Siren

by Sophia Elaine Hanson

  She saluted him with two fingers, then returned to the transmitter. She clicked on the scrambler with the push of a button, then began to fiddle with the knob that controlled the frequency. Static rippled. “Come on, old boy,” Terra muttered, cranking the dial to the proper channel. “Come on,” she muttered. “Come on.”

  “ . . . th . . . ”

  Terra stiffened. She cranked the volume all the way up, pressing the headphones closer to her remaining ear. “This is Medusa,” she said into the microphone. “I repeat, this is Medusa. Does anyone copy?”

  “ . . . is . . . ”

  Shaking, Terra fussed with the dial, coaxing the signal closer.

  “ . . . is Harpy. Medusa, do you copy?”

  Terra shot to her feet, the cord connecting her to the transmitter swinging wildly. “Harpy,” she shouted, bringing the built-in microphone closer to her lips. “Skitz, you’re alive, where are you?”

  “We’re trapped in the Belly,” Ito said, desperation not native to her coloring her tone. “Sphinx is dead. We’re running out of time. The scrubbers won’t hold for much longer.”

  Terra shook her head, digesting the barrage of information. “What about the emergency exits?”

  “Negative. The elevator is out, too.”

  Terra swore colorfully. She glanced back at Cicada again. He was watching her with begrudging interest, his nose still gushing. Her thoughts threatened to spin out. She sucked in a calming breath, settling into the role of a solider. “There has to be another way out,” she muttered.

  “Even if we got out, The New Music would get us,” Ito said, her hopelessness palpable over the line. “We’re out of options.”

  Terra bit her lip. She didn’t want to give her false hope, which was worse than no hope at all. There was every chance Henry was fried, and no guarantee that he would know where the mainframes were if he woke up. Then a thought struck Terra, nearly bowling her over.

  “Wait,” she said. “What about the hatch, the one under Roark’s tent? It was sealed with concrete, right?” Ito was silent on the other end of the line, static rustling as she considered. “The tunnels lead out past the wall. You could crack it open with a pick ax.”

  “And go where?” Ito asked carefully.

  “Out, away.”

  “They would spot a thousand people spilling out of the city.”

  “Not if they’re distracted,” Terra said grimly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Bullon has a fleet of transport ships from Vinta waiting in port. He’s planning a conquest,” the Anthemite explained, swinging around to look Cicada dead in the eye. His nose appeared to have stopped bleeding, though he still pinched it with his ruined handkerchief. He narrowed his eyes at her, a warning. Terra smiled wickedly. “I’m going to burn them. Burn the ships.” Before Ito had the chance to respond, a distant thud followed by a scream permeated her headphones.

  Henry was awake.

  51: Rel’eev, Entalia

  The hanger was nearly empty when they arrived, both of people and vehicles. The mammoth doors were open, revealing the charcoal beach and darkening sky. Ronja felt her stomach twist at the sight of the thick fog. She had never been in an aeroplane before, but could not imagine the conditions were good for flying. The Westervelt Industries airship they had escaped Red Bay in was more like a floating oasis, full of luxurious furniture and stained glass. The craft they were bound for was a different bird entirely.

  The black aeroplane waited for them at the far end of the hangar, looming over the smaller fighter jets and decommissioned tanks. Its wings were as long as a subtrain engine, its twin propellers sharp enough to cut through bone. Ronja grimaced, willing herself not to think about it. She had not considered herself to be afraid of flying, but maybe it was not the flying that was getting her.

  “Why the hell do we have to jump out of the damn thing?” Ronja asked weakly as they approached the plane. “Can we not just find somewhere to land?”

  “In the city?” Jonah asked dryly. “Sure, we could give it a shot. Maybe the explosion would take out one of the mainframes by accident, who knows.” Ronja shot him a dangerous look. He only laughed in response.

  “The only runway is on the palace grounds,” Roark reminded her gently. “Which seems like a bad idea.”

  Ronja grunted, glowering at the metal beast ahead of them. “No worse than jumping out of the goddamn aeroplane.”

  They arrived at the base of the retractable stairs that spilled from the plane. Paxton stood at the top, scribbling something on a notepad. A memory slammed into Ronja. Henry, taking notes in his black book before their mission to Red Bay, silhouetted by the comfortable fire. He had always been the organized one, even when they were children. It bordered on obsession. She wondered if he had maintained that trait under The New Music.

  She wondered if she would see him tonight.

  They mounted the stairs one at a time, Jonah taking the lead. Darius followed him, his eyes on an old document clenched in his gloved fingers. When he nearly missed the second step, he stuffed the paper into his pocket and continued with his eyes on his feet. Roark trailed him and Ronja brought up the rear. She kept her eyes on Roark’s leather clad back as they ascended. Frigid wind rolled in off the sea, stirring her curls. She paused for a brief moment when she crested the stairs, looking out at the scene.

  There was something hauntingly beautiful about the shores of Tovaire, something that made her feel more like a memory than a person.

  “Ronja,” Roark called softly.

  She glanced over at him. He was halfway inside the plane, reaching past Paxton to offer her his hand. Ronja took one last look at the crashing, bruised waves.

  Re’leev, Entalia, they whispered.

  Ronja took Roark’s offered hand and stepped into the plane, leaving the aching shoreline behind. Red light washed over her. She blinked rapidly as her vision adjusted. Paxton pressed a button on the curved metal wall. The staircase began to roll back into the plane with a wheezing groan; then the door slammed shut with a hiss. Ronja drank in the aeroplane.

  It was larger than she had expected with long cushioned benches pressed up against windowless walls. Safety belts dangled from the ceiling like cobwebs. Most of the Kev Fairlan soldiers had already clipped themselves in and were conversing in their native tongue. In the center of the aisle was a huge pile of what appeared to be black backpacks. Parachutes, Ronja realized with an internal groan.

  “Ronja, Roark,” Jonah called, waving at them from the back corner of the plane. He sat with Darius and Larkin toward the end of one of the benches. The Anthemites started toward them, squeezing between the luggage and the knees of the soldiers. “We’re in for a long flight,” Jonah said, scooting away from Darius to pin Larkin against the wall. She shoved him off roughly, muttering what sounded like a slur.

  “How long?” Ronja asked, taking a seat next to Darius. Roark sat down on her right.

  “Shorter than our trip here,” Jonah said with a low laugh. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he rolled his eyes. “Five hours, give or take thirty minutes. Hope you can sleep sitting up.”

  Ronja scoffed. She could sleep anywhere, but her nerves were fizzing with adrenaline. Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. “When are we leaving?” she asked, reaching up for the complicated harness above her and yanking it down. It did not budge, its buckles clinking softly.

  “Any minute,” Jonah answered.

  Ronja nodded, still fighting the safety harness. Roark was already belted in place. Across from her, two Kev Fairlan soldiers were watching her, grinning. Before she could even blush, a weathered hand intercepted hers. “Let me,” Darius said with a quiet smile.

  “Uh, okay.”

  Ronja let her hands fall to her lap as he pulled down on the harness gently. It released at once. “Excuse me.” Darius leaned across her and clipped the metal buckle into place. The straps tightened automatically across her che
st as he sat back in his seat. She saw Roark watching the exchange with a faint smile out of the corner of her eye, but she could not bring herself to meet his eyes.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the belt.

  “Of course,” Darius replied.

  “Attention!”

  Ronja looked up, grateful for the diversion.

  Paxton and Easton stood toward the front of the plane, facing the strike team. “We’ll be leaving in two minutes,” the commander said. “Flight time is approximately five hours, so try to get some rest. We’ll inform you of your drop zones as we approach.” He gestured at the pile of parachutes at the center of the aisle. “You are all aware of your targets, correct?”

  A collective yes flickered through the aeroplane.

  “This is the last time I’ll address you as a group until we arrive,” Easton said, looking out over them all with steady eyes. Everyone sat up a little straighter. “Watch each other’s backs, work fast, and get to the extraction points marked on your map by 0500.” The commander smiled. “I’ll see you all at daybreak. Rel’eev, Entalia.”

  “Rel’eev, Entalia,” came the response.

  “Rel’eev, Entalia,” Ronja murmured.

  The engines rumbled to life beneath them. Paxton and Easton took two individual seats near the front of the plane. The Siren looked over at Roark, hoping her anxiety did not bleed through her war paint. It must have, because he took her hand and brought it to his mouth. With a jerk they began to roll forward, quickly gathering speed.

  Rel’eev, Entalia. Maybe the stars are alive after all. Freedom is a state of mind. May your song guide you home . . . The mantras chased one another in circles in her brain, growing louder and louder until she felt them lift off the ground. Ronja closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall of the plane.

  They were on their way back—to hell.

  52: Rebirth

  Ito

  Ito set the radio down on her desk with a soft click, staring at it with blind eyes. When it had crackled with life, its light flashing red, she’d thought she was dreaming. Then the voice had sliced through the static. This is Medusa, does anyone copy?

  “What are we gonna do, boss?”

  Ito looked up. She had forgotten the presence of the young Anthemites entirely. Kala and Sawyer stood before her desk, watching her expectantly. Behind them, Elliot sat next to Charlotte on the edge of her bed. The girl was still a shell, shivering beneath the knit throw the boy had wrapped her in. Cosmin sat in his wheelchair, Georgie asleep on his lap. He stroked her hair while she snored softly.

  Beyond the insulated walls of her tent, nearly a thousand Anthemites were waiting for her to come up with some sort of plan.

  “You all heard what Terra said,” Ito said, meeting each of their gazes individually. “What do you think?”

  “We can probably break the concrete over the hatch,” Kala spoke up immediately, tossing her shiny black hair over her shoulder. “It’ll take a couple hours, but I bet it can be done.”

  “Yeah, but then we have to get nine hundred people to go down a hole into the sewers and walk single file for three miles into the bloody wilderness,” Sawyer said, crossing her skinny arms. “That’ll be a treat.”

  “It’ll take a hell of a lot of organization, but I imagine it can be done,” Elliot said in his gentle lilt. His eyes flicked to Cosmin. “I can carry you on my back, Cos.”

  “Thanks,” the boy muttered, looking down at his sister with flushed cheeks. Ito felt her heart tighten.

  “Do you think Terra can do it?” Kala asked.

  Ito weighed the question. Their exchange over the radio was the longest conversation they had shared since Ito demoted her following the Red Bay incident. Ito had known their relationship would never be the same, that she had lost the trust of her prodigy. But she had never stopped believing that when it came down to it, Terra would do what needed to be done to protect the Anthem.

  “Yes,” she answered with a slow dip of her chin. “Absolutely.”

  “Then we have an exit to crack,” Kala said, clapping her golden brown hands together smartly. “I’ll try to find a pickax or something.”

  “Take Sawyer with you,” Ito ordered. “No one goes anywhere alone, understand?”

  Both girls nodded, then ducked out of the tent without another word. The rumble of anxious throngs filtered in through the thick flap that served as a door.

  “Elliot,” Ito said, getting to her feet. “Stay with the children.”

  “Commander,” Elliot replied, saluting her formally.

  A shiver ripped through Ito at the title. She hoped it did not register on her face. Grabbing the megaphone off her desk, she followed Sawyer and Kala outside. She was immediately engulfed by a tidal wave of apprehension. Hundreds of Anthemites milled around the Vein and clustered around cook fires. The air was tense enough to snap in half. Ito took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of the megaphone, then started forward.

  The crowds parted as she approached, the gaps filling with whispers. She tried not to pay them any mind, but caught the words commander and dead more than once. When she finally reached what seemed like the middle of the throng, she stopped. It was utterly silent, as quiet as it had ever been in the Belly. She almost did not need the megaphone, but she raised it to her lips anyway.

  “Anthemites,” Ito began, her magnified voice ringing out across the station. “Thank you for your patience. I know you’re afraid, and I know you want answers.” She paused for a moment, allowing the rumbles of agreement to dissipate. “We may have discovered a way out of the Belly, and out of the city itself. Please hold your questions until I am finished.”

  Ito wet her dry lips, her eyes scanning the hundreds of faces turned toward her. Though they were clearly itching to celebrate, to pelt her with questions, they held their tongues. “There is a hatch in the floor of Roark Westervelt’s tent. It was sealed over with concrete, but we should be able to crack it open and escape into the storm drain beneath it.”

  “And go where?” a male voice cried out from somewhere in the mob.

  “One of the drainage pipes lets out beyond the wall,” Ito replied to the group at large. “It will be a long walk, single file in the dark. If we make it out of the city, we’ll be facing a new kind of danger. The wilderness. It’s a ten day walk to the nearest Arutian city, Paravar.” And the chances of them letting in a nearly a thousand Revinian refugees are slim to none. “It will be a difficult journey, and I cannot guarantee that all of us will make it.”

  She paused here, letting her words sink in. No one spoke, not even to mutter something to their neighbor. “But,” Ito said, twisting her tone into something resembling confidence. “We will be safe from The New Music below ground, and the men undoubtedly watching our movements will be otherwise occupied.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Tell us!”

  Ito raised her hand high, hushing the flapping mouths. “One of our own has escaped the clutches of The Conductor. As a diversion, she and our allies are going to burn a fleet of Vintian ships intended to transport thousands of the Conductor’s soldiers to other nations.” Ito hesitated for a moment. “Her name is Terra Vahl, and we are indebted to her.”

  Uncertain whispers struck up around her. Ito waited for them to die off before returning to her speech.

  “What’s more, Terra suspects that the Siren—Ronja—is alive and free. As long as she breathes, The Conductor has something to fear.” Ito smiled, her hooded eyes glinting like a blade in sunlight. “We are the last seed of humanity within these walls, and we will carry on. We will preserve the legacy of those who came before us. We will keep the rebellion alive.”

  The station erupted with a roar of assent, powerful enough to shake dust from the arching ceiling. Ito shivered as hope and fear swelled inside her, threatening to turn her bones to dust. Somewhere
in the chaos and the noise, a drumbeat struck up, the first she had heard in over a month. The cheers turned to song, the song to dance.

  And in that moment, the Anthem was reborn.

  53: Broken Record

  Ronja flexed her jaw, attempting to pop her ear. The pressure released with a high pitched squeak. She sighed in relief, reclining against the metal hull. Warm breath dusted her cheek. She glanced over at Roark, who had fallen asleep about an hour ago, along with the majority of the soldiers. Beyond him, Larkin and Jonah conversed in hushed tones.

  Roark shifted in his harness, but did not wake. He looked troubled in the red glow of the cabin, his brow creased beneath his war paint. She was just glad he was getting some rest. They were certainly going to need it.

  “Not a fan of flying?”

  Ronja glanced at Darius sidelong. He too had fallen asleep some time ago, but now sat straight, rubbing his eyes.

  “Not a fan of jumping out of planes,” she corrected him.

  “Have you done it before?”

  Ronja passed him a disparaging look. “Yeah, between working two jobs and taking care of two kids and my mother, I made sure to fit in some time for sky diving.”

  Darius winced. “Sorry, that was—”

  “Forget it.” She waved him off. “Have you jumped?”

  “Twice,” the king said with a nod. “I quite enjoyed it, though I was in far better health at the time.”

  “Better health?”

  “I just meant . . . age takes its toll,” he replied a shred too quickly.