Between Burning Worlds

by Jessica Brody

  Another small spark ignited but, predictably, died before the kindling could catch. Everything in the Terrain Perdu was either frozen or wet or somewhere in between, making the fire nearly impossible to start. And the icy winds kept snatching away anything that even resembled a flame.

  A low groan rumbled behind him, and Marcellus turned around to see Gabriel’s eyes were half open. He looked like he was struggling to say something.

  “Pi …” He winced at the effort. “Pi …”

  “What’s that?” Marcellus asked, leaning in closer.

  “Pi … ,” he murmured again.

  As Marcellus watched the pain pull at Gabriel’s face, more guilt bubbled up in his chest. He squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder. “Hang in there, mec.”

  Gabriel’s eyelids fluttered closed. Determined, Marcellus turned back to the paltry pile of frozen grass and sticks. His fingers were rigid from the cold, but he grabbed the stone and PermaSteel and struck them together with more ferociousness, more urgency than before.

  Gabriel needed to get warm.

  This fire needed to burn.

  “Please,” Marcellus muttered. “Please light.”

  Then, as if answering his prayer, a spark erupted. The twigs suddenly flickered to life. But no sooner had a beautiful orange flame danced before him, than a gust of wind swooped in and, like a cruel, icy joke, snuffed it out.

  “For Sols-sake,” Marcellus spat, and collapsed backward, tossing the pieces of stone and PermaSteel on the ground in front of him.

  “Still no signal.”

  Marcellus looked up through the icy mist to see Cerise trudging toward him. Her cheeks glowed from the bitter cold, and he could see that every drop of blood had drained from her fingers, which were clutching her TéléCom.

  “Nothing?” he shouted over the howling winds.

  She dropped down next to him and blew into her hands. “No. Which means I know exactly where we are.”

  Marcellus pinned her with an eager stare. “You do?”

  She let out a dark laugh. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not good. Due to the way the satellite orbits are set up, every three days there’s a gap in coverage right over the center of the Terrain Perdu. Unfortunately, I have no idea where in the orbit cycle they are. So we could have signal in ten minutes … or three days.”

  Marcellus shivered. Both from the cold and from Cerise’s words. He’d hoped that maybe they would be close enough to Montfer or the town of Lacrête to walk, but the center of the Terrain Perdu meant they were thousands of kilomètres from any city or civilization.

  Cerise peered over at Gabriel wrapped in his myriad of blankets and clothing. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s hanging in,” Marcellus said, somehow managing a smile again, despite their predicament.

  Marcellus couldn’t tell if the tears forming in Cerise’s eyes were from the cold or from the sight of Gabriel’s drawn, pained face.

  “Unfortunately, this was all I could find,” said another voice.

  Marcellus looked up again to see that Alouette was back too. In her arms, she cradled a pile of brown grass and a few gnarled twigs, clearly picked from the sparse shrubs and bushes that managed to grow out in this wilderness. Alouette’s frozen eyelashes shimmered in the afternoon light, and ice crystals clung to every tight coil of her hair.

  “It was hard to find anything even close to dry,” she said, setting down her armful of kindling next to Marcellus.

  He sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. I can’t keep a flame lit. It would help if I had matches but …” He sighed, once again berating himself. “I don’t.”

  Gabriel let out another moan, and Alouette immediately scrabbled toward him on her knees. She peeled back his blankets and started to check his wounds again. The narrow escape from the burning voyageur and then the boisterous crash-landing on the Terrain Perdu had not been kind to Gabriel. The bandages had been soaked with blood. Alouette had packed the wound with ice and used a spare blanket to make a new dressing, but it had been another temporary measure. And they all knew that.

  “How is it?” Cerise asked.

  Alouette was silent for a moment and then said, “Good. It looks good.”

  So, Marcellus wasn’t the only one who had resorted to lying.

  “Pi …” Gabriel whimpered, his eyelids struggling to open. “Pi …”

  Cerise looked urgently from Gabriel to Alouette to Marcellus. “What is he saying?”

  “I don’t know,” Marcellus said, shaking his head. “He’s been mumbling that for a while.”

  Alouette reached over and felt Gabriel’s forehead. “He’s still a little feverish from the infection. But thankfully, I don’t think it’s gotten any worse.…”

  Marcellus could have sworn he heard Alouette add the word “yet” under her breath. But like his momentary flame earlier, the word was stolen away by the brutal wind. He looked at Gabriel for a long time before snatching his abandoned pieces of stone and steel and banging them furiously together. But still, he could not achieve anything more than a useless spark. His jaw clenched with the effort. His freezing fingers struggled with the disobedient instruments.

  Scrape … spark … nothing.

  Scrape … spark … nothing.

  Scrape … spark …

  And then, fire.

  But not blazing in front of him where it was supposed to be. This monstrous flame ignited inside of Marcellus. It was the same fire that had been burning inside him for weeks. Lit from the stinging heat of his grandfather’s betrayal, the friction of this losing battle Marcellus had fought for his entire life, and the kindling of his hatred for the man who had raised him.

  It all exploded inside of him, more colossal and destructive than ever, until his heart and body and mind were consumed by the roaring blaze, burning as wildly and violently as the flames that had once destroyed the First World.

  “I did this!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “I did this to Gabriel! To all of you.”

  “Marcellus,” Alouette tried to argue, but he promptly cut her off.

  “No. Gabriel is dying because of me. He was right. This was a suicide mission. Which means it should be me lying there with a cluster bullet wound in my stomach. Not him. And we’re all going to freeze to death out here because of me. Because I can’t defeat the almighty General Bonnefaçon. I’ve tried. Too many times now. And I always, always fail. He always wins and I always lose. We had the inhibitor. We had a surefire way to stop him. But we lost almost all of it because of my stupidity. And now the general has control of the Skins and the Third Estate and, soon, the planet. AND I CAN’T STOP HIM!”

  Alouette and Cerise both stared up at him, startled.

  “Marcellus—” Alouette tried again, but still, he would not allow her to finish.

  “Stop! I never should have brought any of you into this. I never should have even let you onto that voyageur to Albion.”

  “Let us?” Cerise fired back. She was on her feet too, facing off against Marcellus, her cheeks puffed with sudden fury. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Officer, but you’re not the Patriarche. I don’t need your authorization. You didn’t let us do anything. We volunteered. All of us. We volunteered knowing the dangers. And we didn’t need you, your Sol-Almightiness, to give us permission.”

  This stopped Marcellus short. He was so taken aback by Cerise’s outburst—by an anger that nearly matched his own—that he momentarily lost his train of thought.

  “I’m sorry, Marcellus, but I’m tired of your pity parade,” Cerise went on. “And your pathetic attempts at martyrdom. You’re not the only one here who gets to feel guilty.” Her voice cracked and her legs seemed to give out. She collapsed back down onto the ground, her gaze falling toward Gabriel. When she spoke next, her voice was quiet and full of regret. “I’m the one who suggested we go into hypervoyage. I’m the one who brought you that message from Dr. Collins in the first place. If you want to blame anyone, blame me.”

  “This is no one�
�s fault,” Alouette said, glancing between Marcellus and Cerise. “And I don’t see how arguing over that will do anyone any good.”

  Flustered, Marcellus clenched and unclenched his fists. Alouette was right. It wouldn’t do any good. They were running out of time.

  With a growl, he turned and started off into the icy tundra.

  “Marcellus!” Alouette shouted. “What are you doing?”

  He could hear her footsteps chasing after him. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to find help. I can’t just stand here and watch Gabriel die. I can’t just wait around here while the general destroys the planet. I have to do something, or I will implode.”

  “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t do anything.” Alouette said.

  Marcellus slowed to a halt. “What?”

  He spun around and looked into her dark eyes—so strong and fierce and yet so tranquil at the same time.

  “Marcellus,” she said with a quiet urgency. “You don’t even know what General Bonnefaçon is planning.”

  “All the more reason to get us out of here.”

  Alouette reached out and touched his arm. “Take a deep breath. Calm your mind. Let your thoughts settle before you—”

  Marcellus threw up his hands. “Enough with your Sisterhood nonsense. I don’t have time to listen to this. I have to go find help or we’re all going to freeze to death!”

  “I told you, we’re in the middle of the Terrain Perdu!” Cerise shouted from beside Gabriel. “There’s nothing out there for thousands of kilomètres.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to take my chances!” he shouted back. He turned and kept walking straight into the howling wind, which battered at his numb cheeks and ripped at his flimsy coat. It was so loud against his ears, he almost didn’t hear it when Alouette spoke again.

  “Is that what your grandfather would do?”

  But he did hear it. He heard it and felt it everywhere. All the way down to his frozen toes. He spun back around, a new fury igniting inside of him. “Why would I care what my grandfather would do?” he said, his voice a deep, guttural growl.

  Alouette’s steady gaze never faltered. “Because you said so yourself: He always wins. He never loses. Why do you think that is?”

  Marcellus’s anger quickly gave way to bafflement. What on Laterre was she talking about?

  “You may not agree with his motivations,” Alouette went on, “but you can’t argue with his success. Yes, he killed the Premier Enfant. He’s caused chaos and destruction on this planet. He built a horrific weapon with Laterre’s greatest enemy and is now poised to unleash it. Do you really think he accomplished all of that by ‘taking his chances’?”

  The words thrummed through Marcellus. Hitting him deep. Hitting him hard. He dug his fingernails into his palms and shut his eyes, trying to chase Alouette’s voice from his mind. But it seemed to be clinging to the corners, gripping tightly like the fists of droids.

  Then he could suddenly hear his grandfather’s voice alongside it, harmonizing with Alouette’s like a dark, haunting melody.

  “Always so hasty to act, aren’t you, Marcellus? Always rushing into things. You must learn to be more strategic. Plan your attack. Analyze your opponent. Play with your head, not your emotions.”

  The general didn’t take chances. He didn’t have to. He was always three moves ahead of everyone else.

  Especially Marcellus.

  Because Marcellus kept making the same mistakes time and time again. He kept starting over because he kept losing. He kept losing because he refused to play the game the way his grandfather did. The way his grandfather had trained him to play since he was a child.

  What if Mabelle had been more right than she realized? What if this officer uniform he was still wearing was not a curse, but a gift? A key?

  A key he had yet to use.

  For eighteen years, he had trained under the general. For eighteen years, he had watched his grandfather maneuver and strategize. He’d sat in on countless briefings and meetings and broadcasts. He’d witnessed the general handle every problem under the Sols. He’d traveled across the System Divine and back—thousands of hours locked in a voyageur with Laterre’s greatest military strategist.

  For eighteen years, Marcellus had watched his mind work. He knew the general better than anyone.

  What if the only way to defeat him was to be the one thing Marcellus swore he would never be?

  Just like him.

  “I … ,” Marcellus began haltingly, but he didn’t quite know how to finish. His mind was too tangled. His thoughts still a jumbled blur. He looked back at Alouette and drew in a long, slow breath.

  Somewhere on the ground, Gabriel stirred. “Pi … ,” he whimpered again.

  Cerise turned to him. “Shhh … It’s okay.”

  He twisted under his blankets. “Pi …” Once again, his voice seemed to give out on him.

  Alouette ran back to Gabriel and pressed a hand across his forehead. “Are you okay? What are you trying to tell us?”

  His eyelids heaved open and he looked straight at Cerise, holding her gaze for an impressively long time. He winced as he attempted to speak again. “My … my pocket.”

  Cerise pushed back the blanket and slipped her hand into Gabriel’s coat pocket. “What is this?” she said as she pulled out a slim, curved object with titan plating that glittered in the Terrain Perdu’s frozen light.

  Marcellus stared, his gaze fixed on the small floral crest carved into the side. “Is that … ?”

  “It’s Lady Alexander’s vapor pipe!” Cerise cried.

  “Pi … ,” Gabriel said again. “Pi … pe.”

  Cerise turned the titan device over in her cold fingers and gaped at it. “You stole this? From Lady Alexander? How did you do— When did you do that?”

  She looked at Gabriel, but he only grinned lazily in return.

  “We can use the heating element to light the fire,” Alouette said. Cerise handed over the pipe, and Alouette pressed her fingertips against the seam to pop it open and began fiddling with the mechanism inside. She held the open pipe next to the kindling that Marcellus had layered beneath the twigs and branches. The wood caught fire. And a blast of light and warmth—beautiful, glowing warmth—sprang up, instantly shattering any lingering tension remaining in the air. Hurriedly, Marcellus fed the fire with more kindling, and Cerise protected the newborn flames from the ferocious winds with her coat.

  Soon the small fire was roaring, its flames licking and twirling around one another.

  Cerise looked back to Gabriel, who was smirking, despite his obvious pain. Her face lit up. Her dark eyes mirrored the flames. She moved closer to him and cradled his cheeks in her hands. “You, Gabriel, are a criminal mastermind.”

  Gabriel’s smile widened and he tried, again, to speak. “Sparkles …”

  But Cerise stopped him with a stern look. “No. Don’t talk. Just shut up.” Then, she carefully lowered herself down beside him and pulled his hand into hers.

  Marcellus turned toward Alouette. She was smiling and staring into the orange blaze, her body seeming to melt from the beautiful heat and the even more beautiful relief.

  But as Marcellus followed her gaze toward the roaring fire, he could not feel what she so obviously felt. He could not smile. Nor melt with relief. He felt only a looming dread of what was to come and what he would have to do.

  Because he knew that fire—just like the one that had been burning inside of him, spurring him on, sending him across the System Divine and back—was a temporary solution. A fickle flame to ward off the inevitable and keep his fears at bay.

  And all flames eventually have to burn out.

  - CHAPTER 56 - CHATINE

  “NOW PULL BACK ON THE contrôleur and ease into the turn. Nice and easy. Nice and easy. Not too steep. We’re not dodging combatteur fire here. Now gently roll out of the turn and increase airspeed.”

  Gripping the contrôleur with both hands, Chatine carefully maneuvered the small sh
ip, keeping her gaze on the beautiful white, untamed wilderness that spread out before her.

  “Now trim the nose up just a bit,” Etienne commanded.

  Chatine reached for the dial to her left and rolled it forward. The ship started to dive.

  “Nope!” Etienne shouted, gripping the edges of the jump seat. “Wrong way!”

  Panicked, Chatine lunged for the dial and shoved it as far down as it would go. The ship immediately lurched into a sharp incline, until they were practically vertical and Chatine was staring up at Laterre’s thick layer of gray clouds.

  “Too much! Too much! Oh Sols, this was a mistake.”

  With her body thrust back in her seat, it was difficult for Chatine to reach the controls. She fought against the gravity pulling down on her arm until her shaky hand finally reached the dial.

  The ship leveled off, and the horizon came back into view. But Chatine’s stomach felt like it was still stuck in the incline.

  “Okay,” Etienne said, regathering his composure. “Okay. Everything’s fine. No need to panic. You’re doing great.”

  “Merci,” Chatine replied bitterly. It was the first time Etienne had doled out even a hint of a compliment since they’d started this lesson.

  “I was talking to Marilyn,” Etienne said.

  Chatine rolled her eyes. “Of course you were.”

  “Okay, now, have you checked your altitude monitor recently?”

  She sighed. “Yes. Five seconds ago.”

  “Check it again.”

  Chatine pulled her gaze from the cockpit window and peered at the monitor just to the left of the contrôleur. “One point seven kilomètres,” she announced.

  “Too low. Way too low. Increase altitude immediately.”

  “But I like this view,” Chatine complained. “I can’t see anything from up there.”

  At this altitude she was just low enough to see through the patches of low-hanging clouds and make out the patterns and details of the craggy rocks, straggly bushes, and lakes of ice. She’d had no idea how truly fascinating the Terrain Perdu was.

  “This isn’t about the view,” Etienne said sharply. “You can stare at the view all you want from the camp. This is about safety. What’s the number one rule of flying?”