Storm Fall

by Tracy Banghart

  Dysis pulled Calix out of the crowd, back to their place near the trees. He came willingly, his face shifting through emotions so fast she couldn’t identify them. Dianthe slanted a look their way, but no one else seemed to notice them.

  As soon as this last song faded into silence, the funeral would be over and everyone would move toward Aris’s parents’ house. Dysis had maybe a minute to convince Calix to keep his fool mouth shut.

  “You can’t say anything.” She forced him to focus on her. “I only told you so you’d go back to your unit and not risk jail time, okay? If all goes well, Aris’s family and friends won’t be mourning for long. You shouldn’t stay here. Okay?”

  Calix’s cheeks flushed and his lips tightened to a straight line. “Are you telling me Aris’s parents don’t know she could still be alive? Are you telling me they think this is real?”

  Dysis wanted to shake him. “They have to think it’s real. The world has to believe Aris is dead,” she said, willing him to understand. “Major Vadim’s plan to rescue her relies on Safara believing we collected her body with the wreckage of her downed wingjet. Anyone here could be a spy.”

  “Why? And if Aris isn’t dead, who the hell is that?” He nodded toward the pyre.

  Already, Dysis regretted what she’d done. So what if Calix was thrown in jail? If her big mouth endangered Aris, she’d never forgive herself. “Because she was shot down over the border. She’s in enemy territory alone, maybe injured. If the Safarans know she’s there, if they search for her, they could capture or kill her before we have time to get her back. And because of her new fame, as it were . . . they’ll want her.”

  The charade would buy them time. But Aris was still in grave danger. And if she’d been injured in the crash . . .

  When Major Vadim had called Dysis and Daakon into his office the day before, she’d assumed it was to reprimand them for . . . well, for having sex in the Officer’s Lounge. But Major Vadim had told them that he was certain Aris had survived punching out of the wingjet. He’d heard her scream over the rush of wind when the dome opened, followed by the thud and whoosh of her chute opening. Then her breathing: heavy, fast. Comms had cut out after that, but he’d heard her breathe.

  The retrieval team had searched around the wreckage of Aris’s wingjet, briefly, before Safaran forces fired on them and they’d been forced to retreat. They hadn’t found evidence of her body, her chute, or the ejected seat, so they’d announced over comms that she was dead, which is how Daakon had received his intel. But Major Vadim didn’t believe it. He was convinced she was still alive. And needed to be found.

  Dysis wanted to believe Aris had survived, but it felt safer to reserve judgment. Major Vadim, on the other hand, looked like he had to believe it, or he might die himself.

  Calix grabbed her arm. “If Aris is in danger, why the hell isn’t someone looking for her now?”

  Dysis wrenched free, as people started slowly walking down the path, away from the pyre and the ashes of the body they thought was Aris. “I’ve already told you too much. Just trust that you’re not the only one who wants her back. So get your ass to Mekia before they notice you’re gone. And keep your mouth shut. If you tell a single person, you might as well be ordering her death yourself.”

  “It’s time.” Major Vadim’s gruff voice made her jump. She hadn’t noticed him approaching. Beside him, Dianthe eyed her with an unreadable expression, the black eyes of her snake tattoo glaring. Truth be told, the woman gave Dysis the creeps. Her mentor, a woman named Theo, had been far less intimidating.

  Calix was in Major Vadim’s face in an instant, hissing, “How could you leave her there on her own?”

  Dysis could tell the precise moment Major Vadim realized who he was looking at. And what Calix meant. She cleared her throat. Chin up, she said, “I’m sorry, sir. He knows.”

  Chapter 16

  With a grimace and a groan, Aris woke. Pain lanced through her injured arm, threatening to yank her into darkness again. She fixed her gaze on the rough bark of a nearby tree until her head stopped spinning. Above her, she’d twisted the dun-colored chute through some tree branches, providing shade from the slanting afternoon sun.

  She slipped the last nutrigel from her emergency pack. She’d meant to save it another few hours, but her hands were shaking.

  When the small pouch was gone, leaving the oily memory of starberry in her mouth, she pushed her emergency beacon. Again. And again. She glanced toward the sky. No sign of wingjets, Atalantan or Safaran.

  When she’d fallen from the sky the day before, she’d landed hard in a copse of scrubby trees several miles from where the wingjet went down. The seat had ejected with her and partially cushioned her landing, but she’d still scraped the side of her head along the ground. And her arm screamed with pain. Her collision with the glass dome as she’d punched out had slashed the skin, and she was pretty sure her wrist was broken. Once she could stand without feeling like throwing up, she’d taken stock of her injuries and assets: the chute, which could be used for shelter; and a small emergency pack encased within the chute straps, which included three nutrigel packets, disinfectant spray, two bandages, a solar torch, a compass, and water purifying gel. She also had her utility knife, solagun, and body armor. It wasn’t much.

  She’d begun her awkward, pain-filled hike toward the gray plume of smoke marking the wingjet’s remains. It would make it easier for S and R to find her if she could make it to the wreckage. More importantly, she couldn’t let the veiling tech fall into Safaran hands.

  Sure enough, she’d gotten within a mile when an Atalantan recon and transport had descended on the location. From atop a mountainous ridge, she watched tiny figures emerge from the transport and search the wreckage. She couldn’t tell who they were from this distance, but she hoped Milek was one of them. She scrambled along the rocky terrain as fast as she could, but before she could reach them, three Safaran jets screamed overhead. One of the Atalantans used a flare to set fire to what remained of her wingjet. The recon still in the air held off the Safaran jets until the soldiers on the ground made it back to their transport. She watched in an agony of worry as the Atalantan jets fought their way to the cover of a heavy bank of storm clouds, shooting down one of the Safaran wingjets.

  Aris had sunk to the ground, tears flooding her eyes as her chance of rescue disappeared. The other two Safaran wingjets didn’t follow. Instead, they floated in the air, circling like giant black buzzards before finally landing, presumably searching for survivors or tech they could use. She had to hope the fire had destroyed the veiling-tech box; she’d lost her chance to do it.

  Since then, she’d been traveling in the opposite direction, praying the Safarans would assume she’d died in the crash. The terrain was hilly and treacherous as it approached the mountain range at the border with Atalanta, and she’d made slow progress.

  Now it was midday and scorching. Even the shade provided by her chute barely cut the heat. She couldn’t afford to rest any longer.

  What she’d give to be up in the air, speeding back to Spiro and into Milek’s arms.

  He must think I’m dead.

  The realization sent a bolt of pain through her. Would he tell her parents? Were they mourning her already?

  Am I already a ghost?

  As the nutrients from the gel steadied her, she risked a look at the gash on her arm. Still oozing blood, puffy around the jagged edges. She’d found no water to clean the wound, though she’d sprayed some disinfectant from her tiny medpack. It needed cleaning, stitches, a fresh bandage. All things she didn’t have. And there was the broken bone to address as well. Her wrist had swollen to double its size, encircled with purple-black bruising. She couldn’t bend it or put weight on it. In a way, though, she was lucky. If her leg had broken, she’d be slowly starving to death where she’d landed . . . or attempting to drag herself across this forsaken dominion on one leg.

  She gathered the chute with her good hand, trying not to jostle her other arm
. Time to get moving again.

  It was nearly impossible to run with a broken arm. Every step sent blinding pain from her wrist to her shoulder, and it was all Aris could do not to cry out. But if she made a sound, they might find her.

  The gash along her forearm started bleeding again. Aris buried it in the yards of her chute so as not to leave a blood trail. She pressed her injured arm tightly against her chest and kept going, working her way farther and farther from her downed wingjet. Toward the border with Atalanta, she hoped.

  Every time she paused to catch her breath, she pushed the emergency transponder affixed to the front of her body armor. The movement had become a kind of tic, a physical, invisible prayer she sent into the world. Part of her acknowledged it must be broken—if Milek knew where she was, he’d have rescued her already—but she couldn’t stop pressing the button.

  Panting and shaky, she sank to the ground at the base of a scraggly tree for another short break.

  The sound of a breaking twig echoed as loudly as a crack of thunder.

  Aris untangled her arms from the heavy fabric of the chute and reached for her solagun. She didn’t bother to stand. The tree she leaned against provided a small pool of shadow; if she moved, she’d expose herself.

  Another snap. Shuffling.

  Aris held her breath, her heart aching for Milek, her parents. Dysis. This couldn’t be it. She wasn’t ready to leave them.

  Please Gods, protect me.

  The noises moved closer, the trees swaying in response, as if moved by a tiny breeze. Aris squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of the black Safaran uniforms.

  With a snort, a small splotchy brown piggin came into view, its knobby tusks bobbing. Aris let out her breath in a silent rush. It ignored her, skimming the rocky ground along the edge of the trees in search of food.

  Food.

  Without giving herself time to think, Aris sent a bolt of solagun fire straight at the creature. It squealed once, loudly, and fell to its side.

  Aris took a shaky breath. For a long time, she sat frozen, muscles tense, scouring the woods for signs of movement.

  No one came.

  At last, she swept the chute off her lap and struggled to her feet. Nausea-inducing pain flared through her wrist.

  Weakness dragged at her, the effects of the nutrigel gone already. Unless she wanted to end her own misery now with the solagun, she had to find a way to eat that blighting piggin.

  One-handed, Aris gathered some twigs and small sticks into a pile next to the animal. She slipped her utility knife from the sheath built into her Military pants. In the center of the hilt, a tiny magnifying glass glowed. She held it over the collection of tinder, angling it so the sun hit the clear circle directly.

  A few moments later, a wisp of smoke curled into the air.

  The fire was a risk. She glanced up frequently to study the shadows that lie around her makeshift camp. Evening was falling quickly; soon the smoke would be hidden in the darkness.

  Once the flames burned steadily, Aris shifted her attention to the piggin. Every soldier had some survival training, but it was vastly different from actually killing, cooking, and eating an animal in the wild. Still, she’d seen her father slaughter chickens before, and her mother often cut and dressed meat.

  Using a knee to steady the carcass, she drew the knife firmly along the leathered skin of its belly. Her vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, willing the world to come back into focus. No passing out. Not now, when she was so close.

  With shaking fingers, her wrist in agony, she hacked out two crude chunks of meat. Warm blood ran across her hands, slicking the knife and making her stomach roil.

  But later, when piggin fat dripped down her chin as she bit into the crispy, half-burnt meat, she thought it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. Better than her mother’s peshka. Better than frothed cream with fresh starberries and mangoes.

  It tasted like salvation.

  Chapter 17

  Milek paced the cargo bay of the transport jet. Dysis watched from a corner, her whole body thrumming with tension. This was her fault.

  Calix stood in the middle, where the Safaran’s disguised body had rested during the trip to Lux. Dianthe leaned against the transport’s curved wall a few feet away, glaring at him.

  “You need me,” Calix said again. His hands were clenched at his hips and his eyes never left Major Vadim’s face. “However you’re planning to retrieve Aris, I should be there.”

  Milek paused to glare at Calix. Again. “I told you—”

  “What if she’s injured?” Calix interjected. “I’m a mender. I can help.”

  Dysis almost groaned out loud. It was bad enough she’d be with Daakon, alone, for the retrieval mission. Adding Aris’s former flame would be absolute torture.

  “You need to stay out of this, Pavlos,” Dianthe growled. “You have no idea what’s really going on here.”

  “I know Aris isn’t dead!” Calix raised a fist, as if he wanted to pound on the wall. “I know you’re letting her family mourn her for nothing!”

  “Not for nothing!” Dysis shouted, stepping forward to put herself inches from him. “This is the only way to protect her! You shouldn’t even know—”

  “That’s right. He shouldn’t know,” Milek interrupted, his voice deadly quiet. His glare was so sharp it should have made her bleed. “But he does.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t . . .”

  Major Vadim’s focus shifted to Calix. Dysis shut up. “Aris’s whereabouts and condition are unknown,” he said. “Her life depends on the Safarans believing she’s dead, so we have time to find her before they realize they should be looking.” He resumed his pacing, his entire body strung so tightly she expected to see him bow from the tension.

  “But—” Calix started.

  “Even if we did want you on the mission, Specialist,” Major Vadim continued, “there would be no time to procure orders from your superior officer. If you truly care about Lieutenant Haan, you will return to your stationpoint and tell no one what you’ve learned.”

  “I don’t need orders.” Calix straightened his shoulders. “I’ve been granted a fortnight’s leave for the burning. My time is my own. Or, rather, yours. Please.” His gaze shifted to Dysis, as if he was asking her permission. “Let me do this for Aris. I’ve failed her in so many other ways.”

  Dysis tried to ignore his words. She opened her mouth to tell them he was lying about having leave, that he had deserted. Major Vadim would send him back to Mekia immediately.

  Except . . .

  Calix kept looking at her, silently begging her to keep his secret.

  Damn damn damn.

  Dianthe stepped closer to Dysis, towering over her. Her black eyes glittered. “What possessed you to tell him, Latza? Surely you knew how disastrous it would be.”

  Dysis kicked one of the metal ribs that ran the length of the cargo hold. All of this, in the end, was about Aris. Calix wanted to help Aris, and Aris wouldn’t want him to suffer. Dysis couldn’t out him. Huffing, she said, “I know. It was a mistake.”

  “Look, I’m a good mender,” Calix said. “And I know the particulars of Aris’s medical history. I would be an asset to this mission. But it’s more than that. I . . . I would gladly give my life to save hers.”

  He met Major Vadim’s glare head-on, and something like understanding passed between them.

  For a moment, no one spoke. Dysis shifted her weight. Calix had been such an idiot to Aris. But . . . but at least he was trying.

  Dianthe stood with her arms crossed, storm clouds in her eyes.

  “Alright, Specialist. You’re in.” Major Vadim said the words grudgingly. “It will be your responsibility to ensure Lieutenant Haan receives whatever medical care she needs. But if you jeopardize this mission in any way—”

  “I’m dead. Got it.” Calix’s determination lined every word.

  ***

  It took too long to get back to Spiro. Too long to unlo
ad, too long for Dysis to grab a shower and a tasteless plate of food. And still Major Vadim didn’t call her for the briefing on how they would retrieve Aris. To make the waiting even more agonizing, she somehow got stuck shuttling Calix around.

  He looked nearly as impatient as she felt.

  The cafeteria was empty; a distress call had come in shortly after they’d returned and most of the unit was on their way to the rescue point. “We should have left by now. What’s taking so long?” Calix grumbled as he pushed the oily fish stew around his bowl.

  Dysis glared at him. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

  He met her glare and raised it a scowl. “I think this whole scheme is pointless and cruel. It shouldn’t have even been a secret—”

  “And when we find her, what are you going to do?” Dysis sat back and considered him. “Profess your undying love? Tell her you’re so very very sorry you tore her heart out and stomped on it? How do you think she’s going to react when she sees you?”

  Calix gave a twisted smile. “Tore out her heart? Stomped on it? And yet it healed awfully quickly, didn’t it, seeing as she’s already moved on?”

  Dysis shot back, “That happened long after—”

  “Oh no it didn’t.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw it months ago in Mekia, before the mission to save Ward Vadim. Aris said she was there for me, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off Major Vadim. And he was the same damn way!”

  “So what, you’re jealous now? Is that it? You don’t approve of her choices, but as soon as someone else comes along who does, you change your mind?”

  “It was never about controlling her.” Calix growled. “It was about keeping her safe.”

  “You don’t get to keep her, safe or otherwise. Not anymore.” Dysis stood. She was done with this conversation. And she was done with waiting. She stomped to the kitchen to clean her dish, ignoring him.

  Daakon was waiting in the doorway when she turned around. “We’re ready for you.”

  “Good.” She swept by him without meeting his eyes.