4 - Unbroken

by Rachel Caine

  “Where are your families?” I asked them. Both would have come from Warden parents; that was a common theme for the children that Pearl recruited.

  Edie said calmly, “They’re dead. My mother died five years ago. A Djinn killed her. My dad committed suicide.” She sounded as if she were reciting something learned in class, not something that had affected her personally. “Alvin’s mom had cancer. His dad got killed fighting another Warden. The Lady’s our mother now. We don’t need any other family.”

  I wondered if any of that was true. When Iz had been in training with Pearl, they’d convinced her that I’d killed her uncle, simply to ensure that all her ties to the mortal world were cut.… These children might have living mothers and fathers, or the losses might be real.

  Or Pearl might have arranged for the deaths and then lied about how they occurred. Anything was possible with her.

  But it wasn’t the time to sort out the lies, not now. There were six Wardens trapped, and the world’s clock was ticking down.

  “Too bad,” I told the children. “You’re stuck with us as family now. We stick together. We work together. We defend each other, always. If we don’t watch out for each other, we’ll die on this mission. Do you understand? So think of us as… your aunt and uncle, if not your parents.”

  Edie nodded easily. Alvin just shrugged. I wasn’t sure whether he’d be an asset or a liability; Alvin himself probably didn’t know yet, either.

  But we had our team.

  Chapter 7

  BRENNAN PROVIDED US with a large silver van, one with enough seating to accommodate the rescued Wardens, plus Luis and the two children; I would ride the motorcycle, both as an outrider and scout, and to provide more space in the main vehicle. He came up with supplies for us as well—sealed boxes of water with straws, energy bars, medical supplies, ropes, carabiners, lightweight tools, and other necessities. “Radios won’t work,” he told us as we inventoried the supplies. “If you need reinforcements, we probably wouldn’t be able to reach you anyway. Get as many as you can out of there and bring them in, but watch yourselves. The Djinn are busy, but they’re never too busy to come looking for trouble.” He was distracted by another Warden, who arrived with a sheaf of papers in a trembling hand and disaster written on his face. “Dammit. Get going while you still can. There’s extra gas in the back of the van, in case the pumps are out. Good luck.”

  That was it. Brennan had no time or energy for fond farewells, which left Isabel and Esmeralda. Es, predictably, just shrugged off our good-bye and went back to playing a handheld game that someone had left abandoned. We figured little in her universe.

  Isabel was angry.

  “You’re taking them,” she said, looking at Alvin and Edie, who were packing up the supplies into sturdy canvas bags. “Not me.”

  “Mija, we need a Weather Warden to make sure we can breathe on the way down,” Luis said. “I probably don’t have enough power to keep a tunnel open the whole way. Too easy for us to get trapped without an air supply, otherwise.”

  “But I can help you!”

  “How?” He stared at her kindly, but steadily, until she looked down. “Isabel, I love you, and I trust you, but you’re still learning fine control of what you do. You’re powerful, no question of that, but Fire’s a tricky thing.”

  “I’m better at it than you!”

  “Yes, you are,” he agreed. “You definitely are. But that doesn’t mean you’re as good as you need to be, right?” Isabel took a breath, but didn’t try to argue the point. “Fire isn’t as useful where we’re going. Yeah, you’re a strong Earth Warden, I’ll grant you that, but so am I. So is Cassiel. We needed to choose someone who has something we lack, and that’s Weather.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “It’s strategy, bug.” He tapped her gently on the nose and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, but you’re better off here for now. Brennan will make sure you stay safe, and if you want to help out, you can. Just be careful, okay? And do not leave the building. No matter what Es tells you.”

  “Sitting right here,” Esmeralda said without looking up from the beeps and boops of her game. “I’m not looking to leave right now. But if I decide to, you’ve got nothing to say about it, Warden.”

  “I know that,” Luis said. “But if you take my niece with you when you do decide to leave, I’ll find you, and we’ll be having a nice, long talk about it.”

  “Wow, I can’t wait to see how that turns out.” She raised and lowered her shoulders in a fine, uncaring shrug. “See ya. Or not. Depends on if you die.”

  Her callousness wasn’t unexpected, but it did have one side benefit; Isabel threw her arms around her uncle’s neck and hugged him quickly. Then she turned to me and did the same. “Don’t die,” she said. “I’ll hate you forever if you do. Come back safe.”

  I kissed her cheek and, like Luis, tapped her gently on the nose. “Promise,” I said. “Get some rest.” She looked tired and pale. She nodded and settled down in a heap on the floor. Someone—not Esmeralda, certainly—had fetched her pillows and blankets.

  I didn’t want to leave her, but I didn’t know what else to say. Neither, from the look on her face, did Isabel; we’d left many things unresolved, but that was the nature of human life, I supposed.

  As always, I avoided the elevators; there was grumbling from the two children, but I swung one of the two canvas bags on my shoulder, stiff-armed the door, and began the long descent without soliciting their opinions. Luis didn’t bother to offer any; he just picked up the other bag and followed, leaving the children to decide on their own. When I glanced back from two floors below, I found them trudging down in our wake. They didn’t look happy, but I hadn’t expected that.

  “Hey!” Alvin called down, as I rounded the corner for the twelfth floor. “What do you have against elevators anyway?”

  “Claustrophobia,” Luis said.

  “It’s not claustrophobia. I simply don’t like leaving myself at the mercy of machines.”

  “Claustrophobia,” Luis said again. “Cass, this might be an issue when it comes to tunnels; you know that.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. In truth, I hadn’t thought of it, but he might possibly be right about his concerns. I wasn’t comfortable in confined spaces, overall. “We have other things to worry about.” Such as the children clattering after us on the stairs, one of whom had the power to absorb any attack we might throw at him. The only vulnerability a Void wielder might have would be physical, and when he worked with a partner—such as the Weather girl—she could keep us busy enough to make that type of assault problematic.

  I was already thinking about how to defeat them in a fight. It probably did not bode well for our cooperative efforts.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the door took us out into a large but deserted lobby area. It seemed undisturbed, but there were already signs of neglect; the polished marble floor was scuffed in places, and the large glass doors were smudged with handprints that no one had bothered to clean. It wouldn’t take long for this place to show wear, I thought; if the Wardens or the human race survived the week, someone would need to take charge of sanitation and cleaning, unglamorous as that was.

  It wasn’t a concern I’d likely have to worry about. That seemed oddly cheering.

  Outside, one of the Wardens had parked the promised silver van, and someone—almost certainly an Earth Warden—had arranged for the move of my Victory down from the roof. It leaned on its kickstand behind the van. I took a moment to take Rashid’s sealed bottle out of my jacket, where I’d been keeping it safe, and rolled it into the blue jeans that were still in the backpack. It would remain better protected there, for now. I made sure the canvas bag fit securely, with both arms through the straps and the bag riding comfortably on my back. The weight was not as bad as I’d expected, balanced so, and I mounted the Victory with a sense of relief. Somehow, having the potential of movement, of escape, always made me feel less helpless, even if it was only an illusion.


  Luis slammed the passenger doors and stood there with one foot up in the driver’s side, looking at me. “You ready?” he asked. I nodded and started up the motorcycle. He held the stare for a few seconds longer, then smiled and kissed his fingers at me.

  I couldn’t help but smile in return. It was a foolish little gesture, but it warmed me.

  Then he was in the truck, and we were rolling down the slight hill, away from the building.

  Not surprisingly, it was cloudy; the day was chilly, but not cold. Not yet. It would be bone cold in the wind, but Brennan had helpfully thrown in an extra coat—too large for me, but the warmth would be most welcome. I accelerated as we hit the street, the freeway dead ahead.

  We wouldn’t be taking it.

  The road out of Portland was clogged solid with cars, vans, trucks—anything with wheels that would roll had fled in the initial panic, and many had run dry of gas on the road. There wasn’t enough equipment, time, or energy now to deal with removing the blockage; instead, the police had simply blocked off the freeway itself. I veered right instead, taking a side road, and checked the aetheric for guidance. The van eased in behind me, a silver ghost moving almost silently through the gray day. There were still vehicles on the road, but most people seemed to be staying inside, glued to whatever news agencies still broadcasted. Few wanted to leave the illusion of safety for whatever might be available elsewhere, until the illusion collapsed.

  And then, of course, it would be too late, just as it had been for so many in Portland and in Kansas and Missouri. Not everyone was dead there, it seemed, but those who were trapped were—according to the scattered news reports—rapidly devolving into chaos. It was spreading fast.

  The road I located was a small, two-lane blacktop, but it was clear of any traffic, and I opened the throttle and flew. Misty rain began, but the jacket kept me warm and relatively dry. Behind me, the van turned on its lights. We were back in the tall, silent trees, and although the glow of Seattle was behind us, what lay in front seemed dark by contrast.

  Wilderness, more dangerous than ever.

  The mine where the Wardens had been trapped was geographically not far from the city, but the terrain was difficult; as we rose into the more mountainous areas, I slowed around curves, blind corners, and finally had to pull over as I saw the road that lay ahead. Luis parked behind me, and we stood together in silence, in the misty rain, staring.

  “When the Djinn go full crazy, they commit,” he said. The words were flippant, but his tone was not; there was no way to see this any other way than devastation. The forest was simply… gone, though fragments remained—the thick, splintered wrecks of trees, the tangled mess of branches and undergrowth ripped and thrown about like an uneven blanket. The road had disappeared under the mess. Part of it had burned, and smoke still rose in sullen wisps into the air.

  It was eerily quiet. No birds called. No human voices, except ours, disturbed the silence. Except for the soft, almost subliminal hiss of the rain, it seemed lifeless.

  “We need to clear the road,” I said. There were tons of debris to be shifted. Even though the trees had been splintered and ripped apart, the shredded mass was unbelievably heavy, and it would be the work of giants to clear enough of a path to allow the vehicles to pass—assuming that the road beneath was still intact, which was far from a given. I was beginning to calculate how much power it would take when I felt a sudden warm, dry breeze on the back of my neck.

  I turned, and so did Luis.

  Edie stood on the roof of the van, hands held out to her sides, and around her, light seemed to physically bend; it was as if she stood in full sunlight, while the rest of us were in shade. When I used Oversight to layer the aetheric into the real world, I saw the tremendous shadowy burst of power that rippled out of her, an aurora of the darkest colors—storm black, corpse gray, vein blue. It snapped together above us, a dizzying and complex arrangement of polarities and elements, heat and cold and brute-force power that almost ripped apart the sky as it reformed the clouds.

  The sullen neutrality boiled and turned into ugly darkness, edged with gray-green. The whole sky seemed to turn on our axis, but no, those were the clouds, spinning slowly and disorientingly over the wasteland.

  The tornado came down in a white, whipping rope that slammed into the field of debris. As it sucked up the shredded remains of trees, leaves, and limbs, it grew wider and darker, taking on the ominous appearance of a wall.

  Edie’s control of that wall was precise, and it stopped its growth at the edges of the road. Luis and I had instinctively fallen back to the shelter of the van, and Alvin hadn’t even left the vehicle, but above us Edie stood firm and exalted, face upturned to the clouds. Her blond hair writhed and rippled in the whipping winds, but the pure force of the tornado was focused away from us. The noise was astonishing, a roar that achieved an almost human pitch, like a scream magnified into millions.

  Beneath the tornado, the road cleared.

  Edie lowered her gaze to the road, and the screaming, roaring destruction of the tornado obediently began to move at a leisurely pace, flinging off debris in all directions except ours. I saw shattered tree trunks hurled out in chunks that vanished into the far distance. Edie kept her full concentration on the tornado as it continued down the road.

  “She can’t keep it up,” Luis said. He was clutching my arm in a painful grip now, and I could understand the impulse; the feeling of vulnerability in the face of what Edie had conjured was overwhelming. As a demonstration of raw power, it matched or exceeded anything I had ever seen—not just the power, but the fine control. “She’s killing herself.”

  “No,” I said softly. “She’s not.” And that was, by far, more terrifying. He was right—Edie should have been draining herself at an awful pace, and putting her very life at risk. Instead, she was laughing, like the child she was, with joy. Her eyes had taken on an unnatural sheen that was—however impossibly—like that of a Djinn.

  Whatever Pearl had done to these children, these survivors and thrivers in her training program… it had made them not as human as I had thought. They weren’t merely Wardens with more power; they were defying the very laws that governed nature, and power itself. Djinn were built to do what Edie was doing; it was coded in their smallest components. Humans were built to survive here, in this world, and it was a very different thing.

  Edie’s tornado continued to sweep the road, back and forth, with precision and regularity, until the way was completely clear. Then she slowly closed her hands, and I felt the pressure above me collapse into overdriven chaos.

  “Backlash!” Luis screamed, and tackled me to the ground just as that power erupted all around us in a hundred burning, stabbing lightning bolts, screaming down from the churning clouds. If a single bolt held the power of a nuclear device, this was the equivalent of the detonation of an entire nuclear arsenal.

  And it lasted for almost a full minute before the energy spent itself back into the ground and the aetheric.

  In the aftermath, my ears ringing from the splitting roar of thunder, I slowly raised my head. I was seeing afterimages of the lightning, even though I’d been facedown for most of it and had kept my eyes tightly closed. It had been like being trapped inside an open circuit, and my skin felt hot and fried.

  The landscape looked, if possible, even more like something out of a nightmare. Instead of the debris lying in blankets, it was heaped into hills now, and the hills were on fire. Even the bare ground was blackened and smoking, and the surface of the road only twenty feet away seemed melted and sizzling.

  Edie jumped down off the roof of the van and said, “That was cool, right? Did you see it? I’ve never seen lightning so close. It’s whiter the closer you are to it. Did you know that? Only there was some dust in the air; some of it looked orange because of that.” She was manic with excitement, I realized, utterly unconcerned for the damage that she had just done.

  “You don’t do things like that!” Luis came up yelling,
fists clenched, and Edie took a step back from him. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you how to balance your energy? How to ground it? What if there had been people around, or animals? How many would you have killed with that stunt?”

  She looked shocked, then resentful and angry. A dangerous combination. I rose more slowly, and took Luis by the elbow to draw him backward.

  He shook me off, still facing the girl. “Don’t do it again, Edie. Tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, and lifted her chin in defiance to glare. “Look at it; it’s a wreck! The Djinn trashed it anyway, so what if it burns?”

  “And if it spreads?” he shot back. “What then? What are you going to do to control it? Anything?” He was right. With the debris piled as it was now, full of drying, dead vegetation, it was already starting to burn with a vengeance. “Sparks travel, and they travel fast. A mile away and you’re in virgin forest, full of life.”

  “Then I dump some water on it,” Edie said. “Big freaking deal.”

  “That isn’t enough. If the fire’s hot enough, it just vaporizes your rain. What next?”

  “I—” She was frowning now, and lost, so she quickly went on the attack. “It’s not my problem! I was doing what you wanted. I was getting the stuff out of our way! That’s what Fire Wardens are for, to fix these things!”

  “That’s not what Fire Wardens are for, to clean up your messes,” Luis said. “It’s not what Djinn are for, either. And if you wanted to get their attention, you’ve done it. That little display lit up the aetheric like the Fourth of July.”

  “So?” Edie challenged. “Let them come get me. I can take them.”

  “Who? The Djinn? How many, Edie? One, two, yeah, maybe, because you’ve got a hell of a lot of power. But you can’t take five of them. Or ten. Or twenty. And the rest of us, we won’t be so lucky.”

  “So?” she said again, and shrugged. “Not my fault you’re lame. Why should I worry about you?”