Firstlife (Everlife #1)

by Gena Showalter

  Another hated choice. A sob lodges in my throat, constricting my airway.

  I love Clay. We’ve laughed together, and we’ve cried together. He’s kind, honest and, as he just proved today, willing to help when needed. I can picture him at my seaside home, surfing alongside me.

  Sloan, on the other hand, has been a thorn in my side for a little over a year. She’s a pain in every sense of the word. She’s irritating and combative, and I can’t imagine ever trusting her at my back.

  But Clay now knows where he’s going when he dies. Sloan will wind up in Many Ends.

  “I’m so sorry, Clay. I’ll pull you up next, okay? Just hang on. Hang on!” I release his rope, hating myself, and grip Sloan’s with both hands. As my feet slip, I look around—everywhere but at Clay. There are no boulders or rooted trees within reach, which means I can’t anchor myself. Okay. All right. Can’t be helped.

  “Ten,” she cries.

  “Let go of the branch,” I shout at her. “Please.”

  “No, no—”

  “Do it! I can’t pull you up if you’re clasping the tree.” A tree that is teetering. “Sloan! I’ve got you, promise. Just let go!”

  “I can’t,” she says as she weeps.

  “You must. Help me help you.”

  She only weeps harder.

  Rage joins my deluge of emotions. “At the count of three, I’m helping Clay. One. Two.”

  She lets go, giving me the full brunt of her weight. My feet slip closer to the edge, leaving me unable to balance. I crash to my butt and slide faster. A terrified yelp escapes her.

  Come on, come on. I dig my boots as deep into the snow and ice as I can, managing to stop my momentum and pull with all my might. I gain an inch...then another...she can’t weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds, but my shoulders burn and shake as if they’re lugging a couple of tons. Muscles I didn’t know I had spasm.

  Survival instinct demands I release her and save myself, but I just keeping pulling...pulling...

  Just a little farther...

  So close to assisting Clay...

  When the tops of her hands reached the edge of the cliff, I grit out, “Grab the side and climb up.”

  As soon as her grip is steadyish, she kicks up a leg. A few seconds later—an eternity—the top of her body clears the side.

  “Hurry! Please.” Mist dances in front of my face as I pant, and tears well in my eyes. I glance at Clay as snow topples over the cliff edge. He is desperately trying to inch his way along the tree trunk—a tree trunk that teeters a little more with his every action.

  “Ten.” Clay’s panic is worse than mine. “Please.”

  “Sloan,” I plead. “Come on!”

  Her arms shake and strain as she claws the rest of the way, finally safe. Thank the Firstking! I release her rope and reach for Clay’s, the movement sending another mound of snow over the edge. He’s close enough now that it hits him right in the face...and it’s strong enough to knock him loose.

  “No!” I dive down, my arm extended. I’ll catch him, I have to catch him, but something latches on my ankles, keeping me from going over the edge as I encounter air, only air. “Clay!”

  He shrieks as he falls...falls...and the sound rips me up inside, but it’s better than the terrible silence that comes next. No. No, no, no. He’s not—he can’t be—but I see him. He landed on another plateau, and he’s unmoving, a crimson pool growing around his oddly contorted body.

  Horror overwhelms me. I just found him, and now he’s gone?

  Sloan pulls me up. “We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.” She bands her arm around me, forcing me to stand. “Move with me!”

  Now she’s in a hurry? I fight to remain in place. I can’t leave Clay. I just...can’t.

  From the time he lost his grip on the branch to the time he hit the bottom of the mountain—roughly eight seconds. If I’d had two more, if I’d let go of Sloan just a little sooner, I could have caught his hand.

  Two. Seconds. That’s all I needed.

  She slaps me across the face. “Ten!”

  I taste the copper tang of blood, but I don’t care. He’s down there. My friend is down there. He deserves so much better.

  “You listen to me.” She grips my shoulders and shakes me. “I’ll drag you kicking and screaming if I must, but we’re leaving. You saved my life. Now I’m saving yours.”

  I saved her, but I didn’t save Clay. There’s nothing I can do to bring him back. But her words have the desired effect. Finally I allow her to lead me away. Dead, I’m no good to Clay.

  “We’re going to be okay,” she says through chattering teeth. “After what you did for me, I’m basically your bitch for life. I’ll get you out of here even if I have to sleep with a bunch of sexy guys to do it. I know, I know. I’m a giver.”

  As I go numb, I lose track of time. I know we descend the mountain. I know Archer joins us when we stop to rest, but not Killian. Archer explains we’re hidden from the ML, but I don’t respond. I don’t care. I know we stop a second time so Sloan and I can eat, but I don’t know where we are or what I put in my stomach.

  “—going to be okay?” Sloan asks.

  “She’s strong,” Archer replies.

  Strong? Me? I’m not. I’m the weak link. I let my friend die—but I’m not the only one to blame.

  Flames of wrath spark, melting some of the numbness.

  “You didn’t save Clay.” I shake my head, blink and meet Archer’s copper gaze head-on. Melting... “You promised to be there for him, to be his family, his brother, to help him when he needed you. Well, he needed you!”

  Archer flinches. His Shell is damaged, but nothing like before, the flesh—or whatever it is—once again in the process of weaving back together. “I can do a lot of things, Ten, but I can’t be everywhere at once, and I can’t override free will.”

  Melting...gone! “Are you saying Clay chose to die? I assure you, he didn’t. He begged me to save him.” He begged me, and I failed him. My tears return, my chin trembling.

  “He begged you, but didn’t ask me.”

  I’m about to punch him when he adds, “I’m saying this is my fault, not the fault of my realm. I was told Killian neared, and I wasn’t to engage. I disobeyed, and my new brother died because of it. I’m saying I chose to engage my enemy rather than call for reinforcements, a fact that will haunt me for the rest of my days. A mistake I’ll never make again. I’m saying you had two options, and you did the right thing.”

  “I let my friend die,” I say slowly, softly. “That will never be the right thing.”

  “He’s not in any pain. He’s happy, preparing for his homecoming.”

  I try to picture Clay smiling. I just see him lying in a pool of his own blood.

  “I would have found myself in Many Ends,” Sloan says, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Have you ever...visited?”

  We’re seated inside another four-by-four square, but I take no comfort in the warmth. I deserve the cold.

  “No. I’ve tried,” Archer tells her. “We hear the screams of the people inside, and we’ve even attempted to follow spirits through the veil, but we’re always blocked.”

  Sloan shudders, and maybe she even rethinks her no-realm stance.

  “If there’s a way for one to enter,” I say, my tone now hollowed out, “there’s a way for others to enter.”

  “You would think so, yes.” He stands, lifts his hand, the star in his palm glowing. He types inside the light, saying, “Come. We have four more miles to traverse.”

  The walls around us fade, and the cold sweeps in.

  We remain silent as we hike, and I’m glad. My mind is churning. Like Sloan, I’m one of the Unsigned. If I die right now, I’ll end up in Many Ends, most likely exchanging one torturous existence for another. But...

  Maybe that’s better than the alternative.

  Archer failed to rescue Clay. Strike one, Troika.

  Killian’s actions led to the avalanche that put Clay
in danger in the first place. Strike one, Myriad.

  My parents. Enough said. Strike two, Myriad.

  Rules that prevent TLs from saving a human life without being asked. Strike two, Troika.

  We make it to the little town Archer mentioned about two hours after sunset. Heaters mounted to the tops of silver poles line the streets and illuminate our path with a soft red glow. Golden light shines from a multitude of box-shaped buildings carved into the side of the mountain. Every building is connected through some type of tunnel. There are no windows, no real personality.

  Archer stops as the light in his hand flares. He moves into a shadowed corner to type.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “Responding to a message from my leader.”

  Jellyair creation...communication between Earth and a realm. What else can the device do?

  “I have to make him understand...”

  Archer’s frustration is clear, and I’m suddenly glad the cell phone implanted behind my ear was deactivated the day I arrived at Prynne. Vans hoped to make me feel isolated. Trapped. His mistake. If I can’t be reached, I can’t be tracked or ordered around.

  “While you’re wasting our time,” Sloan says, batting her lashes at him, “would you be kind enough to tell us where we are?”

  “The Urals.” His typing speed increases, his fingers jabbing at invisible keys.

  The Urals. A mountain range that runs through western Russia. My mind whizzes back to one of my first history lessons. Almost a century ago, snow covered the mountains, but unlike every year before, the deluge didn’t melt with the change of season. The climate worsened, becoming so harsh trees and wildlife soon died. The realms finally stepped in and planted sustainable foliage.

  “This town is like any other. There’s a mix of Troikan and Myriad loyalists as well as Unsigned. A few weeks ago, there was a riot among the three and tensions are still high.” The light fades, and Archer drops his arm to his side. His shoulders slump as he turns and shoves a bag of coins into my hand. “I’m sure the asylum has people living here, as well, to keep tabs on the citizens and in case inmates escape and live long enough to get here.”

  Wonderful. “We need weapons. Good ones.”

  “And you’ll get them. At the end of the street is a bed-and-breakfast. I know the owner. He’ll have everything you need... He’ll get you wherever you want to go.”

  “He’s trustworthy?” Sloan asks.

  “He is.”

  Good. “You can go now,” I tell him. I’m done with him, with all of it.

  He opens his mouth only to snap it closed. He can’t override free will. Part of the “love people unconditionally” law, I’m sure.

  “Goodbyes are sad,” Sloan says, dragging her fingertips down her cheeks in her signature move. “Let’s wrap this one up before we start craving ice cream and start nomming on the streets.”

  I meet Archer’s gaze, the copper irises haunted—and haunting. “We’ll be okay on our own.”

  “Will you really?”

  I’ll make sure of it. “Go.”

  “I have a minute or two of leeway before I’m forced to obey.” He offers me a sad smile. “Without me, Killian will be able to reach you. And he will. He’s coming for you.”

  “I can handle him.” It’s the truth. It has to be the truth. “Who’s the girl? Dior?” I’m not sure why the question leaves me now. Actually, I do. Killian is coming for me, and I want all the info I can get. Information is power.

  A slight hesitation before Archer says, “Invite me back, and I might tell you.”

  “Oh, no. You don’t get to play the intrigue card. You owe me.”

  “Just as you owe me.”

  How dare he! “I don’t owe you any—”

  “You’re lying to yourself, or you’re lying to me. Which is it?” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He places his right hand over his heart and his left over his right, and a second later, he’s gone.

  MYRIAD

  From: P_B_4/65.1.18

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: Daily Means DAILY

  Not only did you kill Vans before we finished with the resource, you have now missed several reports, Mr. Flynn. Miss Lockwood is important to me—to all of us. Tell me how you’re progressing with her NOW. After your fight with Archer, the Generals are debating your reassignment, among other things.

  I’m debating whether or not to forget the identity of the person Fused with your mother.

  Madame Pearl Bennett

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: P_B_4/65.1.18

  Subject: Threaten Me, and I’ll Ruin You

  You want to reassign me? Please. I’ve been in the field since the age of fifteen. That’s four years, in case you’re having trouble with the math. In those few years, I’ve bagged more Firstlifers than Laborers who’ve worked for centuries. The Generals need me, and they know it. No one else will get through to this girl. No one else had better try. They do, and I’ll kill first, ask questions later. She’s mine.

  She’s different from anyone I’ve ever dealt with, and I need more time to figure her out.

  Also, if you try to use my mother against me again, I will do as I promised in the subject line.

  Killian Flynn

  MYRIAD

  From: P_B_4/65.1.18

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: WHO Are You?

  Usually you make snide comments, but you rarely become angry. And you’ve NEVER cared if we allowed another Laborer to take a shot at your assignment. You’ve always seen it as a personal challenge, a way to prove your superiority.

  Are you falling for the girl?

  That makes sense, I suppose. The General she’s Fused with is my daughter, Killian. You loved Ashley once. Remember? Because I do. I’ve never forgotten.

  Work harder to sign Ten. Please. The longer she remains Unsigned, the more time Troika has to win her. We can’t allow her to side with the enemy. We just can’t.

  I’ll kill her myself before I allow that to happen. Then I’ll kill your mother.

  I, too, make promises rather than threats.

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: P_B_4/65.1.18

  Subject: Your Inner Bitch Is Showing

  What I remember? Nine Generals died in a single battle. Yes, your daughter was among them, but she was like a sister to me. Nothing more. She isn’t the one Fused with Ten Lockwood. I’d know it; I’d feel it.

  I don’t.

  And I will sign Ten. Now leave me alone and let me work.

  chapter twelve

  “Your Firstlife sets the stage for your Second.”

  —Troika

  I motor through the mountain town, sticking to the shadows, Sloan on my heels. I’m a girl on a mission. (1) Avoid detection. (2) Acquire shelter. (3) Regroup.

  By the time we reach the bed-and-breakfast, situated in what looks like a miniature nuclear power plant, my feet throb and my back aches. While the other buildings are box-shaped with three tiers and crumbling stone, this one is tall and round, like a cooling tower, steam wafting from the top.

  Inside, lavender-scented warmth envelops me and I check number one off my list. Murals cover the walls, a summer garden here, a spring meadow there. The carpet is a stunning shade of green, made to resemble the softest grass. There are people milling around a small kitchenette that offers free tea and cookies.

  Sloan pushes her way forward and snags one of the cookies. She pops the entire thing in her mouth—and gags. “Oh, gross. This is the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

  “You must be a Myriadian, then,” says the woman next to her, and judging by the derision in her tone, I’d wager she’s the chef. “They wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit them.”

  “I’m currently Unsigned.”

  The woman steps away from Sloan as if the girl has a contagious disease. “A clear indication you have poor taste. My cookie is packed with
nutrition.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but nutrition is just another word for feces.”

  I leave the two to their argument and close in on the old lady manning the back counter. When I ask to speak with the owner, she gives me a tsk-tsk.

  “You wanting a piece of him? Don’t try to deny it. Girls just can’t seem to keep their hands off his goods and services.” Mirth glows in her pretty dark eyes, making her appear slightly younger than her two million years—or however long she’s lived. With her stooped shoulders and heavily wrinkled skin, I’m not sure I’ve ever met an older human. “Mr. Brando deserves to be treated with respect, he does.”

  “I’ll be respectful, promise. I’m...” I lower my voice, whispering, “Archer sent me.” There’s no need to use my own name. “I’d like a room.” Among other things.

  She doesn’t ask for any other information but holds out her weathered hand in silent demand for money. I offer one of the coins the Laborer gave me. An Amethyst geode, cut to the size of a quarter. The deep purple glints in the light, and there’s a crown engraved in the center. This came from Troika, and it’s worth more than most people make in a year.

  “Is that... It is! We’re rich,” Sloan says, coming up to my side. She stares at the old woman. “That coin better cover dinner, too. A feast fit for two queens. And clothes. We definitely need clothes.”

  Another tsk-tsk. “You’ll get what you get and you’ll like it, you will.”

  At least we’ll get, and I’ll be able to check off number two on my list.

  “In the morning,” the woman adds, “you might or might not get a visit from the owner.” She smiles with another hearty dose of mirth. “I’m sure he’ll see you either way.”

  * * *

  Ten tears fall, and I call. Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me. Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don’t stay dry. Seven ladies dancing, ignore their sweet romancing. Six seconds to hide, up, up, and you’ll survive. Five times four times three, and that is where he’ll be. Two I’ll save, I’ll be brave, brave, brave. The one I adore, I’ll come back for.