Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  Maybe, but maybe not. How will I know unless I give everyone a chance?

  How will I know if I don’t fight for better?

  The truth is, people who are hurt oftentimes choose to hurt others, whether wittingly or unwittingly. Either way, it’s a vicious cycle. By maiming and killing him, I will perpetuate the problem.

  Perhaps Ten did manage to share her Light with me. Perhaps I possess a reservoir of Light and just didn’t realize it. Miracle of miracles, my desire for vengeance has begun to fade. But then, darkness is never a match for Light. The two do not tangle up. As soon as Light comes, darkness cannot remain the sole focus.

  My shields drop. Suddenly a beam of Light zooms across the Grid, followed by another and another.

  Ten’s voice fills my head.—Thank the Firstking! I’ve opened the link with Archer. We’re giving you all we’ve got.—

  Victor lands his next blow—and bellows with pain. He stumbles away from me. At the same time, the shadows in my head scramble, desperate to hide. The shadows around my wrists and ankles loosen, fall away. The collar around my neck clinks open and thuds on the floor.

  For a moment, only a moment, I’m bathed in pure Light. Not just Light, but a rainbow of Light. More real than the Shell I’m housed in or the air I’m breathing. It is brilliant. Luminous. Glorious. Hope and beauty in vibrant Technicolor. Everything my life has been missing. Everything I never knew I needed.

  The Light heals my wounds, strengthens my body and fades. Like one of my memories, it vanishes, all used up. I mourn the loss. Light is like food, I realize. One meal will never be enough to truly live.

  My eyes narrow as I focus on Victor. Another gift of the Light—the magnetic charge is gone. I can move in and out of the Shell at will. I can move, period.

  Before he can puzzle through what’s happened, I yank the blade from his grip.

  The old me would have smiled at him, the same cold smile he’s leveled on me so many times. I would have stabbed him, gifting him with wounds similar to my own. But I’m not the old me. Because of Ten, I’ve been made new.

  1 + 10 = 11

  1 + 1 = 2

  2 is better than 1. We are better together.

  In a single, fluid movement, I pick up the metal collar and dive for Victor. As our Shells crash together, he’s ready for me and throws a punch. A split second after I block, we land. He takes the brunt of impact, his skull knocking into the marble tiles, disorienting him.

  Wasting no time, I throw a punch. Or four. My rings rip through his skin, Lifeblood seeping from him. I have forgiven him, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to let him go free. He must be stopped.

  When he is sufficiently disoriented, I scramble up, my knees pinning his shoulders. Once again I hammer my fist into his face. With my actions, my rage attempts to resurface and overtake me, but I fight it off with the same fierceness I fight Victor, maintaining a clear head. Ten was right. Emotion clouds judgment. Alive, Victor can be used…

  Now I grin, a plan beginning to form.

  The change in my expression frightens him. Good.

  “Please,” he croaks.

  Well, well. Look at him beg.

  “You mean I should show you mercy when you showed none to me?” Teeth bite into my skin, cutting into my knuckles, but I never pause. He bats at my arms—at first. “Apparently you have no’ heard of sowin’ and reapin’.”

  And what are you sowing right now?

  You chose to forgive him. Now act like it.

  A curse spills from my lips, but I raise my arms in the air, ending the assault.

  His body goes lax as his head lolls to the side.

  Taking no chances, I hurriedly step out of my Shell, pull his spirit out of his, and switch places with him. That done, I snap the collar around his neck.

  It’s odd, enslaving a Shell with my face.

  Next I wrap a cloth around his eyes to hide the color of his irises, hook a muzzle over his mouth to keep him quiet, and anchor his hands behind his back.

  “Doona think tae blame me for this,” I tell his unconscious form, no longer fighting my accent. Had he let me go with Ten, this would never have happened. “Yer need for vengeance drove you straight tae yer doom.”

  A sense of urgency propels me from my new Shell. I strip, thankful there are mirrors everywhere. I study my tattoos. Line…line…line. Image. A woman’s face, gentle, serene, even as tears of blood drip down her cheeks. One of those tears splashes onto one of the lines…

  A memory clicks into place. The location of a stash of Troikan-made weapons. Things capable of hurting fellow Myriadians. Forbidden items. The penalty for having one, much less an arsenal, is death.

  I look over the rest of my body. Click, click. Click. All excellent items. Myriadian weapons. Extra ambrosia. Shells. But none will help me now. Then I turn, look over my shoulder and scan my back. Again, I discard one buried treasure after another—

  Click. A universal key. Yes. That! I can use it to free Ten from the town square.

  Firstking save the realm then. I won’t stop until every inch of Myriad is laid to waste.

  Forgive. Save.

  A demand from the other side of me. The Light side. I forgave Victor, because I sympathize with his past. I know the pain hiding in his heart. Been there, done that. But I don’t think I can forgive Ambrosine. Too much betrayal, on too wide a scale.

  You must. Break the cycle of betrayal.

  Can I? I’m a new man, but old habits die hard.

  Jaw locked, I dress, return to Victor’s Shell, and head off.

  I have to choose, and I choose Ten. Though I’ve broken the fragile threads of her trust, I will make amends. I will be better. She is my family now, and I’ll prove it.

  TROIKA

  * * *

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: T_L_2/23.43.2, R_A_5/40.5.16

  Subject: We’ve got problems

  First, I’m using a stronger wattage, so hopefully this will reach you. Second, try not to crap yourself. I’ll do the same.

  Remember how I told you that two Generals joined Raanan, Deacon and Clementine at one of the warehouses? And do you also remember how you told me that Myriad was sending people to kill the Abrogates? Well, Myriad sent more than a few people. They sent an army. A battle broke out at all eighteen warehouses.

  We were winning…until Myriad decided to bomb the warehouses, killing their own people. Many of the Abrogates are dead, their spirits now in Myriad.

  General Ying Wo is dead, as well. General Alejandro is missing.

  Also—yep, there’s more—Sloan was killed. I’m so sorry. I know you loved her. Perhaps this will lessen the blow: She fought like a true warrior. The humans we managed to save, we saved because of her.

  Or perhaps that doesn’t lesson the blow. Death is death. Deacon is inconsolable.

  What’s worse—yep, there’s still worse—Penumbra has already begun to spread among humans…and spirits.

  I’m sorry, but I won’t be sending you any more Light, just in case I’m tainted. You’ve got your own darkness to handle. And I don’t want to risk contacting you Grid to Grid, either.

  We’re in crisis, Ten, trying to cleanse our infected. We’re new Conduits, and we’re struggling, even with the princess’s help. We need you. Please, come home. In Myriad, you are nothing but a target.

  Light Brings Sight!

  Archer Prince, Conduit of Conduits ←Yeah, I said it, and I stand by it

  PS: Biscuit says “Hi hello how are you I miss you like crazy where are you I want to be with you please come home soon or I’m going to start peeing on your friends.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  “Be true to your desires—be true to yourself.”

  —Myriad

  Ten

  As Javier carts me through the town
square, he calls, “Meet Tenley Lockwood, a Troikan Conduit. She’s considered their best soldier. The one they believe will win the war—for them.”

  Snickers ring out first, followed by boos, hisses and curses.

  “Troikan trash!” Rotted ambrosia pelts me.

  I’m too horrified by Archer’s message to lament my treatment. No one bothered to disable my comm after his beam of Light healed me; either they didn’t notice or they don’t care, because no Troikans are able to enter Myriad to help me.

  I need to send a reply, and I will, as soon as I’m alone.

  Javier reaches through the bars of my cage to rip away my clothing, leaving me in my undergarments. Cool air slaps my skin, but my mind remains unresponsive to my current circumstances. Penumbra is spreading. Sloan is dead, her spirit most likely in Many Ends. One Troikan General is dead, too. Another is missing.

  Perhaps Alejandro has been imprisoned in the Land of the Harvest. Perhaps he’s being tortured for information that can be used against his realm.

  Maybe I should have followed Alejandro’s orders before this started. Maybe I should have gone to the warehouse and done everything in my power to save Sloan and cleanse the infected humans. Would Ying Wo Ling still live? Would Alejandro be with his people?

  Would I be dead?

  Instead, I insisted on accompanying Killian to Myriad, buoyed by thoughts of peace and the belief that we would rescue every spirit trapped in Many Ends.

  Killian warned me not to trust him, but once again, I insisted on doing things my way.

  I’m Ten Lockwood, after all. I know everything.

  Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

  Where is Killian now? What’s being done to him?

  I know he was stabbed twice, because sharp pains cut through my sides, Lifeblood pouring from me. He wanted my Light, and at the first opportunity, I shucked my distrust, desperate to help him.

  Clearly I haven’t learned my lesson, because I kept no Light for myself. It’s better to give than receive, right?

  But soon after the transfer, we both healed, and no new injuries have appeared on my body. So…he must have escaped Victor. Yes?

  Will he come for me? Better question: Do I want him to come for him? I still don’t trust him, and I cannot wait for him. I need to escape now. My friends are in danger—because of me. Though I wanted peace between the realms, I might have ushered in Troika’s defeat and Myriad’s victory. It’s time for damage control.

  I might be defeated now, but this isn’t over. While there’s breath, there’s time.

  —Love my Ten. Need more Light?—

  My heart leaps with joy. Jeremy again. The fact that he’s sharing with me…

  He must be a Conduit.—Save your strength, sweet boy.—The future is uncertain. No telling how much Light he’s going to need. Plus, if I were to inadvertently drain him…

  Nope, can’t risk it.

  I tell him,—If shadows try to invade your mind, let me know right away. I’ll help you fight them.—Or die trying.

  Jeremy giggles, a new ray of Light sneaking past every defense I have. Any lingering pain vanishes. Weakness subsides. My trembling limbs go still.

  —No more, young man. I mean it.—

  Another giggle before our connection fades.

  Concentrate on the task at hand. Worrying about him won’t help either of us right now.

  Okay. Need a plan of action. First, I’ve got to open my cage in secret. But how? Men and women, young and old, surround me. This is the City of Carnal Delights, and I’m the main attraction.

  The town square is nothing but a glorified circus, where degradation is an appetizer and humiliation is the meal. There are other cages nearby, all positioned on a dais; some are occupied, others are empty. The other prisoners have been stripped to their undergarments, like me. Vendors sell things to throw at the prisoners. Hail, rotten manna, buckets filled with creepy, crawling insects.

  The younger members of the crowd laugh and jeer at me, enjoying my predicament. Some of the older members watch me with concern, reminding me that there are good people in Myriad.

  Am I truly considering returning to Troika to help destroy this entire realm?

  To save my friends…to protect my brother…

  Yes. I am.

  Ugh! Who have I become? And which of these people can I convince to aid me? My gaze scans the sea of faces only to zoom back to—

  Aunt Lina?

  Shock pounds a nail of dismay through my heart. She can’t be here. No one told me she died, and someone absolutely, unequivocally, would have told me. Ambrosine would have used her against me.

  But she told me…

  Did I tell you I died in the Land of the Harvest?

  Maybe Ambrosine doesn’t know who she is. As a human, Lina had dark, graying hair and age-lined skin. Her eyes were often milky, a phenomena that happened every time her brain made the switch from Aunt Lina to Looney Lina.

  No matter Lina’s age, though, Looney Lina acted five years old. The milky film over her eyes blinded her, whether physically or psychologically, but only to the present. She saw far into the future, her head filled with tragedies that had yet to happen.

  The woman meeting my gaze has a glossy mane of silvery-white hair. Her skin is pale but flawless, and her eyes are brilliant blue.

  With all the changes in her appearance, I’m not sure how I recognized her. Not that the changes are surprising. After my Firstdeath, my black hair turned blue.

  She shifts, disappearing in the crowd, and I have to tamp down the urge to shout at her. The rest of her message plays through my head.

  Did I tell you I died? I’m sorry I killed Killian.

  I cried. You cried. I cried some more. I’m glad my husband made it up to you.

  Light was the answer. Light was always the answer.

  Obviously Killian hasn’t died, and I haven’t cried.

  If Light is the answer, what is the question? Who was—is?—her husband?

  “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” A sneering Javier runs a metal baton over the bars of my cage. “I’m told this is where traitors and Troikan sympathizers end up. I’m also told they’re more than happy to prove their loyalty to Myriad after a few weeks of confinement.”

  I focus on him even as I add “find Lina” to my To Do list. “You were misinformed. The condemned want their freedom, not a chance to prove their loyalty. Guaranteed, former prisoners hate this realm—they’re simply too afraid to say so.”

  “Fearful is better than loyal. Loyalties can change, but fear never dies.”

  “Wrong.” People like Javier, heck, like Ambrosine, think they need others to fear them in order to get what they want, but that isn’t true. Just the opposite, in fact. Finally I get what Levi tried to teach me when my training began. If you want results, make people love you. Love inspires love. If you want a secret enemy, make people fear you. Fear inspires betrayal. “Eventually, people do everything in their power to destroy the things they fear.”

  He pales, but spits another curse at me.

  Troika isn’t perfect. The citizens might be spirits, but deep inside they are still human, and where there are humans, there are mistakes. But one thing we do not do is lock up “traitors” and “sympathizers,” strip them of their clothing and dignity, and hurl objects at them.

  I’d call that a win.

  Teach him to fear.

  My darker side rears her ugly head, and I grind my teeth. No. Absolutely not. Fear isn’t the answer. Fear is a symptom of hate. Hate isn’t all-powerful. Love is stronger.

  My eyes widen. That’s right. Love is stronger. Light is the answer. The words reverberate in my mind, creating an equation without numbers.

  Troikan Light comes from Eron, who powers the sun. Eron is love. “Light is love. Love is Light.”

&nbs
p; How else could Jeremy share his Light—love—with me?

  “What did you say?” Javier demands.

  I ignore him.

  If shadows are born of envy, hatred and fear, then Light must be born of love. Fondness. Tenderness. Intimacy. Endearment. Attachment. Devotion. Adoration. Passion.

  Closing my eyes, I center my attention on love. Despite everything that’s happened, I love Killian. That hasn’t changed. The hard times are better with him than the best times with others.

  I love Jeremy. I love Archer, the wind beneath my wings. I love Clay, my loyal, faithful friend. I love Deacon, Reed, Biscuit and Kayla. I love Raanan and Clementine. My helpers. I love Sloan, who proved herself loyal in the end.

  I love Troika. I love Meredith, Hazel and Steven. I love Levi and even Alejandro and the other Generals. They fight for what they believe in: truth, justice and equality for all.

  My heart begins to warm as…yes! Light flickers.

  Shadows claw at me, determined not to lose ground. I love my mother, a Myriadian.

  The Light spreads, and warmth follows.

  Javier sucks a breath between his teeth. “What are you doing?”

  Shadows quake.

  “She’s glowing,” someone in the crowd calls, and others boo. “Make her stop!”

  Someone buys one of the buckets of insects, and boos instantly morph into cheers. The other prisoners scramble to the corner of their cage, but they needn’t have worried. The insects are tossed on me, only me. I remain in place, refusing to react, even as a thousand little legs skitter over me, cutting me, biting me, stinging my skin, muscle and even bone. I’m filled with love, and there’s no room for hate. And this? This is nothing.

  I even love these people. They are deceived. Connected to Ambrosine, mainlining his hatred and envy. They need my help, not my censure.

  My lack of concern disconcerts Javier. “Stop that.” He slams the baton into my cage, causing the entire thing to quake.

  “I feel sorry for you,” I tell him.