Exile: The Book of Ever

23: The Beginning

Almost two days later, Ever woke up slowly, a sense of panic building as she contemplated her surroundings with a rested mind. She knew, without having to ask, that she had slept a long time. If she had dreamed, she had no memory of it.

She had a dim memory of being led down a long, branching series of concrete tunnels, lit with dazzling electrical lights, after descending into the ground, but she must have been more exhausted after their flight from Thayne's wolves and her healing of Rolan than she had thought. She had no recollection whatsoever of how she had come to be in this room.

Moving with the pleasant stiffness only a long overdue night (and day) of sleep could bring, she slowly pushed off a blanket and sat up. The bed she lay on was built into the wall, formed out of the same polished concrete as the structure—fortress? Bunker?—itself. The mattress was made out of a squishy material she didn't recognize.

She had apparently managed to get her boots off before falling into bed—they were propped against the wall—but otherwise she was fully dressed. She stood up, exploring the small room.

It was sparsely furnished; aside from the built-in cot, only a metal chair, a small steel table, and a strange, painted cabinet adorned the space. She slid her palm over the cabinet, steel painted in a garish red. Someone had stenciled stylized flowers onto the side of it—a long time ago now. The paint was chipped and fading. Everything seemed to be made of metal or stone, in this place.

The chair was pushed in politely beneath the table, on top of which was a neatly folded pile of clothing, a clear, capped pitcher of water, and a cup. She held up the top item: a simple shirt, made to be pulled on over the head, woven out of the strange, silky fibers Sephine and her rangers had been wearing.

Ever looked down at herself and realized she was filthy—her clothes were actually stiff with mud, grime, and perspiration, and from the feel of it alone her hair was an utter disaster. She could also smell herself, which was unsurprising since it had been over a week since her last proper bath. Thinking about it now, she was mortified to realize that Acel, Rolan, and Jared had likely smelled her too. Not that they smelled any better. As tempted as she was to disrobe right then and wash herself with the drinking water, if need be, she resisted. First things first. She had no idea where Acel, Rolan, and Jared had gotten to, or if they were all right.

There were two doors in the room. The first led into a smaller room with a high ceiling. There were shelves cut into the walls, as well as a strange, covered seat built out from the back wall, and another closed door stood in the opposite wall. She stepped in hesitantly. The shelves were filled with folded fabric and small, translucent bricks. Picking one up, she sniffed it, then laughed. Soap. And the fabric must be toweling....

Looking up, Ever saw a set of perforated metal discs suspended from the ceiling on pipes. Was it possible Sephine's people had running water? Such a thing hadn't been heard of, by the Blessed, at least, since....since before the Fall. There was no obvious way to control the flow of the water, however, so she stepped back into her bedroom and tried the other door. This one opened into a larger room with a sunken seating area and a large metal dining table surrounded by chairs.

Sitting on a cushion in the seating pit with his back to her was Jared Meacham. Sitting across from him was a petite woman dressed in clothing similar to the articles Ever had found on her own table. The woman, seeing her enter, rose.

"Jared," said Ever.

Jared craned his neck to look behind him, then climbed out of the pit by way of a shallow set of steps and hugged her briefly. He was also wearing the strange clothing, and looked—and smelled—as if he'd bathed.