Otherborn (The Otherborn Series)

by Anna Silver

  Rye turned the headlights down so that only a vague golden glow emanated from two little lamps in the grill. Not bright enough to see by in the opaque dark and hopefully not bright enough to alert anyone to their approach.

  He slowed the truck to a rolling creep, and they, all five, trained their eyes beyond the windshield, straining to help their driver see. With every centimeter, the tension mounted. They weren’t sure what to expect. Or who.

  It seemed that the blacktop road stretched out forever into nothingness. Their fear gradually subsided with the lulling monotony of the drive, a slow crawl of gray fog, black pavement, and the shadowy blur of trees on either side. Zen finally leaned back against the wall of the truck, and even London looked away now and again to pick at strings of old bandage where they stuck to her scab.

  “This is a joke,” Zen muttered.

  London looked up at him. “We’re on the right road.”

  “You don’t know that,” he stated flatly.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “How? Because Avery told you?”

  “Exactly,” London said through tight lips.

  “It was just a bug, London. We’re lost.”

  Tora shushed them from over her shoulder. “I need to concentrate,” she hissed.

  “On what? The fog?” he jibed.

  “Don’t be a smart ass, Zen,” London growled and resumed her post next to Tora with newfound gusto, if only to piss him off. He was frustrated. It was understandable. But it wasn’t helping. Staring between Rye and Kim’s shoulders, she was intent on seeing something—anything—in the sheet of gray stretching before them.

  For a second, a snatch of green caught the girls’ eyes and they both gasped in unison. But before London could finish asking if anyone else had seen what she was sure she and Tora had, a silhouette emerged from the darkness immediately ahead, average human height, legs spread wide, feet planted firmly in the center of the street, with something like a cape flowing from its back, unfurling high over its head.

  London clutched at Kim’s shoulder.

  Tora screamed, “Turn!”

  Rye jerked the wheel sharply to the left, skidding the truck off road into a slick, grassy patch of embankment where he lost control and careened through the wilderness thudding to a stop against the skinny, ivy-covered trunk of a pine.

  They’d been moving slowly, and Rye had the presence of mind to pull his foot off the pedal when the tires skidded out of control, so the truck didn’t seem like it was going to suffer more than a sizeable dent in the front bumper, but they couldn’t say quite the same for themselves. The sudden stop had thrown Zen and London to the floor under a shamble of open boxes. Tora had nearly flipped into the front seat. Kim smashed the passenger door window out with his head, and Rye hit the steering wheel. Still, everyone was conscious, and, except for some minor cuts, no one was really bleeding.

  London rose and shook her head.

  “What the hell was that thing?” Rye muttered.

  “You mean who,” Kim said, rubbing the right side of his head where he’d smashed the window. Little nicks dotted his face where glass splinters cut into his flawless complexion.

  London peered out the side window of the truck. The street looked cold and empty, despite the warm season. “Whoever it was, they’re gone now.”

  She crawled to Zen, scattering paper as she went, and helped him out from under the boxes. The back of the truck appeared to be raining giant confetti as the last multicolored slips of paper fell among Zen and London.

  “What are these?” she heard Zen ask as she caught one in her hand.

  London turned it over. “Milk.”

  “What?” Rye asked.

  Tora righted herself, and she and Kim turned to see the mess in the back of the truck.

  London looked up at them, the finely printed paper lying across her open palm. “They’re ration tickets. This one’s for milk.”

  A great big grin broke out across Kim’s face, showing off his row of obnoxiously straight teeth. “We’re rich.”

  They’d decided to leave the truck where it was. At first, Kim was reluctant to get out with “that phantom out there somewhere.” But when they all started to walk away, he decided it was better to be with them out of the truck than alone inside it.

  They followed the road but stuck to the shoulder, wading through thigh-high weeds and detangling ivy to move between the trees.

  London peered up at the sky. A slip of moon dangled above them, surrounded by a mess of stars. She thought of her Otherborn, of Si’dah, and wondered if her world, pulsing with life like this overgrown stretch of road, was crowned by a moon. Did Si’dah ever look to the stars? Was her home out there somewhere? Or was it part of another universe in another time?

  Something ached inside her, and London put a hand on her chest as if to stop it. A sob choked in her throat. She held it in, afraid to let the others see. The weight of what her Otherborn had done, leaving her home, leaving everything she knew to come here in another—as another—sank into London’s consciousness and wedged itself there like a large, immoveable stone.

  Leaving Capital City, the comfort of familiarity, had been hard enough. The adventure and rebellion of it was glamorous, at first, but that soon faded into the harsh reality of the Houselands and the Outroads, of life outside the Tycoons’ walls. London couldn’t imagine doing what Si’dah had done. She looked at the kudzu vine and loblolly pines with foreign eyes and imagined how alien this world must seem to her Otherborn.

  Facing the terror of what waited at the end of this road was nearly enough to send London screaming back to the easy boredom of life behind the walls. But hadn’t Si’dah done that and more? Hadn’t she faced whatever monsters waited in this world, with no recourse, no escape hatch, so that London and others like her might someday know something more than ration tickets and televised reruns? Something more than a reprocessed life?

  London felt herself giving inwardly, caving into a kind of love for this person, this Other self. Outside, she was walking quietly down an empty road. Impassive to anyone who might look at her. But inside, walls were tumbling down and toppling over. Without realizing it, she had let someone in. Someone she could trust in her most vulnerable places. Someone she could believe in absolutely. Someone she never had to fear. Someone who would never leave. Not for the pits. Not for the bottle. Not for another love. Not even for death. Si’dah would be with her forever. No matter what.

  In a strange way, she was letting herself in—trusting herself, loving herself for the first time. And she found that, rather than weaken her defenses, the sensation steeled her resolve, eddied her with a fortification that seemed more solid and alive than any fleeting wave of rage. She was still London, still all bruised ego and wounded pride. Still full of venom and guts. Still one impulse away from doing her own self in as much as anyone else. But she was London plus. London plus someone worth loving. London plus someone who loved her.

  It was like knowing you could bleed but never die. The pain frightened you still, but the real risk was gone, leaving the threat hollow and empty. It was courage and strength and support. Things she’d been missing for so long.

  London bumped into something solid and her introspection vanished like the phantom on the road. It was Rye. He’d stopped just in front of her. They’d been walking so quietly for such a distance that she’d lost herself in thought.

  “Look,” he whispered to everyone.

  London moved next to him, and Tora came to her other side. Zen and Kim stood at Rye’s left. They were on a hill, but the incline had been so gradual, it was barely perceptible. The road dipped more dramatically now, and the fog seemed to lift here, hanging among the tree tops, leaving the landscape below exposed and bare.

  London could scarcely believe her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, awestruck.

  A field of light spread before them. No walls. No fences. All around it was hugged by a verdant, forested ridge, the same they stood upon now. W
hether natural or manmade, they couldn’t say. Like a blanket of stars, the valley greeted them. And as London’s eyes focused, the stars connected to form houses. Big houses. Giant houses. More grand and lovely than any she’d ever seen in old books or on TV. With tiled roofs and colored windows and painted doors. The houses sat like twinkling jewels among bands of green lawn, where flowers of every color were visible even in the dark. And the trees of the ridge rushed down to be a part of this beautiful place, intertwining with the sculpted bushes and gleaming white statues of the elegant gardens.

  “It’s big,” Zen said now. “Real big.”

  He was right. Not so large as Capital City, no. Still, the shallow valley was much larger than anything they’d imagined. If they could have imagined it. London guessed it could easily rival some of the smaller cities they’d heard existed before the Energy Crisis, known as towns. But its graceful, meandering spread was almost organic. Not at all the harsh lines and urban gridwork of a walled city. She thought a more fitting word would be village. Because she’d seen a show once, about imaginary people from centuries ago, who lived in an ancient village by a lake. Only that place was small, crude and rural. This was a bright, sprawling settlement. A glittering village.

  “So,” Kim sighed, breaking their awed silence. “This is how the other half lives.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Settlement

  They stood breathless on the ridge for a few more minutes before starting to make the careful descent into the dazzling sprawl below. This side of the ridge was steep, and the rain had been here, too, making the grass and leaves slick. London was grateful for the thick tread of her boots as she eased her way down the slope behind the others. They were all thankful for the wooded cover which should allow them to sneak unseen at least to the borders of the Tycoons’ utopia.

  From their vantage point as they descended into the settlement, they could tell there was only one road in or out. And Tora was right, little houses, miniatures of their grand counterparts below, could be seen on either side of it through the trees. Tora called them guardposts. Inside waited men with guns, ready to challenge anyone attempting to enter their paradise. Whether or not similar men were posted anywhere else on the circumference of the settlement, they had yet to find out.

  It was steep and wet, and London twisted her ankle more than once, but she grasped at trees to steady herself, and slowly, they each made it to the base of the ridge. From the bottom looking up, it felt like they were inside an enormous green bowl. They stared out from the tree cover into a spectacular garden, lit with spotlights and hanging phosphorescent lanterns that glowed like giant fireflies swinging gently in the trees. A curve of lawn snaked lazily by, bordered in a collage of pink and yellow flowers with diaphanous petals. To London, the feathery grass looked softer than any carpet she’d ever seen, even in the luxurious lobbies of the Rise. Large, flat, white stones glowed like the moon against the sea of green, forming a spotty trail that disappeared behind a small copse of fruit-bearing trees. Clusters of tall purple blooms and spiked leaves emitted a heavenly fragrance that sifted through the forest’s trademark perfume of sharp pine and rotting wood on an occasional breeze. Ahead, the windows of a great house twinkled warmly, glowing with all the welcome of a hearth fire.

  “Whoa,” Kim said, awestruck. “It’s even more amazing up close.”

  London felt the sting of tears prick at her eyes and she balled her fists, digging her nails sharply into her palms to hold them back. Even the weather here seemed regulated, improved. The temperature felt like a balmy 75 degrees, and the humidity vanished with the fog. It was perfect. “It’s not fair,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

  The pain in her words ripped everyone’s rapt attention away from the spell of the enchanting scene. Rye swallowed and slipped his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together. She looked at him and the tears fell unbridled onto her filthy cheeks.

  “All this. They have all this, and what do we get? Walls and tickets and concrete and stink. Rations and hopelessness and rage. I hate them,” she said, the malice in her words like the lingering taste of a bad kiss.

  Rye squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, London. It’ll be okay.”

  She shook her head stiffly. “No. It’ll never be okay. Not now.” Her eyes danced along the effortless perfection before her. “I’ll never forget this. This moment. This feeling. And I’ll never forgive them. They’re letting us rot in those walls, Rye. Like caged animals. While all this”—she threw her hand out, palm up, to indicate the paradise before them—“all this is possible.”

  “London’s right,” Zen said, spitting on the ground. “It’s bullshit. I always knew they were feeding us a cake of lies, but I never imagined. How could anyone imagine this?”

  Tora’s green eyes were razor sharp in the darkness, talons ready to rip apart the beauty right in front of her. “Harlan knew. He never saw, but he knew. We all did. It’s all been lies, from the beginning.” Her voice was a hush of hate in the dark as her eyes took in what they’d only dared to speculate about in whispers on late nights around a dwindling fire. “The Crisis, the Migrations, all of it. Tall tales invented to coerce a planet of people into dull cooperation.”

  She looked at London, cold as glass, “You’re cattle to them. Livestock.”

  “What does that make you, the Outroaders?” London asked.

  “We’re just the ones that deviated from the herd. Fit only for extermination.”

  “You’re saying that the Migrations, the Protestors, the Fires, none of that ever happened?” Zen asked.

  Tora spun her head to face him, her bob of hair swinging like a blonde ax. “Oh no, they happened. It all happened. All of it except the Energy Crisis.”

  “I don’t get it,” Kim said. “Why would everyone go to these lengths to survive if there was no Energy Crisis?”

  “The Energy Crisis was manufactured by the Tycoons as a way to seize power, to take control,” Tora told him. “At least, that’s what we’ve always believed in the camps. I mean, the threat of a crisis, that was real. But the technology existed to avoid it. The Tycoons suppressed any and all solutions but their own. They stirred people up into a frenzy of panic, pretending that the Crisis had come much sooner than it really had. They made them believe that the walls were the only way. That anything else was certain death.”

  “How do you know all this?” Rye whispered in shock.

  “You forget. The first Outroaders were Protestors, or what was left of them. Their children took over the camps when they were gone. And so on. Harlan’s great-great-great grandfather was one of the men who started the fires in the Houselands. They’ve passed their knowledge and their rage onto us. Their truth. Of course, we could never prove it. Never had a way to ignite the uprising it would take to overturn Tycoon tyranny.”

  London wiped at her face with the back of her free hand. She wouldn’t let those bloated Tycoon bastards squeeze more tears out of her. “I’d say you just found your proof.”

  Rye looked from London to Tora and back out over the graceful garden they were facing. “Seeing is definitely believing.”

  “This is impossible,” London groaned.

  They’d been skirting the edges of the Tycoons’ settlement, sticking to the cover of the trees, watching the magnificence of one amazing garden blend into the next, punctuated by the occasional gazebo, pool, or fountain. It was enough to make London puke. She was practically gagging on the splendor of it all.

  “Well, what do you suggest we do?” Rye snapped. The tenderness of their hand-holding moment earlier blown by the frustration they were all feeling.

  Many of the houses were too far from the tree line to see inside. The ones they could glimpse into revealed picture perfect scenes of lavish dinner parties and resplendent interiors. On the inside, the homes were all exotic woods and posh furniture, giant indoor plants potted in china urns and stunning works of pre-Crisis art to decorate the Tycoons’ living rooms. Whatever was fine or val
uable from before the Energy Crisis was hoarded away here. But it was clear the Tycoons were holding out on more than just antiques. There were things here they’d never witnessed inside the walls. Not on TV or in books.

  Like the glowing lanterns in the garden, no bulbs or wires to speak of. Like the talking screen they saw in one house, a group of kids gathered to listen to whatever the beautiful woman displayed on it was saying, simply floating midair above a polished mahogany coffee table. Like the glimmering dresses of the ladies attending their sumptuous parties, so vivid and alive with color, they seemed to trap and hold the light.

  Things that weren’t simply reprocessed. Things that were New.

  The Tycoons were producing things inside their settlement for their pleasure only. They were creating. Or someone was creating for them.

  “I’m with London,” Zen said. “We need to get closer. We’ll never find Avery this way. We’ve passed too many houses we couldn’t see inside. What if she was in one of those?”

  “What we need,” London suggested, “is to split up.”

  “No way,” Rye argued. “It’s too risky. How would we ever find each other again if something went wrong?”

  “I’m with Rye,” Kim agreed.

  London scowled at Kim. “No, you’re just being a pussy. Which is why you’re going with Zen. So he can protect your useless ass. You guys can keep scouting the gardens outlying the settlement. Rye and Tora and I will wind our way deeper inside, see what we can uncover there.”

  “No, I want to go inside. I’m not sitting here in the shadows any longer,” Zen argued.

  “You’re way too big. You’ll be seen,” London told him.

  “I’ll be careful. Either you let me go inside or I go on my own. I don’t need your permission, London.” Zen was adamant.

  London rolled her eyes. “Fine. Kim, you follow Zen inside the settlement. Stay hidden and don’t do anything stupid. We’ll skirt the edges some more, see what we can turn up. If there’s any trouble, just get to the truck. We’ll meet back there by dawn, Avery or no Avery.”