“I don’t know,” I mumbled, but I did. The original Tundra had been Fey’s.
He pressed the instrument trigger. Immediately, vapour started to circle the blade, and frost formed on its face.
“Apparently, the blade has been spelled to absorb heat from everything it comes into contact with, including the air.” I frowned. “Just holding it makes my fingers numb.”
He squeezed the hilt. “I see what you mean.” He put the blade back in the case, and snapped the latch shut. He handed the case back. “The smiths did a good job. It’s remarkably like Fey’s.”
There was a subtle sadness in King’s tone, when he uttered those words.
As I packed the instrument case away, I couldn’t help myself. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” I began, “but why exactly did Fey Watters leave the agency?”
I didn’t hear an answer. When I looked up from my bag, King was staring up at the mountains, his features suddenly devoid of expression. I waited uncomfortably through the silence.
Finally, he said, “We better start walking again.” He stood up, and threw his bag back on. Without another word, he continued up the trail.
“Guess you do mind,” I sighed, and with a grunt, hoisted my bag back on.
We continued to walk.
The flat land ended after about half an hour, rising into another rocky incline. The climb was even slippier here, and my thighs began to burn after another hour. We stopped again when we reached more level ground. This time we didn’t talk. I ate some energy and protein bars, downed a bottle of water, and took a leak behind a rock.
Though the sun was bright, my fingers, nose and lips were numb with cold. My lungs felt heavy, frozen in my chest.
As the sun cooled to the tame dull orange of late afternoon, the path slowly grew level again. Here, only a few other mountains towered above us. We were near the top, but the rocky wall to our left still blocked the view of the other side of the mountain range.
We reached a section of the wall, covered almost entirely in a thick bush of bright purple flowers.
“Hold on,” King said, stretching a hand towards the bush. His hand was instantly engulfed in brilliant amber light, and he used it like a blade, cutting through the thicket. His actions revealed a gaping hole in the mountain wall.
I gazed through the window at the view beyond: lofty green hills and a winding crystal river. “How’d you know that was there?” I asked him.
“Didn’t you feel the cross breeze?” he said, bending over to pick up some of the flowers. I watched as he stuffed them into his pocket.
“What’re you doing?”
“Never mind me,” he said, unfastening a pair of binoculars from the side of his bag. He looked through them for a moment, and handed them to me. “Look there,” he said , pointing.
I did as he instructed. Atop one of the hills, there was a stone fortress, tinged green with mold and glazed in ice. I felt a flurry of panic and excitement.
“Is that—“ I began.
“It should be,” King said. “Massah Tsukr’s hideout.”
I swallowed, and nodded.
King kept moving, and I followed. Moments later, we were standing at the top of the mountain. I crossed over to the opposite edge, and looked down. My heart rose to my throat. The descent was impossibly steep.
“We can’t get down from here. Not unless we want to break our necks or get impaled,” I said, eying all the pointy rocks. “What does the map say?”
“The trail ends here,” King said. “But I wouldn’t worry.”
I turned to see him staring at something in the ground. I went up to him.
There was a dark hole in the earth, about the breadth of an average sized body. King whipped out a flashlight and shined it down. We could not see a bottom. Likely, it led down into a cave. Or maybe, you know, death.
But there was a look in King’s eyes.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
“It’s a possibility.”
“You can’t be serious,” I repeated.
King retrieved a little brown sack from his bag, and emptied it onto the ground. Three silver balls rolled out.
“What are those?” I asked.
“Precaution,” he said, tapping onto his cell-comm.
Tiny red lights blinked to life all over the silver balls. Then, the balls floated off the ground, circled above the hole, and rushed down it. I watched their blinking lights fade into the darkness.
“When they return, we’ll have a full map of the underground,” King said.
“How long will that take?”
“It shouldn’t take more than a few hours,” he said. “But we’re not navigating through bloody caves at dark anyway. We’re going to wait till morning.”
I was stumped. “Wait, so what do we do now?”
King blinked. “We rest.”
“Rest?” I looked back at the hills. “But Tsukr is right there, right within reach.”
“And he’s not going anywhere. He thinks he’s safe. We can wait one night.”
“We could end this right now,” I complained.
“You are in no shape for engagement, physically or mentally,” he said, sternly. “Sit your rump down. It’s time to do what I brought you here for.”
“Which, to be clear, isn’t to capture a first-class informant?” I said. “Because that’s what it should be.”
“No, Arra,” King said, taking something out of his pocket. “Like I said, that’s why I’m here. I brought you here to try to fix you.
He opened his palm to reveal the crushed purple flowers I had seen him pick off the ground earlier.
He smiled at me. “It’s time to heal your mind.”
CHAPTER 50
Night had fallen. I was sitting on the cold rocky ground, shivering at the mouth of my tent, in spite of the two electric blankets draped over my shoulders. Shivering because we couldn’t build a fire, lest someone from Massa Tsukr’s fort spotted the light. Two electric blankets because King could apparently generate enough heat on his own. From his body. At will.
So now, I couldn’t help but glare at him, comfortably sitting in front of his own tent, emanating a faint veil of steam.
He had been stirring the contents of a silver bowl for the last hour. I knew what was in the bowl: purple flowers, water, and a lot of spittle, no doubt. He kept blowing into the bowl. Presumably to heat it up. I could actually hear the contents of the bowl bubbling from where I sat.
“Amethyst,” he said, as he stirred. “That’s the name of this plant. It contains a chemical that subdues the part of your brain responsible for coordinating mana-manipulation cells.”
“You’re telling me this, why?”
“Because you’re going to drink it.”
“Yeah…no.”
“It’ll purge you temporarily of excess mana,” King explained. “You’ll be able to sleep again. At least, tonight.”
I hesitated after hearing that.
“Your mind needs rest.” He came over and sat next to me. “You don’t take this, you’re not coming with me to Tsukr’s fort.”
I glared at him, before receiving the bowl. “You’re really milking that threat.”
“Drink up.”
I brought the bowl up to my face, and nearly gagged when the steam hit my face. “That smells disgusting.”
“It tastes better than it smells.”
I sipped the concoction, and immediately let it dribble back out of my mouth. “Nope. No, it doesn’t.”
King was chuckling. “Yeah, I lied.”
I made a face at the contents of the bowl. Then, holding my breath, I drank as quickly as I could. I was coughing when I handed the bowl back to King.
He inspected the bottom of the bowl. “Where are the flower petals?”
“What do you mean, where are the flower petals?” I said. “I swallowed them.”
“Oh.”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“Huh, what? Oh, you’
ll be fine,” he said, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Probably.”
I sighed, and laid on my back. The stars twinkled down on me.
“So, what now?” I asked. “Just wait till I get sleepy?”
“Basically.”
I waited. The silence stretched. The wind whistled. A passing strawk hooted in the skies. Somewhere, a beast howled. More silence.
“This is stupid,” I finally said.
“Be patient,” King said. “Do you want to talk whilst you wait?”
“Oh now you want to talk,” I mumbled. “No thanks. That ship has launched.”
“Tell me about your partner, Evon. How close were you?”
“Did you not hear me?” I said. “Light, you’re persistent. And annoying. And—why are the stars so damn beautiful?”
The lights in the sky seemed brighter all of a sudden. There was an unusual amount of depth to my vision. I felt like I wasn’t simply staring at the stars; the stars were staring back at me. I was floating in the twinkling expanse.
“What is happening?” I whispered.
“What do you mean?” King asked.
“Do you not see this?” I gasped. “The stars, they’re amazing.”
I had never felt so comfortable, so relaxed. I wasn’t cold any more. A pleasant warmth was washing over me. I turned my head to look at King.
His silver hair was brilliant beneath the moonlight, and his eyes glowed gold like headlamps. He smiled down at me, and I felt a rush in my head and stomach.
“Light,” I said. “Do you have any idea how hot you look? You’re like, crazy hot. Cosmic hot.”
“Don’t say cosmic,” he said. “You’re a grown woman.”
“And I don’t mean hot in the literal sense, either,” I kept going. “Though that’s a pretty neat trick too. I wonder what a hug with you would be like. Probably like holding onto a hot water bottle. Except I bet it’d be better than a hot water bottle. Firmer than a hot water bottle. I don’t know, I’ve never really used a hot water bottle before. And I really like the way the edges of your mouth are so crisp. Muck, I don’t know why I just said that. But I’m serious, you look fantastic. Like, you-could-be-a-model fantastic. Can I touch your hair? No, wait. Okay, let me touch it. No wait! I’ve already kind of imagined what it would feel like, and-now-I’m-scared-it-won’t-be-like-that-at-all-and-I-don’t-want-to-be-disappointed-why-can’t-I-stop-talking-this-is-so-insane-oh-my-Light-I’m-high-aren’t-I?”
“As the sky,” King said, sounding amused.
“This isn’t funny. I’m an enforcer of the law; I shouldn’t be high,” I cried. “What was in that drink?”
“I should have mentioned that amethyst has some…psychedelic side-effects,” King said. “And you’re not an enforcer of the law. Not anymore.”
“So I’m not an enforcer,” I said. “But I’m not a Beta agent either. That’s great.”
“Identity is important to you, isn’t it?” King said.
“Um, of course it is. Who isn’t identity important to?” I snapped. “Except maybe robots. And pets. They’re pretty oblivious, I think—ugh, I’m so hot, and not in the way I meant for you.” I was throwing off my electric blankets.
“Hey, keep those on.” He started piling the blankets back on me. “You only feel warm because your cells are dumping out mana. You’re actually losing heat.”
“But I’m so hot,” I whined, fighting him off and failing. I was feeling far too mellow to use any real strength.
King managed to wrap me up again. “Now, how about we get back to talking about Evon?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re playing shrink, aren’t you?” I accused. “You want me to talk about…feelings and stuff.”
“Amethyst is also a judgment inhibitor,” King said. “It will allow you to speak freely about losing Evon, and how it has affected you. It should help you confront your innermost pain, and start you on your path to emotional recovery.”
I glared at him for a moment. Then, I burst into giggles. “You’re so sneaky,” I laughed.
He smiled. “I suppose I am. Now, what was it you were saying about Evon?”
“Huh?”
“You were just talking about how Evon’s death upset you.”
“I was?” I returned my gaze to the stars. “Oh yeah.”
“Keep talking,” King said, his voice like a distant echo in my head. “I’m listening.”
“I was just saying,” I said, slowly, “that maybe, in a way, I’ve always defined myself by the people around me, you know? Mammy needed me to be her perfect little girl—and I was a dud at it. I was trying so hard to be what Mammy wanted that I never really got to be my own…” I struggled to find the word. “…person.”
“Mm-hmm,” King went.
“So when I had to move out of the house, sure, it wasn’t my happiest moment, but I transitioned fairly easily. It was shedding one role for another, I guess.” I tried to smile. “In Crystal Lake, I got to be three things: Kattie’s guardian, an enforcer, and Evon’s partner. I love Kattie, but I’m terrible at being a guardian. She takes more care of me than I do of her. And throughout my short career in enforcement, all I did was try to prove to the guys that a little kid from Whitewater deserved to be taken seriously. Sometimes that meant doing dangerous things, downright stupid things. Enforcement was basically Mammy all over again. But being Evon’s partner though, being her best friend—” I paused. “That, I was good at. I loved her. Light, I loved her.”
I could feel myself choking up. I swallowed back the tears, and laughed through them.
“But of course, right after finding some happiness, some certainty about who I was and all that muck, she had to go and die on me.” I surprised myself with the bitterness I heard in my voice.
“Are you mad at Evon for dying?” King asked.
“No,” I whispered. “No, I’m mad at myself for letting her die.”
“And you’re afraid you’ll never forgive yourself.”
“That,” I admitted, “and also—“ I turned to look at King, “there’s a part of me that’s afraid I’ll never be me again, now that she’s gone.”
“Which explains the hallucinations,” King said. “You feel that to be you, you have to have Evon. So your subconscious feeds you versions of Evon to nurse your insecurities.”
“Yeah, that about covers it,” I said, nibbling on my bottom lip. “You’re good at this.”
“You’re the one doing the talking,” King said. “I’m just putting together the pieces.”
Silence.
I was feeling less warm now, and I was glad King had made me put the blankets back on. In addition to that, I was feeling a strange, heavy sensation I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
I was feeling sleepy.
“I suppose to a certain extent,” King said, “we all define ourselves by the people around us.”
“Oh?”
“For example,” King said. “Kay and Imp are partly defined by the way their families treated them. They were both disowned by their families; Kay because of his unique physique, and Imp because he absorbed his twin in the womb. It took both of them a long time to trust the team, and to buy back into the idea of friendship and loyalty.”
The information was depressing, but unsurprising. Hitis were not very accepting of anomaly amongst themselves. And Sprites were always born in pairs; those children who assimilated their siblings were often abandoned at temples or monasteries.
“That’s sad,” was all I could say.
“Sometimes, I still think of myself as an orphan boy. Actually, Po and I are both orphans from the Rim. I ran away from my foster home at eight. Po from hers at six. Until the Director found us, we were out on the streets, living on what we could panhandle or steal. We grew up together actually. Those days, we did everything together. Or rather, I did things, and she tagged along like an annoying little sister.”
I smiled.
“In that way, Po and I define each other,” King said
. “But if I had to give you a fair comparison—“ He looked hesitant, and averted his eyes. “It would have to be me and Fey.”
I yawned, in spite of my immediate intrigue.
“Fey definitely had it the worst,” King said, slowly. “She grew up in Aurora, on the western outskirts of Solaris. Her father was an alcoholic, her mother abusive. No other siblings. Her parents were always at each other’s throats. Eventually, tensions rose too high. One night, she woke up to her father dead on the kitchen floor; a bloody hammer in her mother’s hand.”
King’s voice had grown sombre by now. His eyes were cold, distant.
I was riveted by the things King was telling me. But I was fighting to keep my eyes open.
“You can tell that the opportunity to work with the agency means more to her, than it ever will to us,” King said. “She works harder than any of us. She’s certainly better too. She’s a lot like you: strong, stubborn.” He paused. “Beautiful.”
I would have been embarrassed, if I wasn’t so sleepy. I closed my eyes. Just to rest them.
“She really drew me in,” I heard King continue. “She’s seen far more darkness than I have, and because of that, she’s been more than able to help me deal with mine. I, in return, have tried to share with her what little light I have. We balance each other out like that. We need each other. Well, needed. At a point, Fey pretty much defined my life. I like to think I defined hers too.”
I opened my eyes. “Then why did she leave?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
King stopped cold too, his lips pursing shut.
“Sorry,” I murmured, too drowsy to really mean it. “Was I not supposed to ask that?”
“She left,” King said, “because I’m an idiot.” He looked down at me. “Before one of our operations, the Breakpoint Op, she asked me if I wanted to get married.”
“And you said no?” I mumbled.
“It took me by surprise,” he said. “I told her I wanted things to stay the same. She was hurt. Of course she was. It probably took everything within her to ask. She’s very proud.”
“So, she just upped and left the agency?”
“Yes, she upped and left.”
I thought about it. It seemed like a rather weak reason to abandon your team.
The BETA Agency Page 26
