by Snow, Wylie
“Oh, is that what happened?” Libra smiled and reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We had other meat-like things that don’t bear scrutiny, so we won’t discuss them. How about you? It’s obvious you don’t subsist on grubs and rodents—”
“—that we catch with our bare hands and eat raw?”
“You mean drink raw?” He crinkled his nose. “And you’re correct. I admit, and you may flog me later, but I had some pretty heinous misconceptions about the people of the Taiga, especially the—”
“Oh, we’re here,” Cleo interrupted as they rounded a bend in the path. She pointed to the wall of stone that cut through the trees.
“Zhang hell!” Libra started agape at what lay ahead, then flicked his eyes back to Cleo. “I mean, it didn’t look as big when I came up on a solar scooter, you know?”
There was no other way to describe the grid but a river of boulders; rocks of every shape and size, piled ten to fifteen feet high and fifty feet wide.
“How do you traverse these with wagons and horses—you do still use those, right?”
“And solar scooters, sometimes,” she said, hating herself for caring what he thought of their lifestyle. “There are all kinds of passes on the inter-tribal trails, and bridges or tunnels, depending the landscape. The trails that run a direct route from village to trading post are simple to navigate. We’re a bit off the beaten track here.”
“What about animals?”
She was surprised he would have considered migration routes. “They climb over,” she explained, but Libra looked sceptical. Cleo laughed. “Moose can cross rocks, you know. They’re far more agile than their spindly legs let on. The smaller critters go between the gaps and spaces. That said, lots of snake nests in there, so be careful.”
Cleo hoisted herself onto a three-foot-high boulder—the biggest in the wall in front of her—but if a little kick-ass action got him turned on, maybe fleet-footing it over the channel would heat him up, too.
She peeked over her shoulder to see Libra’s eyes darting from rock to rock.
“You’re not afraid of snakes, are you?”
“Hmm? No. Take this,” he said, throwing his pack up toward her.
“Yeah, sure,” Cleo said, swinging it onto her back, wondering why he looked so charmingly distracted.
“These rocks are pretty solid, yeah? No loose bits or booby traps I should know about?”
Cleo hoisted herself up to the next level of rocks and looked down from her perch. “No, they’ve been jammed in here for decades, so they’re pretty stable. But you should be careful anyway.”
To her amusement, Libra did two deep knee bends, rotated each ankle, and then backed up a dozen paces.
“Not sure a few rocks warrant such Olympian preparation, Libra,” she laughed. “This has nothing on the escarpment you managed to scale.”
Instead of answering, he puffed his breath a few times and took off at a sprint. Just before he got to the first row of rocks, he leapt—not just jumped, but leapt like a freaking alphacat—into the air. Arms out, Libra hand-sprang off the three-footer she just came from, his body twisted in a full upside down circle, and landed on the row above her. The rest happened in a blur of movement—hands, feet, bouncing, somersaulting, flying over the channel until he was out of sight on the other side. The entire performance couldn’t have taken any more than ten or fifteen seconds.
“For the love of tap dancing ducks, what the hell was that?”
Cleo, who had always thought of herself as nimble, scrambled across the rocks, shaking her head with disbelief, shock, and most annoyingly, a touch of envy.
“Gravity…” she huffed as he came within her view. “Got something against it?” She tossed the backpack down at him.
“Hell no,” he said, beaming like a wolf in a field of sheep. “It’s essential to what I do.”
“And what is it you do, exactly, Mr. I’m-just-a-pencil-pusher?” Cleo demanded, ignoring his proffered hand as she jumped to the ground from the highest boulder on the edge. “You got a cape and mask I should know about?”
“No. And no wings, either.” He did a repeat of his earlier pirouette to satisfy her. “It’s just a hobby. Ever heard of PK or free running?”
“Nope.”
“PK is short for parkour. It’s a sport that people do in the city, a way to get from one place to another using a combination of running, jumping, flipping, twisting, basically using your body in an acrobatic way to get around obstacles.”
“And you’re a PKer in Gomeda?”
“People who do it are called traceurs, and yes, I do it all the time.”
“The escarpment?” That’s how he did it. Cheater. He could have mentioned…
“You got it. Between the roots jutting out from the rocks, the ledges, bumps, and slopes, it really wasn’t that much of a challenge.”
“Really,” she said, thinking it was probably a good deal more challenging than he’d admit. But as this new information simmered, she couldn’t help feeling a bit pole-axed, torn between being impressed and feeling a little like she’d been duped.
“And I did have a good length of polycord.”
He hadn’t mentioned this PK skill. Should he have? Did the opportunity come up before now? Probably not, but her suspicion vibes tingled nonetheless.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Never came up. Why didn’t you tell me you could fight like that?”
“Never came up.”
“Guess we’re even.”
“No. We’re not,” Cleo said, tightening her jaw. “Why didn’t you tell me, you know, back there, when I flipped out, imagining you dead?”
“I…I don’t know,” he said, reaching for her hand. She didn’t pull away, but neither did she curl her fingers around his. “I guess I was shocked that you actually seemed to care. And you were so wound up, angry…” Libra’s eyes darkened as he tugged her toward him, “…and hot. You looked so mussed, like you just tumbled out of bed after an especially athletic night,” he said, dipping his head, getting closer with each word, “so damn sexy that I just wanted to eat you up.”
Libra’s lips brushed against hers, not with the hungry punishing force like before, but affectionately, softly, making her eyelids flutter down, completely surrendering to the tenderness of the moment, the tenderness of his touch.
Cleo sighed and pulled back before he had a chance to deepen the kiss, before she could get lost in him again. “That little handspring move was kind of cool.”
“Kong,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s called a kong.”
Cleo smiled and raised on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth, on the side that always curled up. “You’re good,” she whispered. Cleo loved that he had this amazing talent, yet hated that it was something that made her feel completely lacking. “Could you teach me?”
“A few moves, sure. Tomorrow. Right now, we need to focus on priorities,” he said. He pulled her close and placed a kiss on her forehead. Affection, apology, friendship, she wasn’t sure until he said, “Fire, food and…bed.”
Bed. His voice was low and suggestive. Bed, he said, not sleep.
Twenty
Libra hunched over the small pile of tinder, the driest collection of forest debris he could find, and blew the sparks until a flame appeared. Cleo had left him in charge of making camp while she hunted for something to eat. He had no idea what manner of beast she’d return with, considering she had nothing but his K-Bar knife and the net bag, but having witnessed her unique capabilities, he wouldn’t be surprised if she brought back a four-course meal.
After a hard day of physical exertion, he should feel hungry, but his appetite couldn’t compete with the germ of anxiety that settled in hi
s gut during the airplane conversation and spread throughout him like a virus with every step that took them closer to the Cut, toward the inevitable end of his mission.
Throughout their journey, as guilt, lust, and honest-to-goodness admiration for Cleo tipped his moral scales, his mind turned over every possible alternative scenario to avoid doing what had to be done. It was either drop her into unconsciousness with the implant just before they got to the Trading Post and carry her out, or make use of that damn ampoule, nestled deep in the pocket of his pants. Either way, the self-loathing felt like a black hole in his soul.
He may have only known her a matter of days, but she’d impacted his life, his views and attitudes. He was split between resenting her and admiring her, wanting to throttle her and wanting to kiss her. Never had a woman, or anyone, made him feel so two-faced, so unsure of himself. He’d always been a righteous bastard—he’d gone to prison for his convictions—but Cleo had turned his black and white axioms to murky gray.
What would she think if she knew the real reason he was here—the points, the personal revenge? Worse, what would she think of him and his group of shit-disturbers back in Gomeda?
The faintest glimmer of an idea began to form as he built a fancy tepee with sticks and twigs around the crackling tinder. He stood to crack a few larger branches across his knee when he heard her come up behind him.
“Let me guess,” he said without turning. “Buffalo steaks?”
“Buffalo have been extinct for a century.”
“Yeah, but if anyone could find one, I’ve no doubt it would be you.” Libra began to pivot when she draped something around his neck.
Snake.
He barely caught himself from committing an unmanly jolt, instead pretending nonchalance at the headless reptile across his shoulders.
“Time for your cooking lesson,” she said. “Taiga survival for beginners.”
She had to be kidding. With two fingers, he yanked the snake to the ground. At least it wasn’t as slimy as he’d imagined. Wasn’t slimy at all. “Think I’ll watch, if you don’t mind.”
Libra had no intention of doing even that. If he had to partake in the barbaric practice of eating something that had been alive less than five minutes ago, he preferred to ignore the process. He returned to fire tending, but by the time Cleo had washed, gutted, and skinned it, and threaded the pieces onto a sharpened stick to roast it on the fire, fascination replaced his revulsion.
Didn’t smell horrible, either.
“Okay, hand over a piece.”
Without trying to hide her smug smile, she passed him a morsel.
The meat was flaky and looked a bit like her fish from earlier. The rib bones made him pause—there may have even been a gag—but if his little warrior could take down two Bangers, he could be man enough to choke down a little fresh-cooked kill.
All the same, he was glad it was dark enough that she wouldn’t be able to see his complexion pale at the thought of putting it in his mouth. Not that he was squeamish.
“Well? Will you live?”
“It’s…it’s not bad, actually.”
“It’s better when it’s battered and deep fried with a side of butter sauce.”
While he helped himself to more, Cleo threw together a second course of dandelion leaf salad, flavored with a handful of nutty-tasting berries she’d picked along the trail. She added a bonus education lesson while he ate, so he knew that were he ever stuck and starving in the Taiga, he should only eat berries if they had a little crown because it meant they weren’t poisonous. If she could throw a decent meal together out of snake and berries, imagine what she could do with real ingredients. She babbled on about roots and mushrooms unprompted, allowing his mind to tumble over other things.
There it was again…that glimmer. An idea so thread-thin, so ungraspable, too insane to even contemplate… but what if?
She could always say no.
And since the perfect segue presented itself, he decided to dip his toes in the water. “Y’know Cleo,” he said, pouring water from his canteen over the empty plate, “Maybe you should join me in Gomeda. We could open an authentic Taiga restaurant. First of its kind.”
“I’m glad I’ve impressed you,” she said, smiling, “but if I’ve given you the impression that cooking, or spending any time in a kitchen, is appealing to me, I’ve misled you.”
“Aw come on,” he joked. “We could serve bacon.”
She grew very quiet and a serious furrow formed in her brow. Libra wasn’t sure how to continue since cajoling hadn’t taken him in the direction he needed.
“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that,” she said, staring at her feet.
“Bacon?”
“No,” Cleo said, shaking her head. “Something else.”
She fidgeted and paused as if she were unsure how to approach the question. When she finally spoke, her voice thin and vulnerable, he wished he’d been mentally prepared.
“Can I trust you?”
“Trust me?” No! Absolutely not. Run. “Have I given you reason not to?”
She contemplated that for a moment, eyes on the stone she’d been toeing out of the ground. Her gaze flicked up for a second—too quickly for him to read her expression, too quick to prepare himself for what she would say next. “I need to go to Gomeda. Will you take me?”
Libra’s jaw unhinged. If he didn’t believe in a spiritual overseer before, he was all kinds of devoted now. “You want to go to the city? With me?”
“Not with you, with you. Not like a stray dog that won’t leave you alone. Just ‘with you,’ like a travelling companion.”
Libra couldn’t find words fast enough.
“Because that’s kind of where I was headed when I, you know…when I had the incident in the river.”
Libra set down his plate and faced her across the circle of fire. This was getting interesting, and he didn’t want to miss a single detail.
“You were going to Gomeda?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She picked up the stone she’d unearthed and turned it over in her hand. “I need to find my brother.”
“And he’s in the city?”
“That’s where he was going, yes.” She brushed the dirt from the rock, revealing a shiny, almost crystalline surface. She toyed with it, turned it between her thumb and forefinger, hypnotized by the reflection of the flame in the facets. “I’ve got to get to him before he gets inducted or drugged, or whatever it is your Ministry of Opportunity does to keep my people there. I need to bring him home.” She flung the rock deep into the bushes and watched it, as if she could see it land in the dark foliage. “Will you help me find him?”
Libra dug his fingers into his scalp to stop his brain from exploding. They wanted her, she happened to be going there. Coincidence? And why didn’t she just tell him that in the first place and save him days of planning, days of emotional tug of war? Why the big secret? There was something more going on, and he had a feeling he was a pawn in much larger game. If they already had Jaegar, what did they need his sister for? But while his mental cogs spun, he needed to answer her.
“What if he doesn’t want to come back?” he asked. “He must have had a reason for leaving.”
Cleo’s face blanched. Last time it had gone that pale, he had to catch her from fainting. She clutched her necklace, her lifeline, before answering. “Yes, there was a reason, but it was a stupid one.”
He let silence fill the space, hoping she’d continue.
Cleo rose and went to the stack of sticks and branches he’d assembled to feed the fire during the night. She grabbed a dried-out chunk of dead timber and threw it haphazardly onto the pile of embers. “I have to set things right. And I’m the only one who can.”
He tracke
d her as she sought something to do, some task, other than sit and face him across the fire.
“Of course I’ll take you,” he said, realizing she was waiting for his answer. “I’ll even help you locate your brother.”
She stilled. Her shoulders dropped and her face drained of tension. Her look of pure gratitude unravelled him.
He wouldn’t need Trevayne’s help after all. Or the ampoule. Or the implant. He waited for a sense of relief to hit, but his fingers curled into tight balls and the muscles up his back wound like a constricting spring around his spine.
Lies aside, his mission had gone from a potential violent kidnapping to that of a simple escort service. Take her to Gomeda, find Jaegar, politely suggest they stop by DynaCade to visit Achan, and put them both on the transport back over the Cut Road.
The truth would eventually come out, but not yet. He couldn’t compromise her trust so far into the end game. Better to wait until they were in Gomeda. Or on the way out of Gomeda.
“Thank you, Libra. That means a lot to me. I…I…don’t know why the fates are suddenly taking pity on me because I don’t deserve it, but thank you. For…everything.”
The irony made him laugh. “Why don’t you deserve it?”
“I just don’t.”
Interesting. Cleo Rush had more secrets. “What will you do if he doesn’t want to come back?”
She stared into the fire.
“Cleo? What if your brother likes the city, doesn’t want to come back up here?”
“He has to come back,” she said, her voice revealing no hint of emotion. “He’s supposed to be the leader-elect of our tribe.”
Libra’s mind spun the new facts into those he already knew, which wasn’t much. It explained why Achan wanted Jaegar Rush—the leader-elect would hold as much power as the sitting leader. If mining agreements needed to be made, they could be done with Jaegar alone.
