by A. L. Knorr
"Now do you wish I'd grabbed a weapon?" Ibby muttered as she moved to stand beside me. Anger was rolling off her in waves. Her fingers flexed at her sides.
"What's going on here," barked Ethan, stepping forward. He was trying to be brave but his voice sounded weak and old. "Release that woman! At once!"
My heart sank at the lack of confidence in his voice. The poor man was a field director, not a soldier. He wasn’t trained to handle confrontation like this. It was why we’d been given a security team. My heart ached with sympathy for him.
All five men had their dark eyes trained on me. Mifta's was the only face I recognized. All five of them had their jackets dangling open and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were all armed. My heart was tripping along like I’d had way too much caffeine, and my mind raced to come up with something that would defuse the situation.
"Mifta." It took effort to keep my voice clear and strong. I stepped in front of Ethan, sending a signal to everyone that I was not afraid—at least that's what I hoped was coming across. I kept my eyes on Mifta’s alone. He had seen me move that instrument with my mind, I felt sure of it now. Maybe he had been waiting for his moment ever since then, planning some way to capture me. Now that his first plan had failed, he was past being stealthy. The gall of he and the men with him astounded me.
Mifta's eyes held mine but his face was turned slightly away from me, like he was afraid I was going to explode. "We won't hurt her if you come with us. We want only you.”
Jesse barged forward. "You can't just take people." His voice was rough and hard. "You can't have either of them. Molly hasn't done anything wrong. All she's done is saved a woman you stole in the middle of the night.” He spat at Mifta’s feet. “Like a bunch of cowards."
"Jesse." I reached out a hand to stop him but he blocked me, coming between Mifta and me with his bulk. Jesse’s hands clenched into fists. His movements were inflammatory, and full of fury. Everyone stiffened and the tension ratcheted further.
The man holding Molly pushed her down in the sand. She went to her knees with a muffled cry and bowed her head. His hand snaked into his jacket from which he removed a gun.
"You stop," he barked at Jesse. His voice was low, liquid and heavily accented. "I shoot her!" He followed this with a stream of Tamahaq and pointed the weapon at the ground near Molly's knee. His arm was straight and tense and ready to shift and make the iron weapon bark, changing the moment forever.
Jesse went still, glowering at the man with the gun.
The wind lifted the sand and swirled it around us, making everyone blink. For an endless moment we were a frozen montage of bodies, forever stuck in a stand-off. Forever waiting to see who would make the first move.
It had to be me. I was the one they wanted. They had no interest in anyone on my team, only me. But I had no intention of ever being under their control again.
The pulse of my heart slowed and became a hum. The fear that I had woken with burnt away like dry autumn grass as the waves pulsed through me. My fingers throbbed with heat and energy.
"What did I ever do to you?"
Mifta answered. "For thousands of years you have destroyed our cities, our homes—"
"She’s not the Ghibli," sneered Jesse. "She's just a girl."
The corner of Mifta's lip curled ever so slightly. "She is not just a girl. You know this. You saw her—"
"We saw her save our lives," Ibby interjected. "She is special, no one is denying that. But she's a nineteen-year-old kid from Canada. She's never even been to Libya before. It's crazy to think that she—"
"She is Euroklydon." Mifta spat the name.
The vibration inside me began to speed up, originating at my heart and building in my body like a charge. I had no desire to hurt these men. They were misdirected, mistaken, that was all, but I wouldn't let them hurt Molly or anyone else. I most certainly wasn't going to give myself to them. If I had been given this power for any reason at all, it was to prevent something bad from happening in this moment. But a question simmered under all the racing thoughts and loosely forming plans––why hadn't they shot me by now? We were all unarmed, they could see that.
"Her, for you." Mifta’s brow had begun to shine with sweat. "Decide." He leveled his gun at Molly's head. She squeezed her eyes shut, her lips pinched between her teeth. The man on her other side stepped back and lowered his weapon, letting Mifta take control of Molly.
"What happens once you've shot her, Mifta?" Ethan spoke up.
"It'll be on your head," Mifta answered, still looking only at me. His face was solemn and resolute, but as we glared at each other, his face began to twitch with effort.
Mifta glanced down at the gun, which was twisting in his hand, slowly. His eyes flashed accusingly to me and back down again and he uttered some harsh words in Tamahaq. The barrel was now pointing up, above Molly's head, continuing to twist backwards, slowly pointing to the sky.
"What's happening?" Jesse stepped up beside me, his voice quiet. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not doing anything," I hissed. I checked myself, but nothing had changed, no power was leaking out of me, though the thrumming inside me had only increased.
One of the other men yelled in Tamahaq and his voice was joined by the others, all shouting at Mifta. Fear was deforming their faces. Mifta yelled back, his tone defensive, and it seemed there was an argument going on.
Molly, still on the ground, looked up, her eyes wide as she watched the gun twist unnaturally in Mifta's trembling hands. His eyes bulged with effort to get control of his weapon.
One of Mifta's companions nailed me with a look of terror, and understanding. He thought I was doing this. His hand reached into his coat.
"Nope," said Jesse and he darted forward as another gun appeared in the man's hand. He made to raise it toward me, but before he could aim properly, Jesse was on him. Jesse grabbed the man’s wrists and shoved the gun skyward.
CRACK!
The gun fired into the sky as they wrestled, and suddenly everyone was moving. The gun’s retort had broken the spell.
I dashed forward to Molly as Mifta began to yell commands, his face pouring sweat. He had no choice but to release the gun which was forcing his hand back into a painful and unnatural angle. As he released it, the gun hovered in the air by itself.
Molly, Mifta, and I all stared at it, shocked. Mifta's eyes flashed to my face, accusatory, but when he saw that I was just as surprised as he was, his fear turned to terror.
The gun flew sideways and landed in the sand several feet away, as though someone had swatted it with a baseball bat.
BANG!
The sound of another gunshot made the three of us jump like we'd been electrocuted.
Jesse sent a fist into his opponent’s face and the sound of bone against skull set my teeth on edge.
Mifta dove for the gun lying in the sand and without thinking, I gave him a hard mental shove. Heat radiated through me. Mifta went flying forward, past the gun and headlong into the sand.
Suddenly, everyone was running and it was utter chaos. I grabbed the gun and covered Molly as she ran toward the cover of the mountains, hands still bound. She disappeared behind the van and I hoped she kept running farther into the mountains. There were countless crevices and caves to hide in beyond the campsite.
I spun, looking for Jesse, and found him just as he was hit across the jaw with a fist. He went sprawling, twisting to catch himself and landing awkwardly with an arm pinned under his chest. Anger bolted through me as I watched the militant turn the gun on Jesse as he lay in the sand, his mouth bleeding.
Flicking my hand, I sent a rushing twist of energy into the sand at the man’s feet. He staggered backward and raised an arm as a wall of sand flew up in his face, swirling around him, peppering his skin and clothing. Jesse scrambled up and out of the way. He ran straight for me, grabbed my wrist, and shoved me ahead of him toward the network of crevices.
The sound of shouting made me look over my shoulder
for the other three men, who were nowhere to be found. It sounded like orders were being belted, like Mifta was trying to get his men organized. I thought I heard the sounds of static punching off and on.
“Are you okay?” I tugged on Jesse’s shoulder as we entered a narrow canyon, out of sight of the campsite.
Jesse nodded and turned back, examining my face. “Are you?”
“Yes. Just—" I sucked in a breath and put a hand on my driving heart.
“In shock?” He put an arm around me and squeezed. “Come on. Keep moving.”
I nodded. "Where is everyone?" I followed him deeper into the mountains.
"Hiding from the fools with guns," Jesse panted. "What do you think?"
Running footsteps behind us made us both gasp and turn, hands coming up defensively. I half raised the gun, although I doubted I could have ever fired the thing. Jesse's fists clenched, ready to fight. But it was only Ibby who appeared.
“Whoa!” She held up her palms. “Easy.” She spied the gun in my hand. “Nice work.”
We wound our way through the narrow canyon as it led us on a semi-circular path around the perimeter of the campsite. Stopping to rest and listen, we stared at each other, panting and wide-eyed.
"This is crazy," Ibby whispered, wiping the sweat from her brow with her pajama sleeve. She hadn’t even had a chance to dress properly before we’d been set upon. At least she’d pulled on a pair of sneakers. "What happens now? We have no weapons. I think that guy was calling for back up a radio!”
“I thought I heard static.” I frowned. We were already outmatched. We couldn’t handle more one-minded, misdirected militants. Things were plenty ugly enough.
"We need to get out of here before more of them arrive," whispered Jesse. “They’re totally irrational.”
"But how?" Ibby crossed her arms over her chest, like she’d become aware of how poorly dressed she was for the situation.
"Listen," I hushed them, and they fell silent.
The sound of additional vehicles approaching made Ibby's jaw drop. She gaped at us. "How did they get here so fast?"
"They must have been waiting." Jesse wiped the sweat from his forehead and touched a finger to his swollen lip, wincing. He pressed his sleeve against his lip, leaving a small bloodstain. "They were planning it this way the whole time."
"What are they going to do now?" Ibby whispered.
The sound of gunfire made all of us jump, but it wasn't the single bark of a pistol, but the repeated rat-a-tat of an automatic weapon. Ibby and I clamped our hands over our ears. The gun went silent, leaving us sweat-beaded and pale.
My mind raced. Had they just executed someone? Or had they fired into the air to scare us?
We listened, barely breathing, to the sound of voices conversing in Tamahaq. Truck doors slammed, there were the sounds of men in action, men with urgent purpose. I had to do something. I was the only one of our team in possession of anything that resembled a form of defense.
A tap on my shoulder brought Jesse to my attention. He beckoned to Ibby and me to follow him deeper into the rocks. Not that long ago, Jesse and I had run on top of these stones under a sky spread with stars. Not that long ago, I had fallen into a hidden cave and been made different. That night seemed like years ago.
Following Jesse as he snaked his way through the rocks, we skirted the campsite. The sounds of men at work grew louder. He stopped us at a place where the boulders made a lumpy natural ladder.
"We can get a look from here," Jesse whispered, and began to climb.
"Wait." I grasped the back of his shirt. "I'll go."
He peered over his shoulder and shook his head vigorously, a slash between his brows.
I nodded my head more vigorously, and pulled him down.
Ibby and Jesse shared a look. I didn't miss the nearly imperceptible nod that passed from Ibby to Jesse, as though she was telling him that it was indeed smarter to have me go. I had mysterious powers, Jesse didn't.
Jesse frowned and let me pass. "Go slow."
I nodded and began to climb.
Once I'd crawled high enough, I pressed my belly against the rock and squirmed forward until the campsite came into partial view. What I saw made my pulse jump. I counted six more vehicles—and those were just the ones that I could see. But it wasn't the vehicles themselves that made my breath catch; two of them had their back seats ripped out and large guns mounted on the back. No one was manning them, but the fact that they were there was plenty enough reason for my heart to rattle wildly against my ribcage.
Men swarmed the site, most of them carrying weapons and strange-looking devices. A few metal trunks lay open on the sand and a man in fatigues knelt in front of one of them, talking with three others. They pointed and made gestures with their hands as they talked, likely discussing the geography of our site and how it factored into whatever they were doing. More men approached and weapons were distributed from the trunk. At least, I assumed they were weapons. I didn’t know what else they could be.
I squinted, trying to get a better idea of what they were carrying. Whatever the objects were, they were partially encased in a cylindrical white casing. A metal bar protruded from the center. I cautiously lifted the gate on my mind and probed the thoughts of the man kneeling in front of the metal trunk. Instantly, the base of my skull began to throb. Like a spatter of hard-driving rain into my forehead, I received a stream of words that made no sense.
I slammed the gate down again, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. I laid my forehead down on the back of my hand and took a few breaths. The pain eased slowly, the way sunlight leaked out of the sky after sunset.
The man whose thoughts I had tried to read was communicating, not visualizing. I should have known better. I lifted my head, searching for someone else I could read. Zeroing in on a man jogging across the campsite with two of the devices in his hands, I lifted the mental gate again, hoping for visuals this time.
I started as I saw myself in his mind. In his imaginings, my body hung in the air, and my hair was aflame. A burning black and red mushroom cloud billowed upward behind me. An explosive backdrop outlined my form, seeming to lift and carry me. Strangely, my legs were pumping as though I was running on the hot drafts of air from a detonation. I did not look as though I was hurt by the explosion, but rather exalted by it. This confused me more than anything else. Why would he imagine me this way? Powerful? Alive?
My head throbbed and I dropped the gate between us again, taken aback. I put a hand to my forehead and then rubbed the back of my neck as the pain eased.
If his imaginings were telling, the devices had to be explosives. Were they planning to blow us all up?
My body pulsed against the rock beneath me and I lay my head to the side, taking deep breaths. Surely not. Surely they were not planning to set bombs off just to flush me out? They'd kill everyone here, and destroy our entire excavation, just for me?
Maybe I’d misunderstood the situation. This couldn't really be happening. It made no sense.
Another question popped up—did they know about the cave where I had touched the stones? It was the only other thing I could think that they might be trying to destroy. If that was their intent, they were way off base.
Movement off to my right caught my eye. A man carrying three of the explosives passed behind one of our trenches and disappeared into a crack in the rock. I watched for him to come back out, assuming he’d gone in to deposit the bombs. My hand flew to my mouth as Chris came out of the rock with the man following behind him. The man carried no explosives, but he wielded a weapon.
Chris had his hands on his head, fingers interlaced. He stumbled through the campsite, face pale. The man who'd rousted him from his hiding place passed Chris into the custody of a fellow militant and disappeared back into the rocks. Poor Chris was bound and made to sit cross-legged against the tire of a truck. He was pale and his eyes darted around the campsite, likely on the hunt for anyone who could help him.
One of the
men knelt in front of Chris and asked him questions. Chris merely shook his head. The man questioning him raised his voice and grabbed Chris by the hair, pushing his head back against the truck, hard. At the sound of the back of Chris's head hitting the metal body of the truck, something in me broke. This could not go on. An oscillating hum filled my mind as power began to build inside me.
I pulled myself the rest of the way up the rock and got to my feet.
"Petra!" Jesse’s whisper was loud and fierce. "What are you doing?"
I ignored him. I no longer cared if I was seen. Let them see me. I had something to show them. I would be still no longer.
The wind began to pick up because I willed it to. I looked at Chris sitting on the ground, his mouth downturned, his expression twisted with fear. He didn’t deserve this. None of us did. The wind increased. The canvas of the tents flapped and popped. Granules of sand swirled through the air.
Someone shouted in alarm. One of our opponents, who had been carrying a metal box across the campsite, looked up and spied me. He now stood frozen on the sand, squinting up at where I stood looking down at the scene below.
One by one, the men stopped moving, and all of them looked up. Chris let his head rest against the side of the vehicle and I saw his lips mouth my name. Oddly, all the fear left his features, like someone had rubbed an eraser across the lines between his brows. His mouth even twitched with the suggestion of a smile and his eyes locked onto me, hopeful.
I clenched my teeth at the scene below me. Men were all over the place were equipped and intent on destruction, they’d parked their vehicles haphazardly and their footprints had raked up the sand of our dig site. The string perimeters of our trenches, so carefully put there by Ethan, were torn away. The guns in the backs of the truck were ready and waiting to send out sprays of deadly bullets. And for what? Because of a superstition? Some misdirected hypothesis that the teenager now standing on the stone above them was an incarnation of an ancient and punitive god? Where did this leave me? Forced to defend myself and my friends and colleagues, forced to confirm that I had the powers they so feared. What choice had they given me but to become what they were so afraid of?
