Firebird (The Elemental Wars Book 2)

by K. Gorman

  The Earth Mage, Michael, was by far the worst. At least, Aiden and Sophia had hobbies. Aiden maintained ties with local and federal government and coordinated the Mages’ three power crystals into running Ryarne’s shield—a task made somewhat harder by the lack of compatible engine parts. Lost Technology, as its name denoted, was made of a specialized material found only on the Mages’ old world—something unable to be duplicated here on Terra. Aiden’s resources were somewhat limited, so he spent large amounts of time coercing normal steel, copper, and silicon-based parts into working with the shield engine.

  Sophia ran the Underground.

  Her Society ran like a governmental body made of former soldiers and ex-mobsters. Through their collaboration, the Underground had improved and expanded—tunnels dug and maintained, structures inspected and strengthened, electrical systems patched and rewired, plumbing fixed, pipes laid, maps charted, business transacted, and people housed, fed, and controlled.

  Well, mostly controlled.

  Underground policing was swift, brutal, and efficient. Roger, the man Mieshka and Jo were headed to find, acted as part field manager, part figurehead, and part assassin.

  Well, Mieshka only suspected that last part. Roger had a way about him that put people on edge. Maybe ‘assassin’ wasn’t quite right, but the word denoted the feeling she—and most everyone else—got from him.

  Everyone, the Water Mage excepted, reported to him. Little happened in the Underground that he didn’t know about.

  And, as the Underground’s only other Elemental, he was her only peer. A much scarier, deadlier peer.

  Jo took the lead. They’d turned onto a main artery, which had improved both the lighting and the air quality. Naked bulbs lined the top left corner of the tunnel, attached to a bundle of coated wires secured together by zip ties and bolted to the bricks. Two plastic pipes, one cream and one a pale, dirty blue, ran along the bottom left of the tunnel, occasionally rising to chest height as the passage dipped and turned.

  The flashlight in Jo’s hand swung like a baton.

  “How do you plan to find him?”

  Mieshka hadn’t been down this way before, but by the look of the tunnel—clean and well maintained, as far as Underground standards went—they must be closing in on the Core.

  Jo shrugged. “Usually, I just poke around in his business until he shows up.”

  Right. So she was going to pick a fight. Suddenly, Mieshka was very glad for the gun that pressed against the small of her back—even if it was empty. She wondered if its presence would make her an accessory to Jo’s aggression, or if her Elemental powers might inspire Roger to pick a fight with her instead.

  She repressed a shiver. As they walked, she ran through several contingency plans in case she really did become Jo’s accomplice in mischief. She hoped random acts of arson weren’t in today’s forecast.

  A draft lifted her hair. Ahead, the trail of lights ended in one that hung at the center of the tunnel, its blue lampshade marking the end like a line in a subway station. The tunnel ended in a clean-cut, well-hung doorframe—also blue.

  Beyond rose the Core.

  It had once been the center of Ryarne’s old city—something buried long ago to, she’d heard, solve a continuous flood problem. It sat under modern Ryarne’s Uptown, hidden beneath mounds of dirt, garbage, and a special kind of expanding foam filler. Even the records for the old city were buried. Sophia employed two clerks to search the municipal archives, poring through the lists, cataloging old documents, and looking for blueprints.

  They’d excavated mostly by feel, at first. Until Michael, the Earth Mage, had seen the potential in the old city.

  With his power, it had become a lot easier.

  He’d dug out the Core, using his Element to keep the structures supported until the Society could scramble enough manpower to erect physical, mundane supports.

  And, his single act of pseudo-charity accomplished, Michael had retreated to the underground home he’d made.

  And the Society had gone back to feeling its way through the dark.

  Fortunately, the housing shortage aboveground had provided a large number of desperate people willing to dig a home out of the ground.

  Refugees didn’t care what their house looked like, so long as it was located under Ryarne’s impregnable shield. Hell, many saw an underground home as advantageous—a ready-made air raid shelter.

  But the Core wasn’t just an excavated city. They’d wanted something to be proud of—something desirable to make up for the rudimentary facilities, the extreme inconvenience, and the bitterness of being rejected by those who lived above.

  Something that could, perhaps, legitimize the Society’s rule.

  The Core was cool. It was just like a real city—if you squinted a little and ignored the supports. And the lack of weather. It ranged between two and seventeen stories tall, holding its ceiling up with the tops of the tallest buildings and a complex framework of support beams, joists, and bridge cables. In its seven years of excavated life, it had expanded to an area nearly sixteen blocks squared, with bastardized, half-excavated branches shooting off at its peripheries.

  The most central, busiest streets enjoyed interior plumbing, grid-powered electricity, shops, restaurants, and an eclectic mix of building façades that were, on average, two hundred and thirty years old.

  It was a fun, safe, bustling community.

  Mieshka and Jo did not arrive in the center.

  Instead, they emerged near the edge. The dead zone.

  Cracked pavement twisted away from her feet, catching the light with a mix of rough edges and shiny, hasty patch jobs. The air smelled cold, stale, and tinged with the barest hint of cigarette smoke. The street was a mix of newer buildings—new being a term very loosely used in the Underground, since the youngest buildings were pushing seventy-five—and, even for Underground standards, it had a pretty dismal appearance. The edifice across the street had partially collapsed. Its roofline sagged down in one corner, the stucco underneath fissured and falling off. Hazard tape roped off the sidewalk below, and a dirty plywood board blocked its entrance, though she saw where it had been pried up.

  Farther down, a dirt-stained building extended to the end of the block, where the street dead-ended into a wall of rubble.

  Jo’s flashlight beam caught the bottom of the Core’s rafters. Dust and cobwebs hung down, swaying in a subtle draft. The beam pierced into the shadows above like a spear, and the inner rafters and supports gleamed like steel ribs. Their depth seemed shallower than usual.

  Maybe this was a shorter part of the Core.

  Jo swung the flashlight to a sign next to the tunnel’s entrance. At first glance, the spray paint looked like a gang tag—but the blue matched the paint on the lamp and door, and Mieshka realized that the lines and branches were actually a rudimentary map.

  “This way,” Jo said.

  She led them into an alley farther down the street, keeping the flashlight on as they left the streetlight behind. Lumpy garbage bags lined the right side, and Mieshka crinkled her nose as the smell of rot mixed in with the alley’s already dusty air. The Underground’s support rafters lowered between the two old buildings, the beams looking like railroad ties as they closed in, barely a foot above their heads.

  Good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic.

  They cut across the next street, making their way north.

  The Underground was quieter than she was used to. In the dim, artificially lit world of streetlights and storefronts, it was easy to forget that above it all, in the Upper City, it was barely two p.m. Most people were aboveground, working their jobs or going to school—or, since it was reading break, relaxing at the theater, shopping, and having fun.

  People didn’t live down here because they wanted to. They lived here because they had to. It was either come here or remain back in Terremain, living in fear of its shaky, uncertain shield, nightly air raids, and constant threat of invasion.

  Aboveground, Ryarn
e was a metropolis. It had all the comforts and modernity of a capital city. Underground? Beyond the cafés and essentials, it couldn’t offer much. Entertainment was usually streamed from the aboveground Internet.

  “So, where are we going?”

  Jo seemed sure of her path, walking unhurriedly along the sidewalks and up the streets. They passed a few people on the way, a couple of whom gave them curious glances. The Underground, while by no means small, had a close feel to it. The above city largely didn’t know that it was Mieshka who had lit the sky on fire three months ago, attributing the phenomenon to Aiden, the Fire Mage, or a malfunction in the city’s shield. Down here? Everyone knew. Many of them had even joined the attack launched by Roger’s police force.

  Mieshka didn’t think she’d been down here enough for people to recognize her face, but her orange hair made her rather conspicuous.

  “We’re heading for Society HQ, up on Northside,” Jo said.

  “Roger will be there?”

  “It’s the most likely spot. Otherwise, I’m sure we can find something to occupy our time.”

  “Something that may attract his attention?” Mieshka glanced up at the mercenary, not missing the mischief that danced in her eyes. Maybe random acts of arson weren’t out of the picture.

  Jo flashed a grin back at her. “I’ve trained you well.”

  “Perhaps we could loiter aggressively?” she suggested.

  “Maybe,” Jo mused. “Roger does tend to turn up when I wander into his haunt.”

  They turned a corner, and Jo checked her speed suddenly. Mieshka almost ran into her.

  When Jo next spoke, her voice was dry with sarcasm. “Of course, it rarely works this quickly.”

  A group of people crowded by the door of a building farther up the street. Tough people, by their look. Society, too. She wasn’t sure what pegged them as that in her mind—it’s not like they wore uniforms. In fact, they had a good mix of street clothes, everything from soft cotton hoodies to studded black leather.

  But the way they stood looked more like a wolf pack than a loosely formed crowd. And they all had the semi-serious look she’d come to expect from the Society, as if they weren’t merely loitering around the building’s entrance, but it was part of their job to do so.

  Voices drifted down the quiet street toward them, too distant to make out. Light streamed from the half-open door.

  By unspoken agreement, Mieshka waited behind Jo, watching. They hadn’t been noticed yet. Clearly, whoever was behind the doorway had all of the attention.

  “An engineer lives there. Nice guy. Cute. A bit too slow for me, bu—”

  Two shadows crossed the threshold, cutting off Jo’s murmur. A second later, Roger came into view. He stepped out of the door, head turned to speak with the person behind him. His group of watchdogs parted as he descended the steps.

  Mieshka didn’t recognize the woman who followed him out, but that didn’t mean much. She had little enough to do with the Underground as it was, let alone the Society that ran it. The woman, perhaps an inch shorter than Roger, had her arms crossed over her chest and an expression of long-suffering annoyance on her face. Her black hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and the fitted jacket she wore gave her an edgy, athletic air.

  Roger paused on the bottom step. From this far, the man didn’t look particularly dangerous. He had a mid-sized build—about level with Mieshka, height-wise—and, like Buck, Jo, and roughly eighty percent of Society members, he had a penchant for black clothing.

  The hat was a defining feature. Few could pull off the modern fedora without looking like a douchebag—especially in the halls of her high school. On Roger, the hat’s hard, well-defined edges and suave slant added a sheer, genteel cant to his appearance.

  “What’s that on his hand?” she asked.

  A cuff of white stuck out from under the black sleeve of his right arm, its light color practically glowing in the dim atmosphere.

  “Bandages, I believe.” Jo’s grin grew. “Roger’s been picking fights.”

  She pushed away from the wall. There was an extra swing in her stride as she walked toward the gathering.

  As they drew closer, it became obvious that Roger had done more than pick the fights.

  A thick line of bruising colored his left eye, the swelling almost closing it shut. He’d swapped his normal dress pants for dark gray sweats, and his usual long-sleeved shirt had a few conspicuous lumps under the sleeves that Mieshka suspected were more bandages. Even his hat had a dent.

  The woman noticed them first. She turned toward them as they approached, attention drifting from her conversation with Roger to fix on them. She stood a bit back from him, arms still crossed over her chest. A standoffish tilt stiffened her chin and back. Her feet splayed below her in a way that made Mieshka suspect she’d trained in martial arts.

  Roger followed her gaze back. If his injuries hurt him, she couldn’t tell. When he turned, his movement was as well-oiled and exact as ever. Too smooth, in fact, as if he were overcompensating for his blatant injuries by adding an extra layer of assassin-like creepiness.

  His mouth curled. A small cut split the corner of his lip. Despite the swelling, his eyes danced with danger.

  “Hello, Meese. Joanne.”

  Mieshka stiffened. She could almost feel Jo’s inhibitions unravel beside her. If she’d had any qualms about attacking an injured man, Roger’s words had just undone them. Few could use Jo’s real name and go unscathed, and Roger was not one of them. By the way he smiled, he might prefer it that way.

  Quiet settled over the alleyway in a tense, physical manner. The people around them didn’t speak. They barely breathed. All eyes watched Jo pause, just out of Roger’s reach, her arms crossed over her chest.

  The woman behind Roger took an unsubtle step back.

  Then, Jo grinned. “What happened to you?”

  Roger smiled without wincing, matching Jo’s grin.

  “Kitty happened.”

  “Kitty?” Mieshka perked up, scouring his wounds again. She’d run into the Electric Elemental three weeks ago, and they’d become fast friends. Was she back in Ryarne, picking fights with Roger? Had she left already? Or…

  Well, given Roger’s injuries, it looked like the fight had been more serious than Jo and Roger’s usual bruising match.

  She hesitated. “How—er—how is she?”

  Silence followed her statement. She felt the weight of Roger’s stare as he met her eyes, his expression neutral.

  Right. The two of them probably weren’t best friends. She hoped the street was too dark to show the sudden color in her face. Though, by the slight twitch of his lips—was he smiling?—she suspected they weren’t exactly enemies.

  “Quite spry. Able to leap into the rafters in a single bound.” Roger’s face softened. He glanced over to the woman behind him. “I hadn’t expected that.”

  Mieshka glanced up. The rafters were a good ten feet above them.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time you underestimated a woman,” Jo commented dryly.

  Roger smiled a small, dark smile. “I have never underestimated you.”

  By the tone of his voice, that comment was meant as an insult. Gradually, Mieshka became aware of the ever-widening circle around the two. Society members on all sides had backed up two steps, their eyes keen and alert. Only she remained within the circle. Tension thickened the air. Suddenly, every muscle in her body was rigid.

  Jo let silence fill her reply. With all the casualness of a cat, she uncrossed her arms and let them hang loosely by her sides. Already, she’d slipped into her fighter’s stance.

  She had seen Jo fight before. There was nothing indirect about her. She was unafraid, full of purpose. She’d brought down a room of armed men without firing a single shot, using only the savage butt of an assault rifle and a kind of wild, relentless fury. She’d come out bleeding, but victorious.

  Roger, by comparison, had a more subtle, vicious streak. She’d seen him throw kniv
es, but never punches.

  She’d never seen him bleed.

  Mieshka backed up a step, the rough, uneven ground making her stumble. A few Society members parted for her, no doubt recognizing her orange hair. The crowd absorbed her into its ranks.

  In the center, Roger and Jo squared off. Silence pressed in on the scene, heavy as a quilt. She could hear every slow breath, every rustle of cloth.

  Then, another shadow fell over the building’s threshold. The wooden doorstep creaked with an old, dry sound. They heard footsteps.

  The Water Mage walked out of the engineer’s home, head bowed over the screen of her phone. She navigated the first step while reading, but paused at the second. Glanced up.

  Her sharp gaze took in the scene: Jo, all muscle and attitude, her grin replaced with a blank, fight-ready mask; Roger, his intent as subtle as a knife’s edge, a hand already dropped to where Mieshka knew he hid his main blade.

  The Water Mage rolled her eyes and returned to her phone. “Oh, get a room. Meese? You’re with me.”

  Mieshka gaped as the Mage dropped down to the street. She walked right between Roger and Jo without looking up.

  Jo’s laugh was a single, savage beat. Even Roger seemed amused. His eyes were on Mieshka now, his smile more from laughter than menace.

  “Wh-what?” Mieshka turned to Jo.

  The mercenary shrugged. “You heard the woman. Ain’t nothing I can do.” Her eyes slid to Roger. “Roger and I have to get a room.”

  Her jaw opened further. She sputtered, dry air putting a chalky taste on her tongue.

  “Meese?”

  The Water Mage’s voice drifted back. She’d crossed the street, boots rhythmic and sure on the pavement, making a beeline for one of the more hospitable alleys along the street. As she slipped from light to shadow, her dark clothes made her nearly invisible against the dim, gritty buildings.

  With nothing left to do, Mieshka ran to catch up.

  Chapter 3

  Sophia cut through an unlit alleyway and led Mieshka a few blocks south on Cayman, never taking her eyes off her phone. Her steps were confident and sure, winding quickly through a broken series of twisting cross-streets and alleyways so dark and narrow that Mieshka could touch both sides at once.