“Which is?”
“The city is rioting. All over Outtown. Just like she told them to.” She realized they were all still here. “You didn’t follow orders?”
“You were in trouble,” Ajiñe said.
“We weren’t about to leave you,” Mensi added. “Orders or not.”
Nália pulled herself to Wenthi’s feet, watching him get up as well.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “You know that.”
“A lot of people are going to get hurt out there,” Nália said. “She . . . she was talking about the fires, wasn’t she? The ones I saw.”
“I think so,” Nicalla said. “That seems a good thing to rise up over.”
“So she’d rather start more fights than save people?” Wenthi asked. “You felt what she felt. Joy in the chaos.”
“This isn’t sitting right with me,” Nália said.
“How so?” Ajiñe said. “We’re listening. I don’t fully understand this stronger power you have with the mushroom, but I believe in it.”
“And in you,” Mensi said.
Nália wanted to cry. First, because of the trust and love they all showed her. But then, because she knew that trust and love was built on Wenthi’s deceit. They loved the Renzi Llionorco he had pretended to be. She needed to be worthy of that.
“Think about how this works. It’s still filled with secrecy. Still one way.”
“No, no,” Nicalla said. “We communed with her. We felt her.”
“But who is she?” Fenito asked. “I mean, yeah, I felt that . . .”
“Bliss?” Gabrána offered.
“Yeah, bliss, and that blinded me to it, but . . . I still don’t know anything about her.”
“And we don’t have a voice with her, do we?” Mensi said. “Like, it’s still her broadcasting orders, and we’re in the dark.”
“What actually changed, with the ritual and the Inner Circle?” Ajiñe asked. “Or was that just a—”
Gabrána fumed. “I said it the other morning, didn’t I? No answers, not really. And we’re still expected to follow instructions, blindly. They sexed us up just to—”
“A distraction,” Nicalla said quietly. “A balm to make us feel like we mattered.”
Gabrána snapped her fingers. “Like we have a voice in this. But it seems like we don’t, and I do not like that.”
A realization came to Nália. What needed to happen. “I want to talk to her,” she said. “I want an actual conversation with Varazina.”
“That’s not possible.” Gabrána said. “Right?”
“Maybe it is, for me,” Nália said. “I came close right now, reaching into the broadcast. Maybe I just need to amp up my power.”
“How?”
The answer was obvious. “Go as fast as possible. I’ll get on my cycle, and—”
“Whoa, no,” Wenthi said. “You saw what happened with that connection. We do that while riding, we—”
“You passed out,” Ajiñe said. “You can’t get on a cycle.”
“It’s just this body,” Nália said. She would hardly cry if she got Wenthi killed in the attempt. Worst case, she’d be back in the ice room. “I go fast enough, I leave it behind—”
“I’m a little fond of that body,” Fenito said.
“Same,” Gabrána said.
“Well, I’m doing it,” Nália said as she went to the door. “Unless you have a better idea—”
“Wait.” Ajiñe’s hand was on her shoulder. “I think I do.”
56
This isn’t going to be anywhere near as fast as my cycle,” Nália said. “I could get over three hundred on a flat highway run.”
“And end up a taco,” Ajiñe said. “Not gonna let you do that. This is safer, if anything is going to work.” She took Nália’s hand and pulled her up into the bed of the truck.
They had loaded the mattress in the bed, and Mensi and Gabrána climbed into the back. “If you’re going to do this, you won’t be alone.” They both took a dose of the mushroom.
“I can’t ask you—”
“You didn’t,” Fenito said. “But we’re here anyway.” He got in the cab and started up the truck. Nicalla climbed in with him, armed with a heavy shotgun and a nine-piece on her hip.
“I thought we never used guns.”
“You never bring guns on a run unless I give the order,” Nicalla said. “And I’m bringing them this time, just in case.”
“In case of what?” Wenthi asked. He had taken position in the bed of the truck. For better or worse, he wanted to do this as much as Nália said, but she knew at least part of his motivation was finding Varazina so he could turn her in. That wasn’t going to happen, though, she wouldn’t let it happen. She wanted to find out the truth, put some accountability on Varazina for the choices she was making in this leadership. But she still would respect the woman and what she had built.
“So here’s the plan,” Ajiñe said as Nália lay down. “The three of us are riding back here with you. Mensi and Gab will get in sync so they can stay anchored with you. If you get lost in—whatever it is you’re going to do, hopefully they can be there to help you find your way back. Fenito is going to get on the highway and open this truck up like no one’s business.”
“Gonna really let her fly.”
“He’s the best one we got for driving the truck. Nic stays in the cab there as an extra pair of eyes, and ready to ride gunner.”
“Even with the riots going on, you can bet a truck tearing down the highway will bring patrol raining on us,” Nicalla said.
“That it will,” Wenthi confirmed.
“If I have to hold them off, I’m ready,” Nicalla said.
“And you?” Nália asked Ajiñe.
Ajiñe held up the transistor radio. “Apply the signal. Plus I’ll be talking to everyone.”
“Always in command,” Nália said, cupping Wenthi’s soft hand on Ajiñe’s face. “Brilliant. Thank you.”
Nália lay back and accepted the mushroom-filled kisses from Gabrána and Fenito, and as the truck started rolling toward the highway ramp-up, and they both started caressing her. She wasn’t entirely sure if this aspect was necessary for what she was attempting to do, but she didn’t object. Though as both of their hands and mouths worked her, the three of them moving into sync, she became more and more aware of how different Wenthi’s body was from her own. She wished she could have been able to enjoy the two of them as herself.
Maybe someday.
Ajiñe straddled over Nália’s legs and held the radio close as the truck ramped up on the highway. And, as Fenito promised, he tore it up as soon as he got up there.
As soon as he did, the static from the radio hit like a hammer into Nália’s skull. She reached out and grabbed hold of it, like it was a chain, and pulled. But it didn’t budge. She pulled again, and while its signal, the frequencies, burrowed into her mind, she couldn’t get any purchase on it.
“Faster,” she managed to say.
“Open it up!” Ajiñe shouted.
“Patrol is already on us!” Nicalla said.
“What are they riding?” Wenthi asked. She felt his hands on her—on himself, oddly—and his strength took hold of the static chain as well.
“What are they on?” Nália grunted out. “The patrol?”
“Looks like Ungeke K’ams,” Ajiñe said.
“Can’t top one-sixty,” Wenthi said. “Get him to go harder.”
“We can beat them,” Nália said, through her teeth. She felt something tug at the chain—but now she could see deeper, and felt how it wasn’t a chain at all. It was a network of tethers, like a spiderweb, all connected. She pulled herself along it, aware of how Wenthi was right there, pulling along with her, the two of them giving strength to each other, and the drive to move forward.
It
was like riding a cycle through a storm.
She was vaguely aware of Mensi and Gab, echoes of their body, like a beacon back home as the network spread out in impossible directions. If she didn’t have them there, or Wenthi holding on to her, she would have been buffeted out into nothing, flying off into the ether of this connection that both was and wasn’t of the mushroom.
She felt it as both. The mushroom, an organic, living thing. It had breath and pulse that fell into sync with her heart—her own heart, still in her unconscious body in the ice room. But then there was the artificial crackling network of the radio waves, interlaced on top of that one. The two vibrations found sympathy, which resonated in her spirit.
But then a wave of emotion—anger, discord—crashed against her.
STOP
Like a brick wall. She would have lost her hold on everything if it wasn’t for her anchor points. Mensi and Gab. Wenthi. Her own body.
“Don’t listen to her!” Wenthi said.
Don’t do this. More pleading than anger. Let me guide you. This isn’t for you.
With the pleading, direction. Hints of dishonesty. Nália rode along the electric tether of frequency toward it, toward the light.
And it was a light. A shining light in the spidery static, of glory and beauty and unearthly perfection. The face of Varazina, goddess and spirit of all spirits.
Child, your work is not here, she said calmly. You are not strong enough for this. You are not made for it. You risk being destroyed.
She wavered for a moment, but then Wenthi’s hand laced with her own. Together, they reached out toward this face, and as they did, tiny cracks splintered its perfection.
“Talk to me!” Nália shouted. “Who are you to lead us? What do you want? Answer me!”
I want us to be free. I want us to strike back! I want you to fight those that have held us down! Restore the truth and beauty of Zapisia!
“Who are you?” Nália called out. The storm of the static intensified, and typhoon winds assailed her. She only held firm because Wenthi was there with her, holding her in place, while the distant thoughts of Gab and Mensi kept him in place. That line back to the body, to the material world.
Was that what Varazina was? A spirit that had completely left the real world? Did she exist only within the mushroom and the signal now? Was she everywhere and seeing everything because she was nowhere?
Now you see.
But the cracks in that perfect face had opened into fault lines, through which Nália sensed something else. Something just as real and solid and anchored as her own body.
She pushed forward into the cracks, but intense force and power fired back at her. The signal of it rocketed back down through Wenthi’s body in the truck. Pain and shock slammed into him, through Gabrána and Mensi. On the edge of the senses Nália still had in the real world, she felt them both fall out of sync with her, like they had been torn away. The last sensation she had from them was terror and agony.
“Renzi!” she heard Ajiñe call out, so very far away. “Stop it, you have to—”
Nália wanted to tell her no, they had to keep pushing, but she knew she couldn’t spare an iota of her concentration. All of what she was had to be focused on getting through those cracks, getting to the truth. It was so close now; it was a taste on her tongue. And the unearthly force pushing back on her, keeping her from that truth, was unceasing. She knew, if she relented now, she’d never get another chance. Varazina would be ready next time.
“Fenito, get off the highway, we have to—”
Wenthi was there. His will pushing with Nália’s, fully in sync with each other. He was able to spare enough focus, enough faint connection with his body, to say one word with his mouth, whispered to Ajiñe.
“Faster.”
They both felt Ajiñe’s tender hand on their cheek, a kiss on their forehead.
“Stay on. Burn the engine out.”
A surge of velocity flooded into them, up the chain, strength and power like they had never felt.
Together, Nália and Wenthi sent that speed, that power, at the vision of Varazina, and like a porcelain mask, it shattered. The spiderweb of static and frequency fell away, leaving them together, in a very real, physical, richly furnished room.
57
What is this shit?” Nália asked. She didn’t even know what she was seeing. In all her life, she had never seen a room like this. She didn’t even have the words to describe it, but the right words came from Wenthi.
The furniture—a bed with wooden posts and lace drapery, several cushioned chairs with embroidered pillows, a wooden table with gold and silver inlay—was not of Pinogozi design. Wenthi presumed they were Outhic, likely Hemish or Reloumic. Not a scratch or tear on any of it.
And the room was bright, light and airy due to the grand open window, with a balcony overlooking a view of the Pino Sound, glorious and blue. Nália had no idea where one could even see such a view.
Wenthi knew.
“This is Intown,” he said. “In the 1st or 2nd Senja.”
“Yes.”
They both saw the woman who had spoken, sitting in a cushioned wicker chair on the balcony. Her pale hand reached out and clicked off the radio next to her chair, which had just been playing low static. She slowly got to her feet, picking up a cane as she did, and walked over to them.
Nália didn’t understand what she was seeing. Or more correctly, she didn’t want to. This woman was milk pale, golden haired. Surprisingly young looking considering how she moved like an old woman. No. She moved like someone who was in constant pain.
“Determined, aren’t you?” she asked as she limped over. “I sensed that in both of you. I thought I had it in me to hold you back, but . . . well, here you are.”
“Both of us?” Wenthi asked. “You mean—”
“Yes, I’m aware of the both of you,” she said with a disgusted sigh. “Quite the trick you two have been doing. I don’t think Shebiruht even knew what she was making this time.”
“How do you know—” Wenthi started.
“Wait a shitting swipe,” Nália said. “Who is this llipe?”
“You haven’t figured it out, Miss Enapi?” she said, limping closer. Then her body shifted, into the flawless image of Varazina—perfect vision of timeless Zapisian beauty—and then back to the golden-haired, broken woman. “I’m who you fought so hard to find.”
Nália couldn’t believe that. It was impossible. Too unthinkable to even put into her own words.
Wenthi did instead. “How is Varazina a llipe woman living lavishly in the center of Intown?” he asked.
“Lavishly is a strong word,” she said. “It’s a well-appointed prison, but still a prison.”
“This is no prison,” Nália spat out. She looked around the room, spotting bits of food and luxury that no single person she knew could afford in a year. “Who are you?”
“I told you, Miss Enapi,” she said. “I’m the voice you heard on the radio, who gave the orders. Who touched your spirits and your bodies.” She ran a finger on Wenthi’s chest. Nália felt the charge of connection. “At least, to the extent I could, being kept in here.”
“But always through a mask,” Wenthi said. “Why the deception?”
The woman went over to the bed, her breathing labored. “I think you just have to look at Miss Enapi’s face to see the answer to that. She’s in absolute shock. The horror that a woman like me might be leading their revolution.”
“Like you?” Nália said. “A damned llipe? Or not even that? Are you some shitmouthed Reloumene here with our Alliance overlords? Is that what you are?”
“Oh, no, I was born here,” she said. “And to call me llipe is fair. That’s entirely why I get locked away in here instead of . . .” She gasped for breath, crawling onto the bed. “I am just as much a victim, though, as any of you.”
“That’s some bullshit,” Nália said.
The woman rang a bell as she struggled for breath. “You’ll forgive me. I had already exerted myself quite a bit before you two pulled that stunt. So I am quite spent right now.”
An old woman—a servant, clearly, by the style of her dress, and either baniz or jifoz by her complexion—came in.
“What do you need, Miss Penda?” she asked.
“Bring me the doctor,” the woman said. “I am very shaken right now.”
“Right away, miss.” The servant left.
“This doesn’t make any damned sense,” Nália said.
“Penda?” Wenthi asked. “That’s impossible.”
The woman smiled weakly. “It’s not, Mister Tungét, I’m sad to say.”
“What?” Nália asked.
“She’s not just a llipe,” Wenthi said. “She’s Penda Rodiguen. The granddaughter of the tyrant.”
58
Guilty as charged,” Penda said.
“No, no, no,” Nália said. For a moment, they flashed back to the truck—racing at absurd speeds with a dozen patrol on cycles chasing after them, smoke pouring out of the engine. They couldn’t go much longer. Even with the anger building in her, waves upon waves, she forced herself to stay anchored in this shitty palatial suite with the horror of a woman who claimed to be Varazina.
“I often say that myself,” Penda said.
“The tyrant and most of his family were killed in the last bombing campaign,” Nália said.
“Most,” Penda said. “And the rest?”
“They were imprisoned—”
“And here we are,” Penda said, waving about the room. “Not the dreary cell in Hanez you imagined—or that we fucking deserved—but yet, my prison nonetheless.”
“But how?” Wenthi asked. “Even presuming you are Varazina, why? Why be her? And how? How could you do what you do on the radios, giving the orders, leading the Fists of Zapi?”
“The answer is coming into the room,” Penda said.
With crisp steps, a woman came into the bedroom, addressing Penda with a thick accent. “I hear you are feeling more peaked than usual, dear?”
The Velocity of Revolution Page 29
