by Lyga, Barry
She kept a tight grip with her right hand and wiped sweat from her brow.
Stop daydreaming, Deedra. Get moving. Lissa will be waiting.
With a heavy sigh, she reached for the next handhold, flexing her legs for distance.
And the pavement under her right foot crumbled and peeled away.
Deedra gasped as her whole right side listed, suddenly hanging out in open air. Her right hand hadn’t reached the new handhold yet, and her entire left side was already protesting the strain of holding her up. She flailed for a handhold, for a foothold, for anything at all, but her motion made her position only more precarious.
She glanced down. The ground swam at her.
It was only twenty feet, but the ground was studded with chunks of concrete, sharp bits of steel, and heavy rocks. If she dropped, she could easily bash her head open or break her back.
Her right hand slapped against the pavement, seeking purchase. She lifted her head; looking at the ground was stupid when she needed to find a handhold instead.
Across the river, something caught her attention. It was so unexpected that she actually forgot her situation for an instant.
Something—someone—was across the river, in Sendar Territory.
Running toward the river.
It was another girl.
Deedra flattened herself against the pavement and reached straight up with her free hand. She had to twist into a contorted, painful position, but she found a grip. Planting the heel of her loose foot against the wall, she stabilized herself.
Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths.
When she looked into Sendar again, the other girl had made it to the opposite shore. At that distance, she almost disappeared into the background clutter of crumbled concrete, twisted steel, and broken glass.
If not for the coat she wore. It was long, down to her ankles, and from Deedra’s position, it looked like a very dark green. Deedra had never seen a coat like that.
Maybe you should worry less about the coat and more about not dying.
It was at least an additional forty or fifty feet to the bridge, but she figured she’d risked enough for one day. Time to retreat back to the ground. Live again to climb another day.
And besides… it would be a chance to scope out the stranger.
With some difficulty, she managed to retrace her steps, finding by feel and memory the handholds and footholds that had gotten her this far. She inched down the incline and then dropped the last three feet to the ground.
She came around the bridge abutment for an unobstructed view of the river. The other girl was standing on the shore. Very slim, but tall and broad-shouldered. The weirdest girl she’d ever seen, for sure.
The girl started to undress. Her body, so different from Deedra’s, came into view—those broad shoulders, a surprisingly flat chest, then a concave belly tapering down to slender hips, and…
And this was no girl. Not at all.
It was the prettiest, most exquisite boy Deedra had ever seen.
She shook her head to clear it, blinked her eyes. The pollution had to be affecting her sight. No man could look like that. It had to be a girl.
She looked again.
No. Still a boy.
Like no boy she’d ever seen. He seemed more chiseled into existence than born. His skin was unblemished and smooth; clean, unlike everyone else’s. Even her own. He was slender, but not emaciated like most people. Healthy. Vibrant. He didn’t stoop or slouch—he stood straight and tall after slipping out of his pants.
She couldn’t help herself—she stared at him as, naked, he carefully folded his clothes, wrapping them in the coat. Then he stepped into the water.
The river was only a couple of feet deep at this spot. He waded in up to his knees, then his waist. Fording the river with his clothes held well above the water, he began to struggle as the current grew stronger toward the center. He’d started out with a good, strong stride but was growing weaker as he waded farther and farther in.
Deedra started fidgeting with her necklace, running the pendant—a circle with a Greek cross jutting out from it—back and forth along the chain. Stupid kid. If he would just ditch his clothes, he could swim across easily.
But he wasn’t going to do that. And with each step, it was clear that he was getting more and more exhausted.
He wasn’t going to make it. He would be swept downriver. And if he managed not to drown, he would wash up on one of the piers down by the Territory of Grevan Dalcord.
The Mad Magistrate, they called him. Max Ludo could be unfair, corrupt, and pigheaded, but at least he didn’t execute criminals by sewing rats to their faces and letting the rodent gnaw its way free. That was the sort of thing Dalcord was known to do. Ludo Territory was technically at peace with Dalcord, too, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Mad Magistrate launched an attack. It was inevitable.
The boy in the river was about halfway across, but making no further progress. The current was too strong.
She found herself running to the water’s edge. There was something in her hand, and she realized as she ran that she was dragging a long, old piece of rebar, still straight except for a little crook at the end.
The boy was looking around, not panicked, but concerned, as the water began relentlessly shoving him downriver. She shouted, “Hey!”—it was all she could get out as she ran—and waved her free arm to get his attention.
He noticed her just as she got to the water. She heaved the heavy rebar with all her strength. It flopped—splash!—into the river, throwing up a sheet of filthy, grimy water. For a moment colors sparkled and hung in the air, distracting her with unexpected beauty.
Him, too. He stared at the kaleidoscope as the water tugged him farther away.
“Stop staring and grab this!” she yelled.
That snapped him out of it. He tucked his clothes under an arm and reached out for the rebar, but he couldn’t find the end of it no matter how much he flailed.
She took a deep breath and planted her feet and groaned, levering the far end of the rebar out of the water. She couldn’t hold it very high—just right at the level of the water. Just close enough?
Yes! He managed to grab hold of it. She braced herself, expecting his weight to overcome her muscles and drag her in. But he didn’t. He must have weighed next to nothing.
“Don’t let go!” she shouted. She took a precious second to reposition and replant her feet. The shore was mostly wet gravel and trash. She gouged at it with her heel until she’d dug a little ramp to brace herself against.
“Hold on!” she called to him, and when she looked up, he’d begun pulling himself along the rebar. He still had his clothes tucked under one arm, so it was awkward going, but he was making progress.
She heaved, pulling the rebar hand over hand.
They were close enough now that she could make out his expression. He didn’t look terrified. Just… uneasy. The strain of keeping his grip seemed to bother him more than the idea of what would happen if he let go.
It felt like hours to haul him in—her groaning, fiery shoulders would swear it was hours—but it had to have been only a few minutes. Just as she thought her muscles would give out, his body emerged from the water down to his knees. She tried not to stare anywhere in particular as she found a final burst of power that allowed her to pull him even closer.
Once his knees cleared the water, he let go of the rebar without warning, and she stumbled backward down a slight grade. She yelped in surprise, then swore loudly, collapsing on her back. The mask slipped away from her face, and the reek of the river stabbed at her nostrils. Stones bit into her; she lost her breath.
When she managed to struggle up to a sitting position, she saw him there, on his back on the rocky ground, gazing straight up. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
He stared at the sky, and she stared at him. Even up close, he was still perfect. She’d thought that maybe he only seemed so flawless at a distance, but here he was i
n front of her, and his pale skin was just as unmarked. Which was unusual because everyone had brands identifying their Territory. They were usually burned in along the left shoulder/neck area, but since Deedra’s scar made that impossible, her own brand—in the shape of some kind of water creature that was the symbol of Ludo Territory—was on her right shoulder.
The boy had no brand. Not on either shoulder. Still naked and utterly self-possessed, he simply sat up and stared at her, studying her.
She couldn’t imagine why he would want to. Why anyone would. Only once, long ago, as a child, had anyone told her she was beautiful. One of the caretakers at the orphanage where she’d grown up. But that had been a cruel joke. The truth was as obvious as her own skin: The hideous, mottled scar commandeering the left side of her neck, trailing down to her collarbone, made her nothing more and nothing less than ugly.
It was time to go. She had helped him. Fine. But for all she knew, he could be crazy. Or even—and it just occurred to her, in a rush of terror—a spy, sent to infiltrate Max Ludo’s territory. Magistrates were supposed to keep out of one another’s Territories, but that rule only applied to what could be proved in a Citywide Magistrates Council. If the Mad Magistrate thought he could steal some of Ludo’s rations or encroach on the area to alleviate his own overcrowding, well, why not do it?
Wary of the incline, she took a careful step back and would have turned to run, but at that moment—as if he knew she was leaving—the boy twisted on the ground, rising with a smooth, easy motion into a crouch. His eyes—a deep and almost succulent green—met hers and locked; she couldn’t have moved if the entire river had suddenly risen up behind him and threatened to devour them both.
He froze her.
Not with fear or worry. No. It took a moment, but she soon recognized the kindness and curiosity in his eyes. No sudden flinch of realization, no moment of recoil and disgust.
Her hair. It was still in a ponytail and he could see. Could see the scar.
Even though there was nothing but gentleness in his eyes, she still found herself reaching back and fumbling to let loose her hair and drag it around her left side.
And still he said nothing. Just watched.
“Thank you,” he said, “for helping me.”
His voice… it was somehow deep and light all at once, pleasant and alive in a way she didn’t know voices could be. It was like a piece of him, set loose to drift in the air. Without even realizing it, she took a step toward him.
“You’re welcome.” Her own voice was clumsy and raspy, a stupid, harsh thing, not effortless like his. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, still completely unself-conscious about his nudity. Her neck and cheeks warmed again as she forced herself not to stare. With no particular urgency, he began to pull on his clothes, finishing with that peculiar dark green coat.
“I’ve never seen someone cross the river,” she said, lamely. “Why would you leave Sendar Territory?” Glorio Sendar wasn’t a great Magistrate, but she wasn’t bad, either. Journeying from Sendar’s territory to Ludo’s was like trading a weekday ration for half a weekend ration. Same difference.
“I’m not really from there,” he said. “I’ve been traveling. For a long time.”
“What about your family?”
He simply shrugged. His expression didn’t change at all.
“I’m an orphan, too,” she whispered. For no reason, her eyes began to water, and she wiped at them angrily. She’d been alone her entire life. Being parentless, familyless, was nothing new. Why did it suddenly feel so powerfully wrong and painful?
She took a step closer to him—within reach now—and the boy flinched, jumping back.
Deedra flushed and turned partly away.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t…” He groaned, clearly upset with himself. “Look, it just might be safer if you keep a little ways back.”
He took another step back, as if to prove his point.
She had no idea what he meant. Was he worried about something from the river infecting her?
“I’m not afraid,” she told him. “As long as you don’t drink it or soak in it for too long, the water won’t make you sick.”
He frowned as though he didn’t quite believe her. They gazed at each other for a few moments. She sucked in a deep breath and risked it: She held out her hand.
“My name is Deedra.”
With a reluctant little nod, he shook her hand, then immediately pulled back, as though he’d pushed luck as far as he was willing. “I’m Rose.”
Deedra blinked. “Wait, isn’t Rose a girl’s name?”
Rose shrugged. “It’s mine.”
She smiled and had no idea what to say next, and then the world took the necessity of speech away from her.
A drone buzzed overhead, its speakers blaring, “Citizen Alert! Citizen Alert! Seek shelter! Seek shelter!”
The drone had come from nowhere, sweeping in, its blast of sound doubled in volume as it echoed off the surrounding sheets of steel and glass from the nearby Wreck. Deedra hissed in a breath and clapped her hands to her ears, shutting her eyes reflexively against the assault of sound. The drone whizzed closer by, blasting out its warning again, nearly driving her to her knees.
Shelter. She had to find shelter.
She opened her eyes and looked up just in time to see the drone banking by the nearest abutment, cutting a sharp left to avoid crossing the Territorial boundary. Bleating out its warning again, it zoomed north.
Deedra looked around for shelter and realized in the same instant that the boy—Rose—was gone.
His sudden disappearance stunned her into paralysis. She forgot about shelter and stood rooted to her spot. How in the world had he disappeared so quickly? Where had he gone? She spun around, thinking maybe he’d ducked behind her or run off in that direction, but no. Nothing.
Not even a path of disturbed gravel where he would have run.
“Deedra!”
It was Lissa, screaming to her from near the Wreck. Deedra was shocked to see how tiny Lissa looked—in the mad rush to pull Rose from the river, she’d run farther from the Wreck than ever before, closer to the river than she’d ever dared.
“Come on!” Lissa shouted, gesturing wildly. Overhead, the drone cried out its warning again, this time farther distant and not so painfully. Deedra unfroze her legs and ran at top speed toward Lissa, who kept motioning for her to hurry. As she got closer, she saw that Lissa was propping up an old sheet of corrugated metal against a block of concrete. A decent enough shelter, in a pinch.
Lissa crawled in as Deedra neared her, throwing herself under the metal sheet as the drone’s alarm faded into the distance.
Under the impromptu shelter, it was dark and the air—even filtered through her mask—tasted of rust. Deedra panted, catching her breath, as she curled into the tight, unyielding space with Lissa.
“Just like home,” Lissa joked.
“I would laugh, but I don’t have enough room.”
They giggled, then suddenly stopped at a sound in the distance.
“Was that an explosion?”
“Could have been a…” Deedra broke off. She didn’t know what it could have been. She just didn’t want to think it was an explosion. Especially not when she was stuck out here at the edge of nowhere with only a sheet of metal between her and who-knew-what.
They held their breath together. Deedra counted to thirty in her head, straining to hear.
Finally, she blew out her breath, an instant after Lissa did.
“I don’t think it was a bomb. There would have been another one, right? It could have been something falling over. Back in the Wreck.”
Lissa shrugged. Given their close quarters, Deedra felt it more than saw it.
They waited. It was impossible to tell for how long. Eventually a drone buzzed by calling out the all-clear. They struggled out from under the makeshift shelter, untangling themselves from each other.
&
nbsp; “That was fun,” Lissa said, pulling down her mask. She inhaled deeply, coughed, and grimaced. “Not worth it.”
Deedra pulled down her mask, too. The air smelled and tasted awful, but it was—for the moment—better than the hot, humid air in her mask. She turned away from Lissa, looking back down toward the river. From this vantage point, she could see a whole stretch of the riverbank and the bridge abutments. Rose was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t even see a place where he might have sheltered.
“What are you looking for?”
“A boy.”
Lissa snorted. “That’s pretty ambitious scavenge, Dee.”
“No, seriously. There was a boy. Down there, by the river. A boy named Rose.”
“Rose? Like the… what do you call it? Like the flower?”
The flower… Oh, right, Deedra remembered now. Flowers. They grew out of the ground, like weeds. She’d seen images of them, but never one in person. No one had, as best she knew. At least since the Red Rain. In fact, some people weren’t even sure they existed at all. They were just mutant weeds, really. Weird flukes of nature, like the blue rat.
Or like me, she thought, and stroked one finger along her scar without intending to, only half-realizing it.
Lissa slapped her hand away from the scar. “Cut that out. It’s not like you can make it go away.”
Easy for Lissa to say; she didn’t have to live with it. Deedra shook her hair into place over the scar with a long-practiced jerk of her head. “He was down there. He…” She sighed. “Never mind. He’s gone.”
“We should be gone, too. Just in case they alert again.”
She was right, and Deedra knew it, even though it rankled her. She’d really wanted to climb the bridge today. And now she also wanted to know what had happened to Rose. Where had he gone? And just as important: Where had he come from before Sendar Territory? Why cross the river?
