Truth and Lies (a Red Rising Fan Fic)

I spent days dwelling on how to escape, and in the end, the simplest trick worked. The timing had to be perfectly in sync with the Obsidian guard’s shift change. Earlier on, I shifted so my thin blanket hung over the edge of the cot, and as they distracted each other, I rolled off the edge and underneath. 

Now I lay in wait, watching their feet shuffle around at the cell door. It only takes a moment for them to notice I’m nowhere in sight. The duroglass doesn’t allow me to hear their reaction, but a pair of feet rushes to the door. The Obsidian bangs on it with his plasmaRifle, but I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. If they have any inkling I’m still in here, the plan is done, and I’m dead. The only reason I’m alive now is because Darrow decreed it, but now I’m stuck in Tinos, and that gorydamn pixie is off challenging the Sovereign’s armada. I’ve been gambling with myself whether the Crow’s will drag me to trial, or if Darrow will come back to finish my line first.

Slam! Slam! Slam!

I breathe in, long and deep. This is it. It has to be. The guard opens the cell door. 

“Where are you, Gold?” His deep voice rumbles around the empty room, each step reverberating off the rocky walls. 

Hold, Cassius, hold. I keep my muscles lax as I wait for him to walk closer. Too early and he’ll shoot me. The door is six point two meters away. The second Crow is another eight after that. I have to be through the door before he reaches it, which gives me barely a second, maybe two, to take down the one in front of me. 

A drop of sweat trickles down my brow, and I stop myself from wiping it away, the tickle threatening to distract me. It doesn’t take much these days. The Obsidian stops in front of the cot, crouching down to use the barrel of the rifle to lift the blanket. 

Now!

I shove off the wall and slam into the Crow’s midriff, knocking him off balance and he crashes to the ground with a grunt. The rifle skitters across the ground, and I kick it farther away while scrambling to my feet. It’s a mistake. 

The gorydamn Crow grabs my ankle, and I nearly go down, but I kick out with my other foot and connect with his nose. He releases me with a howl. The other guard is well past halfway to the door now, and I only have a second and a half to clear the last three meters and get clear of the door before the other Crow shoots. 

Two meters.

He raises his rifle, sighting my chest. 

One meter.

His finger flips the safety and goes to the trigger. 

I drop into a slide. He fires. The green globule burns the tips of my hair, singeing my dirty curls. As I glide between his legs, I slam a fist into his balls and he doubles over. 

“That’s for messing up my hair, you pissprick!” I don’t stick around to hear his response, slamming the cell door behind me as the first Obsidian starts the chase. Without thinking, I turn right, racing down the rocky red corridor. I nearly run over a Red as she steps out an open door, but I twirl around her just in time. The Crow’s aren’t so nice. She screeches and slams the door shut as I turn down another corridor, my eyes searching the walls and floor. Somewhere around here there has to be…

There!

In the wall is a grated niche, leading to the horizontal airshafts bringing fresh air to each level. Sliding to a stop, I dig my fingernails into it and pry the grate off, then wiggle and squirm my way into a space barely big enough for a Red, let alone a Gold. Just as I pull the grate tight behind me, the Obsidian’s stomp past fastlike. 

As they fade into the distance, I lean back against the less than smooth rock and let out a relieved breath, throwing a cloud of dust into the air. I repress a sneeze as I glance around. The airshaft stretches as far as I can see on either side.

A giggle bubbles in my chest. I’m free. Free from the slagging gazes of Sons of Ares. Free from the constant threat of Darrow hanging over my head. No more eating their swill and being ridiculed for the one reason I shouldn’t be, for being a Gold. Thank Jove. 

The door to the hangar is three floors above, so I can’t hide here the whole way, but it will take me to the next floor. As I creep along, doing my best not to make any sound that could echo out the vents, I keep an ear out for any passersby. So far, no one seems to be looking for me. No hurrying feet, no yelling, and no whispering, for that matter. I’m not sure if I should be grateful or offended. 

It takes me longer than I anticipate to find the end of the airshaft. When I do, and can finally stand straight, the muscles in my back cramp and seize up from bending over so long. I lean against the wall of the vertical shaft until they pass. Just like the tunnel, it’s carved rough, without the smooth hallways and corridors of the main caves. That means pieces jut out. Handholds and footholds. 

Climbing it is not as easy as it sounds. 

The protruding rocks may be big enough for a Red, but I can barely grip them with my hands, and I have to place my feet just so, or else they slip off. I dig my nails into the rock, the reddish hue hiding the blood from my torn fingernails. The thought of staying ahead of the Reaper keeps me moving through the pain. 

By the time I drag myself over the edge of the next floor, I’m wheezing, and my arms and legs shake from fatigue. Even with practicing Kravat in my cell every day, the neck wound courtesy of Virginia left me in a much more weakened state than I’d like to admit. 

I can’t blame her for it, though. That was some prime shooting. I never realized how good she is with a bow. Maybe if I paid more attention to her, she would have at least toyed with the idea of staying with me. 

As my breath slows, and my heartbeat returns to a normal pace, I drag myself to my feet. This part of the airshaft extends only half as far as the last before it narrows, which means making the rest of the trip in plain sight. 

Sighing, I pick my way over a fallen boulder and listen at the grated opening. A pair of footsteps hurry past, and then all is quiet. I push the grate out slowly, peering down the corridor. A Gray woman marches past the end of the hall, but it's otherwise empty. The grate clanks against the wall as I shove it aside and clamber out of the hole. 

“What are you doing?”

I freeze. Midlingo. Not a Gold, at least. Must have come out a side door. I let my face fall into the smoldering Gold look everyone expects from me as I turn toward the voice and clap my hands together. 

“Ah, good timing, my goodman! I heard a particularly nasty sound coming from inside the airshaft and I thought I’d take it upon myself to have a look. As an Orange, you must understand the need to act fastlike when something is amiss.” The look on his face is torn between fear and disbelief. “I often take it upon myself to check out unnerving noises in times of war, but this time the problem outstrips my knowledge, and I may need a little help identifying the rattle, register?”

He’s staring up at me, but quickly nods his head when I finish talking. 

“Good! Now I must write up a list of updates for Ares. Is this a problem I should add to the list?” I raise an eyebrow. The short man is quivering, eyes wide. 

“N-no, Dominus. I’ll have it fixed right away.”

“We’ll keep it between us, then.” I slap him on the shoulder good-naturedly on my way past and his knees buckle, but I don’t stop, striding down the hall until I come to the cross corridor and turn left out of sight. Then I’m sprinting. I’m lucky the Orange only saw my color.

With Darrow gone, the corridors of this side of Tinos are strangely quiet. He brought many of the Sons to fight, and those who are left are all in the residential district. Far from dangerous prisoners like me. I’m lucky there too, because I’d otherwise never be able to navigate these halls without being caught. 

I find the stairwell without trouble, and launch myself to the next floor. Escape is in sight. The door to the hangar is at the end of the hall. All I have to do is reach it. Then I’ll be free to come back at my leisure to take justice for my family. For my aunts and uncles, my brothers and cousins, and all the kids slayed by Darrow or under his orders. 

I dwell on the confession from Octavia. It hurt her to tell me. It hurt me to hear it. After I thought Darrow dead, I had convinced myself that maybe one day we could have been friends again. I’m so tired of all this violence, of war. Golds were not built to conquer. We were made to help, to protect. But now all we do is kill. I would have done anything to put all this behind us, but now I don’t have that choice. Upon my honor, I will avenge my family. 

The only time I ran into anybody on this level is when I had to duck into a closet as a group of Obsidian’s joked in Nagal as they prowled the corridors. Now it's a straight shot to freedom. 

It’s in sight when an alarm blares overhead. I nearly jump out of my skin, and my heart hammers against my chest. Is this it? Have the guards finally alerted someone?

The ground shudders, and I realize what’s going on. The alarm isn’t for me. A ship is landing. An enormous ship. Darrow has returned. 

A dread seeps into my veins and courses throughout my body. This is worse than being caught by the gorydamn Crows. If Darrow finds out I have escaped, well, I’ll probably be joining my family sooner than intended. I double my speed. If I can just slip by before they disembark…

The hangar door hisses. I have half a second to get out of sight. My window of time to escape has run out. Too many people will be in and out of the hangar to sneak past them and launch without being noticed. With a longing glance at the exit, I slide behind a grouping of water filtration pipes. 

The door slides open. Darrow stands at the head of his army. His face is hard, but there are lines of sorrow that had not been there when we talked in the infirmary. Virginia stands at his right shoulder, her mouth set in a grim line. It looks like they lost, but I know they didn't because they wouldn’t have come back otherwise. The toll must have been high. 

I want to feel triumphant that the war he began has taken so much from him, but I can’t. All I feel is a sadness deep in my bones. How many are dead because of this war? From the look on his face as he sweeps into the hall hand in hand with the woman I love, it’s too many. 

My eyes linger a moment too long on Virginia, her golden hair streaming behind her, remembering the time we had together. It was too short, but even then I realized she could never truly be mine. In some ways, she’s just as wild and crazy as Darrow. 

Behind them strolls Sefi, Queen of the Obsidians, and her Crow’s trail in her wake. I shrink farther back into the shadows, waiting for them to pass. All the lowColors come after, and I step out in between them and the last line of Crows. They’re all too tired and shell shocked to pay me any attention. 

My breath comes quick at the thought of being detected, but I force myself to breathe normally and keep my head down and not make any sudden movements as the Crow’s glance back at the lowColors. They don’t notice me. I look like I’ve been through hell the same as them. 

I follow the march through the red corridors until the same stairwell I dashed up earlier comes level with me, and I peel off as if I’m supposed to. Once the door swings shut, I’m sprinting again. No time to crawl through the airshafts this time. 

My luck runs out on the next level down. The two Crows left behind to guard me slam through a door just as I turn into the corridor. Behind me, the same stairwell I just vacated opens, and the voice of Sefi floats on the still air. 

“Slag it,” I mutter and race toward the Obsidians. I’d rather face them than Sefi the Quiet anyday. Their faces twist from fear, to confusion, to anger so fast I have to suppress a laugh. When I get close, I let them grab me and clench my stomach muscles as the one I tackled drives a fist into my gut. Air explodes from my lungs and my knees buckle. It hurts, but not as bad as when Darrow took off my hand. 

“Wait till we tell Sefi what you did,” he snarls as they drag me toward her. 

I cough, forcing a breath of air into my lungs. If they bring me to her now, I may as well have found her myself. “Wait till I tell her who let me escape, register?”

They stop and glance at each other, saying something in Nagal. The other spits and nods. Then they drag me back toward the holding cells. A few lowColors see us, but the Crow’s scare them into silence. 

They toss me unceremoniously into the cells, and the main aggressor kicks me on the way out. 

“Don’t try it again, Gold, or you’ll get worse.”

I lay curled in a ball, gasping for air as my insides settle back to their appropriate places. Each breath brings a sharp pain to my side. Damn pixie bruised a rib. 

As my breathing comes easier, I roll onto my back and stare at the rock ceiling. The weight of it presses down on me. Where has my honor gone? I swore to uphold everything I believe, and yet those same beliefs have been brought into question time and time again. All I do, I do for the love of my family, my friends. But I can not help but wonder if it was the right path. 

I took justice for Julian and failed. 

I took justice for Karnus, for the rest of my family, and where did that leave me? Here. In a jail cell among the Sons of Ares, stewing in the uncertainty that Darrow will kill me next. I am alone. 

How much time passes, I can’t be sure. Time is meaningless in this cell. But when the telltale creak of hinges breaks the silence, I shoot to my feet, only to stumble back to my knees, grabbing at the stabbing pain in my ribs. The two Obsidian guards are back, lips curled into cruel smiles, manacles dangling from gigantic hands. 

“Come, Gold. Tyr Morga wants you.” He holds up the manacles. 

“Tyr Morga? What are you talking about?” I ask, earning myself a backhand. Stars dance in my vision and taste blood. They obviously haven’t forgiven me. 

Pride sufficiently cowed, I offer my wrists, and the Obsidian claps the chains on and tug me out. I expect they told Darrow or Sefi about my escape, and my execution is nigh, but instead a Red brings me clean clothes. 

“Thank you,” I rasp. Under close scrutiny, I struggle into them before my hands are magnetically cuffed behind my back once more and I’m dragged through Tinos, back through the corridors I almost made my escape through. Is this some sort of joke? 

The mood of the passersby is somber, and suddenly I second guess myself. Maybe Darrow did lose. When they shove me out the hangar door, an enormous ship fills my vision. They lead me up the ramp and into the main bridge. A few lowColors linger about, and point us toward an airlock as they close the ramp and ready the ship for take off. My nerves skyrocket again, wondering what he has planned for me, but then I see Virginia. She stands next to Darrow, and the Howlers surround them. 

My heart jumps to my throat as I stare at the casket sitting in front of them. Everyone is murmuring together and staring at me, but I don’t register any of them, because the casket holds my friend. 

Roque. My dear poetic friend. My rage against Darrow grows as he stands there, having allowed another of us to fall in his war. But in this moment, my grief overshadows it as I fall to my knees and allow the tears to flow freely. 

“Another gone, Darrow. How many are you going to watch fall under this madness? How many will it take before you realize the futility of what you’re doing?” I’m glaring at Roque, because I can’t take my eyes from his face. It’s gray, the only color a single dot of red smeared across his temple, missed from when someone cleaned his face of blood. 

Sevro moves to charge at me, but Darrow sticks out an arm, and comes himself. I refuse to flinch away, but he doesn’t hit me as I expect. The manacles clatter to the floor and my hands are free. Finally, I tear my eyes from Roque’s body and stare at the man offering a hand up. I can’t even tell he has returned from battle. He’s just as beautiful as the day we met. 

I take his hand and he helps me up, earning glares from the others in the room. For the first time since entering, I study their faces. None of the Howlers look happy to see me. A nervous flutter grips my stomach and I press my lips together. 

“Go ahead,” Darrow says, kinder than I would expect from a wargod. Mutely, I nod and shuffle my still tied feet to Roque. A long blonde hair has fallen over his face, and I tuck it back into place before kissing his forehead. 

“Goodbye, Roque. Say hello to Quinn for me.” My voice breaks, and I step back, doing my best to think small, hiding in a corner while Darrow says his goodbye. No one else says anything. The details of his death are unknown to me, but his betrayal is no secret. Darrow is the only man I know who will give his enemy a funeral. 

The Obsidian returns the manacles to my wrist as Sevro herds us out the door. I glance back just in time to see it slide close. Darrow presses the release, and the sun flashes through the small window in the door. His face is hard and his fists clench at his side. Not even Virginia’s touch relaxes him. 

We don’t return to Tinos, and I am escorted into the ship’s brig by several Grays. I expect the funeral to be my only foray into reality for some time, so when I’m woken several hours later by a Gray I recognize as Holiday, I almost don’t believe her when she says Darrow wants to see me. 

“I’d rather not,” I say, leaning back on my thin pillow and pretending it is comfortable. 

“You’re in no position to choose what you can and can’t do,” she says, slapping more chains on my wrists and clasping my feet in iron boots. Those damn Crow’s must have informed them of my escape after all. I hiss in pain as they chafe against the already raw marks on my skin. 

“Don’t be a baby. I thought you were Peerless.” Holiday yanks me to my feet, and I have no choice but to follow unless I want to be dragged. I haven’t sunk that low yet. 

Three more Sons join us in the hall and surround me. The ship is quiet, the lights turned down low. We pass the bridge and turn into a hall with one door. Holiday opens it and I shuffle inside, my mouth dry. 

Darrow is walking toward us, and he nods at his friend. “I can take care of myself.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Holiday says, “but that’s not exactly a fact.”

“Holiday.” Darrow’s voice is easy, but there’s a hard edge to it.

“We’ll be right outside, sir.”

“You can go to bed.”

“Just shout if you need anything, sir.”

“Ironclad discipline you have here.” I chuckle nervously because I’d rather she stay out there for my sake. I have a feeling she’d object to Darrow doing anything stupid. As I step into the room, I run an eye over its opulence. Roque’s Imperater stateroom. Statue’s line the atrium’s circular edge. “Roque always did dress up the place. Unfortunately, he’s got the taste of a ninety-year-old orchestra first chair.”

“Born three millenia late, wasn’t he?” Darrow replies, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“I rather think he would have hated the toga of Rome. Distressing fashion trend, really. They made an effort to bring it back in my father’s day. Especially during drinking bouts and some of the breakfast clubs they had back then. I’ve seen the pictures.” I shudder. “Dreadful stuff.”

Darrow runs a finger across the collar of his uniform. “One day they’ll say that about our collars.”

The small talk isn’t helping take my mind off my chafing wrists and smarting ribs, so I glance at the glass in his hand. “This a social occasion?”

“Not exactly.” Darrow gestures for me to follow him into the lounge. It takes me a while, the iron boots echoing off the metal walls, but I’m not worried about it. The longer it takes, the longer I don’t have to find out what Darrow’s planning for me. I don’t let it show though, and sprawl on the couch as best I can. He pours me a drink, and I raise my eyebrows, hiding my concern behind them, but I’m certain he sees through it.  

“Really, Darrow? Poison isn’t your style.”

“It’s a cache of Lagavulin. Lorn’s gift to Roque after the Siege of Mar’s.”

I hold back a burst of laughter. “I never was fond of irony. Whiskey, on the other hand…” I lick my lips. “We never had a quarrel we couldn’t solve.” I sit forward and glance over the bottles. “Fine stuff.”

“Reminds me of my father,” Darrow says. I turn my attention to him, curious about his Red family. 

“Not that the stuff he drank was good for anything more than cleaning gears and killing brain cells.”

“How old were you when he died?” I ask cautiously. 

“About six, I reckon.”

“Six.” I swirl the whiskey, thinking hard. “My father wasn’t a solitary drinker. But sometimes I’d find him on his favorite bench. Near this eerie path on the spine of the Mons. He’d have a whiskey like this.” My eyes burn and I clamp down on my cheek to stop the tears from coming. “Those were my favorite memories with him. No one else around. Just eagles coasting in the distance. He’d tell me what sort of trees were on the hillside. He loved trees. He’d ramble on about what grew where and why and what birds liked to roost there. Especially in winter. Something about how they looked in the cold. I never really listened to him. Wish I had.”

Biting my cheek didn’t help this time, so poison or not, I take a mouthful of the drink. It tastes of grapefruit. As I swallow, hints of peat stay on my tongue. Reminds me of the old stone of Scotland. That’s when I notice the hologram floating above Roque’s console. 

“Is that castle Mars? By Jove, it looks so small.”

“Not even the size of the engines on a torchship.”

“It boggles the mind, the exponential expectations of life.”

Darrow laughs. It’s full and hearty. A real laugh. “I used to think the Gray’s were tall.”

I can’t help but grin in return. “Well, if your metric is Sevro…” A laugh escapes, but my smile fades. I don’t want to offend him, so I change subjects. “I wanted to say thank you…for inviting me to the funeral. That was…surprisingly decent of you.”

“You’d have done the same.”

“Hmm.” I don’t want to admit I wouldn’t have. “This was Roque’s console?”

“Yeah. I was going through his vids. He rewatched most of these dozens of times. Not the strategies or the battles against other houses. But the quieter bits. You know.” He’s staring at them with an intensity I can’t quite place. 

“Have you watched them?” I ask. 

“I wanted to wait for you.”

I’m taken aback. Me? I was sure he invited me here in the dead of night to quietly get rid of me. Not watch old vids of us at the Institute. But sure enough, he reaches over and hits play. For a while, I’m still wary, but the whiskey dispels the awkwardness between us and we’re talking and laughing like nothing had ever happened. I tell him of the night I kissed Quinn, and he tells me of his brother and his troubles with Virginia. It’s nice to know he’s not as perfect as everyone makes him out to be. 

When I’m nearly too drunk to stand, he calls for Holiday to take me back to my cell, but before I leave, he presses a holocube into my hands. 

“Watch it tonight. I am so, so sorry.” Then he walks away as if he didn’t drink a drop. 

After Holiday brings me back to my cell, I sit on my cot, rubbing the sore spots left by the iron boots. The holocube sits on my pillow. I’m nervous to play it, as I can’t imagine what could be on it. More records of the Institute? An apology Darrow couldn’t make in person? 

With nothing left but time, I hit play. 

Octavia flickers to life. Adrius kneels before her. 

The vid only takes five minutes, but those five minutes have changed my life. My shoulders shake with sobs I can no longer hold in, and I rock back and forth on my cot. All this time, Darrow has told the truth. It was my Sovereign who lied. My Sovereign, who hid the truth of who killed my family. She gave the order to Adrius and covered it up, so I’d think Darrow did it. 

I scream and hurl the holocube at the wall, barely registering the pain in my ribs. It shatters and rains onto the floor. Never again will I doubt him. Never again will I take another’s side. He is thunder, and I am lightning. We are brothers, and I will do anything to help him end this war.