Stolen

by Melissa de la Cruz

• • •

  Wes stood alone at the helm of the Goliath, watching the waves roll, lapping around rust-colored towers of trash. They had been at sea for a few days now, and had reached their designated patrol area, the heavily trafficked straits where pilgrim boats were usually found on the way to New Kandy, where supposedly there was another gateway to the Blue. Back in New Vegas, Liannan had mentioned that the original gateway to Vallonis was closed, and lately he’d heard no one headed for New Crete anymore; they all wanted to go to KandyLand. Wes didn’t think that was such a great idea, as everyone knew the Red City was overrun by the white priests, and they even had their temple there. But pilgrims were stubborn, unable to give up hope, and if so, he was more like them than ever. Over the radio, the captain of the other cruiser had reported sightings of boats on the north perimeter and went to check it out.

  Yesterday Wes had noticed pockets of light winking through the trash, probably a pilgrim boat or two, so he steered clear, or as clear as he could without deviating from his search path. To pass the time, he made the crew practice drills and review the new procedures on how to approach and take control of pilgrim vehicles, how to shackle prisoners safely. The recruits manning the boat were a bunch of hardened kids who were only too happy to collect the extra watts paid for each pilgrim they found, and Wes worried for anyone unfortunate enough to run into them. Maybe if he was lucky he could keep his ship from running into refugee boats, or at least postpone the encounters till he could figure out how to get out of this mess.

  A few minutes later the captain of the Colossus reported picking up two pilgrim ships. One was in particularly bad shape, and had already lost half its passengers. They’d been floating on their own for miles, lost on the black ocean, abandoned by captain and crew. Con men promised passage across the black waters, but didn’t know how to find the doors to Vallonis. Once they collected their fees, they left the ships—floating wrecks—in the dark of night. Others were just in over their heads, inexperienced sailors who should never have set out from shore in the first place.

  “We’re heavy and returning to port to drop off our cargo,” the other captain said smugly, and Wes could tell the icehole was already counting the watts in his kill fee. “Hold on, looks like we’ve found another floater, we’ll go check it out.”

  Wes acknowledged and ended the call.

  It was quiet on the ocean, and he was remembering that the last time he had been on the water Nat was with him, when Shakes entered the bridge with a portable screen in hand and a dark look on his face. “Hey, boss, you gotta take a look at this.”

  “What’s up?” Wes asked. His deal with Bradley had brought one perk, at least—Shakes and Farouk. Wes had been able to convince the general he wouldn’t be able to do his job correctly if he didn’t have his team with him; Bradley didn’t seem too surprised, as all runners felt the same way about their crews. The boys had been captured fleeing the dome—really, it was a miracle the shot-up limo could even move—and had been thrown into the same prison where Wes had been held. Like him, the most they had suffered were meals of gray slime, but they weren’t too bad off otherwise. Farouk was down in the engine room, and Shakes was first mate.

  You couldn’t really call it luck, but the days had gone by without incident so far. But the look on Shakes’s face gave Wes the feeling that everything was about to change. “You found something.”

  “Yeah.” Shakes grimaced as his eyes darted to the black waters.

  “We knew this was going to happen sooner or later,” Wes said, taking the screen and checking it out.

  “I know,” Shakes said, “but how come with you it’s always sooner?” He cursed under his breath.

  Wes didn’t really have an answer for that one.

  He had promised Shakes that no matter what happened, when the time came, they would do the right thing, somehow. No one was going to get hurt under his watch. Not Eliza, and not the pilgrims they captured on the black waters. Shakes had to trust him, and usually he did, but it was obvious his friend was feeling skeptical. Wes didn’t blame him, since he wasn’t sure how he was going to get them out of this, either, but a little faith would have been nice.

  A green mark blinked on the monitor. “Think it might just be junk?” Wes asked, hoping, squinting at the monitor.

  “Not the way it’s moving. Look how fast it is; it’s got a motor for sure. They might have spotted us, too; look, it just changed course.” Shakes leaned against the rail, glancing between the monitor and the trash-strewn ocean, searching for the ship, but seeing only the gray sky, the murky waters packed with floating debris.

  The radio blared and Wes picked up the comm. “Wesson here.”

  “You on this?” It was Callahan, the fleet commander in charge of the patrol teams.

  “Yeah, we got it.” Wes thought he saw the ship in the distance, but couldn’t be certain.

  “Bradley said you were hot shit, so let’s see what you can do in the black water. Reel ’em in.”

  “Roger that,” Wes said, and dropped the comm. He turned to Shakes. “You heard the man; guess we can’t ignore this one. Hit the sirens and tell the guys to get out the inflatables like we taught them. We’ll take the pilgrims in the small boats, it’ll be less intimidating. Turn on the lights, the big floods, to let them see us coming so they don’t panic. Tell Farouk to take the helm, bring us in nice and slow.” Wes searched once more for the pilgrim vessel, caught sight of a distant ship, jutting between ziggurats of trash, trying to avoid detection.

  “Then what?” Shakes asked, sounding irritable.

  “Then we’ll figure it out. We always do, don’t we?” he snapped back.

  Wes watched as the crew dropped the black inflatables into the water as they neared the pilgrim vessel. The pilgrim craft was a good-sized ship, bigger than most, and its passengers stood on deck, their arms raised in surrender. They didn’t fire any weapons; there would be no scuffle. Wes watched from the bridge, trying to keep his face impassive as he watched them being herded into the rafts that would take them to his cruiser. The pilgrims knew their journey was over, they were caught, they would never cross the ocean, they would never find the Blue.

  Wes knew how that felt.

  He remained on deck as the inflatables returned from the pilgrim boat loaded with passengers. Shakes saluted him, standing guard over a group of smallmen, who huddled together, looking sickly and pale. The rafts pulled up alongside the cruiser, and Wes and his men helped them on board. No guns, he’d warned his guys. You fire and I’ll fire on you. But their sullen hostages accepted their fate quietly, and there was no need for weapons. There was no rebellion, only grim stares and red-rimmed eyes.

  Wes followed the captives down to the hold. He’d warned his men not to abuse or harass their hostages, and he went from cell to cell, bandaging wounds, handing out Nutri and Meals Ready to Squeeze. If his men found his behavior odd, they didn’t comment for now. More captives arrived, and he heard a cry from the next cell.

  “Leave me alone! I know your captain, I tell you! Let me go!”

  Wes bolted from the cell, locking the door behind him and running into Shakes. That voice sounded familiar. He raised his eyebrows and Shakes shrugged. They burst open the cell door where the screams were coming from.

  Inside, one of the young soldiers had a smallman pushed up against the wall. The smallman’s face was swollen and bloody, and it looked like he had taken the worst of the fight as the soldier battered him with his fists.

  “Shut the ice up! Lying bastard! Shut up!” yelled the soldier as he punched him in the jaw.

  “Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” Shakes demanded.

  The soldier whipped around. “Lieutenant!” he cried when he saw Wes.

  Wes cleared his throat and his voice was murderous. “I gave everyone explicit instructions that none of the hostages were to be harmed.”

  “But, sir!�
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  “Let him go.”

  The soldier did as told, and the smallman slumped to the floor. “He says he knows you,” the soldier said bitterly. “He’s a liar. You don’t know him, do you, sir?”

  Wes stared at the smallman. He hadn’t recognized him earlier, but he did now.

  Of course he did. It was Roark.

  The last time he’d seen him, Roark was tending his garden and humming a song. Wise and sweet Roark, who could make a delicious meal out of random scraps, and a joke out of the direst of situations. Maybe one day they would laugh at this, too.

  Roark, his dear friend. Alive.

  If Roark was alive, then maybe Brendon was, too, and Liannan . . .

  Wes saw the elation starting to show on Shakes’s face, but if they made the wrong move now, all of them were trapped. Eliza would be sent to the priests, and the rest of them, including Roark, would be dumped into the ocean like just another piece of trash.

  “Wes,” Roark whispered. “Thank Vallonis, it really is you. I saw you from the deck, Wes . . . tell him I’m right. Tell him you know me.”

  The soldier glared at Wes. “Sir?”

  Wes stared at Roark, nodded to Shakes, and turned to his soldier. “Never saw him in my life. Carry on.”

  Chapter 18

  THE PASSAGE OPENED UP TO A DESERTED beach and the vortex closed behind them. Nat looked back at it, wondering if she would ever return to Vallonis, if she would ever see her drakon again. There was a ship far off in the distance. Liannan’s call was even stronger here than in Vallonis.

  Nat! Nat! Can you hear me?

  I’m coming. I’m here. Hold on! Nat sent back, but there was no reply. She wondered if Liannan heard her, if the sylph was actually communicating with her or merely sending out a distress call. Either way, she had never heard Liannan sound that terrified before, and it made her feel panicked and helpless.

  “She’s in there,” Nat said urgently, pointing to the navy cruiser. “But how do we get there without a drakon? Swim?” She bit her words when Faix lifted his hands and whispered a quiet incantation.

  This time, the vortex whirled and instead of opening up a black hole, it created something—something out of nothing—he had sculpted the ether, and in front of them was a small motorboat, floating on the waves. Faix waded over to claim it and helped Nat climb inside.

  “It’s no drakon,” Nat said. “But I guess it beats swimming.”

  “It’s made to look like a pilgrim’s vessel. We will let them think we are defenseless.”

  Faix steered the boat, his every movement full of grace. Someone like Faix didn’t belong here, Nat thought, in a place where the air stank of garbage and the long-dead carcasses of animals. Was she like him? She was a drakonrydder, too, but she had been born in the gray lands. Where did she belong? It was a shock to be back in the middle of the black waters, back in the gray world, where everything was dying.

  We will recover the palimpsest, Faix sent. We will search for the source of the corruption and we will fix what is broken and return Vallonis to its glory.

  Nat nodded to let him know she’d heard, even though he probably knew anyway. She looked out anxiously at the ship they were heading toward. It was a small cruiser, flying RSA flags, COLOSSUS engraved on its side. This wasn’t a slaver ship; these were soldiers, and soldiers were organized. If they lost this fight, she’d be back in shackles and kept in an iron cage or, worse, sent back to Bradley and forced to work for them again, stealing children, setting fires, killing their enemies.

  Do not fear them, Faix soothed. We will find your friends. We will not let them take us.

  But his words were little comfort. Faix didn’t know, didn’t truly understand. He had never fought against them. Once they made contact, she would need to act quickly. She would need to tap into her power and use her anger once more. If only she were past such things. She had stood at the door to Apis. She longed to use her power to build, to create, to make things—not destroy them. But she was headed toward battle once more. Would she die out here, fighting on the ocean? Would she die as Faix’s drakon had died, as Mainas had almost died? What would happen to her drakon if she did not survive?

  Head winds blew onto their small boat, and Nat shivered. She was cold without her drakon, but Faix neither shivered nor complained about the cold and the wind and the ice. She wondered if he missed its warmth, the sense of drakonfire in his lungs.

  He glanced at her and she knew he had read her thoughts.

  “I miss it every day. Like a missing limb.” He touched his necklace, as if for luck.

  “You’re very attached to that charm,” she said.

  “Am I? It is just a habit,” he said dismissively, and the corner of his mouth quivered slightly.

  Nat wouldn’t have thought anything of it except that it was so strange to see him perturbed, and she realized, all of a sudden, that he was lying. Faix was keeping something from her about the charm, so she tried to think about something else so he wouldn’t know she knew. She imagined herself burrowing into the earth with her drakon, erecting a wall between her thoughts and his.

  Then she pictured their boat, its hull made of fiberglass, the strands of white glass, the resin between the fibers, the filaments in the white strands, and the tiny molecules that made up those fibers. She pictured smaller and smaller structures until at last they were only particles spinning in the void.

  “STOP,” Faix said, as the boat flickered in and out of reality.

  Nat gasped. “I’m sorry—I was just—practicing.”

  He smiled. “Good work, but perhaps you can keep the boat real until we reach the ship? I do not wish to drown.”

  They reached the cruiser and floated close by. “We will allow them to take us,” Faix said. “Once we are inside, we will look for your friends.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. Nat heard the familiar sounds of drones in the air, cutting through the clouds, hovering out of sight, alerting the ship to their location. Faix shut down the motor. They stood back to back, Nat holding her sword and shield, waiting. The plan was to surrender, but she wanted to be prepared to fight anyway. She missed her drakon. Missed the feeling of the creature’s fire in her lungs, of the power at her command as they rained death from above. She could have vaporized the drones, taken the ship in seconds, and freed her friends, if only she were whole.

  The sleek navy cruiser cut across the mist, its guns trained on their position. Soldiers stood on the bow, pointing their automatic rifles straight at them. More soldiers were dropping smaller rafts in the water to take them prisoner.

  As the small boats came their way, Nat braced herself to be captured. The cruiser followed close behind, its shadow drifting across her vessel.

  “We surrender,” Faix declared when the boats floated by their starboard side. “We come peacefully.”

  In answer, a bullet came whizzing through the night, striking Faix in the arm. Then came another, and another. Nat ducked under her shield and used her sword to fend off the bullets. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “No,” Faix said, his eyes flashing dangerously. They had offered peace and had been attacked instead. His wound flared, then healed; Nat saw the skin regenerate and become smooth again. “But I will show them what it means to hurt.”

  “Faix!”

  The sylph seemed to grow to twice his size, his white hair shone brightly, and his entire being was covered in a brilliant white light. Faix clapped his arms together and in an instant, the small black boats were gone and the bullets clattered harmlessly on the water.

  The soldiers on the deck of the Colossus yelled, scanning the waters, astonished. The boats had vanished so quickly, it was as if the ocean had swallowed them up. They answered with a barrage of artillery. Nat crashed to her knees, covering her head with her shield. She couldn’t see her attackers, but she knew they could see her
. They had infrared lenses, scopes that peered effortlessly through mist and clouds, through darkness and smoke. There was nowhere to hide. Something hot scraped her shoulder, tearing a hole in her armor, burning her skin. A bullet had ripped a hole in her jacket, exposing her arm to the bitter cold. She flinched, covering the wound as a second projectile screamed past her ear, deafening her momentarily.

  Use your fire, Faix sent. Burn them.

  But I don’t have any fire, Nat replied.

  He shook his head and turned back to the cruiser, facing the bullets, standing and unafraid, and brought his hands together once more. A fiery projectile exploded from his palms and ripped toward the cruiser, setting it on fire and sending frothy black water bubbling through the newly formed hole in the side.

  The fire is within you.

  The ship was burning, even without a drakon. The soldiers had scattered, the snipers abandoning their positions.

  When she first met Faix, he had reminded her of Liannan, with his beauty and his soft voice, but he was nothing like Liannan at all, and what she saw scared her—the mighty power at his command, his indifference to pain, to emotion, to humanity. But Faix wasn’t human, he was a sylph. Who are you? she sent. Who are you really?

  I am Faix Lazaved. Messenger to the Queen. Drakonrydder of Vallonis. Protector of the Realm. Guardian of the Blue. I am like you, Anastasia. I am made of fire.

  Then he turned away and steered their quickly sinking boat toward the side of the ship. He motioned to the knotted ropes that stretched from the water to the deck of the cruiser at regular intervals. “When our boat hits the side, reach for the ropes,” he said, preparing to jump.

  The burning ship bobbled in the water, sending waves rippling across the ocean, its wake threatening to capsize their already-waterlogged craft.

  Nat nodded, eyeing the approaching vessel. The fire was concentrated on the starboard side and a few soldiers were rushing to put it out with fire extinguishers. But the port side was empty, and she nodded to Faix to take them there.