Siren

by Sophia Elaine Hanson

  “We’ll make that happen again,” Ronja said. “I promise.”

  Darius gave her a long pensive look, his eyes brimming with something foreign and kind. Pride. Before either of them could say more, movement near the base of the clock tower hooked her gaze. Jonah and Larkin emerged from around the bend, moving with the grace of thieves.

  “Come on,” Roark muttered, jerking his chin at their comrades. “Let’s go.”

  The three Revinians hurried back through the swathes of light, arriving in the shadowy space where Larkin and Jonah had congregated.

  “Nothing,” the Kev Fairlan man said. “We’re clear.”

  “For now,” Roark said.

  Larkin made a noise of agreement at the back of her throat, still scanning the flat landscape with her sharp eyes. She looked every inch a warrior in her armor, her midnight hair braided into a tight knot at the base of her skull. Booted footsteps approached. They turned to find Paxton and Easton jogging toward them, their breath mushrooming in the frigid air.

  “Clear,” Paxton told them as they approached. The commander said nothing, the muscles of his jaw clenching through his cheek as he peered around warily. The Sydonian rounded on Roark and Ronja. “Lead the way, Siren.”

  “Follow me,” the Siren said, beckoning with a jerk of her chin. She began to jog toward the tower, her breath blooming around her. The others fell into step. Ronja pressed forward, ignoring the way the shadow of the tower seemed to swallow them alive. She skidded to a stop in a pile of gray slush at the entrance and sheathed her knife. Her heart climbed into her mouth as her eyes roved across the stone doors. They were just as she remembered, crosshatched with hypnotic spiraling patterns.

  Deep from within came a distant, ancient hum.

  “Do you hear it?”

  Ronja almost jumped out of her skin. Darius had appeared at her side. His green-gray eyes trained on the engraved wall before them. The fine hairs on her arms stood up and goosebumps teased her skin.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” It was low and bold, unmistakably organic. It was not beautiful, not exactly. It was as raw and powerful as the northern sea and as vivid as the winter moons. “What is that?”

  “I believe,” Darius answered in a low voice. “That is the Aura of the city.”

  Ronja felt the rest of the world fall away. There was only her and the tower. The air was yanked from her lungs, the sight from her eyes. She was trapped, falling endlessly through a suffocating void, she was—

  Ronja.

  The Siren sucked in a startled breath, stumbling backward. Roark caught her under her arms, their armor thumping together awkwardly. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, grasping at vision. Every member of the team stared at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity—except for Darius, who was clutching his head as if it were about to fracture.

  “Trapped,” she whispered.

  “Ronja,” Roark murmured in her ear. He brushed a knuckle against her cheek. “Skitz, you’re burning up.” He was right. It felt like someone was running hot coals over her skin. The frigid air did little to staunch the heat.

  “Trapped,” she repeated. Her voice sounded very far away, as if she were hearing herself speak through a long tube. “We have to free it.”

  “Free what?” Roark asked, looking around at the others desperately. He was met with helpless shrugs.

  “Revinia’s Aura,” Darius spoke up, letting his hands fall from his temples with a visible wince, “has been trapped by The New Music.”

  Ronja nodded feverishly, whipping around to grip Roark by his forearms. He steadied her, scanning her face for signs of a breakdown. “Roark,” she said, her voice hoarse. “We have to kill it, The New Music, now.”

  “What the fiest is she going on about?” Larkin demanded in her Tovairin lilt. “We’re sitting geese out here.”

  “Ducks,” Jonah corrected halfheartedly. Larkin socked him in the arm.

  “She’s right,” Easton agreed solemnly. “We’re wasting time.” He locked eyes with Roark. “Get your girl together.”

  “She is not mine.”

  “Fine. Then get yourself together, Alezandri.”

  Ronja clutched at the frayed threads of sanity. She shrugged Roark off, stumbling forward. Darius caught her this time as the world spun out. The stars wheeled. The moons melted. The buildings and roads crumbled. The air twisted away from her lungs. “We have to free it,” she said, but no words came out.

  Deep beneath the city, she felt it move, reaching toward her with formless hands. Siren. Siren. Siren. It was calling her, dragging her down and lifting her up Blinding adrenaline shot through Ronja, igniting her bones and setting her blood on fire. She launched forward and slammed her palm into the wall of the clock tower. Heat exploded beneath it, nearly blowing her back.

  Stillness reigned. Silence washed over the square. Ronja looked over her shoulder at Roark as she shivered with uncaged energy. He was staring at her with his lips parted, his eyes wide with concern. Darius put his hand on her shoulder, calling her back to her body. She looked back to the tower as the doors began to grind open.

  That was when the alarm went off.

  58: A Party

  Terra

  Terra was passed out on the parlor sofa when the alarm sounded, rolling over the city like distant thunder. She scrambled to her feet, panting and reaching for a weapon that was not there. Theo, who had been lounging across from her with his feet on the coffee table, shot up as well. They looked at each other in the wash of the noise.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked, wincing at the keening that bled through the walls.

  Terra did not answer. Instead, she swept from the parlor, headed for the office at the front of the house. Theo trailed after her, jogging to keep up. She burst through the door, letting it slam against the wall with a crack. Cicada was at his desk again. He had cleaned the blood from his face and changed his shirt, but it did little to help his appearance. Branching bruises crawled up the bridge of his nose to his forehead.

  “What is that?” she demanded, circling around his desk to peek out through the thick green drapes.

  “Get back!” Cicada hissed. He snatched her by the wrist and tugged her away from the window.

  Terra ripped it away from him with a snarl. “What the hell is happening out there?”

  “I have no idea, but I would suggest staying away from the window. If you’ll recall, you’re a bloody fugitive.”

  “It means someone has broken into the clock tower.”

  Terra whipped around. Henry stood in the doorframe, still crowned with white gauze. He looked marginally better. Pain medicine, sleep, and food did wonders for the body. But a bone deep exhaustion clung to him, the kind that sleep could never fully chase away.

  “The clock tower?” Theo asked, his brows cinching. “You mean—?”

  “Yes,” Henry cut him off with a terse nod. He locked eyes with Terra. “Someone is trying to get at the central mainframe. That means . . . ”

  “Ronja,” Terra muttered. She did not give herself time to revel in hope. She stepped out from behind the desk and bolted over to the transmitter. Kneeling, she clamped the headphones over her ear, shutting out the keening alarm. She began to coax the machine to life, registering distantly that Theo and Henry were crouched behind her. Rippling static bloomed in her ear as she settled on the proper channel.

  “This is Medusa,” Terra said, her voice ringing clear. “Harpy, do you copy?”

  There was a drawn-out pause filled with the wail of the alarm and the frantic hiss of static. Terra felt her muscles begin to bunch, made worse by the three pairs of eyes glued to her back. Then a voice returned: “Medusa, this is Harpy.”

  Terra blew out a relieved breath through her teeth. “Harpy,” she said, wasting no time. “Has the Siren made contact with the Belly?”

  “The Siren?” The bewilderment in her crackling voice was answer enough.

  “Can you hear the alarm
?” Terra asked before Ito could question her further. “We think it’s coming from the clock tower.”

  “We can’t hear anything down here, but we got the hatch open. Everyone is preparing to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Terra shook her head, her blond locks rustling against her shoulders. “No. You need to get out now.”

  “But—”

  “You’re not going to get a better chance, Ito,” she snapped. “The alarm is citywide. All the focus will be on the core, then the harbor.”

  “The harbor?”

  “We’re going to take out the ships tonight.” Terra flinched when a firm hand grasped her shoulder. She twisted around to look at Henry. She had almost forgotten he and Theo were at her back.

  “Terra,” Henry warned her, his voice muffled by the pads of the headphones. “We’re not prepared for that.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Excuse me?” Ito asked, sounding more surprised than offended.

  “Not you,” Terra said, smoothing over her outburst quickly. “Ito. You have to go. Even if by some miracle it is Ronja that triggered the alarm, there is no guarantee she’ll be able to take down The New Music. One way or the other, we have to make sure Maxwell and his army never leave this place.”

  For a brief moment, Ito was quiet. In the absence of a response, Terra discovered she was breathing hard, her skin prickling with adrenaline. “Fine, we’ll go,” the older woman eventually said. “Be careful, Terra. I want you to know that I—”

  “Good luck, Commander. May your song guide you home.”

  “Terra—”

  She slammed the power button on the transmitter and knocked the bulky headphones from her head. Her knees knocked as she got to her feet. Beyond the walls of the row house, the alarm was still wailing. That better be you, Ronja.

  “Terra, we don’t have the resources to pull this off,” Henry warned her. There was no anger in his voice, only logic.

  “Sure we do.” She jabbed a finger at the window. “That alarm has been going off for three minutes. Maxwell has the whole city on high alert to protect the tower. No one’s going to be watching the ships.”

  “That might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Theo cut in hesitantly.

  Terra rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Fine, so we have to neutralize a few Offs, big deal. Listen.” She crossed her muscular arms over her chest, making eye contact with each of the boys in turn. Theo looked vaguely queasy. Henry looked like he was going to pass out. Not exactly a top-notch strike team. “Maxwell has taken something—or someone—from all of us. This is our chance to make him pay.”

  Charged silence greeted her speech. Theo bit his lip. Henry let his head droop forward. Beyond them, Cicada watched the exchange with a vindicated smirk. She fought the urge to fly at him again.

  “All right.”

  Terra snapped her gaze back to Henry. He had lifted his head and set his jaw. “I am not sure how much help I’ll be in my current state,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. She had always thought that his voice matched his personality, but had almost forgotten what it sounded like through the sheen of The New Music. “But I have a lot to atone for. I might as well start tonight.”

  The girl smiled, just a twitch of her lips, then reached up to clap a hand to his broad shoulder. “Welcome back, brother,” she said.

  Henry mirrored her, the corners of his full lips turning up slightly. “You’ve gotten nicer.”

  “Yeah well, don’t get used to it,” Terra muttered, taking her hand back and stuffing it into the pocket of the jacket Cicada had provided for her.

  “I’ll go, too,” Theo spoke up, his blue eyes full and his fingers tucked into fists. “For Lawrence.”

  “If we’re right, and it really is Ronja up there at the tower, she’ll take down The New Music. When it falls, Maxwell will too.” Terra lifted her chin, playing at confidence she did not possess. “We’ll get Mouse back, and the others.”

  The trader nodded jerkily, flicking an escaped tear from his cheek. The Anthemites pretended not to notice.

  “What exactly is your plan?” Henry asked, folding his burly arms over his chest.

  “I’ll tell you on the way there,” Terra replied, slipping between the two boys and starting toward the door. She winked at Cicada as she passed him. He looked as if he had just swallowed a bug. “Gear up, then help me raid the liquor cabinets. We’re going to have ourselves a party.”

  59: Cauterized

  Ronja stifled a scream as the piercing wail ripped through the gas-lit square, slamming her hand over her remaining ear. Her comrades did the same, hunched over in agony as the blistering alarm tore the silence to shreds. The stone entryway continued to roll open lazily, the gap scarcely large enough to accommodate a single person. Movement to her left hooked her gaze. She squinted at it through the haze of her pain.

  “DOWN!” Ronja roared. They dropped like stones just as a storm of bullets hissed over their heads. How had they not heard the Offs approaching? Where had they come from?

  “Get her inside, now!” Easton screamed, whipping out the automatic at his hip and firing into the night. Jonah and the others with guns copied him as Roark grabbed Ronja around the waist and pulled her through the narrow gap. Once inside, Ronja spun reaching out to pull the closest person through. It was Paxton. He got off one more shot, then clasped her offered hand and allowed her to drag him through. Darius was close behind. He backed through the yawning door continuing to shoot with cold precision.

  Only Easton and Larkin remained outside. Ronja could see that the commander was shielding the girl with his body, firing over her head. Horror lanced through her as she saw the blood oozing onto the concrete. “Ret la!” Easton bellowed.

  Roark tugged Ronja from the entrance, shielding her head and body with his arms as Jonah and Paxton began to fire again. She could not see, she could not move, but she heard scuffling as the commander dragged Larkin into the tower.

  “Get her over there! Hold pressure,” Easton commanded.

  Instinct claimed Ronja. She twisted herself free of Roark and sprinted over to where she knew the lever that controlled the door waited. It was nearly pitch-black inside the tower. The only light came from the streetlamps outside, half of which had been shot out. She groped around for the lever, her pulse pounding erratically. Her fingers brushed something cold and metal. She gripped it with all her strength and pulled.

  The stone door groaned over the shrill wail of the alarm and the hail of bullets, then began to close. Far too slowly. Dropping back into a crouch, Ronja peeked outside again. Her stomach vaulted. Dozens of men and women were marching toward them through the storm of returning fire. They were not Offs. They wore bathrobes and pajamas, house slippers and curlers. They shouldered automatics as long as her forearms.

  These were the wealthy citizens of the core, dragged from their beds by The New Music to protect the clock tower.

  “Keep firing!” Easton ordered. Ronja snapped back into her body. Jonah had given Roark his automatic and had taken over shielding the wounded Larkin around the corner. Paxton, Darius, and Easton all knelt at the lip of the slowly closing door, firing into the mob that was oozing toward them. Think. Think. Think. A glint of silver caught her eye, the second pistol Darius wore at his waist. Ronja darted over and yanked it from its holster before he could stop her. She dropped low, kneeling on one knee and firing off several shots in rapid succession through the narrowing gap.

  Bodies dropped. Blood spurted on silk and velvet. The light from the streetlamps was squeezed into a sliver just as the first man stretched his hand out to reach for them.

  The great stone portal sealed with an echoing thud, leaving them alone in the utter blackness.

  The howling of the alarm had been snuffed out, only to be replaced with a new sound: the guttural hum and whir of the behemoth mainframe that loomed in the blackness behind them. Ronja blinked rapidly as someone turned on an electric lantern, bathing them in co
ld light.

  “Was anyone else hit?” Paxton asked, holding the light aloft.

  Everyone shook their heads. Ronja scanned the faces of her new band of comrades. Though most of them were hardened warriors, they looked shaken. Darius was trembling visibly, his knuckles white around the sole pistol she had left him with. It was not very often, she supposed, that an army of mindless drones came at them in their bathrobes. Her eyes found Roark. He was already looking at her.

  You okay? she mouthed.

  He gave a terse nod, his jaw clenched.

  “Someone get the fiesting lights,” Jonah barked. His voice was strained, as if he were holding a heavy burden. Roark hurried over to the wall next to the door, feeling around in the dimness for the switch. A moment later, they were bathed in jarring light.

  Ronja turned slowly to face the pulsing beast of the mainframe. It was even more massive than she remembered. It climbed to the top of the tower, a dense mass of twisted metal, wire, and inorganic Song. She took a shuddering breath, letting her senses unfurl in search of the Aura that had reached out to her only minutes ago. But there was nothing. Nothing but clanking gears and sizzling electricity.

  “They can still open the door with the keypad,” Roark said, dragging her attention from the mainframe.

  “On it,” Ronja said. She popped open the cylinder, pleased to find there were still two bullets. “Get back,” she said, shooing her comrades away as she took aim at the metal keypad mounted beside the ancient door. Shutting one eye, she aimed and fired. Sparks fizzled and cracked as the little machine died. She was about to ask how they were supposed to get out now when a pained cry sliced through the air.

  Larkin. She hurried over to join the rest of the team, crouched around the wounded girl. She was flat on her back, her eyes scrunched with pain. Her armor had been removed to reveal an oozing wound in her lower abdomen. Jonah leaned over her, stroking her sweaty hair and whispering to her in Tovairin.