The Secret of Zormna Clendar by Julie Steimle (great reads .TXT) 📖

underground city back Home.

On a desk against the far wall sat a decrepit, outdated IBM personal computer, with the cover off. Pieces of the machine were missing. Yet parts that did not appear to belong in a computer were added to it. Low tech, yet effective.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim, Zormna realized what kind of room this was. A strategy room. Even the Kevin could not have styled one better. And as she took in the faces of her captors once more, Zormna realized that she had not just fallen in among rebels, she had fallen straight into the core of the rebellion—and all on accident.

Not that it mattered now. She would not live long enough to do anything about it.

Those carrying her had hauled her to the center of the room where Al dragged over a stiff wooden chair from the computer desk. They set her on it. Holding her down while the blond man removed the belt from his waist, they tied her to the chair. Al jogged out of the room, then back with handfuls of ties and belts, grabbed at a run from some drawer or closet. He gave them to the redhead and blonde then proceeded to tie her down also, avoiding her accusing gaze. His cheeks were pink as he worked the ties into knots.

Zormna thrashed, of course. No point in making it easy. But the former police officer, that Orrlar, braced her fast against the chair back so that she could hardly budge.

There were so many foul epithets she wished to call them. But she remained silent. Her eyes trailed from one face to another, waiting for the fatal blow. It was fitting to at least know her executioners before she died. Both faces of the redhead and the blonde were familiar, but she could not quite put names to them. Of course nobody really looked that much like their ID photo. Not even Jafarr. All she knew was that these men, excluding Al, were famous rebels—rebels she had once been asked to keep a look out for.

As soon as Al had the last knot secured, all six individuals stepped back from her. That is, all except for the redhead. His hands went immediately to her right sleeve. He rolled it up as quickly as his fingers could move.

“Stop it!” Zormna shrieked at him. “Have you no decency?”

The redhead’s eyes flickered to her for only a second, but he continued until the skin of her right shoulder was made bare. Everyone could see the brand mark for themselves.

Zormna scrunched her eyes closed. Her insides felt sick. This was it. She was going to die.

But nothing happened.

Only silence.

Then Al cleared his throat and said, “Well…everyone, you can see he’s right.”

Zormna peeked open one eye.

Jafarr licked his lips nervously, standing near the drafting table. He lifted his eyes to the others present. The former policeman’s fingers twitched, but he did not move from where he stood. The woman crossed her chest with her arms. She was rubbing the back of her forearms as if it would give her comfort from the growing uneasiness in the room. Even the redhead and the blonde remained where they were, blinking at Zormna’s pinched-up face as she waited for death.

But death did not come.

 “I still don’t believe it,” the blond man muttered.

Zormna shuddered with a dark look again, preparing once more for the fatal blow.

Al stepped back. He glanced at Jafarr, who returned his exasperation double-fold with a look.

“What about the medallion?” The woman’s gray-blue eyes fixed on Zormna’s shirtfront. “If she is the last Clendar then she has to have the medallion.”

Zormna stiffened as the woman neared her. And she closed her eyes again.

The woman’s hands undid the zipper to Zormna’s hoodie. Then the woman opened Zormna’s shirt.

Feeling the woman’s fingers against her skin, Zormna’s eyes popped open. Unable to budge away, she had to suffer the probing hands that pawed into her open blouse then detach the necklace chain off her bra straps. The clips clicked and flipped as they popped off, sliding to the medallion at the bottom of the chain.

The woman held up the medallion, fingering the chain while muttering “Synthian fiber,” under her breath. She turned the medallion over in her palm, stroking the fine metal with the tips of her fingers until she found the two holes where a branding rod could be attached. Taking an indrawn breath, the woman looked straight at Zormna.

Of course, Zormna could not stop shaking. Her breathing had become shallow, and she could no longer control her tears. They flowed down her face in rivers, dripping off her chin. Her body quivered.

 The woman immediately dropped the medallion and stepped back. But she did not tuck it away. “A real Clendar Tarrn.”

Jafarr closed his eyes, groaning. He ran his fingers through his hair and over his face. “Oh, boy. I really was right.”

Every face in the room stared at Zormna with the same belief, including the blonde skeptic.

Zormna closed her eyes for the death blow.

Nothing happened.

Nothing.

So she finally said, with a crack in her voice, “If you are going to kill me, then get on with it.”

But all she got was silence.

Finally, Al said, “We don’t plan on killing you.”

Zormna opened her eyes on him. “What?”

“Not unless you want us to,” Jafarr said, smirking.

She shot him a dirty look. Al elbowed him in the side to make him stop smirking.

“But you hate me,” she said, looking straight at Jafarr.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I thought…” She felt so confused now. “I thought when you found out, you’d…”

Jafarr’s fathomless gaze stared back as if bemused at the concept of killing her for being a Tarrn.

Officer Orrlar said, “Only the High Class hate Tarrns.”

“Oh…the Social Work Class might,” the redhead murmured.

Blinking, Zormna stared, watching the former cop nod frankly to the redhead. But then the graying, middle-aged, former policeman looked to Jafarr as if asking for permission to speak.

Jafarr nodded.

The former cop said, “I am Orrlar Aflov. You are probably aware of who I am and what I did to end up on the P.M.s lists…”

Zormna nodded, barely.

“…I apologize for having to tie you up, but uh…it was the only way to get you to sit still long enough to listen us.”

Which made no sense to her, because Zormna was sure they tied her up because they found her in their house spying on them and believed she was the enemy.

Orrlar chuckled, “Even though you don’t believe me.”

Of course she did not believe him. People lied. Besides, she still did not know for certain the real reason Tarrns were so hated.

“The thing is, we’ve been looking for Tarrns,” the redhead interjected.

“Like the High Class?” Zormna murmured. She sniffled. Her nose had started to run.  

“No.” The redhead almost laughed, shaking his head. “Different reason.”

“Or maybe the same reason,” Zormna said, looking at him. “Different purpose.”

Jafarr shared a look with Al. Al nodded.

But Orrlar frowned. “No. We want to protect the Tarrns. Keep them safe.”

“And not use them?” Zormna replied with another sniffle, still thinking about what Jennifer and Darren both had said. “I don’t know why the High Class want us all dead. But Jennifer said that her parents told her about some kind of prophecy about the Tarrns bringing about the apocalypse.”

Al busted up, laughing.

But Jafarr shushed him.

The blond man cut him off and said, “That is a matter of point of view.”

“Who’s Jennifer?” the redhead asked.

Zormna blinked at him, noticing Jafarr shake his head minutely at her. She replied to the blonde, “Then it’s true? There really is a prophecy that says that the last of the Tarrns will bring about the end of the world?”

The group in front of her smirked, hearing that.

Then Jafarr said, “Take it in context, Zormna. This is the point of view of the High Class. Our view is a little different.”

Zormna closed her eyes, moaning with yet another sniffle. There was no way she could wipe her nose with her hands tied behind her back. This was mortifying. “Then are you saying that you are awaiting some kind of Messiah, like…like my great aunt told Darren?”

“Your great aunt told Darren Asher that?” Al looked like he was about to be sick.

“Is it true?” Zormna asked, straining against her ties. Maybe she could get one hand free.

The blond man chuckled, casting a look at Orrlar.

Orrlar looked to Jafarr.

Sighing, Jafarr said, “There is a prophecy—yes. But the details are not as…succinct as all that. There is a lot more involved.”

“Just tell me what it has to do with Tarrns.” Zormna stared right at him. Her eyes burned from crying. And her nose, despite her desire not to feel so idiotic, still dribbled down. Her face grew hot in embarrassment.

Orrlar nodded then crouched down to the bottom of her chair. He loosened her bonds, untying the ties that cut into her skin.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jafarr warned, backing up.

“I think she’ll listen now,” Orrlar said as he untied another knot.

The older man’s movements surprised Zormna as well. The pressure of her bonds relaxed on her wrists, arms, and legs. An immediate tingling sensation came as some of the feeling returned to her extremities. For a fleeting second, Zormna had the instinct to jump off her chair and run for the door. But Orrlar was right. There was no need to run now. They weren’t going to kill her, they knew what she was, they had answers, and she needed allies.

When her arms were free, after wiping under her nose on her sleeve, Zormna helped Orrlar take off the ties still attached to her. When she removed them all, she eyed Jafarr, rubbing her wrists.

Jafarr stepped closer to Al.

After massaging where she was swollen, Zormna settled more comfortably on her chair and wiped her face. It was embarrassing that he had seen her cry. It made her look weak. “So what about this prophecy? What does it have to do with Tarrns?”

“What have your parents told you?” the blond man asked.

She shot him a dirty look. “I was five when they were killed. I’m lucky to remember them at all. And my uncle said nothing. He just wanted me to live.”

“Uncle?” Jafarr peeked at look at Al who lifted his eyebrows.

“Did the Kevin tell you anything?” the redhead asked.

Zormna shook her head. “There is an explicit no-Tarrn-talk rule within the Patrol. We weren’t even allowed to mention the word.”

“For your protection, I’m sure,” the woman interjected.

Zormna shrugged and sniffed again. She wiped her nose once more on her hoodie cuff.

“Do you know anything about Tarrns at all?” Jafarr asked with a depreciating look.

Meeting that gaze, Zormna snapped. “Yes, smarty pants. Tarrns were anciently city lords. I think there was even a king with that name at one time. But then you would know that—Zeldar.”

Jafarr smirked, nodding. “Ok, then. So what is your question?”

She stared at him. “Why does any of that matter? It was over ten thousand years ago! So, we’re the only high blood family that marks the right shoulder? That is not worthy of death! I know Zeldar Tarrn did join the people anciently against that idiot Tharser to prevent the creation of a caste system. But it happened eventually anyway. The High Class won.”

“Not in his lifetime, though,” Jafarr cut in, visibly confused that she didn’t understand the Tarrn connection.

“Well, no. Not in his life time. That stupid war had to happen first.” Zormna huffed indignantly. “Look. I know my history. But what does this have to do with my family?”

“She doesn’t get it?” the blonde said to the redhead.

The redhead nodded, amazed.

“What?” She gasped and wiped her runny nose again.

Jafarr said, “You may know your history. But I think you are missing a few facts.”

“Like what happened right after the war that put the power back into High Class rule,” Al said.

Zormna stared at him, frowning. “What do you mean? It was coup. The royals were slaughtered on their thrones by a trusted friend. That was the end of