The Warrior

by Victoria Scott

  “Jump across,” I tell her, my body heating with a sort of mad fever. “I’ll take you back.”

  I don’t know why I say it, but once it’s out there, I can’t unthink it. Maybe I could wrap Aspen in my arms and scream myself awake. Perhaps if I hold on tightly enough, she’ll be there when I wake. Charlie will call for the Quiet Ones, Blue will race in and drop to her side, and Aspen will be back, safe. Simple as that.

  The podium is large enough for two people to stand on, so I make a motion for Aspen to move back. She seems afraid to leap, so I’m going to jump across the empty space, over the water that runs quick like an open vein, and take Aspen into the waking world.

  She opens her mouth again, and her throat works, but again there is no sound.

  “It’s okay, Aspen. I’ll come to you. Just step back so there’s room for me.”

  The podium projects from the water like a perfectly square island. An island for two.

  Aspen tips her head back and screams a silent cry for help. Black tears escape her eyes and run down her milk-white neck. A thick lump forms in my throat at the sight.

  “Just move back a step, please.” But she won’t move, she can’t speak, and something tells me that this is all part of a plan. That I’m supposed to be driven into insanity. I’m supposed to be so filled with angst that I jump and risk tipping into the water.

  I judge the space around Aspen. If I leap, and grab onto her, perhaps it could work. It’s a chance I’ll take.

  My legs itch to run, my body fires with eagerness. I back up a few steps and ready myself. Three…two…

  I stop.

  A watery figure rises up from behind Aspen like a liquid moon. The figure takes her in his arms. Water races down the human form, and slowly, I begin to see that this is not a body made of water, but someone I recognize. A collector, flesh and blood.

  The man—tall, cropped hair, knowing smile—bends his head so that his cheek touches Aspen’s cheek.

  Rector.

  His hands explore the length of her body, and she gasps in silent protest. He raises her dress, inch by inch, his smile widening. I begin to see her legs, her knees.

  And I wretch at the sight of her.

  Her extremities have fused together to resemble a tree trunk, and her toes have grown deep into the platform like roots, searching for water. She is literally planted in place.

  I right myself, feel anger rupture any rational thought I may have had, and I run.

  Aspen shakes her head.

  No, no, no.

  I run.

  I leap.

  My feet touch the platform for an instant. My fingers brush her bark-like skin for a moment. And then I am falling. My body hits the water, and a cold like I’ve never experienced before sucks me down, down. The cold is a dead thing, but it wants to live. And here I am with life to give.

  As I drown, sinking deeper into the water, Aspen finally finds her voice.

  “You-You-You…” she stutters.

  Rector kisses her cheek and keeps his eyes on me. Mine he seems to say.

  “You-You-You’re already…” Aspens swallows, sees that my ears are almost fully submerged. She opens her mouth, she fists her hands with a crackling sound, and she says in a hiss, “You’re already dead. Go back to sleep.”

  I wake up.

  I wake up, and the bells in the house are ringing.

  PURGATORY

  “Heaven wheels above you, displaying to you her eternal glories, and still your eyes are on the ground.”

  —Dante’s Inferno

  19

  The Sirens Slither

  I leap from my bed and search for Charlie. She isn’t in the room with me.

  Racing through the bathroom, I find her and Annabelle sitting up in bed, their eyes wide with fright.

  “What it is?” Charlie’s spine is as straight as a pencil. “What’s happening?”

  Blue barrels into the room, breathing hard. “Do you know anything?”

  I shake my head and think. I can either see what’s happening, or I can stay and protect Charlie and Annabelle. My heart says to stay, but my brain says I’m more equipped for fighting than Blue since I can summon my wings and who knows what else. I make my decision.

  “Blue, can you stay with the girls?”

  Charlie starts to argue, but I stop her. “I know you want to help. But you’re the savior, Charlie. We can’t risk you until it’s necessary.”

  I don’t know when it will be necessary, or if I could watch her be in harm’s way even then, but it pacifies her for now. She nods and stands at the foot of the bed, like if she’s the last line of defense, she’ll defend Annabelle to the death. I love her so much in this moment I can actually feel it in the beat of my heart.

  I glance at Blue and then rush out the door. The first person I find is Valery. Her lips are parted, and she looks close to tears. Valery. Strong and fearless.

  Battle makes cowards of us all.

  My legs burn beneath me as I race through the Hive, searching for the source of the alarm. For once, Valery is on my heel instead of the other way around. I spot Kraven and race faster. I call out to him, but he plunges forward without looking back.

  The three of us spill into the great room.

  My blood stops.

  My heart stops.

  The truth of what’s happening is too much.

  Sirens pour through the roof like bats from a cave. They drop down on ropes strung from the ocean’s guts and they scatter across the floor. Standing in the center of it all is Anthony, the largest of all the collectors. He’s built like a vending machine with a head that’s way too small for his body. He is all muscle, small brain. But tonight, he’s using what little brain power he has to direct the sirens.

  I imagine Kraven will immediately summon his wings and begin fighting. Instead, he barks orders as humans and liberators spill into the room, their once sleepy faces alert with terror.

  We expected this.

  Have prepared for this.

  Yet as the battle reveals itself, we are aghast. We are immobile. Maybe because we believed we had another few days to ready ourselves. Kraven jerks us out of our stupor with sharp words.

  “Max, go and find the Quiet Ones. Tell them what’s happening and get them to my chambers. Valery, find the humans and do the same.”

  Kraven turns to me. “Go and find Oswald. Bring him here.”

  “But—” I start to protest, to yell that we have to get Charlie out of here first and foremost. But two days ago, I said I was going to trust Kraven. And though I’ve never relied on anyone but myself, this time I do.

  I race to the basement, and as I do I set my mind on Blue. I hope for him to be strong and smart. I hope for him to hide Charlie and Annabelle and for something bigger to be with them all, protecting them.

  What I’m doing in my head…it feels a lot like praying.

  But it’s not.

  I crash into Oswald’s personal dungeon and blink at the horde of lamps lighting the area. What is his deal with lamps? It’s the only thought I have before grabbing his arm and telling him what’s happened.

  “Kraven wants me to come there?” Oswald’s voice is wobbly, his fingers curled in horror.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know why, either. But that’s what I was told.”

  Oswald stumbles after me like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Twice I have to grab his elbow and force him to move faster. The old man seems as if he’s two seconds from fleeing the Hive entirely.

  As we near our destination, my body feels like it’s electric. Every hair stands on end. Every nerve ending crackles with anticipation. The sirens are inside. A collector is among us. A traitor has struck again.

  This is the beginning of something terrible.

  Kraven sees us coming. He’s yelling something I can’t hear. The sirens are too loud with their stomping feet and the bells are too suffocating with their insistent ringing. He’s like Aspen on the platform, his mouth is moving, but
nothing is heard.

  I grab Oswald once more and he fights against me. “No way, old man,” I say. “Come on.” I don’t like dragging him toward danger, but I’m doing this thing. I’m trusting. I’m trusting and it’s scaring the ever loving crap out of me.

  I jerk to a stop beside Kraven and my eyes take in the great room. The sirens have stilled. Anthony stands at the front of them. Six sirens are holding six of our own.

  The walkers. The humans who know how to fight, who have trained us for the last several days, have been overcome by the sirens. Strength in numbers and all that. One walker near the middle meets my gaze. Her eyes sparkle like two stars set in the folds of her skin. The siren behind her holds a knife made of the ocean’s stone to her neck. Around the woman, five other walkers stand still as death, a blade touching each of their throats.

  We need these people alive if we are to stand a chance. Kraven doesn’t believe in using humans in the war between heaven and hell. But here they are, hostages, lambs at the slaughter.

  Anthony raises his arm into the air.

  The woman with the knife at her neck screams.

  Kraven pleads with the collector, who grins like this is funny.

  Oswald begins turning in circles.

  I breathe. I close my eyes. I open them.

  I run.

  My body charges toward the siren grasping the woman. If I can just save her. If I can just save one person, it’ll be okay. Kraven may believe he can reason with Anthony, but I know better. I trained this guy. I taught this monster how to eat, to never leave gristle on the bone. And now here he is, showing me he’s all grown up.

  I’m almost to her, can almost spot the relief on her face when the siren pulls the knife across her neck. The skin opens so easily, like pulling a crisp white sheet of paper in half. And then the blood comes. It gushes from the open wound and spills down her chest like a strawberry bib.

  Her eyes roll back in her head.

  And her body slumps to the ground.

  Across the room, the sound of five more bodies hit the floor. These people are dead. They chose to help creatures most would consider detestable, creatures that shouldn’t be alive. And now they are dead. I think about what Kraven said to them just yesterday; that they would be written in His heart for eternity for their work. They are in the heavens now. They are safe.

  I don’t believe in much, but I have to believe that. Just this once.

  I look to Anthony.

  He smiles.

  The room holds its breath.

  And then he releases the sirens. They charge toward us, stepping over six human carcasses in their flight. The sirens look like a swarm of flies, buzzing, swaying as they race toward us.

  Anthony finally speaks. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in months. “Find the girl!”

  Hearing what he says, my mind snaps to attention. We must fight. No, we must flee. There are too many. There’s nothing to be done. Kraven should have planned for this. I trusted him to take care of us, and what did he do? He told us to train. He told me to bring an old man.

  He failed us all.

  And I failed Charlie.

  Kraven’s wings burst from his back and he staggers, nearly falls to the floor. I grab his arm to steady him. Then I remember he’s done us no favors and I throw his arm away. Oswald remains rooted in place, shaking, crying. The sirens are a sigh away and Oswald is frozen with fear.

  “Oswald!” I yell. I don’t know why I call out to him. There’s nothing to be done for any of us. But I don’t want to watch him die. I have to save him and find Charlie and spend my last few moments holding her against me.

  Oswald is overcome with terror. And the old man only knows one thing to do when he’s nervous.

  He starts turning in circles.

  I rush toward him. “Oswald, run!”

  But it’s too late. A siren is one step away from him, and I am three.

  Oswald spins and spins. The siren reaches him and raises his blade into the air.

  Oswald spins and spins and spins and spins and something is happening—

  An orange light begins to radiate from his body. The siren nearby falls back but it’s too late.

  The.

  World.

  Explodes.

  Orange light blasts over the entire room like a nuclear bomb and I’m thrown twenty feet. My head hits the wall and I see black. I see black, and I see Charlie jumping on her bed in Peachville. I see her feeding raccoons and I see how beautiful she was the first time we made love.

  When the light recedes, Oswald is hunched over as if he’s in pain. Half the sirens are dead, and Anthony is gone, probably gone back to hell through a vultrip. The sirens that remain scramble to their ropes and they clamor up, leaving their brothers and sisters behind.

  Kraven rushes forward to help Oswald.

  And I run to Charlie.

  20

  A Room Unburned

  Hours later, after we’d removed the bodies from the great room, I still couldn’t stop thinking about Oswald. Never did I think the old man had it in him. But why not? Charlie is able to do a similar kind of thing with her hands. Oswald’s ability just takes turning in circles. I wonder if I should rename him Tornado.

  As I think about Oswald, I also think about the humans who died. The walkers.

  Dead.

  Like Aspen, maybe.

  Dead.

  After Charlie has assured me for the hundredth time that she’s okay, I head to Kraven’s room, glancing up every few seconds as I walk. The ceiling above the great room has been patched, even though the thought of the sirens having spent days up there—chipping away at the tiled roof unheard—still disturbs the hell out of me.

  I knock once on Kraven’s door before letting myself in.

  He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, blond hair tucked behind his ears. The features of his face seem sharper somehow, like he’s changing as war grows closer. Because war is growing closer. At first I thought it was upon us, but now I know that was merely a strike before January twenty-first arrived.

  “We need to consider leaving the Hive,” I tell Kraven. “And you need to let me in on your strategy. You ask everyone to trust you, but you don’t trust us.”

  Kraven turns his face away. “I didn’t ask anyone to trust me.”

  I don’t respond.

  The liberator sighs. “There’s a traitor who’s whispering the doors open.”

  “I know.”

  Kraven’s head snaps in my direction. Then he shakes it. “Oswald.”

  “Old man can’t keep a secret to save his life,” I say.

  Kraven holds up a finger and smiles an unconvincing smile. “Except one.”

  I nod, remembering Oswald’s ability. “Except one.”

  Kraven stands and walks to the center of the room. He gazes up at the circular window at the top of his room. I take his place at the foot of the bed. “Tell me why you want to stay here,” I say.

  Kraven’s shoulders tense and then relax. He crosses the distance between us in a flash and grabs my face in his hands.

  “What the fu—?”

  “Can I trust you, Dante?” His eyes flick across my features. “Because I believe He trusts you. Why else would He have brought you back?”

  I shove him away. “Tell me what it is you’re hiding!”

  Kraven’s eyes storm. “Tell me exactly what it is the scroll said.”

  “Which part? The first part talked about a sparrow among crows or some crap, the second thing—”

  “Stop. What exactly did the first part say?”

  I think back, clear my throat. “It said, ‘The room unburned holds a sparrow among crows.’ What does it matter? It’s all gibberish. I thought the scroll could somehow help us win, but we need to focus on more tactile assaults.”

  Kraven grabs a white coat from a single rusted hook and pulls it on. “Follow me.” The liberator strides toward his fireplace and I’m about to ask what the H he’s doing when he
ducks inside of it and disappears.

  I move toward where I last saw him. No flames dance in the hearth, and when I inch closer, I see that there’s a wall stopping any entry. But Kraven is gone. I take a cautious step forward and my eyes reveal the truth: the back of the fireplace is a mirage, one that easily fools any onlooker when a flame is lit within. But with the embers hushed, I make out that it’s a tunnel.

  I swallow any doubt and stride after Kraven.

  Following the sound of his footsteps, I walk on, feeling as if we’re being swallowed by the earth. After only a couple of minutes, I spot a light up ahead, and a few paces later I come to a stop beside Kraven. We’re standing outside a door that’s perhaps three feet tall and is more a crawl space than an entrance. There isn’t even a knob, but light seeps through the bottom and sides enough so that I can tell it’s some sort of opening to another room.

  Kraven rears back and kicks the door in. A plume of dust tickles my nose and then we’re on our hands and knees, ducking through the entry way and coming to a stand again.

  The liberator spreads his arms. “The reason we mustn’t leave the Hive.”

  My eyes take in the room and my ears ring.

  Weapons.

  Hundreds of them.

  There are shields crested with horses of fire, and swords hilted in glittering silver. There are daggers paired like twin brothers, and throwing stars with vengeful, serrated edges. Near the back wall hang axes with lethal heads, and stacked on the floor are helmets and body armor. The room is enormous, and there are enough weapons here to equip a small army. Everywhere I look—weapons. Everywhere I look—a fresh way to murder someone.

  And then there is this: a sword blending seamlessly against the rest. It has a yellow gemstone in the hilt, and a glittering tip I can’t ignore. It’s like it’s calling to me, but that might be the jewel talking. I once rocked half-carat diamonds in my ears. Not saying I’m proud of that fashion statement, but precious jewels and I have a deep-rooted relationship that’s withstood the test of time.

  For a long time, I run my hands over the smooth finely made artillery, keeping an eye trained on the bedazzled blade. Finally, I find my tongue. “I thought you said the war between heaven and hell wouldn’t be fought with weapons.”