by Jess Corban
We drift on our backs, letting the falls push us slowly toward shore. When he can stand, he lifts me out of the water and drops me back in, then laughs at my irritation.
“You’re worse than the cubs,” I tease, recognizing a clear reflection of Pip’s brashness in this full-grown Brute.
The thought of Pip reminds me of Tree Camp, and my sister Jo. Guilt sweeps in, overshadowing the bright joy I felt just moments ago. How can we be so selfishly occupied when others need us? My self-reproach must show because he says, “What is it?”
“It just seems unfair, that we’re here, enjoying this, while everyone else is preparing to leave their home.”
He shrugs, in a half-conceding sort of way. “Sometimes you have to live in the moment.”
He steps closer, reaches out to remove a twig from my hair.
Just that touch, the slightest brush of his fingers in my hair, ignites an overwhelming wish to be closer.
“We should go,” I say, though unable to look away from his gaze. “We still have to get the supplies.”
My words have a strange effect. He looks like he wants to say something, or do something, but now isn’t sure what’s best. Still, he doesn’t draw back when he says, “I asked you a question once—you didn’t know the answer then.” He pauses a moment, as if still trying to decide whether to bring it up. When he speaks again, I know he’s taking a great risk. “Do you know now which is better?”
I know exactly what he’s talking about. It’s the question he asked me high in the mahogany tree, as the glow of sunset tempted me to find him endearing. Between us and the Gentles, he had asked then, which is better? I couldn’t answer him that night because I honestly didn’t know. Gentles were predictable, helpful . . . safe. I had only known for twenty-four hours that Brutes existed, and my experience with them was markedly mixed. Despite the near-instant affinity I felt for Jase and the strange electricity I experienced with Rohan that day, I couldn’t definitively say whether their charming qualities outweighed their potential to harm us. My interaction with Dáin ensured that.
But since then, so much has changed.
I search his eyes, hungry for an answer. “I think you know.”
“I need to hear you say it.” His wet hair drips into his face and down his shoulders, and if I didn’t know better, I might think he was holding his breath.
“You are better, Rohan.”
He places a broad hand against my cheek, brushes my lip with his thumb. He leans toward me, and the world around us freezes. No cloud shifts, no bird ruffles its feathers, no shadow lengthens, no cell divides. The world shrinks in on itself, until it contains only his being and mine, drawn inexplicably together by a force as ancient as the universe itself.
My heart pounds through my chest.
I want him to be closer—want to feel his lips against mine. The desire feels as uncontrollable as the untamed Jungle around us.
I suck in a breath.
There’s a reason Article V exists, Reina Pierce. And it probably has everything to do with this.
Desire must be mastered. Its dangers destroyed the world of the foremothers. It’s the antithesis of self-control. These are truths I’ve been taught my whole life. So I intuitively know I shouldn’t feel this strongly . . . especially for a Brute.
And yet I do.
Somehow, quickly, I muster every ounce of self-restraint I’ve ever possessed to turn away, to reject the arms I want around me, and slip through the boulders into the fern-carpeted glade beyond.
Part Three
CHAPTER TWENTY
JASE AND BRI WALK JUST AHEAD OF ME. “Not far now,” he tells her.
I certainly hope not—we don’t have much light left.
A line of ants intersects the path underfoot, each segmented insect hoisting a jagged section of leaf overhead like a stiff green sail five times its size. Undeterred by the danger around their ranks, they march on, tipping and jostling under their flat loads, determinedly crawling over sticks and through decaying debris.
I scan the long line of Brutes in front of and behind me, carrying large packs of supplies, stepping resolutely over logs and between branches, not unlike the insects underfoot. Some of the younger cubs rest between bundles on the horses’ backs. Others ride in one of several wheelbarrow-like carts Galion constructed yesterday, salvaging wood from the huts destroyed in the battle and round pulleys from the speed lines. Even though the cubs are probably tough enough to make the journey on foot, we wouldn’t stand a chance of reaching the ruins by nightfall. So the older Brutes take turns pushing the carts or guiding the horses, in addition to carrying their own packs.
Torvus leads our procession through the unmarked forest, from memory or by camouflaged signs, I can’t tell. He’s careful to take us through long stretches of creek or shallow river whenever possible, minimizing our tracks. He won’t let history repeat itself.
Rohan positions himself last to ensure we don’t lose any stragglers. We’ve barely had time to speak since returning from the cave yesterday afternoon. Maybe that’s best. He has seemed distant since. I don’t blame him, but neither can I make sense of the strange longing our encounter ignited in me. So how can I explain my fears to him? I need more time to process my weakness, figure out how to be stronger around him.
The rest of us are sandwiched between Rohan and Torvus—Bri, Neechi, and me, plus every Brute from Tree Camp, Dáin and the other defectors included. Torvus reluctantly allowed them to return to the clan under fierce and detailed threats of injury if they subvert his authority again.
We’ve been walking since dawn, forced to leave a good home because of my stupidity.
I told Mother how terrible I felt about my carelessness in the gray stillness just before dawn, as we reluctantly said our goodbyes on Torvus’s porch. She assured me it wasn’t my fault—not really. “Teera has been searching for years, Rei,” she had said. “It was only a matter of time before she discovered their location. He knows you were trying to help.”
He knows . . . The thought of her and Torvus talking about me behind closed doors made me feel like a child, but I tried to bottle my guilty conscience so I could focus on the mother I just got back instead of beating myself up.
“I wish you’d come with us,” I told her again.
She sighed, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped my braids behind my ear. “It’s for the best. Marsa and Dom Bakshi need to know I’m alive. And as long as my mother thinks I’m not, I might be able to do some good yet.”
The mention of Teera seemed to make her more urgent. She cupped my face in her hands. “I know she is harsh, self-serving, and unpredictable—” valid points, all—“but remember, Reina, regardless of a person’s motivations, all actions have consequences. I’d hate for yours to be dictated by hers.”
She kissed my forehead, lingering close, as if trying to seal the memory of my scent.
I glanced toward my sister then, expecting her to give Mother a final embrace as well. Instead Jo stared back apologetically.
“As much as I want to be there for you, Rei, I can’t let Mother journey home alone. She’s too weak. Besides, Cassia needs me, and La Fortuna must be rebuilt. Then, depending on how things go in Phoenix City . . . with the plan, I want to help Mother rescue more babies.”
I smiled. “I knew you’d do something to help—in your own way.”
“You’re not disappointed?”
“Having you with me has been amazing, but you’re absolutely right.” My arms wrapped her tightly. “You are so much braver than I ever knew. But this is my fight now. You’re not abandoning me—you’re staying alive for Cassia . . . and your other son, and Finch.” I kiss her forehead. “They need you too.”
At that, she squeezed me tighter. “I love you.”
“You too, Jo.”
She swayed Finch tenderly, kissing his hair, cheeks, and fingers before handing him to Ori, tears running unapologetically down her dusty cheeks.
Jase enveloped Mothe
r next, tucking her into his arms with a tenderness I thought only daughters could feel for the women who gave them life.
“Be careful, Mother,” he said softly.
“Oh, Jason. If only there were more time.”
Mother and Torvus must have already said all that needed saying; they embraced silently, a single tear the only indication of Mother’s reluctance to leave. But when Torvus restrung the tree pendant around her neck, I felt the loss for her. And when she began her journey back to Bella Terra, she carried pieces of our hearts with her.
The rest of us trekked south, leaving behind orchards and aqueducts, the fire pit and tree huts, supplies we couldn’t carry and the beautiful, otherworldly mahogany tree. And forty-one bamboo cages, occupied by Alexia prisoners.
“Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?” I ask Jase, remembering the fierce women’s wide eyes when, at Torvus’s command, Brutes cracked open a hundred green coconuts littering the Jungle floor and slipped the husks through the bars of their cages—enough creamy, gelatinous meat to last them at least three days. Then Torvus gave one Alexia a small, sharp rock. “Be resourceful,” he said, before stomping away from Tree Camp.
Jase purses his lips. “Maybe. Depends whether she realized the stone will carve through bamboo faster than it would saw through lashing.”
I nod. Either way, once she gets free, she’ll find something to pry open or smash the other cages. With a stroke of luck, they might even uncover the pit a hundred meters from camp where the Alexia weapons lie buried. Well, the weapons the Brutes didn’t pilfer for themselves. They might have been magnanimous enough to free their enemies, but when it comes to blades, they have a greedy streak. The Alexia will have to walk back to Nedé—Torvus insisted we release the horses we weren’t taking with us—but they’ll make it home alright, despite their injuries. They’re Alexia, after all.
Alexia like me.
Pride buoys me as we ascend another hillside, one of a seeming thousand we’ve trekked up and over today. My thighs burn and my shoulders are painfully raw where the sack’s straps rub against them. My feet ache in my boots, and my shirt is soaked through with sweat. But if these Brutes can hike all day without complaining, so will I.
As we near the crest of the hill, a jolt of gold sprays across the canopy—the sun’s last breath exhaled overhead. So much for making it to the ruins before nightfall.
But as the incline flattens, we’re not met with another kilometer of crowded green Jungle as I expect. Instead, a vast lawn of overgrown grass stretches before us, hemmed in on three sides by enormous stone structures.
I’m not sure what I was expecting. A broken-down building, maybe. Some decayed boards or concrete rubble, like the sites in Nedé that predate the foremothers, where the Innovatus sometimes find materials to repurpose. But this—
Three pyramids rise from the Jungle, one each in the north, south, and west—layers and layers of stones stacked one upon another, reaching toward the sky. Steep stone steps lead to the upper levels, which are so tall they clear the very canopy. And they are eerily intact. If it weren’t for dislodged rocks littering the grass, and dark lichen streaking the otherwise sand-colored stones, I might wonder whether these towers were built in my lifetime.
The sun melts into a bank of clouds behind the western pyramid, infusing the sky with orange-gold warmth. The rest of the sky fades to gray, lending its vibrancy to the spectacle in the west. I drop my pack, but my feet are drawn up and into the light like a moth to a candle’s flame. The stairs lead me up, up, up until I’m above the canopy too. The world rolls away, all shadows and gold, the enormous sky stretching from one horizon to the other. The vista presses my chest with the weight of all three pyramids combined. It’s a sacred view.
Whoever created it must have known the power of such things.
Could they have been—
A Brute voice interrupts my thoughts. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
Rohan climbs the last step, joining me on the platform.
I wonder if he can tell I’m glad it’s him. “Who did this?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know. But they knew what they were doing. Look at the position of the sun.” He leans closer, showing me the correct angle. “Each of the pyramids aligns with a particular star or constellation. Jem figured that out. And the carvings—I’ll show you tomorrow—they seem to tell stories of rulers and battles and sacrifices.”
“Sacrifices?”
He shakes his head with a laugh. “They weren’t Gentles, I can tell you that much.”
I hate when he talks about the Gentles like that—like they’re less than. But the view inspires me to ignore the snub. “What do you mean?”
“It looks like if they won a battle, they’d kill the other leader to thank their gods. Or rip out his heart or something.”
“They were Brutes then.” I grimace before realizing how that might sound to present company. I guess we both have our ingrained assumptions.
He deflects the insult. “We all have to choose.”
“So you keep reminding me.”
“And I’ll keep reminding you until you understand. I don’t know if they were good men,” he says, turning his back to take in the ruins, “but some of them cared, at least. They must have worked hard. Thousands of people would have lived here—men, women, children. They couldn’t have survived if they were all what Nedéans suppose us to be.”
I consider this while howler monkeys shout their final daily threats to neighboring troops.
Roofless structures dot the perimeter of the lawn between the pyramids—a maze of catacombs filled with grass, debris, and a few determined trees. Storage rooms, perhaps? Long-abandoned houses? I try to imagine the buildings in their former glory, thatched and whole—with people coming and going, cooking and creating. Children playing ball on the lawn. Women and Brutes, living together.
Dom Bakshi taught us there was a time before the foremothers when Brutes and women coexisted in the world. My general Nedéan experience—formal education supplemented with neighbors’ gossip, Initus ceremonies, and Grandmother’s patronizing lectures—combined with my imagination, led me to believe it was a terrifying existence for the women of old. Even before the Brutes were wiped out by the Great Sickness, they cared nothing for women. Women lived in fear for their safety. The foremothers escaped, and the Gentles they cured of inferior genetics now serve us. We are all the world has left, but we have all that we need. We’re happy. Safe. It’s a history I accepted as fact—I had no reason to question it, until reading Tristan Pierce’s journal.
Hundreds of steps below, the Brutes unload horses, light fires, and prepare dinner in this mythical place, and I consider how these people have surprised me. They’ve challenged so much of what I considered fact. And these ruins—I never imagined something like this existed, so close to Nedé yet completely outside our knowledge. It makes me wonder what else I’ve been wrong about. What other realities might hide just beyond my sight.
A terrifying possibility suddenly seizes me, and I blurt, “Could there be other people out there?”
He presses a fist to his lips, studying me carefully. “Are you sure you would want to know if there were?”
What a dumb thing to ask. Of course I—
Actually, with everything else that’s already upending my world, maybe I’m not entirely sure I want an answer. Still, he’ll think me a chicken if I back down now, so I say, “Yes.”
He snatches one of the many sticks littering the platform and begins peeling the end, seeming in no hurry to answer, or maybe deciding how much to share.
“I don’t know,” he finally says. “There might be. I haven’t seen anything definite myself, but Dantès swears that one time when he was exploring the sea south of Nedé, he saw a sail in the distance. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe not. When he told us, Torvus played it off. But I have my suspicions.”
His suspicions aren’t fact, at least. There’s a chance he’s wrong, and I cling to it
. I have enough to worry about in the near future without adding “unknown threats” to the list.
Sun-fire has faded to dusk, and a host of Jungle insects coax the coming night with their serenade. The rolling canopy, spreading in every direction, sighs in the deepening shadow. With it, I try to rock back to sleep the impossible possibility this place has tried to awaken.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE NEXT DAY, we do what we can to turn the ruins into a suitable home for the Brutes. Bri, Neechi, and I help clear the rubble from the stone chambers, dig new storage pits for the fruit, nuts, and dried meat we transported from Tree Camp, and gather some of the pyramids’ dislodged rocks to create a new fire ring. Although Torvus and the seven oldest Brutes will continue southeast in the morning, plenty of able-bodied, hardworking younger Brutes will remain to hunt for meat, finish thatching roofs, and generally improve the place in our absence. They won’t be left unprotected. The weapons cache—a mixture of Brute and Alexia blades, bows, bolas, and spears—fills a whole stone storeroom.
By the second morning, as we prepare to depart, the ruins already hum with busy routine. Traps are set, wood gathered, water from a nearby river hauled into stone vessels. Torvus gives last-minute instructions to the oldest Brutes staying behind.
“Will they be safe here?” I ask Jase.
“Safer than we’ll be,” Dáin answers for him. The moody Brute shoves final supplies into his pack. Last night Torvus announced the defector would be joining us—doesn’t trust him out of his sight, I’d wager—bringing our cohort to eleven.
Bri snorts. Of course she would find his snark amusing.
Jase ignores them both but doesn’t soften his answer for me. “Safe isn’t the highest goal, not now.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Unless the Alexia figure out this location, they’ll be alright. They know how to take care of themselves.”
