Nyx (NINE Series, Book #4)

by Loren Walker

  “Sydel is willing to teach you,” Phaira finally spoke, getting to her feet. “Go make her an officer. I’m not getting involved in this fight.”

  The detective’s voice was sharp. “How can you do that?”

  “Are you going to blackmail me into service again?” Phaira shot back.

  Ozias just looked at Phaira. Then, with a resigned breath, she took out her Lissome.

  “I’ve seen the video,” Phaira told the woman. “I saw Theron and CaLarca and that mess already. Anandi showed me.”

  Ozias winced.

  Phaira’s chest sank. “Why are you making that face?” she demanded.

  Ozias activated her Lissome and projected an image overhead.

  Phaira clapped her hand over her mouth to keep her gasp from spilling through.

  A hospital bed, and a body in it. Red seeping through white gauze. Intravenous tubes in arms, feet splayed to the side. Twitching fingers. Bound arms, bound legs, and patched face, with only one side visible, and short black hair sticking up.

  “What happened?” Phaira finally managed, her voice muffled through her fingers.

  Ozias clicked the Lissome shut. “Confrontation yesterday. A compound got torched, and Anandi was in there. She’s in critical condition. Burns to over 50% of her body. Not sure if she will pull through.”

  Phaira's thoughts spun so fast she thought she might vomit. Theron couldn’t have done such a thing – could he? She remembered the images from the first video: his stone face, the smoke from the building, the way he looked at CaLarca. And Bianco Sava – back from the dead, and starting a war? Why? And why didn’t Theron just hand over control of the syndicate? Why was he fighting back?

  “Does her father know?" she asked the detective. "Emir?”

  “He does." "Ozias held her gaze, so piercing that Phaira didn't dare to look away. "They’re going to destroy each other, and everyone around them. And your brother Renzo seems to have gotten involved too. Did you know that?”

  "Renzo - was he...?"

  "No sign of him on the scene. But he was there."

  A sour taste grew in Phaira's mouth. Theron had picked Renzo up, that’s why he disappeared. He was with Theron. He was fighting. He was part of the reason for Anandi getting burned. Theron had turned her brother to his side.

  How could she have ever thought that she loved Theron Sava?

  A knock on the door. Sydel entered, a cautious glance to Phaira, and then to Ozias. “Has a decision been reached?”

  Ozias extended her hand. “I’m grateful for any help you can provide.”

  Hesitantly, Sydel took the hand, and shook it. “I’ll do my best.”

  Ozias let go, and reached into her back pocket, pulling out a tissue. “Here,” she offered it. “Your nose is bleeding.”

  Sydel stiffened. Then she briskly turned her back, addressing the bleed.

  A sick feeling grew in Phaira's stomach.

  “We should start immediately,” Ozias announced. “If that’s acceptable to you. To either of you.”

  “In a minute,” Phaira said. “A moment alone, please.”

  Ozias nodded, closing the door behind her. When it clicked shut, Sydel looked over her shoulder, bright red spots on the tissue pressed to her nostrils. “Phaira, it’s nothing.”

  “That’s something that looked like a mini-stroke, and two nosebleeds."

  Sydel's shoulders lifted with surprise. "You saw the other bleed?" she squeaked.

  "I saw the linen," Phaira told her. "You're not that good at holding secrets. What's going on?"

  Sydel lowered the tissue to her side. Then, to Phaira’s surprise, she smiled. "My body is turning against itself," she announced quietly.

  "What - what does that mean?"

  Sydel turned to face her. "You know what antibodies are, right? They're supposed to protect us from infection. But sometimes antibodies are confused and attack healthy cells. This causes... " she stumbled over the words. "Blood clots. And I've had enough that they've started to damage my organs."

  "So, you take an anti-clotting medicine, or something like that," Phaira said in a rush. "Right?"

  Sydel shook her head. "The clotting is dangerously fast. I'm not sure how much longer I have."

  How could she say the words so nonchalantly? "Is it from using NINE?"

  "I think it might be. I've felt weaker after every time I've used NINE; I just didn't pay attention before. But so many, in succession - I think one more display might kill me."

  “Then why volunteer to help these people?” Phaira sputtered.

  “Because it's the right thing to do."

  Phaira ran her hands through her hair again and again. She couldn’t get her ribs to expand. Her skin was covered with tiny pinpricks. She wanted to melt into nothingness and never be touched again. She wanted to embrace Sydel and do something, do anything to make it better. There had to be something that she could do. Some kind of treatment. They should bypass Ozias and her demands and get Sydel to a hospital. Maybe Phaira could sell the katana sword for rana. Maybe Ozias could lend them the funds; this war could wait a few days ….

  "Phaira, it's done," came Sydel's voice. "I know what I want to do. I'll teach these patrolmen about NINE, and how to defend against it."

  "You can't," Phaira said, feeling as though she were being strangled.

  Sydel gave a pained smile. "Everyone keeps telling me that."

  * * *

  The training commenced. At the mouth of the valley, as a light wind drew down the scent of pine, Sydel sat on a makeshift chair before the patrolmen and patrolwomen, her cheeks pink, her head kept low, but her voice ringing through the valley, telling them all she knew about Eko, and Nadi, and Insynn. Phaira watched it from afar, arms crossed tightly, glaring at the back of heads. What would be the reaction? Would these men and women try to attack Sydel? Try to capture her? There was no telling what might happen.

  Finally, Sydel stopped speaking. The silence that followed didn't last long.

  "Can you demonstrate?" someone finally called out.

  “I'd rather not," Sydel said. "But I can describe the sensations.”

  Then she raised her head to look over the crowd and catch Phaira’s eye. "So can Phaira. She's an Eko."

  Murmurs of disbelief went through the patrol, as heads swiveled and stared. Phaira felt her neck start to redden. "I'm not," she announced, louder than she intended. "Not really. I can't do anything."

  "Phaira, please," came Sydel's quiet sigh. Phaira saw for the first time how tired the girl looked, the sickly color of her skin, how thin she had gotten. Why hadn't she noticed before?

  The silence grew awkward. Everyone was waiting.

  Sydel had a look of resolution on her face, that sharp-chinned look that Phaira recognized as stubbornness activated.

  Internally, Phaira sighed. Then she cleared her throat, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

  “When she says Eko,” Phaira started haltingly, casting looks at Ozias, who looked delighted by the turn of events. “It just means that I can receive messages. I can’t project, or manipulate, or any of that other stuff.”

  “But you were attacked,” Sydel interjected.

  Sounds of interest in the crowd. A hot flush ran down Phaira's spine. Was she really going to say all this out loud? What if this was all in her head, somehow? What if she were wrong, and she told them the wrong things, and it led them all to death?

  Phaira shifted her stance and wet her lips with her tongue.

  “The first time," she began, "it was a memory extraction. Eko. It felt like cold fingers pushing through my head. And pressure, so much that I thought I might pass out.”

  She took in a breath, steadying her words. “The second time, it was a shapeshifter, Nadi, I think. And something else, too. He made me physically move, somehow.”

  She glanced at Ozias again. “He made me walk towards him, against my will.”

  Murmurs rose from the crowd. Sydel lifted a hand. “But you escaped,” s
he called out.

  “The second time, yes,” Phaira said. “But barely.” She touched her temple. “I have a natural defense against NINE. I don’t really understand it, but it’s tied into my emotions. When I allow myself to feel fear, something is generated, and I get a barrier.”

  Murmurs again, of confusion and interest.

  "What was it like? Being on the inside with the Savas?" one of the officers asked. “You were Theron Sava’s bodyguard for a time, correct? What can you tell us?”

  A hundred faces turned to look at her: not just the group of patrol, but the Soares Valley residents, who had gathered at the mouth of the path to watch the events unfold.

  This is the moment that Ozias wanted, she realized. This moment, with everyone looking, asking me to reveal all that I know about someone that I swore to keep secret.

  Sydel was looking at her too. There was no Eko connection, not that she could feel, but Phaira could still hear her voice in her head.

  It's the right thing to do, Phaira.

  I can’t. I said I wouldn’t.

  Sydel's voice was stronger. Tell them.

  “Rules,” she finally choked out.

  Someone in the crowd repeated: "Rules?"

  “There’s a lot of rules," Phaira said haltingly, "and expected behavior in the Savas. They don’t move far outside what they consider to be the norm.”

  “Like what?” one of the officers scoffed.

  Phaira thought fast. “Like their weaponry. The Savas are reliant on guns. If they don’t have guns, probably shockrounds would be the next level of defense. Or knives, I saw my share of those too.”

  “Nice to know how we can expect to get slaughtered,” the same officer shot back.

  “Like I said, they have patterns of behavior. The Savas rely on weapons; they aren’t skilled in hand-to-hand combat," Phaira told the group, feeling more confident. "When things go outside the norm, these people get agitated. So if you negate the weapons, they will lose their footing. Then you initiate close-contact takedown. Clean knockouts.”

  “How are we supposed to negate the weapons?” Ozias called out.

  Phaira knew how; immediately, it came to her mind how to do so. But she had to say the words out loud. She had to push past the guilt.

  “Sava guns are customized to members of the syndicate. The gold ring they wear, it gives a radio-frequency-identification signal to remove the safety when in close proximity. It means only they can fire the gun. Some kind of pride thing.”

  Ozias spoke up, eagerness in her voice. “If we can figure out a jammer, even a temporary one, to prevent the gun from receiving the signal, we can strike. Blanket an area, and any receivers in range would pick it up and act on it, deactivating the guns.”

  "Yeah, but can’t do that with shockrounds,” one of the patrolwomen called out.

  “No, but they are hard to control in close proximity,” Ozias pointed out.

  “There’s things beyond the weapons,” the same woman argued. “These NINE, whatever they are, what if they get inside our heads?”

  “Knock them out before they have a chance to,” Phaira said. “If they can’t use their brains, I don’t think they can use NINE. We exploit them for the weakness they hate to admit: they’re human."

  She looked to Sydel for clarification. In response, the girl lifted one bronzed shoulder.

  This is all madness, Phaira thought suddenly, fighting an urge to laugh. I’m talking like I know something. I don’t know anything. This could all be wrong. It probably is wrong. And yet, here I am.

  "We?" came a cry from the back.

  "You," Phaira corrected. "I'm not a part of this."

  She caught the grim expression on Sydel’s face, and Cohen’s visible disappointment. Phaira ignored them both. They had their parts to play, and so did she, and this was what she could offer. Now to bring them back to focus.

  “I’m assuming you all know the points to hit to render someone unconscious,” Phaira asked the group brusquely.

  No one spoke.

  “For example,” Phaira gestured. “On the left side of the just behind the ear and along the side of the neck lies the vagus nerve cluster, which controls the body’s heart impulses. A sharp blow to this region will either incapacitate or kill the aggressor. You haven't been taught this?”

  The officers shook their head. What were they teaching these men and women?

  An idea struck her. “If you haven't learned how to incapacitate someone physically, this is the place to learn.”

  Phaira lifted her head to survey the Soares Valley residents, who continued to watch in silence, in rows, far behind. “You should all work with the residents of this valley,” she announced. “If they will accept you."

  As she spoke, Phaira caught the eye of the man she had sparred with before, Tomo.

  She lifted one eyebrow, inquiring.

  There was the slightest nod from the man. Good.

  "This is a prime opportunity," Phaira said. "Learn what you can about hand-to-hand combat. Learn the hard spots, the most vulnerable spots. Understand, and master the human weaknesses of your enemy.”

  More murmurs of confusion, with heads swiveling.

  "Do as she says," Ozias ordered the group.

  The patrol men and women got to their feet. The residents came forward.

  Tension billowed through the valley like a thick fog.

  But soon, sooner than Phaira expected, the sound of conversations grew. And demonstrations were taking place, dust kicked up on the path in all directions; a dozen pairings on either side, grappling, learning.

  Watching the activity with wonder, Phaira felt Ozias's shadow behind her. She pretended not to notice, even as the woman came to stand next to her, so close that Phaira felt the brush of Ozias's shirt sleeve on her hand.

  "This is why I sought you out," Ozias said quietly. "You're a natural leader, if not a natural rule-follower.”

  “There’s something else you should know,” Phaira replied, keeping her eyes on the bouts. “Theron’s built a 'work-around’ into his gun. Means it can go off any time, with the signal or without.”

  Ozias let out a long exhale. “That information means everything. If this is the part you play in this fight, it’s enough. So, thank you."

  Phaira felt a hand on her shoulder.

  She resisted the urge to shrug it off.

  III.

  The patrol stayed in the Valley for two days, working with Phaira, with Sydel, with the villagers, practicing close combat, and laying out a strategy of both attack and defense. There were tactical meetings to sort through the likely locations that Bianco Sava and his men would be found, where Theron Sava was last seen, and the communications that had been intercepted. There was going to be a confrontation somewhere in the capital city of Lea, on one of the many bridges in the city, in forty-eight hours. A peace treaty between Theron and Bianco? A joining of forces? Exchanging of money, or territory? There was no information regarding Renzo. Phaira bit her lip to hide her disappointment. Or shame. She wasn't sure what she wanted to hear about her older brother.

  "We leave tonight," Ozias told her men and women. “We need all the time we can get to prepare.”

  There were groans of protest, quickly silenced when Ozias shot them all a look. Phaira took that moment to leave the group, and trudge back to her hut.

  Sometime later, there was a knock at the door.

  "Come in," Phaira said. She was standing at the window, watching the patrol gather into rows, shaking hands with the residents.

  A rustle. The sweep of footprints. In her peripheral vision, Phaira saw Ozias lay something on the bed, a bundle.

  A patrol uniform, Phaira realized. And a Compact firearm.

  She turned to glare at Ozias. What kind of trickery was this?

  "I meant what I said," the detective said. "A place with us is yours, if you want it."

  “That was a trick to get me to cooperate," Phaira lashed out.

  "It was," Ozias admitte
d. "But I've thought about it for some time now. You're smart and capable, and have a lot of admirable skills. You should be one of us."

  "Special Forces didn't see me as very admirable," Phaira said sharply. "I was dishonorably discharged from the military. That disqualifies me from a position with patrol. Or did you think I didn't know about that?" She picked up the uniform bundle and shoved it into Ozias's chest.

  But Ozias's eyes were glittering. "So, you have thought about it, then."

  "That's what you took away from what I said?" Phaira exclaimed. "You're crazy. Get out of this valley and leave me alone."

  There was a slight curl to Ozias’s lip. "You're wasted here.”

  "These people just helped you in immeasurable ways," Phaira shot back.

  "You don't belong in some monk community in the middle of nowhere." The detective's voice grew quieter. "Do you think you're such a threat that you can't be near anyone? You think I can't keep you under control? You give yourself too much credit."

  Maybe I do. The thought spun in Phaira’s head, breaking apart the anger.

  She stared hard at the uniform. “Why are you doing this?" she challenged.

  "Because I think you can make a difference."

  A difference. Phaira froze with the memory. It's what Theron said to me, back in the house on the cliffs, so long ago. Why he sought me out. Because I could make a difference. I have been clinging to that for so long, wanting his words to be true. She eyed Ozias; did she know, somehow, about that conversation, how much it had impacted her? Could it really just be a coincidence?

  “I have no veils on what you are, and what you do best,” Ozias said curtly. “I need someone who’s comfortable moving outside the system.”

  "Even if the discharge record doesn't apply,” Phaira retorted, “you can't just declare me to be an officer. I’d have to complete training to be a part of patrol. Which I haven’t.”

  "That is true," Ozias affirmed. "Handgun instruction, before one can be issued to you. Mental health training. Search and seizure procedures. Use of force, and defensive tactics. But I sense most of that would either be a waste of time, or the means to drive you back into the shadows.”