Aurora Burning: The Aurora Cycle 2

by Amie Kaufman

  “You always did love being the hero,” someone says.

  I open my eyes. Blink through the sting of sweat, all the world blurring. And I know I’m dreaming then. That I’ve lost consciousness, or maybe I’m dead, because the face I see in front of me can’t be real, can’t be real

  can’t

  be

  “… C-Cat?”

  She smiles. Her dark hair is styled in the same undercut fauxhawk. The same phoenix tattoo is at her throat. The same pretty face, sharp chin, bow-shaped lips.

  “Oh, Tyler,” Cat whispers, caressing my cheek. “My beautiful Tyler.”

  I feel a sob, strangled, trying to bubble up and out of my bleeding throat. The relief I feel at seeing her, the tumbled crash of emotions, joy, love, disbelief, comfort, all of it threatens to just drag me under and drown me. It’s not too late, I realize. The way we ended it … all the things I should’ve said and done …

  But then I realize she’s wearing the charcoal-gray GIA uniform, same as the others. That she has a mirrormask tucked under her arm. Glancing to my left, I realize the agent who stood there a moment ago is missing, and through the blur, through the haze, through the rising despair and anger and fear, I realize that she … she was the one who slipped the pain collar around my neck. And worse—worse than the pain they’ve put me through or the agony of seeing her again after I thought she was lost, worst of all is the moment when I focus on her eyes, fixed now on mine. Because the Cat I knew, the Cat I loved … that Cat’s eyes were brown.

  This one’s are blue. Faintly luminous.

  And her irises are shaped like flowers.

  “No,” I breathe. “Oh no …”

  “You don’t understand, Tyler.”

  She’s …

  I look at Princeps. Back at the thing wearing Cat. A wave of horror and fury washes over me, through me, drenching me to the bone.

  “You’re one of them,” I whisper.

  “I am them,” she murmurs, touching my bare chest, right over my breaking heart. “They are me. I am we, Tyler. All of us.”

  “Maker,” I whisper. “Oh Maker, what have they done to you?”

  She shakes her head and smiles, looks at me like I’m a child. “It’s warm in here, Ty. It’s wonderful. It’s full and it’s complete and it’s home. I’ve never been so loved or accepted. Never felt so real. I can’t wait for you to feel it, too.”

  She leans forward, and the horror that washes over me as she presses her mouth to mine is just … indescribable. Her skin is cold, like a corpse’s. Her breath smells of earth and some cloying sweetness, and her lips still brush mine as she whispers.

  “We can’t wait.”

  She lowers her chin. Eyes glinting with menace.

  “But you need to tell us where Aurora is going, Tyler.”

  And I look into her eyes.

  And I feel the tears spill out of my own.

  “Tyler Jones,” I say. “Alpha. Aurora Legion, Squad 312.”

  And the pain hits me again. And again. And again. It feels like forever. And though in the end I can’t even scream, in the end I lose any sense of who or what I am, I know that even if I knew where Auri and the others were, I’d never tell them now. Because as much as it hurts, as deep as it cuts, all this pain is nothing compared to the agony of the only thought I cling to.

  My Cat’s gone.

  She’s really gone.

  And they took her from me.

  22

  THE ECHO

  Aurora

  I’m fighting to stay upright, winds ripping through me from every direction. The gale howls around me, snatching at my clothes, trying to push me off balance and send me tumbling helplessly toward the ground.

  I’m maybe a hundred meters above the lush grass of the Echo, but I can’t see it beneath me. Instead, I’m shrouded by a silver mist that the windstorm constantly snatches apart, then rebuilds. The point of this test—a simple one, according to the Eshvaren—is to keep myself upright, controlling my position by means of mental strength alone. But it’s exhausting and terrifying, like drowning in honey.

  The Eshvaren’s voice sounds in my mind.

  You rely too much upon your physicality, it chides gently. You must focus your mental strength here.

  Right, of course. Mental strength.

  Even pausing to think about this creates a crack in my shield, and I’m smashed head over heels, my scream snatched away by the wind. I claw my way back to balance, arms flailing as I stabilize, adrenaline pumping through me as I fight to stay upright a few seconds more.

  Then another gust of wind comes from my left, punching me in the ribs and knocking the breath out of me. As I gasp for air, my concentration flickers, and in an instant I’m plummeting, screaming, flapping my arms in a vain attempt to stop myself before I hit the ground. The green below me becomes visible through the cloudy haze, and then it’s vivid and alive, and rushing straight at my face. I crash into the earth like a comet, shattering the ground around me.

  Above, my own personal storm rages on, but all around, the Echo remains as golden and beautiful as it’s always been. The sun shines down gently, wreaths of red and yellow flowers hang from nearby trees. The air smells so good you could eat it. But as I drag myself to my feet in the broken crater, my heart is racing, my face streaked with tears. I turn my head, and there’s the crystalline figure of the Eshvaren, rainbows refracted in its shape, watching me as impassively as ever. A light seems to shine from inside it, setting all its colors glittering.

  Again? it asks immediately.

  “Just g-gimme a minute,” I beg, doubled over, hands braced against my knees, “to catch … m-my breath.”

  That is not air in your lungs, it tells me. That is not sweat on your skin. You have no physical self in this place. Here, your only limitation is your imagination. Your only obstacles are those you place in front of yourself.

  I close my eyes, trying to fight the frustration I feel at another round of psychobabble. It’s been going on at me like this for hours now. I realize the Eshvaren knows what it’s talking about, but I’m really trying here. And being told every failure is my own fault isn’t helping.

  “This isn’t working,” I sigh, straightening slowly. “This isn’t working even a little. I’m getting worse, not better.”

  Your performance does appear to be declining, the Eshvaren agrees.

  “Why are we even doing this? What’s the point?” I wave my hand at the roiling sky. “Am I going to have to fight my way through a storm to get to the Weapon?”

  The Eshvaren shakes its head. Patience is required in your training. There are two steps in mastering your power. The second is far more difficult. We will begin with the first: you must learn to summon your abilities on command. You apparently find even this simple lesson difficult.

  “Well, it hasn’t gone great for me so far,” I point out. “I mean, my power has gotten us out of some tough spots, but using it is a lot like unleashing a tiger to fight for you. You’re really not sure who’s going to get bitten in the process.”

  As long as the battle is won, what does it matter who the tiger bites?

  I blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The Eshvaren simply shakes its head, the air around it tinkling like soft laughter. Through the warm glow surrounding it, I know it’s smiling at me.

  First lesson first, it says simply. Let us begin again.

  Kal

  The golden sky is fading to purple, tiny stars opening like flowers in the heavens overhead, when Aurora finally staggers into our camp. She looks exhausted, her hair snarled, her eyes pouched in shadows, but still, she is beautiful. With a sigh, she walks forward so I can enfold her in my arms. Kiss her brow. Hold her tight.

  “How was your first day of training, be’shmai?” I ask.

  “Tough day at the office,” she replies.

  We settle down in our camp. In truth, the place is unworthy of the name—it is simply the spot where we have chosen to sleep. It
is situated in a gentle hollow, under a tall, silvered tree with purple leaves that sweep down to the grass. We have no beds. No real shelter. The weather is perfect, and it is not as though we need walls around us. But it still puts me on edge to be sleeping in the open.

  “How was your day?” she murmurs, cradled and whole in my arms.

  “Unproductive,” I reply. “I tried walking to the crystal city. I thought to take a closer look at it, to see if perhaps it might be a better place for us to rest. But no matter how far I trekked, it remained forever on the horizon.”

  “Weird. We could ask the Eshvaren about it?”

  I shake my head, pressing my lips thin. “Do not trouble it, be’shmai. I think perhaps the less I deal with our host, the better.”

  She glances up at me. “Did it say something to you?”

  “No,” I admit. “But when we first arrived … it did not feel pleased to see me. I do not think it wants me here.”

  “Well, that’s tough, Legionnaire Gilwraeth,” she says, snuggling further into my arms. “Because I do.”

  I smile, holding her tighter. For a time we simply sit in silence, enjoying each other’s warmth, the way our bodies fit together. With her this close, I cannot help but think of our night on the Zero before we came here. I long to burn inside that fire again. But for now, it is enough to simply be with her.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask.

  “No,” she replies.

  “… Nor I,” I realize.

  “The Eshvaren told me this place isn’t really physical,” she murmurs.

  “I suppose it makes sense that we wouldn’t feel physical needs?”

  She chuckles in my arms, wriggles closer. “Speak for yourself, legionnaire.”

  I think perhaps Aurora is making … what is the Terran word for it … innuendo? But then she sits up straighter, calls out into the gathering gloom.

  “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  The air ripples, and without even a whisper, the image of the Eshvaren is suddenly, soundlessly floating before us. The light within it refracts and shimmers on its crystalline skin. It turns its gaze upon me, and though I am struck again with the sense it does not want me here, I still admire its beauty.

  Yes? it says, its voice like music.

  “Hi,” Aurora says. “Listen, I know this might be a strange request, but could we maybe get some food? I know we technically don’t need to eat but …”

  Any refreshment you require can be yours, the Eshvaren replies.

  “Oh great,” my be’shmai says. “And … maybe some furniture or something? It’d be nice to sleep on a blanket and some pillows?”

  Any comfort you require can be yours.

  “Brilliant,” Aurora smiles.

  The Eshvaren remains hovering in silence before us. Long moments tick by with no food or blankets making themselves known. Aurora peers at the apparition, her smooth brow slowly creasing into a frown.

  “… Well?” she asks.

  All you require can be yours, it says. You need only will it into being.

  “… Will it?” Aurora’s frown grows darker.

  Yes.

  “I can’t even keep myself upright in a basic training exercise,” she says, temper flaring. “You want me to start conjuring things out of thin air?”

  I am only a collection of memories, it replies. I do not want anything.

  And without another word, the Eshvaren shimmers out of existence.

  Aurora glances at me, clearly uncertain. I can see how exhausted she is. How much our brief time here has already cost her. But then I see determination flaring in the depths of her mismatched eyes. She breathes deep, sits up straighter in my arms. Leaning into me like I am a rock in a storm.

  And, eyes narrowed in concentration, she holds out her hand.

  I feel the faintest tingling on my skin. I sense something vast moving beneath her surface. The air around us feels charged with current, and for the tiniest moment, I think perhaps the air before us ripples. Shimmers. Twists.

  But only for a moment.

  The current fades. The steel in Aurora’s muscles wilts, her back bows. I can feel her pulse hammering beneath her skin, hear the strain in her voice as she gasps.

  “I c-can’t… .”

  Breathless, she sinks back into my arms, frustrated and angry. I know what it is to train beyond all limit of endurance, to suffer under a relentless taskmaster. I do not know if I can make it easier. But I try, in some small way, to make it better.

  “Take courage, be’shmai,” I tell her. “All is well.”

  I kiss her brow.

  “We have time.”

  Hold her tight.

  “And we have each other.”

  Aurora

  I’m beginning to hate this rock.

  No, scratch that. I do hate this rock. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I hate it worse than Mr. Parker from fifth grade, who put me in detention for punching Kassandra Lim, even though she was the one who cut off a piece of my hair.

  I hate it worse than Kassandra Lim.

  The rock and I have been in a standoff for seven days now, and by every available measure, the inanimate object is winning. It sits in the middle of a gorgeous blue-green meadow, sprinkled with tiny pink flowers that give the whole scene a rosy hue. The sky is that same rosy color, and there’s a perfect little stream to the east, shaded by low-hanging trees with purple leaves.

  The task I’ve been set should be simple for someone with power like mine. All I have to do is pick up the rock and move it to the other side of the meadow.

  But of course I can’t.

  My power still doesn’t show up on command like that. And I’ve never really used it to manipulate objects before. I’ve just smashed them around and broken them apart.

  Are you ready for another attempt? Esh asks.

  “Yeah, sure,” I mutter, from between gritted teeth. “It’s definitely going to be the seven millionth time that’s the charm.”

  Self-discipline comes slowly, it replies. You continue to make small gains.

  I jab a finger in the rock’s direction. “That smug son of a biscuit is sitting exactly where it was a week ago. I haven’t made any gains, large or small.”

  You have not kicked it in five days, Esh points out.

  “This is getting us nowhere, Esh,” I snap. “At this rate, I’m going to be an old lady, the entire galaxy will be one giant Ra’haam colony, and I still won’t have moved the boulder.”

  Time is not in short supply, Esh replies. Though weeks have passed here, little more than an hour has passed from the perception of your crew. Are you ready to begin again?

  I draw breath for another retort, then pause. My crew. They’re the reason I’m doing this. Saving the entire galaxy and everyone in it sounds ridiculous. It’s not the sort of thing you can really get your head around. But saving just a few people …

  I think of Cat as she slipped away into the Ra’haam. I think of Tyler, dragged off by the TDF. I think of Scarlett, watching her brother get left behind. Of Zila, of Fin, risking everything to protect me. They all have something or someone to lose.

  And I think of Kal, of course. Constant, patient, faithful.

  When I first understood what the Pull meant, I panicked. Who wouldn’t? But he’s never expected me to feel what he does. In fact, he’s never expected anything of me. He’s only ever offered.

  And that’s definitely something worth fighting for.

  “All right, Esh,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s move this thing.”

  Your optimism is laudable, it replies, flickering out of the way.

  I stride up to the rock and clear my mind. Push aside thought and emotion like it told me, keeping only the sense of purpose I feel when I think about protecting the ones I love. I breathe in. I breathe out.

  Then I raise my hands and focus on the rock, visualizing it moving to the other side of the meadow. Sweat beading on my skin. My brows twisting into a frown. I unleash my cert
ainty, my conviction, my will that it’s going to move.

  It’s going to move.

  It’s going to move.

  And absolutely nothing happens.

  “Sonofabiscuit!”

  With a roar of frustration, I kick the rock. Then I scream and fall on the ground, clutching my foot, tears of agony and frustration in my eyes.

  The Eshvaren looms above me, its crystalline face shimmering with every color of the rainbow.

  Why do you fail? it asks.

  “How should I know?” I shout, eyes stinging.

  Why. Do. You. Fail? it asks again.

  “You’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching me!”

  What is clouding your mind? it asks. What stands in your way?

  “I don’t—”

  You are not merely a vessel for the power, Aurora Jie-Lin O’Malley. You are the power. A power that must shatter planets. This is a place of the mind. The ties that hold you to this—it touches my chest with one shimmering finger—only hold you back. You must let go of what you were to become what you are.

  It peers at me, eyes shining all the colors of the rainbow.

  Burn. It. All. Away.

  I hang my head, traitorous tears welling in my eyes.

  “And what if I can’t do that?” I ask.

  The Eshvaren shrugs.

  Then you will do nothing.

  Kal

  Aurora is displeased.

  We have been here for weeks, and she seems to be making no progress. As she stomps back to our camp after another day’s fruitless labor, I can feel the frustration soaking her through. She sinks into my arms, melts against my lips, and for a moment, all is well. I know she is glad to be back here. With me. Us, together. But still, I can feel how discouraged she is.

  “How can I help, be’shmai?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  I hold her close, her cheek pressed to my chest as I smooth back her hair. “What does the Eshvaren say?”

  “ ‘Unshackle the strictures of the flesshhhh.’ ” She adopts a deep voice, mocking that of our host, and wiggles fingers in my face. “ ‘You must let go of what you werrrre to become what you arrrrrre. Burn it all awaaaaay.’ ”