"That place is full of Uzul, anyway," Yma said, shaking her head. She had tucked her hair behind her ears, and under the collar of her jacket, so it didn't show as much, but there was no disguising that flawless white.
The sound of Uzul's name stung me, though not as much as it stung Yma, I was sure. I had not killed him, not in the way I could have, but pain had driven him to death, and I had provided that pain. Cyra Noavek, purveyor of pain, agent of agony.
We reached the building where the ship waited, tucked under its tarp on the roof with Yssa inside it. Zyt had sent her a signal the night before, just to tell her at least some of us were alive, so she had not fled the city yet. We trudged up the stairs, which still smelled of garbage, and I found myself beside Zyt again at the head of the group, my long legs giving me an advantage.
He cast a soft look at me. "I--"
"Oh, don't." I sighed. "I don't do well with sympathy."
"Can I offer you a bracing slap on the back?" Zyt said. "A gruff reassurance, maybe?"
"Do you have candy? I would take candy."
He smiled, reached into his pocket, and took out a piece of bright plastic wrap about the size of a fingertip. I squinted at it, but peeled the wrapper with my fingernail and uncovered a small piece of hard fenzu honey, recognizable due to its bright yellow color.
"Why," I said, "are you carrying candy around in your pocket?"
Zyt shrugged. He pushed the door to the rooftop open, letting Voa's hazy light into the stairwell. The sky was covered with clouds, and the city had a yellowish cast, a storm brewing. The thick fabric that covered the ship was still tied down--loosely, so Yssa could have pulled the ship free easily if she needed to. I ducked under the edge of it, and almost choked on the hard candy.
Eijeh stood on the steps that extended from the ship's hatch.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded.
"I'm not staying," he warned. He looked awkward, all his weight on one leg, one hand clasping the hem of his jacket.
"That doesn't really answer her question," Teka said from behind me.
"I'm here to warn you all," Eijeh said.
"Why? Did you inform the Shotet police on us again?" Zyt said.
"No," Eijeh said. "I--just wanted to escape. To be free of her." He nodded to me. "And then, some of my visions . . . fell together. Overlapped."
"Mine haven't," Sifa said, her brow furrowed.
"Isae Benesit imparted some of herself when she forced us--forced Ryzek, I mean--to see her memories, before he was killed," Eijeh said. "So I have a better grasp on her than you do. I know her from the inside out."
I felt Teka staring at me, quizzical, but I couldn't look away. Eijeh's pale green eyes were strange. Clearer than they had been in a long time.
"I know we're out of time," I said. "Isae Benesit promised not to pressure Ogra to deport the exiles until after my week was up."
"Deportation is not what she has in mind now," Eijeh said. "She is preparing another anticurrent blast, like the one that destroyed the sojourn ship."
Sifa lifted a hand to cover her mouth, and for the first time, I knew--not from memory, or guesswork, but seeing, with my own eyes--that we were the same. The same strong nose. The same fierce brow. The family Kereseth, my family.
"Anticurrent," I said, redirecting my focus. I was no little girl craving a mother. I had had one. I had killed her.
"That's what the weapon is called," Eijeh said. "The current is a creative energy, and the anticurrent is its opposite. Where the two collide, a . . . strong force results."
I snorted. Strong force, indeed.
Yssa stepped out of the hatch, then, edging around Sifa. She ran toward Ettrek, hugging him, then Teka, and then me--quickly, and with wincing, but still, a hug.
"You lived," she said, breathless.
"Speak for yourself," I said. "I'm just an apparition."
"If that was true, it would likely not hurt to touch you," she said, without a trace of humor. I glanced at Teka, who shrugged.
"When is this blast supposed to hit us?" Teka asked Eijeh.
I gave Eijeh a hard look. "Concrete answers only."
Eijeh sighed, and said, "This evening."
And that was when a small fleet of ships rose up from the area around Noavek manor like bubbles bobbing to the surface of a water glass. They hovered together for a moment, and if the sky had not been so empty, or if they had not borne the Noavek symbol on their wings, I might not have noticed them at all. But those were Lazmet Noavek's ships, and they were headed straight west, toward the Divide. Toward Thuvhe.
"The anticurrent blast will happen this evening," I said.
Everyone sat on the main deck of the transport vessel. Most were on the bench along one wall, where the straps for buckling ourselves in dangled from the wall, but Teka was on the steps leading up to the nav deck, and Yssa was in the captain's chair, fiddling with the ship's map. My racing currentshadows, and the pain that chased them back and forth across my body, didn't allow me such stillness. I paced.
"Yes," Eijeh said. "Visions don't come with a watch, so the timing is not exact, but based on the color of the light, it will be evening."
I squinted at him. "Is that the truth, or is that just something you're telling me to manipulate me into doing what you want?"
"Are you really going to believe my answer to that question?"
"No." I stopped for a moment, in front of him. "Why now? You've only ever cared about yourself, for your entire life. So what's gotten into you? Brain parasite?"
"Is that really constructive?" Teka said. "We should be figuring out how to save as many lives as possible. Which means activating the emergency evacuation alert again."
"Evacuation protocol is to flee toward the sojourn ship," I said. "Where would people go, if we sounded that alarm?"
"I can code the alarm with a message. That way, people with screens in their homes will at least know what's coming," Teka said. "We can tell them to just get out of the city whatever way they can."
"And the people who don't have screens in their houses?" Ettrek said. "The people who barely have lights to turn on? What about them?"
"I didn't say it was perfect." She scowled at him. "And I don't hear you suggesting anything useful."
"If we do this," Yma said to Teka, "we may not be able to flee ourselves. We may die here."
A silence fell at that. I had accepted the likelihood of death when I decided to kill my father, but now that I had my life, I wanted to keep it again. Even without Akos, even without family, even with most of Shotet hating me, what I had told Teka before was right. I had more now. I had friends. Hope for my own future, and for myself.
But I also had love for my people, broken though some of them may have been. Their stubborn will to survive. The way they looked at discarded objects, not as garbage, but as possibilities. They crash-landed through hostile atmospheres. They coasted alongside the currentstream. They were explorers, innovators, warriors, wanderers. And I belonged to them.
"Yeah," I said. "Let's do it."
"How?" Yssa asked. "Where do you activate the alarm?"
"One of two places: Noavek manor, and the amphitheater. The amphitheater is easier to access," I said. "We don't all need to go. So who goes, and who stays?"
"I'm leaving this planet," Eijeh said.
"Yeah, I got that impression based on your repeated insistence that you're not staying," I snapped.
"I will take you off-planet, Eijeh," Yssa said to him. "You are an oracle and as such, your life is valuable."
"My life's not valuable?" Ettrek said.
Yssa gave him a look.
"You two should go," I said to Zyt. "You only signed on to smuggle, not to risk your lives."
"Yeah, none of us here would ever do that," Ettrek said, rolling his eyes. "You remember most of us came here to kill Lazmet Noavek, right?"
I glanced at Teka and Sifa, in turn.
"You're an oracle, too," I said to Sifa.
"I'm not afraid," Sifa
said quietly.
I was. Part of me wanted to steal a floater and flee Voa as quickly as I could, get myself out of the way of the blast. But the better part--the part that made the decisions now, it seemed--knew that I had to stay, had to fight for my people, or at least allow them a chance to fight for themselves.
And maybe Sifa was as undaunted as she appeared. Maybe knowing the future forced you to be at peace with it. But I didn't think so.
She was afraid, just as I was, just as any person would be. It was that, perhaps, that made me accept that she was here. It was the most mercy I could offer her at the moment.
"Cyra should lead the way to the amphitheater," Yma said, and I looked at her in surprise. It was rare she gave me credit for anything. Ever. She added, "I believe you're familiar with the subterranean prison."
"Not as familiar as I am with your dazzling wit," I bit back with a smile.
"You take the bait every time, don't you?" Teka said to me.
I considered that for a moment. "Yes," I said. "It's part of my charm."
Ettrek snorted. And we started to plan.
Some time later, we stood on the rooftop and watched Eijeh and Yssa board a smuggler ship, courtesy of Zyt's connections to Voa's criminal underground.
Eijeh didn't bid me farewell. But he did glance back before disappearing inside the ship. His eyes met mine, and he nodded, just once.
And then my brother was gone.
CHAPTER 51: AKOS
THE AWAKENING IN HESSA had never been Akos's favorite--he liked the quiet dark of the Deadening, with its warm ovens and bright, Bloomed hushflowers--but it had certain charms. At the very start, in the weeks before the hushflowers lost their blooms, a swarm of deadbirds flew over Hessa every morning and evening in a big cloud, whistling in unison. Their song was bright and sweet, and the undersides of their wings were pink, like Akos's blush.
They were called deadbirds because they hibernated all winter, and the first person to come across a flock during hibernation had thought they were all dead. They hardly even had heartbeats then. But when the Awakening came around, they flew all the time, dropping pink feathers everywhere. His dad collected them for his mom, and stuck them in a jar on the kitchen table for decoration.
When Lazmet Noavek's ship landed just past the feathergrass north of Hessa, it sent up a cloud of pink feathers.
At least they aren't going past the house, Akos thought. His family's home was far from where they landed, though along the same strip of feathergrass. They would approach Hessa hill from behind, where there were no houses, and steps carved from rock would lead them to the temple's back gate.
The Shotet groaned and shivered when the hatch of the ship opened. Even Lazmet seemed to brace himself. But Akos drank in the frozen air like it was the finest thing he'd ever tasted. The soldiers had laughed at him when he first came on board, stuffed into half a dozen sweaters and jackets, incapable of lowering his arms. But none of them were laughing now.
Akos pulled the strip he had torn from his blanket over his face, so only his eyes showed. He spotted the handle of a currentblade on a careless soldier's hip, and wondered if he could grab it, stab Lazmet right now before anyone attacked Hessa. But the soldier turned away, the opportunity disappearing.
Lazmet beckoned, and Akos went to the front of the pack that had come together, the soldiers drawing closer in the cold. Vakrez and Lazmet, at least, had put on more than one layer.
Akos went to the front of the group, and looked up at Hessa hill. He had told Lazmet to fly in from as far north as he could stand to go, to glide low next to the feathergrass and land, going in on foot. Sure enough, he didn't hear the sirens that would have sounded all throughout the town if somebody had seen Shotet soldiers. It was strange, how he hoped that he would succeed, and hoped that he would fail, all at once.
There were two paths to the bottom of the hill, one that went into a dip in the land and would protect them from rough wind, and another that wouldn't. Akos chose the latter. He hoped half of the soldiers froze to death on their way in, or at least got such cold fingers they couldn't handle their currentblades right.
Akos pointed his nose across the bare plains and started walking.
It wasn't a long enough walk for any of the Shotet soldiers to freeze to death, unfortunately. But by the time they got to the bottom of the hill, the people behind him had come up with their own strategies for staying warm, some better than others. They were chewing on their fingertips--not the best idea--or wrapping their hands and faces in handkerchiefs and cloths. They were huddled in groups, rotating so one person took the brunt of the wind at a time. Akos's eyelashes were frosted, and the skin around his eyes was numb, but he felt all right otherwise. The trick to walking in the cold was to just let the chill happen, trusting that your body would take care of itself. When the will to live failed, the body still fought.
The wind died down. They were shielded now by huge crags made by avalanches, and natural promontories, since this was the jagged side of Hessa hill. Still, finding the steps wasn't easy--you had to know where they were, and Akos's memory, dulled though it was by everything he'd done, held strong. He went around one of the bigger rock formations and there they were, faint indentations only as long as the ball of his foot.
"I thought you said there were steps," Vakrez said to him.
"I thought you said the Shotet were adaptable," Akos retorted, his voice muffled by fabric, and he started up the slope.
Lazmet insisted that Akos lead the way, which ruled out shoving him over the edge. Akos started the quick hop that made the steps easier to climb, only he couldn't do it. He had been deprived of food for too long to do so much as a single bounce. He slumped against the side of the hill--more of a mountain to the Shotet, he realized--to keep him balanced as he went.
"You starve him for weeks and now you want him to lead us up a mountain?" Vakrez said to Lazmet.
"Get up there and help him, then, if you're so concerned," Lazmet said.
Vakrez stepped past Lazmet and, avoiding Akos's eyes, put an arm across Akos's back. Akos was startled by how strong Vakrez was, the older man lifting him almost to his toes as they walked together on the narrow stairs. The wind wailed so loud Akos couldn't have heard him if he had whispered right in his ear, so the two men climbed in silence, Vakrez pausing every time he noticed Akos's breaths getting labored.
After a while, the steps got bigger and flatter, cutting a winding path into the mountainside. They were made for oracles, not athletes, after all.
The sun was setting, and the snow sparkled in the light, glinting as it blew across the stone. It was a simple enough sight, and one Akos had seen thousands of times, growing up. But he'd never loved it as much as he did then, at the helm of a group of invading soldiers, on the verge of murder.
It was over too soon. They made it to the top, where a few sparse trees covered their approach, bent and curled from the constant wind. Akos had to stop at the top step, and Lazmet waved the others toward the door as Vakrez held him upright.
He was just standing on his own again when Vakrez pivoted, his broad frame shielding Akos from Lazmet's view.
"Whoa," Vakrez said, "get your legs under you, boy."
And he hiked up some of Akos's layers, shoving a blade under the waistband of Akos's pants and covering the handle with a sweater.
"Just in case," Vakrez said so quietly it was almost lost to the wind.
Akos didn't intend to use a blade, but he appreciated the gesture regardless.
The smell of Hessan incense nearly made Akos fall apart. It was herbal--almost like the medicine his mom had force-fed him for his chronic cough when he was a kid, but not quite--and spicy, stinging his nose once it wasn't numb from the cold anymore. It smelled like a dozen Bloomings, and handfuls of after-school visits spent waiting for Sifa to be done meeting with someone in the Hall of Prophecy, and afternoons of snickering at the youngest oblates, who stared at Eijeh and blushed right after he grew from a child to
a teenager. It smelled like home.
Akos joined the soldiers in shedding some of his outer layers, though he was careful to protect the blade Vakrez had given him every time he raised his arms. He wound up in just one sweater, dark blue and soft, and kept his multiple pairs of socks on. They were keeping his too-large boots where they were. Sweat dotted the back of his neck; he felt warm air on it when he took off his hat. His legs still felt like jelly from the climb, or maybe that was anticipation of what was next.
"You'll want to disable the power in the building before you do anything else," he said to Lazmet. "There's the main power source and a backup generator. Take the bulk of your soldiers to the main source, it's on the other side of the building and you'll run into temple guards that way. The backup generator is close, and nobody guards it."
He took out the crude map he'd drawn of the temple--just the path from the back door to the maintenance room in the basement was marked on it--and stuffed it into Lazmet's hand.
"You only labeled one of those two on here," Lazmet said, looking the map over.
"Yeah," Akos said. "I have to keep some things back, or I can't hold you to your end of the deal. I'll take you to the backup generator myself."
He wasn't surprised when Lazmet didn't get angry. That would have been a normal response--you get in a person's way at a crucial moment, and they get angry. But Lazmet wasn't normal. He wanted his world to interest him. And Akos thinking two steps ahead clearly did.
This must have been how he crafted Ryzek, Akos thought. His disapproval came in the form of horror after horror, eyeballs in jars and people lying on their own blades. But when a person did finally make him proud, even if the reason disgusted them, they wanted to do it again. And again. And again.
"Commander Noavek, you'll take the platoon to the main power source. You and you--" He pointed to two soldiers--one dark-skinned, his coarse hair pulled back, and the other slim and yellow-haired, her skin almost as pale as Akos's. "You'll come with us."
It wouldn't be easy to get this done with two soldiers with them, Akos knew, but there was nothing he could do about it, no way he could insist that Lazmet come with him alone without making the man suspicious. If he had to get them all killed, he would. He had already gone crashing through his own ethics in every possible way. What was another mark on his arm?
The Fates Divide Page 29
