Astral Tide (The Otherborn Series)

by Silver, Anna

  She didn’t hear anything yet. “No. What?”

  “Exactly,” Zen looked at her, his gray eyes sparking with revelation. “No gunshots.”

  “So.”

  “So what do you think that means?”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass, Zen. We need to go. Kim and Tora are waiting.” This was too close to their headhunters for London’s comfort.

  But Zen was already scooting forward on his belly, alternating between a crawl and a slither as he inched his way closer to the camp.

  London’s heart rate was picking up. She was ready to leave Bayou Camp Four, Clark, and the Tycoons behind. But she couldn’t just dart off without Zen. Carefully, she eased herself forward behind him, keeping low and trying to be as quiet as possible.

  When the swamp water kept them from getting any closer, they stopped and listened, looking for signs of life between the trees across the water.

  “This is dangerous, Zen,” London whispered but he only put a finger over his lips. What was it about broken hearts and death wishes that always made them go together?

  They could hear the slamming of doors and shuffling of feet. There were voices, though it was hard to tell what they were saying. The tones were strictly conversational, no shouting or screams of any kind.

  “I’m gonna get closer,” Zen said. “I need to see.”

  London mouthed don’t, but he pecked her on the forehead and started into the water. London stayed put. Fire couldn’t have convinced her to get back in that murky swamp stew.

  She watched Zen near the opposite bank and sink down to his chin, so only his head was exposed. He moved along the bank until he found a clearing in the brush he could see through. Whatever he was seeing, if anything, she hoped it was worth it.

  When he finally started making his way back, there was an expression on his face she’d never seen there before. He pulled himself out of the water and crouched on the shore. His face had gone sickeningly white, paler than her once powder-white complexion—life as an Outroader had built a bit of bronze up on her shoulders and across her nose. He wouldn’t speak. He just took her hand and began leading her away from the edge of camp.

  By the time their truck was in sight, London couldn’t hold back anymore. “Zen, what the hell happened back there? You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “I did,” he said turning on her. “I saw Avery.”

  London swallowed hard. Shit. “Oh Zen, I’m so sorry. It’s just that—”

  By now Tora was at their side and Kim was in the truck, thumping the steering wheel impatiently.

  “She was working for them, the Tycoons. Helping them,” he said, dazed.

  “I know. I…well, you were so in love with her, and—” London tried again, but Zen didn’t appear to be grasping any of it. “Wait. Did you see anyone else?” It was selfish of her, she knew, but she had to ask. If Avery was with them, maybe…

  Zen didn’t respond.

  London tried to shake his arm. “Zen, did you see Rye? Was Rye with them?”

  Again, he didn’t respond. His eyes seemed to be staring into oblivion.

  “Zen! Did you—” London started, but stopped.

  “No,” he said, his eyes cold as granite, cutting her off.

  “Are you sure?” she started again, but Tora put a hand on London’s shoulder to quiet her. London slumped, defeated. For a second she’d allowed herself to hope. Stupid.

  “How was she helping them, Zen? What were they doing?” Tora asked.

  Zen turned to Tora as though seeing her for the first time. He blinked and told her, “They were taking them.”

  London scowled. “Who? Taking who?”

  Zen looked back at her. “Eric…” his voice trailed off.

  The shock had clearly rattled him. She should have expected something like this. It was a jack-ass thing to do, lying to him. She thought she was protecting him but like most things, London had only managed to get it backwards at best.

  “Eric?” she repeated. “Why would they take Eric?”

  “Eric and the others,” Zen said this time.

  “What others?” London asked.

  Zen and Tora answered in unison. “The dreamers.”

  THEY RATTLED UP the abandoned ranch road, slowing to move around the patches of overgrowth that swallowed chunks of the concrete whole. They had a general direction figured out, which would have to be enough for now. Once Zen had some time to process that his ex was not dead, but a backstabbing traitor, they would ply him for the rest of the details on how to find the Mesa Camp.

  “So that’s how they’ve been finding us over and over again,” Kim speculated. “Avery’s been helping them all along.”

  “Looks like it, though we still don’t know how exactly,” Tora said.

  “That bitch!” Kim spat.

  “Hey!” London said with a thump to the back of his head. She nodded sidelong toward Zen’s hunched figure in the back of the truck.

  “Sorry,” Kim muttered.

  “You should go back there,” Tora said to London. “He needs you right now.”

  London hunkered between Kim and Tora and chewed at her bottom lip. “I know. But he’s going be so pissed when the shock wears off. I can hardly stand to look at him. I feel terrible.”

  “You were trying to spare him,” Tora said. “He’ll understand.”

  London exhaled and ran her fingers through the dark tangles that had grown to the middle of her back. Tora tried to talk her into a trim, but she’d seen the hack-jobs Outroaders liked to give one another in the name of hygiene and misguided fashion, and she was not about to let the Seer near her with a pair of scissors. She pulled her hair over one shoulder, plaited it into a loose braid and secured it with some elastic she kept in a pocket. Then, she climbed over the seat to be the friend Zen needed her to be, for once.

  “Hey,” she said quietly as she seated herself next to him on the floor.

  “Hey,” he replied, refusing to look up.

  “It’s okay if you hate me,” London told him. “I deserve it.”

  Zen raised his head and leaned it against the truck wall. “I don’t hate you,” he replied without looking at her. “I don’t know what to feel right now.”

  London plucked at her sleeve.

  “Did everyone know except me?” he asked.

  “Pretty much,” London answered. At first, only she, Rye, and Tora had been privy to Avery’s deception. Rye and London because they were the ones to discover Avery in New Eden, living like a prized parakeet in a gilded cage. Tora because her Sight had revealed the truth to her as they searched. Eventually, Tora told Kim.

  “Do you know how stupid that makes me feel?” Zen curled and uncurled his long fingers.

  “God, Zen. I’m so friggin’ sorry. You’re not the stupid one. I am. I just didn’t know how to tell you. If it hurt me so much, how were you going to take it? And then we lost Rye. And I couldn’t see past my own pain to figure out how to handle telling you. And if I could spare someone else even a fraction of what I was going through—well, it seemed right at the time.” London twisted around to face him. She wanted him to see how emphatic she was, how sincere.

  “I get it,” he said, nodding. “Did she…did she say why?” he asked now, his voice cracking.

  London’s heart broke for the giant boy with the poet’s soul. “Something about not being able to live like that anymore. She said coming here was a mistake.”

  “She can say that again,” he muttered. “This whole thing is a joke. We’re trapped, that’s all. We can’t help these people. We can’t save this place. We left everything behind—everything we knew, everything we were. And for nothing.”

  Zen and Kim had been piecing more and more of their Others’ memories together over the past several months. They were both struggling lately to make heads or tails of who they were in the Astral versus who they were here, and how any of it could make a difference.

  London took Zen’s hands in her own. “Don’t say that
. Don’t give up, Zen. We were too wise, too powerful, as shamans to have made a decision we didn’t believe could work. We wouldn’t have left our own kind for nothing. Would Geode really do that? Would he have left his people and his world to come here on a whim?”

  Zen’s Other, Geode, was a feline humanoid who showed up in the Astral covered in white fur and wearing a blue hooded robe. He was statuesque and unlike anything London had seen in this world or the Astral before. She didn’t think it a coincidence that both Zen and his Other had such powerful physiques.

  Zen looked at London. “No. He wouldn’t. But you know as well as I do that they never anticipated how difficult this transition would be.”

  He was right, of course. Si’dah herself had admitted how much they had miscalculated. It had taken them too long to rediscover their true selves, and they were nearly as new to the Astral now as the kids in the camps who were dreaming for the first time. They’d only just remembered their purpose here within the last year.

  Still, all of that would have been a cake walk if it hadn’t been for one thing: Avery. Her betrayal was the only miscalculation that had really cost them. Because of Avery, they were exposed, hunted. Because of Avery, everything—their plans, their cover, their relationships, were ruined.

  “I know,” London told him. “But look at it this way—we’ve already accomplished half of what they set out to do simply by being here. Because of us, people are dreaming again, even if they do think it’s a disease. That’ll change with time. It’s a beginning. And if we don’t do this, if we don’t at least give those Tycoon bastards a run for their rations, then we make her right. We justify what Avery did. Is that what you want?”

  London couldn’t believe her own ears as she recited her pep talk. Wasn’t she the one who was always disgusted by what they were? Wasn’t she the one who had been beating herself over the head for more than a year with the notion that she was some kind of pariah infecting innocent people? But she knew as she said the words to Zen, they were true. This needed to happen. The dreaming needed to come back. The Astral needed a way back into this world, and they had been it. At least that much had been accomplished.

  Zen lifted a hand to London’s face, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. The intimacy in the gesture made her a little uncomfortable, but a fire was burning in his eyes that she’d never seen and she didn’t want to be responsible for putting that out.

  “Hell no,” he said.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  Secrets

  LONDON WAS BEGINNING to hate the dark. With a Tycoon convoy searching for them, they’d decided against a fire. A few howls and yips pierced the night in the distance. Even without the light, dogs could scent them. The Houselands that surrounded the walled cities were populated by packs of feral dogs, and in New Eden the Tycoons had bred some kind of guard dog as living weapons, but these sounded like the wild whines of ordinary coyotes. They weren’t half so aggressive as the feral dog packs, but they could still be trouble. After what happened to Rye, London wasn’t fond of any kind of canine.

  “I hate dogs,” she muttered.

  “I’ve always been fonder of cats myself,” Zen said with a chuckle. His spirits had improved considerably since that morning.

  “You would, Geode,” London teased. She wondered if there were dogs in Geode’s world.

  “We’ll be safe sleeping in the truck,” he reassured her. They’d copped a squat under the stars for a while to give Tora and Kim a little privacy.

  “What do you think they’re doing in there?” London asked. “They take forever.”

  “Well, if it’s anything like what Maggs and I did last week, we’re in for a long night.”

  “Gross, Zen!” London pretended to barf. “Spare me the details.”

  “Fine,” he agreed, “but only if you tell me something in exchange.”

  “Anything.” London grinned at him. His profile was pale and magical in the moonlight. Zen had always been a looker.

  “What’s her world like?” he asked, suddenly serious.

  “Si’dah’s?” London didn’t like where this was going. It was a conversation just like this one that had led to her and Rye’s first kiss.

  “No, the Queen of Old-England’s.” Zen cut his eyes at her. “Of course, Si’dah’s.”

  A year ago, this subject was taboo. But by now, they’d all had long looks at one another’s Others. There weren’t many nights that went by that didn’t find them in the Astral, training with Hantu-Degan and puzzling over how they could overpower the Tycoons. It was a slow, halting process. They hadn’t made much progress, not nearly as much as they needed in order to face the Tycoons. After Avery’s defection was made public Astral knowledge, they’d decided against meeting with the rest of the Circle again. Instead of visiting the safe and sacred space of the grove, Hantu was training them alone in the abandoned meadows and misty Astral plains. But Hantu was limited himself. There were a few well-placed holes in his own memory and being trapped there made him only half the teacher they needed. Everything was grand in the Astral. They felt infinite and strong, but as soon as they woke up here, the reality slipped and they were just a bunch of human kids with little to no control. Pulling the Astral into this world was proving harder than they ever thought.

  London took a deep, conceding breath. She was trying to keep Zen stable after the shock he’d faced that morning. And she had nothing to hide. Not anymore. “It was beautiful. Verdant,” London told him.

  “Green,” he said dreamily.

  “Yes.”

  “Like the Outroads?”

  “Different,” she said. “Thicker. Wetter. More vivid. There was no distinction. No walls anywhere. We had our territory, but really, the whole place—it was our home.”

  Zen rolled to his side and propped his head on an elbow, facing her. “What else?”

  “There were no wars.”

  “There are no wars now,” he said. “No one to fight when the Tycoons own everything.”

  “There was no ‘own’,” London told him. “We didn’t have concepts like that. Mine. Yours. Everything was shared. Everything was ours.”

  “Sounds perfect,” he said with a sigh.

  “Not at all. But it was a heap better than this mess.” She shrugged.

  “Were they all like Si’dah?” he asked her.

  “No. Only a Si’dah can travel. Only those born with the black eyes.”

  “You mean, there’s more than one Si’dah?” Zen sat up.

  London tugged a curl. “It’s a title, not a name. It means Traveler. Every clan or tribe, whatever you want to call it, had their own. Always born among the females.”

  “So what was your real name then, when you were there, before you became the Si’dah for your tribe?”

  Uh-oh. Now this was encroaching on forbidden territory. London had never told anyone her name before she became known simply as Si’dah. Not even Rye. She remembered, in her world before this one, that Si’dah had been expected to give that name and identity up completely once she took her mentor’s place as Traveler. Even here, in this new body, among this new world, she felt like she was breaking a rule.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Zen said, shrinking back. His eyes went soft as pussy willow catkins and his shoulders rounded.

  London shook her head. She had never been one to follow rules, not here anyway. Si’dah would just have to understand. “Anya,” she said quietly and the world didn’t stop spinning and the sky didn’t break open. She looked at Zen and exhaled, a smile brightening her face. “My name was Anya.”

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Like you.”

  London blushed. Nobody had talked to her that way since Rye. Even Rye hadn’t really talked to her that way. But he looked at her like Zen was now, all hunger and admiration. London didn’t know what was more disconcerting, getting that kind of attention from Zen, or liking it. “Your turn, cat-man,” she quipped, breaking the tension between them.

  A
stirring breeze tousled his blond hair, which was long and barely curling around his face. The humidity covered his skin in a dewy sheen that made him practically glow. London tried not to notice.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  “Did you live in giant cities made of scratch posts and litter boxes? Did you play with balls of yarn?” she asked laughing.

  Zen grinned and shook his head. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a wicked tongue?”

  London shrugged, playing along. “Sure. A couple of guys behind Dogma. And this hot redhead I made out with one time when I was going through a bi-curious phase.”

  Zen feigned shock. “London? Bi-curious? No!”

  They both started laughing then. “I can’t believe you even have the nerve to give me hell about Maggs and the others,” he said bumping her shoulder with his own. “After all your Dogma conquests.”

  “Hey! That was different,” London insisted.

  Zen laughed again. “Really? How?”

  “I didn’t sleep with them for one. I was just—you know—kind of a make-out whore. And that was before…” She didn’t finish. She felt the flush of their fun and the heat of the night drain out of her at once, leaving her with only the cold truth again. He was lost to her. Gone. Maybe never coming back.

  “Before Rye,” Zen finished for her.

  London nodded.

  “You deserve better than that, you know.” His voice was small as he said it, but deliberate.

  London jerked her head up, looking at Zen curiously. “What are you saying?” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “He gave his life to save mine, Zen.”

  Zen wouldn’t look at her. He scrambled to his feet. “Things aren’t always what they seem, London. Avery taught us that.”

  He held a hand out to her. “Come on, it’s late. Time to get back to the truck.”

  London stared at his hand for a long moment. What was Zen implying? What did he know about Rye that she didn’t? Rye had been her best friend, but was she his? He and Zen were tight. Were there things Rye told him that he never shared with her? Maybe about her?