by Ann Denton
He glanced down at Mala. That was a mistake. His lips itched to kiss her. But he couldn’t. It would be wrong. So instead, he tromped over to the side of the deck.
Don’t look at her, don’t look at her.
“What did I do?”
The pain in her voice made him flinch. He swallowed. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not all of it. He bit back a bitter laugh. What’s one more lie?
“It’s not … you don’t even realize? What you did, did you even think … what does that make the rest of us?”
Mala frowned. “What are you talking about? The … the rest of you?”
“Yes. Us. The Kreis.”
Mala stiffened. She crossed her arms. “The … rest of you. As in, I’m not one? You think what I did means I’m not one?”
Make her hate you, he thought. Make her want you dead. It’s what she’ll want later, anyway. May as well get it over with.
“You,” he heard himself say. “It’s all about you. You have no clue what you’ve done, do you?”
Mala scoffed. “If I recall, I started this conversation with ‘What did I do?’ As in, what did I do wrong? Because, no, I don’t know what the mudding hell I did that … that’s so bad.”
“You’ve turned us into murderers,” he said. “Cold-blooded killers.”
“You’re a soldier, Lowe,” Mala spat. “A spy. You’ve killed forty-three mucking Erlenders; how is that my fault?”
Lowe’s hands wound through his hair. He looked at the river, the sky, anywhere but Mala’s face. She was angry. Just a little further. “No, Mala. The ritual. The one where I had to shoot the dockhand I’d played poker with for two years. Point-blank. Leaving his kid to grow up without a dad. Those of us who actually went through with this final ritual, you’ve turned us into monsters. So yes. There’s the rest of us … and then there’s you.”
Mucking hell, Lowe felt like he was going to be sick. He looked away and bit his cheek until he tasted blood, fighting the urge to scream and cry and turn the damn boat around. He wanted to pick her up and run to somewhere the bomb hadn’t fallen, to some mountain or desert or ice cap that hadn’t been touched.
Mala’s mouth popped open. “So … you wish I’d killed Ges? That I’d murdered an innocent person for no reason?”
“Dammit, Mala, there is a reason! Did your stupid assistant teach you nothing? His great grandfather was one of our flooding founders …”
“No one ever told me anything about killing someone for the final trial!” Mala shouted. “Not even you.”
The anger in her voice was a spear to his heart. Words bled out his mouth, angry words that he couldn’t stop up. Words he didn’t mean. Words that drained the life out of whatever connection they’d shared. All the strength he had he used to avoid looking at the heartbreak on her face.
“Innocent or not, you’ve now converted a tradition of voluntary sacrifice into a bloodthirsty ritual.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Get over that,” Lowe snapped. “What you mean to do and what you do are two totally different things. Mean to is nothing. Intent doesn’t matter.” It doesn’t matter that I intend to do every Deadwater damned thing I can to save you; I’m still handing you off to the enemy. It doesn’t matter that the intent behind the damn trade is to sacrifice the few and save the many. We’re sacrificing you. Putting you at risk. Intent doesn’t mean a thing.
“How could I just accept what they wanted me to do at face value?” Mala demanded, but her voice was small. Broken.
“They’re called orders, Mala,” Lowe said darkly. “You follow them. You trust in them. You trust the fact that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. That someone besides you knows what the hell is going on.”
Mala went quiet. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down, and for a moment—just a moment, a fraction of a second—Lowe allowed himself to look at her.
She looked so small, so fragile. So lost. He glanced up. Ein was watching them intently. Lowe ground his teeth together, knowing the other man was just salivating, ready to come mend Mala’s broken heart. He didn’t deserve her either. But at least he wasn’t working up the courage to sell her to the heathen King.
“What can I do?” she asked quietly.
Lowe took a shallow breath, and when he spoke, his words were venom. “There’s nothing to do. You’ve caused a huge rift. See them?” Lowe pointed back at Ein in the cockpit, Neid now standing beside him. “She already looked at us like we were brutes. Other Typicals whispered it, too. Now … now every Kreis who comes back from a mission … Mala, you’ve made their lives hell. Every Kreis that comes in and doesn’t see the ritual the way you did? They’ll be hated. We’ll all idiotic murderers—can’t see past our own mucking bloodlust.”
Mala started to cry.
“Now there’s you. And there’s us.” He closed his eyes, willing her gone. When he opened them, his wish had come true. He was alone.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Neid and Lowe hid in the brush by the river at the edge of Wilde. The world’s largest inland port had once been a delivery point for cars and knickknacks from around the world. Now the stacks of shipping containers were live-in shacks at the heart of Wilde township. Fires glimmered on the roofs of several shipping containers. The scent of roasted rabbit carried to the bushes. Lowe’s stomach rumbled.
He ignored it and pushed through the brambles, past the shipping yard. He followed the map in his head. The one Stelle had drawn for him. He navigated past the shipping yard and overgrown streets until he came to a little strip mall tucked behind some evergreens. His hands reached into his pocket. He fingered the extra poison packets Herr had given him. They bolstered his confidence a bit. As did the poison master’s whispered farewell.
“Not everyone agrees with this Lowe. If you need my help, you get me word.”
Lowe eyed the strip mall, letting the words comfort him for a moment before he zeroed in on Keptiker’s home. The General lived in the only shop that still had a sign. Smack in the middle of the strip. Lowe silently thanked Stelle for the map. If he’d just had to walk up to this, he’d have wanted nothing more than some C-4 to rip up the entire strip. But with the foreknowledge, he had a plan.
He held his hand up to stop Neid. First part of the plan was to check the guard rotations.
Neid maintained silence for about twenty minutes. But after one rotation, she turned to him and whispered, “You need to make up with her.”
“Shh,” Lowe ignored her and stared harder at Keptiker’s building.
“I can tell you want to.” Neid poked his rib.
“We’re working right now,” Lowe ground his teeth.
“They aren’t coming back for another half hour and you know it.” She plopped down in the bushes.
“Get up. You need to crouch. What if someone else comes? What if we have to run?”
“You’re already running.”
“What?” Lowe turned to face her, frustrated. “What are you talking about?”
“In here,” she tapped the side of her head. “You’re letting the job get to you in here.”
He shook his head and grabbed his binoculars, glaring through them and half-wishing Keptiker would come storming out. Not really. It would ruin his plan. But it would shut Neid up.
“My mom always said that when your head’s at war with your heart … something’s wrong with your head.” She chuckled. “Ein used to hate it. But she’s right. Would I ever have dated V if I’d listened to my head? He’s a playboy. I know he’s your friend. But Verrukter? Really? We fit. You and Mala fit. Don’t be mad at her for seeing what we didn’t. I’ve been trying to get out of that trial for years. And I didn’t see it. Don’t listen to your head.”
Lowe took a deep breath. He let her words drift past, ignoring them. He couldn’t afford to listen right now. Couldn’t afford to get sidetracked. Because if someone didn’t keep their head in the game, they’d all get hurt. Or worse.
“I’ll g
o left, you go right. Take out any stragglers,” Lowe said. “Meet you behind the shop.”
Neid nodded.
Lowe crept through the brush in a wide circle of Keptiker’s home. He quickly broke the neck of the solitary guard out for a pee break.
He nodded at Neid when she met him near the whitewashed walls of the old store. The back door was boarded up and piled high with heavy metal boxes they had no hope of moving.
“Stop!”
They both turned. Three Erlenders marched up from behind Neid.
Damnit! Lowe cursed himself for trusting her to do her own perimeter check. He should have circled himself.
He raised his hands in the air. Beside him Neid started to whisper an apology. But a quick kick to her shin shut her up. She put her hands up too.
The Erlenders had spears at their throats. “Who’re y’all?”
Lowe opened his mouth. He panted. He swayed.
“Shit! He’s gonna pass out!”
Lowe twisted sideways and grabbed the spear out of the nearest Erlender’s hands. Neid ducked as he drove it into the chest of the warrior behind her. She came up swinging, slamming her fist into the shortest man’s throat. She wrenched his spear away, flipped it, and stuck him like a pig.
The third Erlender grabbed the knife in his belt and charged at them. His mouth opened to shout, but he never got out a sound. Neid pulled her spear free, rolled forward, and shoved it through his belly. The smell of his guts filled the air.
Neid gagged and turned away.
“Hey,” Lowe said softly. “You did good.”
“I let them sneak up on us!”
Lowe shrugged. “But you made up for it. Got two out of the three. You’re fine. I’d have a whole pep talk but we kind of need to—” he jerked his head at the building.
Neid nodded.
Lowe gave a tense smile, hoping that the commotion outside hadn’t carried through the walls. Only one way to find out.
“Right. Come on.” He boosted Neid up and she scrambled onto the flat roof. Lowe drove a spear into the ground. He used it to balance as he walked his legs up the wall. Then he pushed off it to swing his hands forward to grab the roof. Neid helped haul him up.
They crept slowly forward in the dawn light.
Toward the front of the store was a skylight. Dusty and cracked, it was hard to see through. But Lowe could roughly make out three shapes below. And an argument drifted up to them from the crack in the glass.
He leaned closer.
“She’s wasted our time for near on three months now! Getting all gooey hearted over some girl. Fed us wrong intel. Gave us the wrong girl. Sent us into a damn tailspin! She’s done.”
“Sir,” a timid voice replied, making Lowe assume the first voice must be Keptiker’s. “Consider she was in there a long ‘un. She did help us out any number a’ times.”
“Don’ matter. When push came to shove, she violated orders right from the top. Take her outside and do it now.”
“Sir. A lil’ compassion …”
“Compassion’s weakness sprinkled in sugar. You don’t have a sweet tooth, do ya’?”
Lowe and Neid exchanged glances. She mouthed at him, Execution?
He nodded.
A chain scraped. And then a woman’s voice curled around Lowe’s ears. A familiar voice. But one he couldn’t quite place. “You havta’ be the one who does it.”
Keptiker’s laugh was cruel. “You ain’t worth my time. I got taxes to do.”
“The Chiara said.”
A smack sounded. And another. Then a grunt. A chain dragging on the floor.
Lowe motioned for Neid to move forward to the edge of the roof. He followed. If sound could drift up through the skylight, he certainly didn’t want it drifting back down. He wanted to give his instructions well away from the glass.
He handed Neid a rag and fished a bottle of chloroform out. “When Keptiker comes out, get this over his mouth.”
“The others?”
“Whatever you need to do. I’m going to drive them out now.” He crept back to the skylight. He pulled four pepper-powder bombs from hidden pockets. He set them next to him carefully. Packed with cayenne powder, they would drive anyone inside the building out.
Lowe wedged a knife into the crack. Then he slammed his palm down on it. The skylight cracked more.
“What the—” a voice below started to curse. A bullet whizzed upward.
Rapidly, Lowe threw the pepper bombs down the widened crack and backed away as a red cloud enveloped the room below.
Lowe was back at the front of the roofline in time to see Neid launch herself over the side. She landed on a man’s back, making him drop the chain he’d been dragging.
The female prisoner streaked out next. She leapt over Neid and the Erlender wrestling on the ground.
She glanced back.
Lowe’s hands tightened on the ledge of the building. Verrat. A woman from Bara’s guard. Sorgen’s wife. And Keptiker had accused her of lying months ago.
Lowe’s stomach tingled with intuition. When Mala had thought Erlenders were looking for her, she’d been right. But if Verrat had marked the wrong girl … it meant the Erlenders had been looking for Mala even before she’d had a meltdown. Before Blut could have seen her or recruited her.
Lowe didn’t have time to ponder why. At that moment, Keptiker emerged, a gun in each hand even as tears streaked his cheeks. He looked like an angry red-eyed demon. He took aim at Neid.
Lowe jumped.
Chapter Fifty-Three
They marched toward Troe’s compound, stars staring down at them in wide-eyed wonder as Lowe, Mala, Ein, Neid, and an entire contingent of Wilde Erlenders trailed like ants over a hill. The wind chewed at Lowe’s fingers, making them red and raw.
Erlenders grumbled on either side of him. Lowe ignored them. He couldn’t believe it. Part one of the mission: a complete success. Keptiker had been captured and hidden in the woods as per the plan.
Neid had really stepped up during Keptiker’s attack. She’d later sold it well when some Wilde soldiers had “caught” her in the woods so that she could begin the role of slave for the trip to Troe’s compound.
Ein had pulled off his pompous clerk persona brilliantly. He’d stared down his nose at the Wilde Erlenders and told them he was there to inspect their tax tribute. It’s not much of a persona, Lowe rolled his eyes as he tromped down the road. But it had done the trick. Ein’s snobbery had turned people’s heads whenever Mala had done something odd or effeminate.
Net sum was that the Wildes had listened to Mala’s ‘Keptiker’, packed, and hit the road at night though they weren’t scheduled to leave until morning. Lowe tried not to smile. Not to get arrogant. The part of the mission for which he had no concrete plan was yet to come.
He tried to plan but his mind kept drifting. Keptiker’s escapee, Verrat, had been caught across the river by Mala and Ein. Mala had killed Verrat. For betraying Bara. For selling out the guard.
But, Lowe mused, Keptiker had been about to kill Verrat for passing on false intel. Keptiker had accused Verrat of going soft over some girl. Lowe’s gut couldn’t help but twist; he believed the girl was Mala.
Verrat had been undercover for years. Mala had been with Bara’s group for several years. She’d mentioned patching up Sorgen—Verrat’s husband—a couple times. How well did they know each other?
What would it be like to live in deep cover in enemy territory for so long? Would you develop sympathies?
Lowe had never spent more than five months in deep cover. How long would it take?
And that’s when his thoughts swiveled back to Stelle. Like Verrat, she’d spent years in Erlender company. But her hatred burned bright—so bright she was going to try to cut off the head of the snake.
She’d spent more than a year gaining the Erlenders’ trust, pretending to be one of them. Lies take a toll. Lowe’s eyes swiveled to Mala. Lies to people you care about. A big toll. If Verrat had come to care about Sorg
en. About Mala … a shiver of sympathy for Verrat ran down his spine.
He shook it off. Lowe started to run; he needed to clear his head so he could strategize. He wove between Erlenders, cutting them off and tripping them up. Trying to be as annoying and childlike as possible, since he was in his six-year-old body for this part of the mission. He wanted to keep the grumbling going and focused on him. Not Mala’s—Keptiker’s—swaying hips.
I should talk to Stelle. Tell her to move up the assassination. When he’s dead, we’ll just grab the kids. Why try the trade? Why go through the charade when Troe won’t follow through? He cursed the Center. He was sure there were details the Ancients were holding out on. Something political? Something the president needed? To try and make the trade for publicity? The parents? So if it went to hell, the Senebals can say, we tried? Those idiot Erlenders though, they mess everything up … Lowe stopped running. He panted hard on the rise of a hill. Politics were not his forte. Neither was planning, clearly. His only plan was kill Troe and grab the kids. Then, hopefully, Mala too. He turned to look for Ein.
But the march came to a sudden halt. Lowe stumbled and tried to peer through the lines, but in his six-year-old body, he couldn’t see the back of the column. He looked over at the nearest Erlender, who shrugged at him.
Heavy footsteps crunched through the snow and broken asphalt. Keptiker came thundering into view. For a moment, Lowe panicked. He was convinced the real Keptiker had returned. But the real Keptiker had taken a serious beating. Lowe relaxed.
Mala’s getting her groove—
Keptiker’s fist connected with his face.
Lowe reeled back but didn’t fall. The Erlenders around him sucked in a breath. A deathly quiet descended over them as they wondered what the kid had done to invoke the General’s wrath. They looked between each other, some taking half-steps backwards.
Lowe looked at Mala, narrowing his eyes just enough for her to notice. Keptiker was brutal, and Mala was obliged to display that—but this seemed unnecessary.
