by Jo Zebedee
He shook his head. “Nina, they’re inside. I thought she’d have more chance if she ran; here she’s caught no matter what we do.”
Her hand went to her mouth, and he gently pushed her in, locking the door. Doors within doors, as if they’d do anything other than delay the inevitable.
“What will we do, Sam?” she asked. She wasn’t panicking; she never did. Pride swelled in him, for both of them – he was remarkably calm, too. He went to the window and looked out. Soldiers were filling the courtyard, lasers firing across the courtyard from the port, floodlights from aerial transports casting the compound into dark and shadow. There was no returning fire from the compound. He cursed, not sure if someone inside the garrison had betrayed them, or if the defenders had been tricked into thinking the convoy were allies. A laser blast hit, close to where he was, and he ducked away from it.
“I’m going to check on Cai,” said Nina.
He nodded and looked out again. The defenders were starting to return fire – they had been duped, then – but it was sporadic and easily cut down by the attacking forces. Another wave of fighters flew overhead, and he tried to count them, but gave up at sixteen; half the Abendauii army must be arriving. How high up the ranks did this go? If they were from Abendau, Ryan must be involved, at least. Possibly beyond him.
His breath hitched at that realisation. Ryan reported directly to Lichio. He thought back to the morning, and Lichio’s long look just before he’d left, as if there was something he wanted to tell Sam. Could he be involved? He dismissed it, quickly. Lichio knew Kerra was at the compound. This wasn’t Lichio’s work. Which begged the question: where was the general, and who was running Abendau?
“Should we go somewhere else?” asked Nina. She jerked her head back. “The kids are still asleep – the shots haven’t wakened them.”
He shook his head. “Where? There’s no way out of the compound and nowhere to hide two kids.”
He went over to the small desk in the room and brought up the security inset. It meant nothing to him. He punched buttons, watching as they turned red. A confirmation of a secure lockdown of the apartment came up on the screen.
“Will that hold them?” asked Nina, but her voice held the answer. Nothing would hold an army forever.
He searched through the drawers. There had to be a gun; Kare always had a weapon with him. There was nothing. He spun. The room was empty of anything he could use. He was useless, as usual. A crap soldier, good at nothing except platitudes.
“Sam….”
He crossed and looked down. Troops, wave after wave of them, entered the accommodation complex. Another squad of soldiers stepped out from the port, illuminated briefly, Phelps at their head. It was him. He put his arms around Nina, drawing her against him. Phelps would be carrying out his mistress’ wishes. He wouldn’t just want Kerra, but anyone who’d betrayed her. He rested his cheek against Nina, smelling her perfume, low and musky, achingly familiar. Her shoulders were tight and tense. She knew, as he did, that his past was about to catch up with all of them.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed against her. She shook her head and they clung to each other, their children quietly sleeping, the world tightening around them until they were reduced to just each other’s warmth, and fear.
***
Kerra sprinted across past the armoury to the maintenance workshop. It was further along, but more likely to be overlooked. She ran down a small access alley and pushed open the staff door to the workshop. As quietly as she could, she crept in, and let out a small sound of relief at the sight of two scoots.
She tiptoed up to them. They were huge in comparison to her, their wheels almost up to her knees. She climbed on the nearest one, struggling to get onto the saddle. Outside, she heard more shots – this time nearer – and jumped in fright, almost falling off.
Ahead of her, the force-shield wall of the workshop shimmered. Beyond it lay the desert and freedom. She turned her focus on the scoot’s ignition, imagining it turning over, and the scoot started, loud in the workshop. Its headlights came up, illuminating the room in front of her and casting the rest into deeper darkness.
The door she’d come in through banged open. A figure moved forwards, catching the edge of the light, its shadow projected onto the wall, huge and dark. She drew back, thinking frantically, and slumped when one of the compound’s soldiers stepped forwards.
“Miss Kerra?” The soldier was young but, like all in the compound, he’d have faced combat. In fact, he’d probably seen plenty – her father had always insisted his compound’s team should be bloodied enough that they’d never freeze in battle.
“I have to get out,” she said, and her voice broke. “They’re here for me.”
He nodded at the scoot. “Do you know how to drive that?”
“Yes.” She faced him, trying to hide her fear. “Uncle Lichio taught me.” She remembered it, about a year ago out on the desert plains near the compound. He’d let her sit in front of him while he drove and told her what he was doing. But he hadn’t let her handle the scoot, telling her the military-grade ones were tricky. The soldier looked at her, his face doubtful, and she crumpled. “Not really.”
He stepped into the headlights. “Move up.”
“What?”
He pointed a fob at the force shield. Slowly, it began to come up, the desert taking shape behind it. “Where do you need to go?”
“Bendau. I need to get to Unc – to the general.”
He climbed behind her and put his hands on the steering column. “Well, let’s go.”
The scoot revved up. He killed the headlights. It surged forwards, leaving the workshop, out into the desert. She held on to the saddle, the way she had with Lichio. That time, it had been exciting. Tonight it was terrifying, the scoot skidding across the dark sand, winds knocking it to the side. She wanted to shout that the lights should be on, but concentrated on holding on instead.
She had no idea how long it was until she saw the lights of Bendau, far in the distance. Long enough to be shivering with cold. The soldier had turned on the headlights once the compound was behind them, and seeing the bumps in the sand and the night animals running away was terrifying. Her hands gripped the saddle so tightly they started to hurt. Behind her, the soldier didn’t speak, but hunched forwards, protecting her from the wind, steering, it seemed, on instinct. They crowned the next hill. Bendau was close now.
Lights to her left took her attention – the headlights of another scoot. Excitement flooded her – it was one of theirs, it had to be – but her driver turned away, down the hill, at an angle from Bendau. To their right, another scoot appeared. She moaned, knowing she was wrong, that the new scoots were pursuing her. Behind her, close to her ear, the soldier cursed.
“What do we do?!” she shouted, but her words were stolen by the wind.
Two scoots appeared ahead, cutting them off. The soldier pulled the scoot in a circle of desperation, and it started to topple. The saddle shifted under her, spilling her onto the hard desert sand. Her breath whooshed out, but she managed to roll out of the scoot’s path. It turned over several times, engines whining. When it came to a halt, the soldier lay sprawled under it, his eyes dead and staring.
She didn’t even know his name. The thought seemed both bigger and smaller than it should be.
Tribesmen on their scoots drew nearer, their faces twisted with hatred. She got up and tried to run, slipping in the soft sand, but one caught her. He smelled of spices from the souk. She tried to twist away. He held her firmly, one arm circling her waist. She pushed out with her power, and his hold loosened and he stumbled back.
Another man approached from the side. He slapped her, making her head jerk back. She stared at him, stunned; no one had ever hit her before. Tears smarted her eyes.
“Don’t try anything else, or we’ll knock you out,” he said. “Psyching don’t work if you’re unconscious.”
The man she’d pushed came up behin
d her. He lifted her onto another of the scoots, and its rider put his arm around her, pulling her close. His mouth moved beside her ear, so she could hear him over the engine, and the tickle of his breath ran down her spine, paralysing her. “They’re waiting for you in Abendau, Miss Varnon,” he said.
She swayed in the saddle, dizzy, her heart racing. She twisted again, trying to fall off. It would be better to die on the sand and not think any more about it, but he tightened his hold. His silence frightened her more than angry words would have. She scanned the desert as they raced back the way they’d come. Was her dad out here? If he was, would he come for her, or had he really left her? Her eyes filled with tears, and she told herself it was because of the wind and ignored the lump in her throat that made a liar of her thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“My Lady, it doesn’t work.” Baelan knew his voice was wheedling, but he was tired. He touched his ankhar, taking comfort from its familiar smoothness, and blinked the stinging in his eyes away.
“Stop whinging,” the Empress said. “You’re a man now. Try harder. Reach into your mind, find the power and let it work for you. Don’t force it.”
Solemnly, he nodded. It was what he’d been doing all morning. He took a deep breath, focused and tried again. Something moved in his mind. He grasped it and found a net of people, one in the centre holding them together. Emanating from them, right where he could reach it, was a source of power much stronger than his own. He touched it, and recoiled away, frightened of its strength.
“Reach,” said the Empress, “and find where my powers are. That’s all you have to do.”
Reach. He tried, but couldn’t bypass the block. He focused on the net, and took a little of the power. He pushed and the Empress screamed.
The power flowed through him, a straight line like he’d never felt before. He tried to stop it, but it kept coming, huge and uncontrollable. The Empress screamed and he slashed in desperation at the seamed join, destroying it. For a brief moment, he felt the touch of a power so familiar to his own, yet more controlled. The sort of power he dreamed he’d have.
It was his father’s, he realised. Even as he tried to grasp it, to hold onto it, it shredded away without its host to return to. He wanted to cry out for it to stay – he’d never felt more connected with anything before – but it dissipated and vanished.
The power that he’d used to cut the block was still coming, strands of it similar to his father’s power, but a different shape, a weaving of thoughts and minds.
“Stop,” said the Empress. She grabbed his wrists and pulled him to his feet, holding him with a grip that belied her age. She was so much stronger than previously, the aged woman seeming to vanish as her power took hold and spread.
He couldn’t stop. He didn’t know how to stop. He cried out to his Lady to help him. It started to spiral, his own power wrapped within the strange new one. Fear rose, choking him. This was when things happened. He tried to twist away, to run to somewhere there was nothing to lash out at. Unable to escape, he started to pull it into himself.
“Don’t do that, you fool,” said the Empress. “If you take the power within, you’ll harm yourself.”
Her mind touched his, smothering it and letting him regain control. The power he’d accessed started to fade, the whirring of minds leaving him. His father’s, which had held the block, was gone. Faintly, he wondered where it would go, if it would be held in the air or vanish forever, but, as with all things to do with his psyche, he didn’t have the answer.
He panted with the effort of controlling his last compulsions to cast out. All the while, he stared at the Empress, and she nodded encouragement. Finally, he found himself back in control.
Shaking, he pulled his hands away, and the Empress let him. He’d been wrong, she was his Lady, as special as he’d hoped. One touch of her mind had been enough to tell him that.
“Who trained you?” she demanded. Her anger hit him, hard, to the centre of him. Gone was the fleeting glimpses of fear he’d seen – this woman had no doubts within herself.
“A psycher from the tribe,” he said. He wanted to squirm at her disapproval.
“A fool, who had no idea what power you had.” She took his chin with her hands, stopping him from turning away. “Have you been holding it within yourself?”
He nodded. “When I use it, sometimes I can’t….” He tailed off, frightened, but she glared at him, and he had to finish. “I can’t control it. My Lady.” He wanted to tell her that the power he’d just used wasn’t his, that it was something new, different, but she was looking at him as if he was interesting. She’d never looked at him with anything but disdain since he’d first started to work in her mind. He couldn’t tell her.
She gave a small smile. “Baelan, you were selected.” He caught an undertone of dislike in her voice, almost revulsion, and it chilled him. “You carry the power my child was to hold for me. Do you understand? He turned from me, as you will not. For your loyalty, I’ll teach you to use what’s within you. How to control it and do magic.” She leaned down, so their eyes were level. “You like magic?”
He did. A few times, like with the lock in the tower, he’d known how to do things and it had been special. “Yes, my Lady.”
“Good. You will stay with me, watch how my power works, and practice with yours. I will guide you.”
Stay here. He glanced out the window at the distant desert and gulped, about to ask about his mother and the tribe. The Empress smiled, and he was lifted by her pleasure. He’d never felt so good, his body strong, blood thrumming through his veins. He could drink in this feeling. Another blast of pleasure hit him, taking that thought. He must serve her. She was his Lady. And if she rewarded him like this, he’d serve her forever.
“I am,” she told him. “I’m also your teacher. You will learn self-discipline and mastery. I will ensure it.”
Her pleasure left him as quickly as it had come. His legs were shaking, barely holding him. Inside, he was hollowed out, lessened by its loss. He steadied himself. She had manipulated him, as if he had no power of his own. As if he wasn’t even a psycher. Anger rose. Was this why she was worshipped? Did she do this to others? If so, it was all faked. He clenched his fists – if she tried it on him again, he’d block her.
“Will you?” she asked. She’d picked up his feelings, the way he did others’. He hadn’t even felt her do it. He backed away, not knowing how to stop what he couldn’t even sense. He wished there was someone – anyone – else here: Phelps; even the Great Master. There was no one. He swallowed; most of all, he wanted his mother. A slow, creeping fear grew in him, as if there was something behind him he couldn’t see, something watching him.
The Empress leaned close to him, eyes hard as flint. The fear was from her, just as the pleasure had been.
“You have no tribe, Baelan. You have only a family now. And I’m it.”
“Yes, my Lady.” He bit down so hard it hurt, but that was better than the tears threatening. There was no way to escape her. He couldn’t even leave the room without her say-so. And even if he did, what then? The palace was guarded at every exit, and surrounded by gardens with guards on every gate. In many ways the palace was like a prison, he realised; he just hadn’t noticed before.
***
Kare left the long corridor where the Queen’s chamber had been, and followed Farran to the port. It was incredible, having the thoughts of others back in his mind. Incredible, and draining – he’d forgotten how to handle it and keep space for himself, especially with so many minds.
“How many people are based here?” he asked.
“Not many,” Farran said. “The planet is little more than a base for us.”
“But I can feel lots of people.”
“The mesh reaches across all the Roamers. Those you feel are in space. We live on our ships and only come back here if there is a reason – usually ship-related.”
Of course they did. He remembe
red the Roamer fleets of his childhood. “When we were kids, Karia and I loved getting back to base and having a bit of room,” he said. “That doesn’t happen with the Roamers?”
“With respect – I doubt if your father’s ship was as comfortable as ours. His was a bought freighter, right? Ours are designed to live on. It makes a difference.”
“Oh, it does,” said Kare, remembering their ship: the functionality of it; the freezing hold for him and Karia to play in; the food. Everything about it had been basic. They turned in to the port, and he found his steps hurrying. “I need to get back to Belaudii.”
“The compound?”
“No, Abendau; I was due there today.” For the start of the anniversary week he was dreading. A week he’d endure more easily, knowing what he did, now – that he had another heritage, not of his mother’s. That there were choices and options that didn’t include the palace of Abendau, that could include a distant planet, and the constant noise of the sea.
“I’ll take you,” said Farran. “And then?”
“We’ll see.” Kare stopped as they reached Farran’s ship: the shimmering light on the ceiling, the painted ships, even the smell of oil and brine already seemed familiar. “If I come back here, do I have a place? Or can I stay on Belaudii?”
“Either. But we’d like you back. It’s what we want: for you to be part of us.” Farran faced Kare. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about needing a conduit for the power – that’s only one small part. You’re our king, the centre of all of us.”
Kare nodded, masking his thoughts. He hadn’t been central to them before he’d taken the mesh. Until they’d needed him, they’d held him apart. His anger was still there, needing space to be dealt with, but it was combined with the sense of this place. It felt like his own, somewhere he wasn’t a cuckoo dropped in for a time. The only other place he’d felt this way had been at the Banned, but even there he’d known he was second to the le Paynes, that it wasn’t really his group. Going back to Belaudii would give him some time to think. About himself, and the Roamers, Abendau itself. His past; could having a new future take away some of the hurt?
