Siren

by Sophia Elaine Hanson

  “Skitz you, Ito,” the older Mason brother growled. He let go of Charlotte and shoved her forward by the back of her head. She stumbled. Ito sprang forward to catch her with her free hand.

  “You’re all right,” she murmured, hooking Charlotte to her side. The girl did not react, her face angled toward the floor. Ito straightened up, still holding tightly. “Kala, Sawyer, Elliot,” she called out.

  Uncertain shuffling, nervous rumblings. Then Kala appeared between two onlookers. She shouldered past them, forcing her way into the clearing. Her blade was sheathed at her hip, but her light brown hand rested on it apprehensively. “Well done, Ito,” she hissed sardonically.

  The lieutenant chose not to respond as Elliot and Sawyer squeezed into the clearing. The girl sported a split lip, which she wore like a badge of honor.

  “Elliot, Kala, take Charlotte to my quarters,” Ito said, ushering her toward them. “Keep her safe. Understand?” The two Anthemites nodded, their fingers tightening around their respective weapons as the implications of her words sank in.

  “We’ll protect her,” Kala assured her confidently.

  Ito gave a curt nod. Elliot curled Charlotte to his side, coaxing her forward with soft words of encouragement. Her face was blank, sapped of life. She took one step, then two, then stumbled into a tedious pace. Kala walked ahead of them, parting the crowds with nothing but her searing gaze.

  “What about me?” Sawyer inquired as they were swallowed by the throng.

  “Find Cosmin and Georgie,” Ito said, her eyes flicking over the skittish Anthemites. Wilcox’s body was still vividly present. The encroaching pool of blood would soon reach her boots. “Take them to my quarters.”

  “But . . . ”

  “Now, Gailes.”

  Sawyer huffed, then trudged off to find them, muttering under her breath.

  Ito took a deep breath, then raised her weapon over her head for a third time. Gasps flew up and were immediately replaced by sighs of relief when her thumb clicked on the safety. She stashed the gun in her waistband, leaving her coat open so they could see.

  “Anthemites,” she addressed them. “Your commander is dead.” Silence. Ito waded through it. “It’s true. I was planning a coup, but I never meant to kill him. I am not interested in power. I am interested in our survival.” She paused, her words sticking in her mouth like cotton. Saying them aloud was a risk, but she knew it was one she had to take. “Wilcox buried us down here for a reason. He swore me to secrecy, but you deserve to know the truth.”

  “What is the truth?”

  Ito rounded on the familiar voice. Delilah stood at the edge of the clearing with her hand on her younger brother Alfie’s shoulder. The little blond boy gazed up at his sister with reverence she would never see.

  “The truth,” the lieutenant answered, “is that a new form of The Music has been released, far more powerful than its predecessor. It does not just dilute emotion, it obliterates it.” Anxious murmuring struck up. Ito wet her lips. It was now or never. “And what’s worse, The New Music can reach us without Singers.”

  If terror had a sound, it was the uproar that followed. Ito braced herself. She felt like a rabbit surrounded by wolves. Her gun was useless against hysteria. All she had was her voice, but it was no match for the cacophony. Panic wrapped around her. “Everyone, please!” she tried to shout, but her throat was dry and tight. “Please, stay—”

  “Oi.”

  Ito whipped around. “Sawyer,” she snapped, taking the girl aside. “I told you to find Cosmin and Georgie.”

  The girl rolled her coffee-colored eyes at the ceiling. “Relax. I got them to your office. They’re with Kala and Elliot. I thought you might need a little help.”

  “You need to get out of here, now. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Sawyer grinned, revealing crooked teeth. She glanced down pointedly. Ito followed her line of sight. Her breath evaporated. “Where did you get that?” she demanded. “How did you . . . ?”

  “Just take it.”

  Ito smiled, her tense mouth aching at the motion. She grasped the handle of the megaphone like the hilt of a sword. “Thanks, I owe you.”

  “No. I owe you, for Red Bay.” She waved a lily-white hand dismissively.

  The lieutenant used her free hand to clap Sawyer on her boney shoulder. The girl looked up, her pupils dilating. “I’ll get you out of here, too,” Ito promised. “Anthemite.”

  “Uh,” Sawyer fumbled with her words, her face flushed. “I . . . ”

  But Ito was already turning around. Chaos reigned. Somewhere in the writhing crowd, a child was crying. Friends and family shouted at one another, seeking answers no one had. Ito flicked the switch on the megaphone. Static cracked in her hand. She raised it to her mouth.

  “ANTHEMITES!” Feedback screeched, followed by a wave of devastating silence. Ito tried not to sway as hundreds of shocked faces turned toward her. She tightened her grip on the handle of the megaphone. It vibrated in her fingers. “I know you’re afraid.” She laid a hand on her chest. “I am, too. Wilcox was afraid, and he let his fear control him. We cannot let our fear control us.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” someone yelled.

  Ito scanned the crowd, searching in vain for the owner of the voice. “That is not my decision to make,” she answered. “We have to decide together. Our lives, our minds, all hold the same value. We have two options. We can stay down here and waste away, or we can find a way out of this grave and fight for our freedom.” Ito paused again, allowing the feedback to steal the charged silence. “I cannot guarantee we will survive, but I can guarantee that if we stay here, we will die.”

  Ito opened her mouth to continue, then closed it. There was nothing else to say. All her cards were on the table. She let the megaphone fall as silence momentarily reigned in the Belly.

  “Who wants to die in this hole?”

  Ito wheeled around, her heart in her throat. Sawyer stood at the lip of the clearing with the other Anthemites, a cocky grin illuminating her youthful face.

  “Not me.”

  “Me either.” Delilah resolved. Her milky eyes were trained on the ceiling, a crease between her brows. “If I’m going to die, I want to taste the air first.”

  “I’m with her,” Alfie piped up. The blind girl smiled, slipping her arm around him and drawing him to her side.

  “I say we go.”

  “Me too!”

  “ . . . sister on the surface . . . ”

  “Skitz The Conductor!”

  “ . . . need to see the sky . . . ”

  Pride swelled in Ito, heating her skin and pumping air into her lungs. Then her eyes found Wilcox. The dull twang of mourning vibrated through her. It felt wrong to celebrate with the body of her friend at her feet, especially when she had all but put him there. But it was hard not to, with hope rippling through the Belly for the first time in weeks.

  27: Roar

  Ronja felt the roar in her dreams. It rumbled along her bones, rattling her teeth in her skull. She was the string of a violin quivering beneath a bow. Get up! Sharp pain across her cheekbone freed her from sleep. She sat up like a shot, her palm flying to her face.

  “Did you just slap me?”

  “Get up, princess.”

  “Jonah?”

  He stood over her bed, dressed for battle with blood and dirt crusted on his face. His broadswords were strapped to his back and a small automatic to his muscular thigh. Fear and focus danced in his hooded eyes. He offered her a gloved hand, which she accepted, bewildered.

  “Get dressed,” he said grimly, yanking her to her feet. “We’re under attack.”

  “By who?” she asked, hurrying over to pull on her boots.

  “Vintians.”

  “They found the temple?” Her left boot caught her heel. She swore, then stomped on it twice to force it on.

  “No, the town about a mile out. They’re bombing it. We’re helping them evacuate.�
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  “Where’s Roark?” she demanded, snatching her fur cloak from the hook on the wall and wrapping it around her shoulders.

  Jonah shook his head. “I thought he was with you.”

  Ronja whipped around to check the clock on the nightstand. Barely twenty minutes had passed since he left to get them dinner; she must have dozed off.

  “He’ll be safe here,” Jonah assured her.

  “What do you need from me?”

  “Half our army is fighting at the port of Yeille.” Jonah unbuckled a wicked looking knife from his hip and tossed it to her, straps and all. “We need every able-bodied person to help us get the civilians to safety.”

  Ronja nodded, her thoughts buzzing as another mechanical roar shook dust from the ceiling. She looked up, swallowing the stone in her throat. If I die, who will free Revinia? She pushed the thought aside. How could she ask the Kev Fairlans to risk their lives for her if she were not willing to do the same? Moving with newfound resolve, she wrapped the leather strap around her hips and tightened it to the last notch, securing the blade at her side. It was easily as long as her forearm.

  “Put these on.” Ronja looked up just in time to catch the pair of leather gloves Jonah had tossed at her. She pinned them to her chest, then slipped them on. They were fingerless, capping off just above her knuckles. “And these.” He handed her a pair of round goggles, which she accepted with pinched brows. “You’ll thank me later. Come on.”

  They hurried into the hallway, which was swarming with light and sound. Soldiers armed to the teeth sprinted past them without so much as a look, shouting at one another in Tovairin. Another distant roar flooded the temple. “What is that?” Ronja shouted, clamping her gloved hand over her ear.

  “Bombers,” Jonah yelled over his shoulder. They rounded several corners, then descended a black stone stairwell. The deeper they went, the colder it became. Still, by the time they reached the bottom, Ronja was sweating beneath her furs. Jonah did not pause for a breath when he hit the ground, so she was forced to drink in her new surroundings on the move.

  The size of the hangar put the trié hall to shame. It was multiple stories high and so far across she could not see the other side. Aeroplanes, trucks puffing exhaust, and even a handful of armored tanks littered the vast space. Kev Fairlans raced between them, boots thudding and weapons clanking. Silver light spilled across them as a behemoth door slid into the mountain, revealing a dark sky and even darker ocean.

  Jonah grabbed Ronja again, dragging her across the concrete. She let it happen, still awestruck. He led her between two idling autos, making a beeline for a huge truck with at least half a dozen wheels as high as her shoulder. The front cabin was twice the size of a normal auto, the trailer as long as a subtrain car. The front door banged open. Ronja stiffened as Larkin stuck her head out, but the girl paid her no mind. She said something to Jonah in rapid-fire Tovairin. He nodded briskly, releasing Ronja and climbing up into the compartment. She moved to follow when a hand gripped her shoulder.

  She would know that touch anywhere.

  “Roark!” she exclaimed, spinning around to take him by the forearms. He was dressed in his borrowed coat and had snagged a pair of goggles. He touched her cheek briefly with a gloved hand.

  “You okay?” he asked over the rumble of engines and voices.

  Ronja bobbed her head in affirmation, her eyes darting to the yawning hangar door, then back to him. Resolve sparked between them. Without wasting another second, they hurried to the truck and clambered up into the main cabin, sliding across the cracked leather bench. Larkin was driving, her knuckles white around the wheel. Jonah sat to her right, loading a meager handful of bullets into his gun. Roark slammed the door behind them. Ronja choked on a scream as Larkin stomped on the gas, throwing her head back. In less time than it took her to right herself, they were outside.

  Larkin made a hard left, the grooved tires spitting up black sand. Ronja leaned forward, bracing her hand on Roark’s thigh. Her stomach dropped. The sky was swarming with blue and black fighter planes flying in formation like birds fleeing south for the winter. Only they were not running away. They were attacking.

  The sky was swallowed abruptly, taking Ronja by surprise. Larkin flipped on the headlights, illuminating a massive tunnel with stalactites dripping from the ceiling. “We’re parking five hundred meters from the edge of town,” Jonah told them, raising his voice to speak over the engine. “We’ve been assigned to one block. We’ll gather as many civilians as we can and lead them back to the truck.” He looked to the Anthemites pointedly. “Stick with me and Larkin. If you see anyone in a blue and black uniform, kill ’em.”

  Ronja nodded wordlessly, her hand flying to the hilt of her blade. The truth about the wars between Vinta, Tovaire, and Arexia were vastly more complex than she would ever be able to understand, but if the Vintians were murdering innocent civilians, she knew where she stood.

  “Here.” Ronja pressed herself back as Jonah handed Roark a knife. The Anthemite took it in hand confidently, sliding it from its sheath to examine it. “Best I can do for now.”

  “What about guns?” Roark asked. “Stingers?” His dark eyes darted to the automatic at Jonah’s thigh.

  “This is mine,” Jonah said sharply, giving the gun a loving pat. “No stingers, but we do have these.” He dipped into his breast pocket again and produced a handful of small black pegs the size of thimbles. “Zethas. Paxton invented them. They’re like comms, but they also block sound over a certain decibel. Gets pretty loud in the field.”

  Ronja pinched one of the zethas between her thumb and forefinger, examining it with narrowed eyes. Red light winked from the tip.

  “How do they work?” she asked, closing one eye to get a better look at the little device.

  “Beats the hell out of me. The man’s a genius though.” Jonah said, twisting his own zethas and stuffing them into his ears. Her eyes flashed to Roark, only to find he was already looking at her, a pair of the tiny devices nestled in his palm. They block out sounds above a certain decibel. Possibilities swelled between them. Ronja felt as if she were going to lift off her seat. Could they be adapted?

  Ronja slipped the zetha into her ear. Nothing changed. Either it was not working or the clank of the auto engine was not loud enough to crest the threshold.

  “Are we expecting any Vintians on the ground?” Roark asked, popping his own zethas into his ears.

  Jonah shook his head. “Not yet. The bombing runs are just wrapping up.”

  “But they’ll swarm the place soon enough.” Larkin chimed in grimly.

  Ronja glanced at her, surprised she had spoken the common language without insulting her. She kept her eyes on the road, her strong jaw clenched. A dangerous vein pulsed at the center of her brow. Like Jonah, she was dressed in leather armor, her heavy black hair braided away from her face.

  “Yeah,” Jonah agreed. “They will. The Vintians will take the survivors as slaves within hours. We cannot let that happen.”

  Roark took Ronja by the hand, practically crushing her fingers. Larkin switched gears expertly. The engine screamed as they barreled forward.

  “Follow my lead, stay close.” Jonah repeated, shouting above the whine of the engine. “We’re leading as many survivors as we can back to the truck. Most will be in cellars beneath their homes.”

  Ronja directed a glance at Roark. Determination shaded his handsome features.

  “We can fit sixty in the back, seventy if we squeeze,” Jonah went on. He flicked the safety off on his gun, examining it in the semidarkness. “We’re in and out, fifteen minutes. I’ll keep you on target over comms.”

  The Anthemites nodded. Ahead of them, light and heat blossomed. They hurtled toward it. Larkin bent forward, hunching over the wheel. Ronja sucked in a deep breath. The world slowed around her, creeping by like a lazy current. They exploded into the war zone.

  28: Hellfire

  The fires stained the landscape orange and red. Distant craggy
peaks looked on in horror as the town was engulfed in flame. Even as it burned, Ronja could see its beauty. High domed roofs, wide cobbled streets studded with cast iron street lamps, ancient pine trees between the houses. And high above them, relentless aeroplanes dropping their payloads.

  The truck lurched to a halt in a thick cluster of pines. Ronja threw her palms out to keep from flying into the dashboard.

  “Move!” Jonah shouted as Larkin and Roark threw open their doors. Ronja started as the voice burst through her zetha, as if his mouth were pressed to her ear. Steeling herself, she jumped down from the compartment and landed on the moss-padded ground with a muffled thump.

  The air was hot and foul, choked with smoke and distant screams. Blinking back the sting, Ronja snapped her goggles over her eyes. Roark did the same, then yanked his scarf out from around his neck and ripped the material with ease. He handed one half to her, tying the other around his nose and mouth. She copied him with shaking hands.

  Jonah and Larkin flew out from around the other side of the auto, goggles down and cloths obscuring half their faces. “Follow me!” Jonah called through the zetha. Ronja and Roark shot after them at once, their footsteps syncing. They had scarcely taken ten steps before a scalding flash of light lanced through the air. The rush of heat that followed sent Ronja pinwheeling backward. Roark caught her before she could hit the ground.

  “You okay?” he demanded.

  Ronja did not respond. Her thoughts swarmed. A bomb. That was a bomb. There was no doubt in her mind, but she had not heard it. The zetha had blocked it out.

  “Yessan!” Jonah ordered in her ear.

  Ronja scrambled to her feet, taking Roark by the hand and sprinting after their allies. The closer they got to the town, the more choked the air became. Her entire body felt heavy, cumbersome. She unlaced her beautiful cloak and tossed it aside. Ahead of them, Jonah and Larkin were only steps from the edge of the town, heading for an opening between two blazing buildings. Screams of fear and agony broke through the shield of her zetha. Ronja poured on more speed, Roark hot on her heels. They shot down the alleyway, skidding to a stop when they reached the Kev Fairlans at the intersection of the main road.