?”
“Uh, Crosswell, I think.”
I nod, unsurprised by her uncertainty. “Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“Where were you born?”
“I…I don’t remember.”
“Don’t you?” I ask softly. “Look at me Cynthia. Think. Where were you born?” And the moment her soft brown eyes meet mine I’ve slipped inside gently drilling that one question through her thoughts until images, sounds, and feelings emerge. “Where were you born, Cynthia?”
“Salt Lake City…or somewhere near there,” she breathes.
Casually I continue my questioning. “Do you smoke or consume alcohol?”
“Doesn’t everyone these days?” she jokes although her nerves betray her with the waver in her voice.
I stare at her. “No, actually. Cigs are hard to come by and moonshine is just about the only option most people can get their hands on and I swear that stuff slowly liquefies your insides. Most people agree.” I grin. “It’s probably the best thing about the wor ld almost sliding into Hell, at least from a doctor’s standpoint.”
“Damn shame,” the oldest grumbles.
“I don’t smoke or drink,” Cynthia answers me.
I run through a few other questions such as where they met, where they’ve been, and more medical-specific questions. After I finish with Cynthia I fill out paperwork on Jim, the older man, and Johnson Johnson, the biggest who also goes by JJ.
Johnson's an ornery fellow and it took a bit of my…talent…to get what I needed from him. Cynthia only needed a touch of my help to pull forgotten information from her mind while Jim was sharp as a tack.
As Walter returns to bandage a few minor injuries I make to leave. The doc can handle this himself. But as I slip out the exam room Jim catches my elbow in the hall.
“I sure never saw JJ open up that much to anybody, especially not a stranger.” It isn’t exactly a question but like I said, this old man is sharp.
“People often find me easy to talk to,” I shrug.
“Mhm,” Jim says with disbelief in his narrowed eyes. “And Cynthia remembered where she was born. Miracle, that. Seeing as she was three when she left, rescued by neighbors who passed her off to strangers with nothing but her name.”
“Sometimes people find their memories a bit clearer around me too.”
“Just tell me one thing, boy.” Jim holds me down with eyes of stone. “Can you put things in our heads or just pull them out?”
I hold his gaze for a moment, silence settling like dust. “Just because I can doesn’t mean I will.” And with that I turn on my heel and retreat to the small office where I copy the papers and file one set here and put the other in an envelope for Tori to keep in her office.
Those of us who have abilities here in Sanctuary don’t exactly keep them secret, but we don’t advertise them either, especially not to newcomers. Most who have lived here for a while have settled in with us, but there are always those who keep a wary eye out. My neck prickles as I replay Jim’s confrontation through my mind. I get why most people keep their distance but I meant what I said. Just because I can play a brain’s synapses like a marked deck of cards doesn’t mean I will.
Have I? Several times. Fury taught me to strike and Riker taught me to live.
Would I again? Without question. Why deny my evolution? Because it’s unfair? Life isn’t fair, yet it’s a game I hope to play well before given last call.
CHAPTER
2
Cracks of thunder and the high ping ping ping of rain on a tin roof fill the air. Crouched on the ground rocky soil digs into my body as my eye gently presses against the scope on the rifle locked in my hands. Wind whips my ghostly white hair off my brow as I adjust my shot. My finger pulls the trigger releasing a blast of thunder hurtling the focused bullet into the tin targets with an underwhelming ting. My breath comes easy.
“Hey! Bones!” a voice strains against the approaching storm. “Bones you there?”
I turn and can barely make out Trevor heading my way. “What do you want Trevor?” I shout back.
“Medical needs you!”
“It’s my day off!”
“Emergency!”
With a sigh I return my weapon to the shelter behind me. I’ll have to come back for it later. Closing the distance with a brisk jog I grab Trevor’s arm before he can take off.
“What’s the emergency?” I demand calmly.
“Got some newbies in and they’re hurt. Walter needs you.”
I run through the rain now coming down like an inverted ocean soaking me through within seconds. The moment I burst through the medical doors I grab the closest person by the collar. “Where’s Doc?”
“He’s in surgery.”
I release him and storm to the exam rooms. If Walter’s in surgery I can’t risk interrupting him. I shove open the first door and find the room empty. I hurry to the next and find a woman groaning in the exam chair. With bleary eyes she gazes up at me through greasy strands of amber-colored hair.
“Are you a doctor?”
“My name is Bones,” I smile. With slow movements I approach her my eyes scanning her for injuries. At once they lock on the unnatural bulge by her shoulder. “I’m going to have to fix that,” I say nodding towards the injury.
“Is it broken?” she worries.
“Just dislocated. But it’s gonna hurt like hell.” I carefully grab her arm and brace her body with my other hand. “You ready?”
“No.”
“Peanut butter.” And with a practiced pull I pivot and realign her shoulder where it pops back into place. I catch her as she slumps passed out, her short scream of pain and surprise dying with the blackness. Sifting through the cabinets I find some bandages, alcohol, and a sling. Carefully I bind her injured arm before dabbing alcohol swabs on her scrapes and cuts. Only a few really need bandages.
I’m cleaning a shallow gash by her ankle when she begins to stir. “Peanut butter?” she moans.
Grinning I tie off the bandage. “I just said the first thing that popped into my head to distract you.”
“Peanut butter?” she repeats.
“Ever had it before?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Well, ask for it sometime in the kitchen.”
“Thanks. For my shoulder.”
Wiping my hands on a cloth I stand. “You’re welcome. Keep that sling on and be easy with that arm. It needs to heal and you don’t want any permanent damage, okay?”
“Yeah.”
The door whispers open and Tanya’s head pops in sporting a quickly blackening eye.
“Tanya! What the hell happened to you?” I rush over quickly but she waves me off.
“The other arrival put up a fight when we tried to inject him with an anesthetic for surgery. Knocked me out for a minute. But I’m fine. I just came to check on our other patient.”
“She’ll be alright. Dislocated shoulder.”
“How is he?” The woman interjects.
Tanya and I both turn to look at her. I notice Tanya’s mouth tensing as she assesses her. Not good.
“He was in bad shape when he arrived and fighting us only tore more damage to his wounds—”
“Just tell me if he’s alive or dead,” she snaps.
“Technically he came out of surgery alive,” Tanya begins. “But it’s doubtful he’ll make it through the night.”
“He’ll make it.”
Tanya just shrugs. Pinning her gaze on me she adds, “Bring her to Tori as soon as she’s stable.”
“I haven’t done her paperwork yet,” I say confused.
“We’ll get it later. Just meet Tori and Nick as soon as you can.”
I grab the door before she can close it. “What’s this about, Tanya?”
“We didn’t find them, Bones. They found us.” With dark worry in her eyes she leaves.
Tension tugs at my shoulders as I turn to face the woman slouched in the chair behind me. “Are you feeling okay? Dizzy or anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“Then let’s go.”
Together we head outside where the sudden storm has already rolled away. Through mud we walk and I’m careful to remain close in case she slips or starts to feel sick. Guiding her to a central squat building we step inside.
“Welcome to Sanctuary,” Tori greets with arms open wide. “Perhaps you’d like to get cleaned up?”
The woman glances at me before accepting Tori’s offer. They head to the leader of Sanctuary’s personal quarters while I lean against a cool concrete wall cringing at my soaked jeans. There’s no feeling worse than wet jeans.
The door swings open and a reedy man steps inside. “Any idea what this is about, kid?”
“Nope,” I lie. “I just got here from medical.”
“I thought it was your day off?”
“It was but there was an emergency and they needed an extra pair of hands,” I shrug.
“We waiting on Tori then?”
“Yep.”
When at last they return the woman’s hair looks golden and soft, her skin no longer layers of road-born grime. In medical she looked like a drowned gutter rat but now she looks…exhausted but strangely normal. It’s weird how a shower and clean clothes can transform a person.
