“Why?” Ezra wisely touches the laptop as if it were an iPad and enlarges the image so that we can see what they are doing in detail. Levi swats his hand away and takes the picture wide again.
“I’m guessing it’s tranqs,” I say. “I did wonder about the numbers. So many Karekins coming through all the Rifts on our Earth, but none of them ever surviving. It’s like they have an endless supply. They don’t, obviously—they just make more. I can’t believe I didn’t put it all together before.”
“Which parts?” Ezra asks. This time he’s not being a dick. He’s just genuinely curious.
“I guess I thought that somehow, the Roonish Earth was unique in an infinite number of Earths, but statistically that’s impossible. There are other Roone Earths, of course there are. There have to be. There are just no other altered Roones. Although technically, since it is the Multiverse, there could be.”
Levi follows my logic. “And . . . no other Roones besides the altered ones have ever, not once, Rifted to our Earth.”
“Not one,” I say as we all watch the Spiradaels bring up their rifles. The Roones begin to scream. “We know now that the Rifts on our Earth don’t open at random. That’s why we’ve never seen a normal Roone Rift to our Earth.” As I say these words aloud I let them sink in.
How many people have I hurt? Have I killed because of the Rifts? It all could have been prevented. What am I even thinking? I could have been prevented. There was never any global threat to our Earth. Except of course, from the altered Roones. I sigh deeply. I have to lock those thoughts away. I can’t feel this. I can’t think about this. I clear my throat.
“They’re going to tranq the men and kill the woman,” I say grimly. Sure enough, the four men are hit with darts from the front line. The line separates. Ten take two steps to the left, ten take two steps to the right. A lone gunman from the second row aims and fires a bullet into the female’s head. The screaming stops and everything is silent again.
“How did you know that was going to happen?” Ezra asks.
“Because I’ve never seen a female Karekin. Have you?”
Chapter 25
We run, hard and fast, through the trees that reach out like finger bones, our uniforms protecting our skin from the needles on their branches—faded green porcupine quills that whisper “hush” when we pass them. We have little time, so we push it, the pads of our feet barely touching the uneven ground beneath us. Ezra cannot keep up, which is definitely for the best. He’ll join us eventually, hopefully when the fighting is over.
We explode out of the trees onto the path directly in front of the Spiradael Citadels. We heard them, Levi and I. They had long, light strides, but still we heard them, over our own breaths and from a distance. But they did not hear us. The Roones haven’t given them that particular gift. I wonder if, when they find out the truth about who the alternate Roones really are, if that will mean anything.
Expecting an immediate show of force, I drop my pack swiftly on the ground the moment I see the unit, but they don’t attack. They look at us curiously, probably wondering how we got through the Rift without being detected. We’ve caught them by surprise and so I take the opening they’ve given us to try to reason with them. They need to hear what I have to say.
“We’re all Citadels! Look at my patch!” I say in Spiradael, speaking calmly with my hands stretched out, hoping the similarities in our patches will give them even the briefest pause as some kind of proof. “The Roones have been lying to you. We’ve come to tell you the truth—”
With lightning-quick speed, before we can even reach for our own guns, the five Spiradaels in the front of the group separate and whip out their long black braids. Most of the Karekins manage to dodge the razor hair in time, but one of them does not. The hair whips around his throat, and the Spiradael gives a quick tug. The Karekin’s thick neck is broken and then sliced so that his head, mostly decapitated, falls to his shoulder.
So much for diplomacy.
I take out both of my new Roonish guns and manage to shoot three Spiradaels in the skull before I have to roll to dodge a spray of bullets. I try to keep track of the others. Levi shoots four, and the Karekins take out seven more. That means there are only six left. I hear Ezra crash through behind us. He runs to the large floating platform and crouches, with his gun aimed and ready to fire. I’m sure with us moving so fast he’s afraid he’ll shoot one of us. He’s going to see, right now, with sickening accuracy, just how out of his league he is here.
I deliberately get close enough to one of the Spiradaels so that we can actually fight. I want to knock him out and take him with us, yes, but I also want to see what these Citadels can do. The hair is a thing, of course, but this isn’t Avatar—it doesn’t move on its own—so unless I’m planning on standing there so he can choke me with it, it won’t do much good in close combat.
I am right up next to him now. His skin is the color of the pages in an old book, faded, not yellow, more of an ecru. He is at least two feet taller than me. Every joint on his skinny frame looks nobbled, the way arthritics’ hands and elbows sometimes do, but I don’t think this pains him. The larger joints may give him a greater range of motion and therefore a farther reach. He regards me with jet-black eyes absent of pupils.
Creepy.
I wait for him to throw the first punch. I want him to be on the offensive so I can study his fighting style. His left fist reaches out with alarming speed as he attempts a right hook. Shit he’s fast. Not faster than me, though. I continue to move out of his way, my forearms blocking whatever punches he’s landing when I’m not ducking and swaying beneath his arms, which are almost too fast for my eyes to track. No feet. No legs. He doesn’t kick.
But I do.
He moves in to take another swing at me, but I catch his hand, crushing his slender wrist as I do. I expect the bone to break, but it doesn’t. As fragile as these Spiradaels seem, their bodies are actually much denser than they appear. I use all my strength and clamp down harder until I hear a snap and then I kick out, my foot connecting to his stomach as he goes hurtling through the air. He lands on his back but is up again faster than I can get to him. I judge the distance between us and take off, using the power in my thighs to sprint, and then I leap, wrapping my legs around his neck and squeezing his throat with deadly intensity as I pull him down.
His black eyes widen in surprise. I’m sure he’s fought a few baddies from the Rift, but nothing like me and he knows it. He tries to get my thighs away from his neck with his hands, but I am much stronger than him. I ease the tension ever so slightly so I won’t kill him, but even then he can’t shake me. I know nothing of Spiradael physiology, but I think I’ve probably bruised his windpipe to a significant degree. I untangle my legs but keep my arms on him, using all my weight to pin him, but there isn’t much he can do. He still can’t get any air. He’s not even trying to get me off of him. I sit up. I’m straddling his chest now. I can feel his bony rib cage through my uniform.
“Listen to me,” I say loudly in his own language. “I am a Citadel. But they did more to me. They enhanced more of my genes. They are lying to you. Do you understand me? They’re giving you drugs to brainwash you!” His pale face is turning purple. I think I may have injured him more badly than I intended, and his eyes, deep and black, are impossible to read. I don’t know if I’m getting through to him at all.
I feel a sharp pain at my neck. I can’t see it, but I know what this is—hair. I quickly reach down to my calf, pulling out my long bowie knife, and start hacking away at the braid, even though it’s tearing the flesh of my palms to shreds. It takes a few breathless seconds, but eventually I cut myself loose. I keep my hands on the braid and pull, using all my strength to quickly yank the black hair forward, and the Spiradael it’s attached to comes flying over.
I jump out of the way so that I can guide his tall slender body as it lands firmly facedown on top of the other Spiradael. I still have the braid in my hand and I use it to hog-tie him togeth
er. The bind won’t last but it’s good enough for now.
“I have two!” I scream. “Kill the rest, let’s go!” I hear gunshots, but I keep my focus on the squirming Spiradael that I have a hold of, one elbow on his neck and my other hand locking his legs in place. “Ezra! Grab the packs,” I shout, and then watch as he dodges quickly out from the floating table to retrieve both my and Levi’s things, strapping one pack on his front and the other on his back.
I’m about to tell the cuff to open a Rift to the Roone Earth, when Vlock is shot right between the eyes. His massive body falls to the ground with a thud. I stare for a moment, shocked that I can feel anything besides hatred for a Karekin, let alone regret.
“Uhhh . . . Ryn?” Ezra says in a voice that is quiet enough for me to know that he’s too scared to yell. I look around and see Spiradaels everywhere, hundreds of them, running at breakneck speed from every direction. What happened? I didn’t hear any of them call for backup. There must be cameras. But where? In the trees? Not even we surveil every inch of the roads leading to the base. It must have been their drones, which I didn’t see or hear. I was thinking human technology. Stupid. They might not be as advanced or stealthy as SenMach tech, but obviously they’re cloaked enough for us not to have noticed.
There are only two Karekins left and the three of us. Five against hundreds. There’s no way we can fight. We’ll have to open a Rift and hope we can fling ourselves through before they get to us. I use the handle of my knife to hit the Spiradael I have tied up hard enough to knock him unconscious, while I leave the other one, still gulping and wheezing, on the ground. We don’t need two—even one might be a liability—but I am not leaving here without him. This can’t have been for nothing.
I pick him up and heave him over my shoulders, but it’s too late. A bullet hits me square in the chest, sending me staggering back, knocking the wind out of me. It didn’t penetrate the suit, but shit, it hurts. More shots come at us and then the Spiradaels are only a few feet away. I try to use the Citadel I have on my shoulder as cover, but he’s heavier than he looks and my chest is burning.
We aren’t going to make it anywhere.
And then the barrage of bullets stops, or at least, they stop shooting us. I’m panting, trying to breathe through the pain and bruised ribs. The rapid fire continues, but the Spiradaels have stopped aiming at us. Bewildered, I look to the direction they are shooting. The sky. What? I stare up, craning my neck as I attempt to see over the Spiradael I have slung over my shoulder. There are dozens and dozens of them up there in some kind of formation coming right for us.
Angels.
No—Faida.
I don’t see a single one fall to the ground, so miraculously—and yes, I get what that word means in this context—none of them have been shot. They shift their flying direction all at once, like a massive murmuration, and begin to land around us, the dry, cracked earth trembling beneath our feet as they do. They are beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking. Their wings are massive, as wide as they are tall, in various shades of black, ivory, and gray. All of them are at least six feet tall with wavy copper or blond hair. Their eyes are piercing blue, but unlike Ezra’s, which are more turquoise, theirs are the color of ice caps.
Two of them immediately surround me, their wings creating a feathered cage, which must be bulletproof somehow, though aerodynamically I don’t see how that’s possible. Then again, the Faida are flying people, so anything could be possible.
I hear a loud careening whistle, which is unmistakably coming from the Faida themselves. It’s an alarm like a migraine letting me know they don’t belong to this Earth. There’s also a faint buzz, like an electrical kiss, coming from their wings. Instinctively, I reach my hand out and brush my fingers against them. The field around the pure white feathers ripples and glows in a neon grid before quickly disappearing. It makes sense. The wings are cool as hell but an obvious target, so the Roones gave them a shield. A bulletproof vest for their wings with no extra weight. Neat trick.
I look up, right into the eyes of the Faida in front of me. He’s so gorgeous, he doesn’t even look real. He looks like Charlie Hunnam but hotter, if that’s even possible.
“Do you speak English?” I whisper. No answer.
“Do you speak Roonish?” I ask again. This time, I hear his pulse rate go up. That’s triggered something. He looks down at me in all his insanely gorgeous glory and whispers in my ear. The first thing I think is, Jesus, I am so grateful that I don’t have the Blood Lust because this guy would be toast. Then I think, He knows Roonish. Is he working with them? Or against them?
“If you can open a Rift, human girl child, you must do so, right now.”
“You can’t open one yourselves?” I ask incredulously. The fact that he can’t open a Rift somehow is shocking. Also shocking? He called me a “girl child.”
I kind of bristle at that.
“Obviously not, or I would not have asked,” the Faida says. He seems to be bristling, too.
Well. That’s interesting.
“Rift. Pandora,” I say over the near-deafening gunfire. We need to get out of here immediately, but I’m not taking these guys anywhere near the Roonish Earth.
I hear the sonic boom of a Rift opening instantly. I can also now hear that the discordant hum sounds different from the last one I heard coming here. Well that’s certainly fun and new but hardly important right now.
The Faida behind me pulls the Spiradael off my shoulders.
“Don’t do that!” I holler in Roonish. “I need him. I need to question him.” The female Faida raises an eyebrow at the male who is still holding on to me. He nods, which I can only assume means that she will do as I’ve asked. While still clutching on to his limp body she crouches into position as if getting ready to launch. The Faida in front of me grabs hold of my waist with more urgency and pulls me close to him so that my face is buried in his chest. He’s so quick and efficient that I’m not one hundred percent positive I could break free even if I wanted to. After all, the Spiradaels are everywhere, and right now, assuming the winged Citadels have snatched the rest of my team (I have to hope they would because it’s looking like they need us just as much as we need them to get out of here), the Faida are our best chance at escape.
In seconds we are off the ground. I feel another bullet hit my leg, but for the most part my uniform and the Faida’s wings protect me. I frantically whip my head back and forth, trying to see past the flurry of feathers, and I’m beyond relieved when I see that another Faida has Ezra and the packs. Also, slightly ahead of us and to the right, a male Faida has Levi.
Below us, the remaining Karekins lie motionless on the ground. The Faida did not protect them with their Tron wings and I feel another pang of regret. Maybe Ezra had been right. Maybe we should have come in with a full company. Doing so might have escalated things before we were ready, but at least Vlock and his men might not have died, and maybe we could have actually made it back without now having to deal with this new unknown equation of the Faida.
We nose-dive in the air through the Rift. I no longer hear ambient birdsong. Instead, I can pick out the millions of individual notes as they play on the inside of my eardrum. The Faida does not let me go; if anything, he holds on tighter, and I uncomfortably wonder why.
It’s not like I can escape. We are all going to the same place. Is he so sure I’ll fight him the minute we emerge? Well I might, but he did just save my life, so I’d probably talk to him first. I guess he wouldn’t know that, though.
I close my eyes. The music of the Rift runs through my entire body. The Faida smells annoyingly good, like mint and teak. Do angels lie? Yes, they do if they’re Citadels. I wonder what story he’s going to spin when we get through the Rift—if he cares to spin one at all. They have the numbers, but apparently not the technology. I don’t know what they were doing on the Spiradael Earth, but clearly they were trapped there. Unless that, too, was a lie to see what we’ve acquired on our travels and possibly to observe me a
nd my special singing genes near a Rift.
I think that maybe getting to the truth will be far more difficult than it was when I walked onto the Roone Earth and it was basically served up like a Christmas dinner. I haven’t yet read the files that Doe hacked, so maybe Iathan, with his covetous looks and condescending manner, is not telling the truth at all. I suppose the real question is, how far am I willing to go to get it?
When we arrive at whatever Earth the computer has chosen for us, there will be fight or there will be a discussion. Am I willing to kill all these gorgeous beings to get to the answers I need?
Yes I am.
It might take a different approach. I might have to act dumb. I might have to play at being a “human girl child.” Maybe the Faida, with his movie-star good looks, was just using that term as a show of dominance and he doesn’t really see me as a girl at all. And now that things are so fucked up with Ezra, I’m not above flirting or even spy-banging one of these hotties if that’s what it takes to get what I want, either. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do and any length I wouldn’t go to, because the game has changed. The altered Roones don’t just have an army at their disposal, but armies of armies. I dipped my toe into the waters of diplomacy. I’ve taken up reason and logic instead of taking aim. It’s felt good to feel like something other than a weapon, or at least a different kind of weapon. But all that has changed. Rules will be broken. Lies will be told. Alliances will hold only so long as they benefit us.
I see the white slit of the Rift’s exit and feel its gravitational pull. The music will end soon. The Pandora Earth is seconds away. We may have a new partnership with the Faida, giving us the advantage we desperately need. Or, because we have not taken them to the Roonish Earth, or the Citadel base on our own human one, they may well try to kill us. This could be the end.
But if it is, I’m sure as hell not going down without a fight.
The Rift Frequency Page 31
