Haven 6

by Aubrie Dionne

  “I thought you were dead,” Jolt growled from the cap­tain’s chair.

  Eri whirled around, feel­ing as though an icy hand clutched her heart. Jolt slumped in his chair, his face covered in shad­ows.

  Weaver stepped between her and Jolt. “You lucked out. I sur­vived.”

  “Only to take my secrets back to the vil­lage.”

  “They asked me noth­ing. It’s not their style to tor­ture and in­ter­rog­ate.”

  Jolt shif­ted in his seat, the plastic creak­ing. “Na­ive softies, don’t know what’s good for ’em. So they learned noth­ing of my plans?”

  “Zilch.”

  “And the code for the guns.”

  Weaver poin­ted to his head. “Right here.”

  Jolt held up Tank’s gal­lium crys­tal void ray, still shin­ing without a scratch. “Give it to me now and you’ll re­gain my trust.”

  Eri sup­pressed the urge to latch onto Weaver’s arm and tell him not to. Fear stalk­ing the edge of her con­scious­ness warned her not to draw at­ten­tion to her­self.

  “Six, six, four, five, nine.”

  Eri’s in­sides shriveled in de­feat. Jolt pressed the but­tons on the keypad and the laser buzzed to life. He poin­ted the gun straight at Weaver’s head and chuckled. “What’s to stop me from test­ing it out right now?”

  Weaver pulled Eri be­side him and she slanted back as far from his head as pos­sible, not want­ing his blood to spew all over her hair. “This girl here.”

  Jolt leaned for­ward into the light. He grinned and the scar on his fore­head glistened with a sheen of sweat. He lowered his laser. “What have you brought me?”

  “A lin­guist. Us­ing my know­ledge of the Guard­i­ans and her skills from the ship, we can de­cipher the sym­bols of the golden li­quid.”

  Jolt scratched his chin. “In­ter­est­ing. Very in­ter­est­ing.”

  Weaver placed his arm around her. “Now if you’ll ex­cuse us, I’d like to get right to those sym­bols in the cave.” Al­though Eri wanted to shrug his arm off like it was a co­bra, she re­mained still. In this par­tic­u­lar cir­cum­stance it was bet­ter to be with Weaver than against him. Weaver moved them both to­ward the ramp for the en­trance­way.

  “Hold on.” Jolt’s voice sliced the air like an ob­sidian blade.

  Weaver turned them around. “What is it now?” Al­though he soun­ded an­noyed, Eri could feel his fin­gers shake against her arm. Why would he ex­pose him­self to this man? This vil­lage? It made Striver and his ho­met­own seem like a dream.

  “Crusty will ac­com­pany you. You’ve helped me out, I’ll grant you that. And re­turned with a prom­ising piece of the game. But I still don’t trust ya.”

  “Fair enough.” Weaver bowed his head. His hair tickled the side of Eri’s cheek and she tilted her head away again.

  “And a mes­sage for pearl-berry curls.” Jolt’s gaze stung her com­pos­ure and her skin crawled with prickles. She wanted to flee from that hunk of junk space ship into the jungle and climb a tree to get away. “If you fail to de­cipher that code, I’ll have Crusty knit a nice sweater with your hair.”

  She must have winced be­cause he laughed at her re­sponse and waved his hand. “Out with ya. We don’t have all day.”

  They walked down the ramp and Eri pinched Weaver.

  Weaver shrugged his arm off her shoulders. “Ow, what was that for?”

  She grabbed him and pulled his ear close to her lips, whis­per­ing, “I can’t be­lieve what you’ve got­ten us into.”

  “Just de­code the sym­bols and you’ll be fine.”

  “Fine?” She wrinkled her nose at him. “After I de­code the sym­bols we’ll both be dead.”

  His voice fell to a whis­per. “Didn’t you hear me the first time when I said I had a plan?”

  “If you don’t tell me what it is, I can’t help either of us.”

  Weaver opened his mouth to re­spond, but Crusty met them at the bot­tom of the ramp and growled. “Looks like I’m your babysit­ter.”

  “More like warden,” Eri spat out, frus­tra­tion bub­bling up in­side her.

  Crusty smiled, un­deterred. “Whatever you want to call it. Come with me.”

  They stomped through dense jungle to the cave. Eri’s feet already hurt from the day’s trek, and now they swelled in her boots. She star­ted day­dream­ing about her sleep pod on the Her­it­age and had to re­mind her­self that she’d prob­ably never sleep in it again.

  If she wanted to be with Striver.

  It was a big if hanging on so much: her abil­ity to es­cape, what Com­mander Grier had planned, if they both sur­vived this plan­et­ary war. She needed to take her life one step at a time. De­code the sym­bols, get her­self out of the Law­less lands, and then think about her feel­ings for Striver. The seem­ingly in­sur­mount­able odds made her stom­ach churn with doubt.

  Just take it a day at a time. Step one: don’t get your­self killed.

  The last thing she wanted to do was crawl through the cave in­fes­ted with spi­derm­ites.

  Again.

  Eri braced her­self, sum­mon­ing cour­age from the deep­est corners in her heart. With Crusty’s spear stuck in the hol­low of her back, there was no way out of it. If she wanted to see Striver again, she had to de­cipher those sym­bols, or at least look like she was work­ing on it. Be­sides, the sym­bols had tickled the back of her mind ever since she laid eyes on them, and the lin­guist part of her wanted to know what they were.

  She entered the cave, fol­low­ing Weaver’s torch as it cast flick­er­ing shad­ows on the rock. Al­though she had more light to find her way, she de­cided she pre­ferred the dark. Every flicker showed cracks full of spi­derm­ites’ legs and walls crawl­ing with col­or­ful beetles and white worms squig­gling up trickles of wa­ter.

  The golden light leaked from afar, and she scrambled to­ward the glow. Crusty fol­lowed close be­hind, curs­ing the spi­derm­ites.

  The cav­ern looked like it had the night they’d in­vaded, with laser blasts black­en­ing the rock. Eri felt as though she’d taken ten steps back in­stead of for­ward. Just a few days ago, they were all free, and here she was now, a crumb in the Law­less’s jaws.

  Use your pre­dic­a­ment to your ad­vant­age. Re­mem­ber, you wanted to spy.

  Swirls in the li­quid fol­lowed her as she walked along the sym­bols. Eri couldn’t de­cide where to start.

  “Does any of it mean any­thing to you?” Weaver whispered.

  Eri cast a glance at Crusty. The old man found a hol­low in the rock and slumped down, whist­ling to him­self. To­gether, she and Weaver could take him, but first she needed Weaver on her side.

  “Not yet. Give me some time.”

  She knelt down and traced her fin­gers over a Y sym­bol with spikes com­ing out of the right side.

  Us­ing the sand around her feet, she began scrib­bling notes. “You told Jolt you knew the Guard­i­ans’ lan­guage. Show me what you know.”

  Weaver shrugged. “It’s not any­thing like these sym­bols. I only told him to keep my­self alive.”

  “Show me any­way.” Eri stared into his dark eyes, plead­ing. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  Weaver sighed and plopped down be­side her. “Okay. But we’ve got to make this quick. I’m not sure how much time Jolt will give us…”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Darkness Within

  Lav­ender blos­soms drooped to his knees un­der­neath a whis­per­ing breeze. The low har­vest sun cast the meadow in a sheet of am­ber gold. Weaver held a bou­quet, stems prick­ing his palm. His fin­gers bled as he re­moved every thorn. He sucked on his cuts, won­der­ing how he’d sum­mon the cour­age to speak with Riptide.

  Shouts from the vil­lage eld­ers car­ried on the wind as they set up the stalls along the main square of the vil­lage. He didn’t have much time. He sprin­ted down the slope to­ward the vil­lage, care­ful not to
dam­age any of the blos­soms. They had to look per­fect. Per­fect like her sharp fea­tures, the curve of her cheeks, and the shine in her dark hair.

  He ran through the vil­lage to Riptide’s fam­ily hut. He stuffed the bou­quet between his teeth and climbed the lad­der, his heart speed­ing. I can’t be­lieve I’m do­ing this.

  He’d waited all sum­mer to show her his feel­ings, bot­tling them up like pearl-berry juice. The fest­ive at­mo­sphere of har­vest time ex­cited him and gave him the con­fid­ence he needed. Be­sides that, he hadn’t felt the dark­ness flare in­side him for a long time.

  Now or never. He pulled him­self up.

  Riptide’s mother shuffled over to greet him, wip­ing her hands on her ap­ron. “Weaver, what brings you here right be­fore the cel­eb­ra­tion?”

  He pulled the stems from his mouth. “I have some­thing for Riptide.”

  A com­plic­ated emo­tion passed on her face be­fore she re­gained her com­pos­ure. “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she? Is she all right?”

  Riptide’s mother gave him a tight­lipped frown. The older wo­man had never liked him very much, but Weaver didn’t let her ill will stop him. Not this time.

  “She’s at your fam­ily hut.”

  Weaver’s heart stopped. Had Riptide come to ask him? She’d been hanging around him and Striver since the last few long sum­mer days—go­ing fish­ing, pick­ing ber­ries, and shar­ing her mom’s fa­vor­ite re­cipes. She had a killer arm and could spear trot­ter from the ri­verb­ank.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Re­mem­ber­ing his man­ners, he bowed his head be­fore stuff­ing the stems back into his mouth.

  As Weaver jogged through the vil­lage, he passed Beckon fir­ing up the coals for the boar roast. Golden swirls moved in the em­bers in between the coals. The old man shouted over the grow­ing flames, “Re­mem­ber what we talked about con­cern­ing you join­ing the coun­cil. We’d really like to have you.”

  Weaver waved. “I’m con­sid­er­ing your of­fer.”

  He passed un­der Carven’s wife, Lista, who stood on a lad­der, thread­ing lace through branches. “Hello to the new ar­row maker!” she called down, her long brown hair blow­ing with the leaves.

  Weaver slowed and jogged in place. “Nice to see you, Lista.”

  “So are you ex­cited about be­ing Carven’s new ap­pren­tice?”

  “I sure am. And I’ll work real hard. You watch. I’ll be mak­ing bows be­fore you know it.”

  “I’d like to see that.” She held onto her stom­ach. “I’m ex­pect­ing an­other child, and Carven really needs the free time to help me out at home.”

  Weaver glanced at the bump in her tu­nic. He hadn’t even no­ticed. “Con­grat­u­la­tions, Lista.”

  “Thank you. Give my re­gards to Striver and your mom.”

  “I will.”

  As he ap­proached his fam­ily’s tree hut, a sense of be­long­ing and ac­cept­ance over­came him, some­thing he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was mov­ing up in the world des­pite liv­ing in Striver’s shadow. Striver could only do so much, leav­ing other op­por­tun­it­ies for Weaver to pick up. And now he’d spend the day with Riptide. Life had turned sweet.

  Riptide and Striver stood on the cir­cu­lar bal­cony sur­round­ing the tree hut. Weaver opened his mouth to shout up to get their at­ten­tion and froze. Such in­tens­ity lay in her eyes, it stopped his heart.

  She placed her del­ic­ate hand on Striver’s wrist. “I want you to go.”

  What did she mean? Go with her to the har­vest fair?

  Weaver’s chest cramped up and a weight squeezed out all the air in his lungs. Had she spent all of that time with him to get to Striver?

  Striver shook his head. “I have too much to at­tend to. The boars need to be skinned, and my mother is ill. I must stay be­hind to tend to her. Why don’t you go with Weaver?”

  Weaver clutched the rope lad­der, feel­ing the twine of the braid cut into his skin.

  Riptide pulled away from Striver, frown­ing in dis­gust. “Weaver is still a boy. He’s got so much to learn.”

  Weaver felt like noth­ing, small as an in­sect or a grain of dirt. Was he really that miser­able to be around?

  Striver stepped to­ward her. “He’s a good per­son and you should con­sider him in your thoughts as well.”

  Riptide leaned over the bal­cony and Weaver ducked un­der­neath the lad­der to avoid be­ing seen. “You’re mak­ing ex­cuses.”

  Striver didn’t move to com­fort her. “I am not. I’m be­ing re­spons­ible.”

  “You have a re­spons­ib­il­ity to your­self as well, Striver. You have to al­low a little fun now and then.”

  “You speak the truth. But today is not the day.”

  “When?” She prac­tic­ally swooned, mak­ing Weaver sick.

  He climbed a few rungs to hear Striver’s re­sponse. “I-I can’t tell you. I really don’t know.”

  Dip­lo­matic enough to keep her at arm’s length, but vague enough to keep her wait­ing, Striver left her on the bal­cony without so much as a good-bye. Riptide clung to the rail­ing and shed si­lent tears.

  Weaver was temp­ted to com­fort her, but she didn’t want him; she wanted Striver. Drop­ping the bou­quet, he stumbled away from the hut. The flowers spread and sunk in the mud.

  A fa­mil­iar pain stabbed his chest. The dark­ness within him welled up and spread through his veins un­til he raged with pain and hate.

  He felt hurt, used, be­trayed. Why did Striver have to take everything he wanted?

  Weaver stumbled over to the tanks of fer­ment­ing pearl-berry ale pulled from the dis­til­lery for the fair. He poured him­self a jug and gulped the sour li­quid in three gulps, red trick­ling down his neck to stain the white tu­nic he’d washed and pressed so care­fully. He poured an­other, and an­other after that, want­ing to drown in it, like he al­most had in the river. The li­quid spread through him, dulling the pain but not ob­lit­er­at­ing it. The dark­ness would al­ways be in­side him, and he’d never be free.

  Stum­bling into the main square, Weaver kicked over chairs and mar­ket stands. Fruit rolled on the ground and he kicked a pear­va­cado at a swil­low wisp re­gard­ing him with a little black eye. The bird took off squeal­ing.

  Beckon tried to help him up. “Weaver, what’s happened, is every­body all right?”

  Weaver pushed the old man away. The dark­ness en­vel­oped him, tendrils spread­ing over his heart, root­ing in­side his soul.

  “Go to Hell!”

  Beckon had al­ways been so calm and col­lec­ted. He had no idea what true pain was. He’d never un­der­stand. The old man stared at him like he’d turned into a mon­ster. Weaver shied away, feel­ing the beast in­side him rear up to wreak its re­venge. If he stayed, he’d hurt someone, maybe worse.

  Weaver bolted into the jungle, tear­ing through the un­der­growth. People called after him.

  “Weaver!”

  “Weaver!”

  He ig­nored their pleas.

  …

  He woke up with Eri’s an­gelic face hov­er­ing over him. She shook his arm. “Weaver, are you okay?”

  He shriveled away from her touch. “I’m fine.” Crusty snored across the cav­ern, so at least the old man hadn’t seen his vul­ner­ab­il­ity.

  Eri raised her eye­brows. “You were toss­ing and turn­ing, mum­bling Striver’s name in your sleep.”

  “Bad dream.” But it wasn’t. It had been a memory, real as the day it had happened. So real, he no­ticed things he hadn’t paid at­ten­tion to the first time. When it had happened, he’d hated Striver, wish­ing his brother had never been born. After ex­per­i­en­cing the memory again, he real­ized Striver had tried to pro­tect him from the truth. Not only did Striver sug­gest Riptide go with Weaver in­stead, he turned the vil­lage beauty’s af­fec­tions away. All for him.

  Weaver’s heart hurt like he hadn’t ex­er­c
ised it in years and only now did it be­gin to feel again. He’d made an ass of him­self that day, and Beckon had out­lawed him from the coun­cil, cit­ing his un­pre­dict­able nature. He’d thought the pun­ish­ment harsh, but now he un­der­stood. He de­served every bit of the shame.

  “Eri, I have a ques­tion for you.”

  She poured over her notes in the sand, not even look­ing up as she answered him. “What is it?”

  “Have you had any memor­ies lately?”

  “Like what?”

  “You know, re­col­lec­tions of the past.”

  She pulled her­self away from the sym­bols and glanced at the stalac­tites drip­ping wa­ter from the cav­ern’s ceil­ing. “Come to think of it, I have. Vis­ions of my sis­ter and me when we were little keep flash­ing in my mind.”

  “Are they the same as you re­membered them to be?”

  “No.” She pulled her curls out of her face. “They’re clearer.”

  Weaver ran a hand through his hair, think­ing. The golden li­quid wasn’t warp­ing his memor­ies; it was dis­play­ing them through a clearer lens, a per­spect­ive out­side of him­self. “Do the memor­ies make you feel guilty?”

  Eri shook her head. “Not at all. They make me want to keep re­liv­ing them, over and over again. I have to re­mind my­self of the sym­bols, or we’ll never get out of here.” She gave him an in­crim­in­at­ing glare and muttered un­der her breath, “Un­less you want to over­take Crusty now. He’s sleep­ing on the job.”

  “And go back to the vil­lage? No way. The key to everything lies in those sym­bols. Be­sides, Crusty can see everything. He’d wake up right be­fore you tried any­thing. Be­lieve me, I’ve watched him.”

  She stared back at him with in­tens­ity brew­ing in her eyes. “We could take him, you and I.”

  “That’s not part of my plan. I ab­duc­ted you, re­mem­ber? We’re not on the same play­ing field. You’re still my pris­oner.”

  “Seems like we’re both pris­on­ers.” Eri’s jaw jut­ted out and she flared her eyes be­fore re­turn­ing to the sym­bols, whis­per­ing dead lan­guages un­der her breath.