by Adam Burch
“Edmon, we don’t need to.” Edgaard pulls from his pocket a golden ring inlaid with a glittering diamond—the data card. It’s a silicon storage device, billions of yottabytes embedded in the crystal.
“By the twisted star!” I snag it from him, holding it to the dim light of the arcology fireglobes. “How?”
“I threw him an empty box. He didn’t check it.”
I smile and rub the top of Edgaard’s helmet. He beams at me through his mask. Then his smile fades. “Edmon, give it back.”
I’m the stronger of the two of us. There’s nothing to stop me from keeping it. I could win. Why shouldn’t I? Prove to my father that I am the better, prove to Phaestion I’m the greatest of his Companions. I’m tired of losing. Why shouldn’t I triumph?
Then I remember another voice, my mother, saying, You will forget what you saw here today. My father made Edgaard his heir and beat my mother in front of all of Tao. He may think me unworthy of his love, but I know for fact he’s unworthy of mine. I put the ring into my brother’s hand.
“Sigurd and Perdiccus are still out there,” I say. “Whoever has this is going to be a target.”
There’s a rumble in the chute above us.
“Run!” Edgaard shouts.
We jump up and pump our legs. I’ve lost my helmet and heads-up display, so Edgaard takes the lead.
“The pickup zone is on the surface level!” he shouts.
We swerve right down a dark avenue toward a residential district within the arco. The edifices are abandoned here, like ancient metal ghosts. We stop to catch our breath in the foyer of one apartment structure. The entire place is covered with soot, the concrete walls cracked, and the glass panes are filthy or shattered. The place looks as if it has been put to the torch.
“We have to get to the Banshee Rail,” I say. “Can you map a way to the top?”
“Headset’s giving a layout.” Edgaard taps his helmet.
I have a moment to think again. The Julii Academy soldiers would not have slaughtered all those people without orders. Someone told them to do what they did. Was it Phaestion? I don’t want to believe it, but who else? He watches everything. It could be his father. It must be. Please let it be.
A child’s voice interrupts my reverie. “There isn’t a pneumovator.”
Edgaard and I whip around. Out of the darkness steps a little girl, perhaps Edgaard’s age, with dark, tousled hair and a grime-covered face. She wears the tatters of a monochrome jumpsuit like the denizens I saw earlier. She stares at us with curiosity. She isn’t a Nightsider, but neither is she a Daysider. She’s some sort of half race like me.
“Who’re you?” I ask.
“None of your business,” she fires back.
“Why are you here?” Edgaard asks.
“I live here, or I used to.” Her voice is sad. “Before the fire.”
“Whoever you are, it isn’t safe,” I say.
“I can help you to the top, Edmon,” she says.
My eyes narrow with suspicion. “You know my name?”
Perdiccus dives through a dirty window with a crash. He slams Edgaard to the ground. I run to help, but I’m lifted off my feet. I sail through the air. I twist my body, roll as I land, and spring up, looking for my assailant. Sigurd is barreling toward me.
“Where’s the data card, snail guppy?”
I ready myself for an impact . . . which never comes. The little girl dives into Sigurd’s feet, tripping him. They tumble into a pile of broken junk. The little girl extricates herself from the tangle of limbs and stands. She flashes a grin as I stare slack-jawed.
“Told you I could help.” She shoots me a thumbs-up.
“Watch out!” I shout.
Sigurd stands behind her and takes a swipe at her head. The girl ducks the blow with surprising speed. Only one other person I know moves with that kind of agility and grace . . . and he’s not fully human. Who is this kid?
“Too slow, you big bully,” the girl teases. She dodges his grasp and kicks Sigurd in the shin. He grabs her. The speedy little girl isn’t able to escape this time. She cries out. I hurtle myself forward, throwing my fist out with all my might. I connect with Sigurd’s faceplate. It shatters. He grunts with pain and lets go of the girl. He reels, trying to find his bearings.
I don’t let up. Jab, hook, uppercut. He falls back. I step into his fall and roundhouse kick him in the gut. He doubles over. I grab his head and slam it into a doorframe. He smashes to the ground. I see a massive staircase in the next room that twists and turns to the top.
That’s our way out.
I look back. Edgaard holds Perdiccus in an armlock and cranks. Perdiccus screams a split second after I hear the hideous sound of snapping bone. The little girl runs and jumps into the air in a surprisingly acrobatic display. She boots Perdiccus in the head, and he’s knocked unconscious.
Are there other people down in these arcologies like her?
The girl helps Edgaard up. “The stairwell leads all the way to the top of the arcology.”
I nod. “Thanks. How did you know about us?”
“Are you kidding?” she asks. “The girls at the shelter are never going to believe I met you. Edmon Leontes. You’re our favorite character!”
I shake my head. That’s what I am to people, a character in a stupid aquagraphic.
“The others think Edgaard’s kind of, well . . .” The tomboy blushes.
“What?” Edgaard asks innocently.
I cut in. “Thank you. We have to go.”
Sigurd’s already pushing himself up off the floor. A crash at the door hastens the end of the conversation. Julii soldiers swarm the foyer. I grab Edgaard’s hand, and we run.
The last I see of the little girl is her leaping and climbing through a window much too high for any normal little girl to reach.
Whomever she is, she has Talousla Karr’s fingerprints all over her, I think, but the truth will have to wait.
Flight after flight of stairs burn our legs. Perdiccus, Sigurd, and the rest of the soldiers below us are predators. We’re the prey. They’re gaining.
Edgaard slows. I pull him up the steps until finally we reach a door. I run at it full force, smashing into the metal that busts from the jamb. We spill out above the arcology onto the streets of Meridian.
A sondi hovers at the skyline. Our ride. How the hell do we get to it?
“This way!” Edgaard shouts.
We turn a corner to another flight of steps. They lead to a platform and the Banshee Rail.
Oh no, I think. This is a terrible idea!
The sonic-lev train car rushes into the platform station. The howl of its engine whines as it slows to a stop. Doors slide open, and we dive into the car, safe for the moment. We are surrounded by worn faces. They regard us furtively. Then I catch movement from my periphery. It’s a streak of black with blond hair, diving in from the edge of my vision. Hanschen. He tackles Edgaard and wrenches the ring from his grasp.
“No!” I scream. I throw myself on top of my brother’s assailant.
“It’s mine!” Hanschen screams maniacally.
I draw back my fist and slam it into his nose. He howls and writhes under me. I lose my balance. Hanschen is up on his feet the next second and racing through the cars of the train.
“He has the card!” I scream.
Edgaard is already running after him. I scramble through one car, then another. I push past bystanders as I head for the back of the train. I bat a camglobe aside angrily.
We reach the last car of the train, and Hanschen crashes through the Plexiglas door. The compartment depressurizes. Wind rushes past us as the banshee engine screams. Passengers cover their ears. I’m thrown to the floor. I wish I hadn’t tossed my helmet away earlier.
Hanschen swings himself outside of the train.
“Come on!” Edgaard shouts, though the words are lost in the wind. He helps me up off the floor.
Perdiccus and Sigurd crash through the door behind us, flanked by a
cadre of soldiers. Edgaard and I sprint after Hanschen while Perdiccus and Sigurd run after us. Seal chases fish; shark chases seal. Out the back door, wind whips my hair. I grab a ladder bolted to the exterior of the train and climb. Hanschen is already plastered to the roof like a bug. He punctures his retracted pike into the metal like an ice pick, pulling himself hand by hand. I duck as the train whips through a small tunnel.
I look ahead. The train approaches the sondi, which hovers in the sky above midcity. We are going to have to jump from the sonic train onto the sondi at just the right moment to win. This is madness.
Edgaard takes his pike and follows Hanschen. I jam my own pike into the roof, my chest pounding with fear. I use the pike to claw my way along the surface. Every time I pull the pike out, my heart skips a beat as I am free, holding on to nothing. The speed of the train threatens to dust me off and into the purple sky. Perdiccus and Sigurd follow, meters behind.
This is too slow.
I signal to Edgaard. I’m going down.
He shakes his head. I know. It’s too dangerous. Doesn’t matter.
I swing my body around to the side of the train and crash through a window. Passengers scream. I shove two stunned Julii soldiers to the ground, then shove my way through the throng, sprinting for the front of the train.
Not much time left.
I reach the front and push past the conductor.
“What are you—?”
I ignore him and smash my fist into the Plexiglas of the windshield. It feels like paper against my strengthened knuckles. I vault myself back onto the roof, teetering, but I manage to slam my pike into the roof again.
Steady, Edmon.
The sondi balloon hangs like a fat, bloated beetle on the horizon. We are all so close to death that it seems absurd. You can do this! I say to myself.
Hanschen has reached midtrain. He’s sandwiched between me and the others. He stands.
He’s going to jump, I realize. I can’t let it happen.
The train rounds the bend. I let go of my pike and jump in the air. Hanschen rushes toward me as the train hurtles him forward. I smack into him, tackling him. We careen across the roof. I grab his wrist and pry the data card from it.
We slide past the others. Someone snags my ankle before I fall into the ether. Sigurd and Perdiccus pull me back onto the train, but now they’re on top of me, punching me, clawing for the data card. Everyone wants to be the strongest. No one wants to lose Phaestion’s favor.
I can’t beat all of them, I realize.
I see Edgaard out of the corner of my eye, the only one not on top of me, clawing for the ring. He stands slowly, using his pike for support. I do the only thing that makes sense.
“Edgaard!” I scream. I toss the data card as high as I can. He catches it midair and leaps from the Banshee Rail . . . safely into the carriage of the hovering sondi in one spectacular move.
The sondi’s side panels light up in an aquagraphic display of electric brilliance.
Edgaard wins!
The others let me go, and I fall. The beauty of the twilight rushes away. My stomach sinks with a weightless, floating feeling. I spin to face the earth, spread my arms, and accept death.
CHAPTER 11
PRIMA DONNA
The wings of the suit splay out, and I glide, barely a meter above the cement. I soar. I hear the faint sound of cheers like a distant wave crashing to shore. The people watch the live stream on the nets. They cheer for me.
Later, the heavy double doors of the throne room open. I stride behind the others, my ears still ringing from the fight on the train. Perdiccus’s arm is in a sling, Hanschen’s torso is bandaged. Sigurd’s face is bruised. Academy soldiers fill the hall. Michio, Croack, Alberich, and Commandant Vetruk stand by. I search for The Maestro’s face in the crowd but cannot find him.
Chilleus Julii doesn’t sit on his throne. None have seen the old Patriarch for the last half of this yearly cycle. Rumor is the old man is in ill health as he approaches his 125th year. On Tao, the only good death is a death in battle, and so the ritual of patricide was instituted. A son must kill his father in order to claim the rule of his house and be branded with a Patriarch’s tattoos. While anyone who wins the Combat may ascend to the College of Electors, only a Patriarch may be elected from that body to a seat on the High Synod. Phaestion has not yet been branded, but that is only the first step along his path to rule.
The Julii prince lounges on the orca throne, leaning on one elbow. His leg lazily dangles over the other massive arm of the chair. Two gorgeous girls attend him, blonde, slender, and full breasted. One of them pets his coppery hair. He bats a camglobe out of his face.
Talousla Karr skulks in the corner, watching everything silently. I want to ask the renegade spypsy about the little girl I met on the streets of Meridian, but it will have to wait. I have more important matters to think of.
“All hail the fearless Companions!” Phaestion awakes from his whimsy.
He stands and straps a purple cape jauntily over a bare, muscular shoulder. As he descends the steps of the throne, he spreads his arms wide and embraces Perdiccus and Sigurd in a hug.
“My sea lions,” he says, smiling, “you’re truly fearsome!”
Perdiccus grins. Sigurd nods. The giant believes he should have won the contest, no doubt.
“Hanschen, my cousin.” Phaestion hugs his lithe kinsman. “Cunning, graceful, and so, so beautiful,” he teases flirtatiously. Hanschen, usually so confident, actually blushes. I wonder what other flirtations the two have partaken in behind closed doors. “Leave it to you to figure out the game. None of you could win on his own. You might have played your allies a bit longer, though,” he chides.
“Sage advice, my lord.” Hanschen winks.
“And little Edgaard”—Phaestion turns to my brother—“victor.”
Edgaard bows. He presents then opens the small velvet box to reveal the “data card.” Phaestion plucks the diamond from the box and holds it up to the sunset light.
“You are truly your father’s son.” Phaestion smiles. “You’ve earned the prize. Julii Academy will join you at House Wusong-Leontes for the duration of the next yearly cycle. You will host, and we will be your companions.”
Edgaard grins from ear to ear. Hosting is a tremendous honor.
Edric will be so proud. Would he feel the same if I’d won? I’ll never know. I gave up my chance at victory.
“Let’s not forget you, Edmon.” Phaestion grins wryly. “Edgaard wouldn’t have been victorious if not for your help. In the Combat, you assume alliance only for it to be broken later. ‘Never sacrifice yourself for another.’ However, this exercise was more than the Combat. In war, victory is only achieved through self-sacrifice. You chose brother and house over yourself. That selfless act proclaims you the true winner of today.”
Hovering camglobes catch every word.
You’re my favorite character. I remember the orphan girl’s words. This is all show, and Phaestion is the star. We’re merely players in his drama, but what story is he telling?
“In acknowledgment of your achievement, I will grant you any wish that’s within my power.”
For the first time since we’ve known each other, Phaestion’s praise means nothing. I steel myself against his warm feelings, though they radiate off him like sunshine. After today, I don’t believe I could ever think of him the same way again.
“Take me home,” I say.
Phaestion freezes. His eyes narrow.
“Before we travel to House Wusong-Leontes, grant me the boon of traveling back to the Isle of Bone.”
“So be it,” he says quietly.
Phaestion cocks his head to the side and nods. “You fought well,” he says, addressing the room of academy soldiers. “There will be a feast this evening for all. You’re dismissed.” The teachers lead the academy soldiers out in formation. The Companions bow their heads and take their leave, but not before Hanschen grabs Phaestion and kisses him on the cheek. Phaest
ion pets his cousin’s blond hair then pushes him off playfully.
Edgaard looks at me with a question. I nod to indicate he should go ahead.
Phaestion couldn’t have been the one to order the attack. He couldn’t have been. But who else?
Edgaard exits after the others. The double doors close with a thunderous slam. Phaestion returns to his throne. His consorts run their long slender fingers through his hair. They massage his feet. The whisk of the camglobes hovering is the only sound.
“Edmon, before we go to Bone, there’s something I need to tell you—”
“I want to talk alone,” I say, cutting him off, staring at the concubines, the camglobes, and Talousla Karr still in the corner. “Like before,” I say. “It was you and me and the beach. We shared everything without anyone else watching.”
“Not everything,” Phaestion says with more venom than I expect. “I know that you saw the girl without me.”
Does he mean Nadia?
“This is part of everything now.” He gestures to our surroundings. “Part of who we’re going to be.”
“Who you’re going to be,” I respond angrily.
Phaestion shakes his head. “You know what our birthright destines us for.”
“Your birthright.” My words taste bitter.
“Do you think I love you any less than before?” he asks. “Just because we share ourselves with the world?” He steps from the throne and comes close. He holds my face in his hands.
I’m reminded of the mirror-Edmon in the Arms of Agony. Sometimes we war. Sometimes we touch. “I’m beginning to love you less.”
A shadow crosses his smooth face. No trace of blemish mars his skin, unlike my own, which suffers the marks of transition to adulthood. The muscles of his tall, wiry form flex. He looks like a demigod, but his physical beauty is a distraction right now.
“People were murdered in the street, Phaestion. Someone gave the order.” My voice is flat. It’s in the open now. He won’t let others hear now that he knows this is what I want to talk about.
