Burn (TimeBend Book 2)

by Ann Denton

  “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s good. Dating some new dockworker this week,” Beza rolled his eyes.

  Lowe winked. “Good for her. Is he nice to you?”

  The kid shrugged. “Dunno. He probably won’t be around long enough for me to find out.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Beza gave him a pointed look. “She says she’ll never be over Dad. So what’s the point of getting too close to someone new?”

  This time, Lowe looked away. “I’m sorry. You know I’m sorry, right?” Small fingers dug into his bicep. He turned back.

  Beza looked straight at Lowe. “Don’t be sorry. My dad knew what he was doing. He told us two days before he volunteered. If I ever volunteer for the sacrifice, I hope that the Kreis I volunteer for is just as good as you.”

  Lowe gave a weak grin. “Kiss up.” He chucked Beza’s shoulder.

  But Beza remained wide-eyed and serious. “Not all Kreis take care of the family after, Lowe. And no one else brings some stupid Typical kid meds from Das Wort—”

  “Shut your face,” Lowe said, swooping down and enveloping Beza in a tight hug. “Don’t call yourself that either.”

  “What? Stupid?”

  “You know what.” Everyone at the Center who wasn’t Kreis was also branded. Instead of a circle, they got a line. Because they couldn’t change. Couldn’t melt. Because they were Typical. Because, underwater, in the Center’s isolated secret compound, they were lesser.

  “You are not typical,” Lowe grunted. Two sticklike arms wrapped around his torso. Lowe could feel the patter of a tiny heart. He shoved his emotion down quickly. Before it could take control. He released Beza and ruffled his hair. “I’ll always look out for you. What your dad did? It makes us family.”

  “Like blood brothers?” Beza looked up hopefully.

  Lowe’s stomach twisted a little. Blood brothers … Beza had no idea how his dad had twitched after the bullet hit his skull. How Lamm’s blood had sprayed Lowe in the face. The final trial to become an official Kreis soldier was one of the worst memories of Lowe’s life. Because it was the only time he’d taken the life of an innocent. A Typical volunteer. But an innocent.

  “A testament to the power of sacrifice,” his mentor Fell had called it. Kreis soldiers carried the weight of this trial with them. Whenever he grew close to losing heart, Lowe pictured Lamm’s face. And he pushed on.

  Lowe tried to atone for it. But having Beza bring it up, hearing him talk about volunteering for it, hearing the kid’s optimism about a stupid blood-soaked tradition, gave Lowe chills. The kid doesn’t know. His brain didn’t get the message to his hand, however. Because his hand nudged Beza back toward the secret passage. Before the door clicked, Lowe murmured, “We’re brothers. Not … just brothers.”

  “Oh! My mom says family dinner!” Beza called from behind the wall.

  “Yup,” Lowe could hardly mutter a response. His throat wasn’t working properly.

  After that encounter, Lowe needed to get away. Needed to breathe. He immediately went to the jobs board. He found Verrukter’s name on the hunting list.

  Verrukter was a few years older, a highly competent Kreis with no shortage of ego. And he was one of the few that wasn’t either threatened, resentful, or wistful about Lowe’s straight-as-an-arrow, follow-the-dotted-line method of performance. He had a smart mouth, but he’d have to keep it shut on the game trail. Lowe made his way over to the hunting station, to find Verrukter and see if he could tag along.

  The blond clapped him on the back and winked. “Just send one of your fan club girls my way and we’ll be even.”

  Lowe laughed, though it was forced. Verrukter was as dirty as lake sludge; he considered it part of his charm. “Thought you were with Alba.”

  “But I like variety,” Verrukter winked as he walked toward the air dock where a submarine waited. “We aren’t exclusive. But man—she’s a tiger.”

  Lowe rolled his eyes. And then had to avert his eyes as one of the fangirls Verrukter had mentioned waved to get his attention. “I think I’m ready for another assignment already,” he muttered.

  Verrukter raised his eyes as he boarded a submarine and Lowe followed. Verrukter took the controls and started the engine.

  “Blowing up boats was so fun you want to do it again?”

  Lowe shrugged as he tightened the wheel on the airlock door, then signaled the dockworkers to open the wall, spitting the sub out of the Center and into the lake. “Better than being stuck here. Oh, family dinner tonight.”

  Verrukter nodded. “Got it. I’ll tell Dez.”

  Lowe stared out at the fish until the sub bobbed on the surface. The men didn’t talk as they docked. They didn’t talk as they canoed from the floating dock to the lakeshore. They disembarked and tied up the canoe before Verrukter said a word.

  “Hey, man, before we get too far in there … I just wanted to make sure you’d heard,” Verrukter paused before checking his weapon and starting down a game trail. Guns were rationed, so only Verrukter had one.

  Lowe pulled out a knife. “Heard what?”

  “Blut’s missing,” Verrukter sighed, staring out at the greenery.

  “What?” Lowe started. Blut was a legend. “He was almost ready to be promoted to Ancient. Is he …” It was bad luck to call a Kreis crazy, since so many of them did hit the wall at some point. No way.

  “Not sure. They’re sending me out to look for him. He disappeared off his last reconnaissance.” Verrukter bent to examine some bushes. He pointed north. They turned. “Maybe he had a new lead. Maybe his target changed course. Too many maybes …”

  After a minute, Lowe asked, “You tell Alba?” The blonde bombshell Verrukter was dating was Blut’s protegee. She followed Blut’s word as if it was divine; she was more extreme than most the Erlenders with their anti-plague rituals.

  “No, man. Level five and up only.”

  Lowe nodded, pensive. “Good luck. When do you head out?”

  “Two days.”

  And that was it. Bet was gone. Dez was on assignment. Verrukter leaving. Blut was missing. We’re all just counting down. Lowe dismissed that thought and the emotions it dredged up. Now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to soak up the way the dappled summer light warmed his skin. Now was the time to inhale the green scent of the ferns.

  Lowe spotted a small cluster of blue vervain flowers on the edge of a meadow. He bent and broke a few off at the stem, tucking them into his zippered pocket.

  And it was that distraction that left him off guard: flowers. Lowe looked up and Verrukter had disappeared. Lowe felt a quick sting on his shoulder. And then he passed out.

  Chapter Five

  Lowe struggled to get his jaw to work. Get up. Off the ground, he tried to order himself. But his body was frozen in shock, still registering the fact that he’d been dropped by a dart to his back in the forest.

  He’d come to in the arms of a giant, his nose pressed uncomfortably close to the man’s rank armpit. When the giant had noticed Lowe was awake, he’d dropped him. And while Lowe’s reflexes were good, they weren’t good enough to stop him from crashing to the ground.

  Lowe grimaced as the tall man extended a bear-sized paw. He pulled Lowe up and forced him to shake hands.

  Not normal kidnapping protocol.

  The giant introduced himself. “Name’s Nal. After that performance on the Gottermund, President Stahl decided he’d like to meet you. You ready?”

  Nal’s biceps bulged, and Lowe eyed a tattoo of four gears on his arm as the giant waited patiently for Lowe to regain his power of speech, like he was used to this kind of reaction.

  Lowe’s brain whispered, Say yes. Am I having a stroke? What is the mucking problem? What was in that dart? Finally, Lowe stuttered out, “Yes. Sure. I’ll meet with him.” Like it’s a choice. Even if it’s a trap, it’s not a choice.

  Lowe followed the hulking bodyguard through the brush for over an hour, the sun pounding down, summer sweat soakin
g his shirt and trickling down his spine. If this is a trap … he should have killed me already. It didn’t feel like a trap, but Lowe couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that he was going to meet the President.

  The men broke through the tree line. In a long, narrow clearing, an abandoned parking lot was slowly returning to nature. Trees had punched through the asphalt. Rivers of grass and weeds broke up the black. The rusted cars were as silent and immobile as gravestones. Lowe followed Nal through the maze of parked metallic heaps to a black van near the middle of the lot. The van looked as bad as the rest of the cars, but Lowe could hear the low thrum of its engine. So it worked.

  Not bad. Transportation in disguise.

  The door of the van slid open silently. And there he was. The President. Face as worn and wrinkled as the tattered leather vest he wore. A wrench on a chain around his neck. He extended his hand to Lowe. And they shook.

  Lowe’s mouth closed against his natural inclinations. If he hadn’t trained so hard to control his emotions, he’d have been whooping and jumping and punching the air like a preteen who’d seen his first pair of breasts. The mucking President. The real mucking thing. He shifted into a formal salute, fist over heart, feet planted shoulder width apart. Slipping into formality helped him tamp down the euphoria.

  “I want to thank you, for your service,” President Stahl’s tone was formal, even as he squinted and swatted away a bee. Then he snapped his fingers. Tier emerged from the van, looking rather sulky for being summoned like a dog.

  Lowe hid his smile. Seeing his commanding Ancient being snapped at was priceless. He met Tier’s glower with a blank face.

  The President didn’t seem to notice Tier’s ire as he continued. “I had a debrief with Tier just now. Seems you had a difficult time of it. But you got it done.”

  “Yes sir,” Lowe wasn’t certain what else he was expected to say. I know stopping those ships was a big mission, but why did you come to the Center? Why didn’t Tier go to you? Why are the Erlenders raiding instead of farming? Is something wrong in Das Wort? What’s going on? He shut himself up by reminding himself that Presidents got to do as they pleased. Or this one did anyway.

  President Stahl had been serving for the past thirty years. He’d come to power before Lowe was born. Some kind of coup. And though there’d been whispers of attempts to oust him, he’d kept the farm fields well-regulated and most bellies full. And the soldiers … he knew how to placate the soldiers.

  Lowe was aware of orders from the President that made his skin crawl. Being Kreis, the pillage and … fear tactics never applied to him. He was to slip in and out like a knife. Leave a wound that would bleed out in minutes. Cut off strategic heads. He was a spy. He was an assassin. Except for this last mission. Which had been to blow the heathens into little bits no bigger than a dandelion seed and let their bodies float away on a breeze.

  But regular soldiers loved the power the President gave them. Over life and death and fear. The power to create fear.

  President Stahl broke the awkward silence that had descended. “Our water purification team is having quite the day of it, thanks to you,”

  “Should I apologize?” Was that a joke?

  “I like making people slightly uncomfortable. To see how they respond,” the President turned to him, blue eyes gleaming.

  “Did I pass sir?”

  The president smiled but didn’t answer. “I have an assignment for you. Something outside the Center’s chain of command. Something no one else there should know about.”

  Lowe’s eyes flickered to Tier. This is a test. Is he testing my loyalty to the Kreis command? Why is Tier here if this isn’t a Kreis matter? Hair prickled on the back of his neck.

  Lowe was suddenly aware of Nal, moving closer to him. He felt the threat buzz through his spine like a saw. He started to sweat twice as hard. But he held his composure. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared back at President Stahl and kept his hand in place over his thudding heart. “Sir?”

  “They say you’re a good soldier. Don’t break the rules. Can you do this?”

  “You make the rules sir.”

  At that, the President laughed. “So I do. Then I guess you won’t be breaking any when I tell you none of your superiors—no one other than Tier, your contact, and Nal—will have clearance to hear about this assignment.”

  Lowe nodded once.

  The President gestured toward the tree line. He started walking. Naturally, Lowe fell into step beside him. Tier followed a couple paces behind.

  Silence descended for several minutes as the president led the way to a grove of lush green cottonwoods. Lowe sniffed as the seed hairs from the cottonwood filtered through the air like downy snow. A slight breeze sent the feathery seeds dancing toward a wall of dead leaves.

  The leaves must have fallen last autumn and piled up against an old wall. Thick and looming, the pile had to be at least four meters high. All the men stared at it, and Lowe saw Tier nod at the President. He wasn’t sure what the nod was—a signal to continue, a signal that the coast was clear? He waited.

  The wind shifted. Turned north. And started peeling leaves away from the wall. And for an instant Lowe caught sight of a face staring back at him.

  Lowe started. He reached for a weapon, only to realize Nal had stripped him of weapons. “Do you see that?” He turned to Tier. “There’s someone there.”

  Tier and President Stahl exchanged a look.

  Lowe pointed. Turned to the leaves. But the face was gone.

  Tier gave a little shake of his head. “After-effects of the dart I think.”

  Lowe nodded brusquely, embarrassed. “Right. Sorry.” He rubbed at his eyes.

  President Stahl spoke. “We have a double agent who’s approached us from the Erlender camp. Someone with the talent and potential to move up and get close to King Troe. Someone who can appeal to the little toad. You’ve been requested. Apparently, your reputation precedes you. I want you to feed this agent information.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You’re aware of Troe’s paranoia?”

  Lowe had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. King Troe’s mistrust of everyone was legendary. The Erlender had one son. To avoid assassination attempts on his heir he had the prince and two other boys mutilated so that no one could tell them apart. Their faces were raked by acid scars and tattoos. “He switches his guard on a regular basis. The first floor of his compound is a maze. He takes a regular diet of poisons to build up immunity.”

  “Ah, yes. He’s also attempted to damn our river and control it fourteen times. He’s responsible for the deaths of eighteen thousand Senebals. Somehow. Through incompetent luck, I’m sure. Because that little fool apparently truly believes in magic,” the President spat out the last word as if it were an over-salted fish. Disgusting. Slimy. As if he wished he could scrape a finger over his tongue to rid himself of its essence. “I thought it was an act. But it’s not. Prayers. Amulets. Ridiculous trinkets. And … fortune-telling.”

  “Fortune-telling sir?” Lowe raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. What power, to control the future. How amazing, don’t you think? If there was someone who could tell you where enemy soldiers would be, what a plan of attack was …”

  “Yes sir.” Lowe was beginning to see where the President wanted to go.

  “Our agent has begun fortune-telling. Very dedicated. Already started to build a reputation. With our help, of course. You will enhance that reputation.”

  “How?”

  “You’re going to use your status as Kreis to get info from our locals and feed our agent a steady diet of intelligence.”

  “Excuse my stupidity here sir. Haven’t you already done that?”

  President Stahl gave a boyish grin. “Of course. But now, there are some new factors in play. And I need to speed things up before … well, before our window of opportunity closes,” he finished politically.

  Lowe recognized the evasion and knew he couldn’t question it, e
ven though he desperately wanted to know. “What do you need me to do?”

  The President clapped him on the back. “That’s what I like to hear. The right kind of question. We’re giving you an assignment in some of the northern tributaries. Start with basic information—guard movements, weak points in the northern guards, when they switch out patrols. Planned raids. Things like that.”

  “You want me to feed information that will get our soldiers killed?” Lowe felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

  “I want to win the war, not a battle,” President Stahl tilted his head, studying Lowe. His eyes were as piercing as a hawk’s.

  Lowe quickly schooled his features and his emotions. But his eyes still darted a question to Tier.

  “This agent will assassinate Troe,” Tier stated. “We get Troe’s trust, we get him.”

  Lowe nodded. “I’m in.”

  The President smiled widely, his political façade back in place. “Then let me be the first to congratulate you on your promotion. How does it feel to be the Center’s youngest Recruiter?”

  Part II

  Chapter Six

  It was one of those gorgeous warm days, where summer and autumn dueled for control. Heat had won the day, and the afternoon sun glittered on the Gottermund.

  Lowe stood on Bara’s boat deck, watching the waves bat playfully at the sunshine. He was all the way north; Bara’s guard was the last in Senebal territory. There were no factories on shore here. No farms survived. Just Bara’s tiny fleet of boats and the vast wilderness chewing away at the scraps of pre-bomb civilization that littered the shore. Bara’s crew hardly seemed a decent defense for the only waterway untainted by the blast that had contaminated the planet three quarters of a century ago.

  A rusty green speedboat floated nearby. The medic’s, Bara had called it. Two other boats drifted past, makeshift sails unfurled. The sails were tattered, full of holes, hardly full of wind. His eyes flickered over them briefly, then settled back on the water. And there she was.