Brooke

Page 1

1
The breeze that wafts by me is deceptive. It carries the scent of burning sage, a scent we associate with happy occasions, like marriage ceremonies and harvest festivals. Marron believes the herb will lift our mood and help us all forget we’re living in a cave.
Like that’s possible.
The sage does not mask the reek of illness and brackish water. It does nothing against the cold in here. Cold that is bone-cracking. Skin-splitting. Nor does the sage have any effect on the darkness, darkness so complete it sucks you under like a riptide, pressing the air out of your lungs and teasing nightmares from your imagination. The sage does not keep me from seeing stone walls everywhere I look, rough and gouged surfaces, like meat clawed from an animal.
There is no forgetting where we are. No amount of good smell can take my mind off this cold, stale grave, or the Aether that’s put us here by destroying the world outside.
I look around me, at the Dweller cavern where I am stuck helping Molly. This place is the most desperate of all.
“Help me,” someone rasps behind me.
“Water,” moans another voice off in the shadows.
The sounds of the Dwellers wheezing and moaning have not ceased since I arrived.
They are sick. Every one of them is struggling to survive out here, out of their home, the Dweller Pod.
I kneel by a young Dweller girl wrapped in wool blankets. She is around my sister’s age, eight, and has a complexion as gray as ash. Her eyes are rolling back with fever and she looks a little monstrous, but I can’t make myself care. My sister has been back less than a day. I should be with Clara instead of this stranger.
Seeing her sorry condition, I don’t even bother trying to give her water. If I do, it’ll just run down the side of her face, like it did for the last three people before her. So I stand and move on to the next Dweller.
“Everything all right, Brooke?” Molly calls from across the cavern.
I stop mid-stride, the jug sloshing a few drops onto my hand. “Yes, Molly. Everything’s great.” I’m sure my disgust for the Dwellers is apparent on my face. “Just trying to figure out which one of them looks the worst. It’s not easy to do.”
Twelve hours ago, the Moles arrived on a ship with Perry and his new toy, Aria. The Dwellers were forty-some in number. None has succumbed to illness yet and died, as far as I know. When they first saw us, every one of them looked terrified, like they expected us to roast them alive for supper. I enjoyed that moment.
Not even an hour later, the first Dwellers fell ill with fever. And then it was like an avalanche of illness as they dropped off, one after another, until they were all teetering on the edge of consciousness. Molly had them brought back here, to this isolated cavern in the deeper recesses of the cave, to sweat and moan and fight for their lives.
Gren told me most of this, because I left right after their arrival. The Dwellers weren’t the only ones who came from their Pod on the Hover. My sister, Clara, did too. As soon as I set eyes on her, I didn’t see anything else. Clara had been gone for a year, and I had missed her every single day she was gone.
“Just keep going in order,” Molly says to me now. “Take them one at a time. They all need help.”
I glance around me at the shivering, sickly bundles. What they need is a miracle. “Why do we keep giving them water if they just throw it back up?”
“Because they’ll dehydrate otherwise.”
“But they’re not keeping it down.”
Molly rises from the Dweller she’s been helping and comes over. She grunts a little as she kneels at my side. With the added work and the moisture in the cave, her joints are bothering her more than usual.
“They might keep a little down,” she says. “We have to hope for that.” She studies the Dweller before her—a girl my age—and her face softens with sympathy. The girl is delicate as a bird, with short black hair that spikes up like the leaves of an artichoke. Her green skin color only enhances the resemblance. Like that of all the Dwellers around me, her immune system collapsed. She looks ready for a burial at sea.
“Her name is Rune.” Molly runs a hand over the girl’s head, smoothing down her hair. “I spoke with her briefly when she stirred a little while ago. She’s one of Aria’s friends.”
I can’t believe she touches them. “And you’re telling me this why?”
Molly’s amber eyes find mine. She shakes her head slightly, but her expression is kind. “You could make more of an effort, Brooke.”
“I’m making an effort, Molly. Many efforts, in fact. I’m giving them water. I’m holding buckets while they retch. You know the boy? The burly one—Soren? He vomited on me ten minutes ago. Spewed on me. Look at my sleeve.” I hold it out, showing her. How much more am I supposed to do? I left my sister’s side to be here.
Molly watches me like she’s not sure if she wants to say something else. I notice the lines around her eyes. Her face holds a sheen of perspiration, a few heavier drops beading over her thin lips. She’s exhausted. She’s been here since the Dwellers came in. I wish she didn’t care so much about everyone. It’s sucking the life out of her.
Her attention shifts, her eyes twinkling with reflected lamplight as they take in the feverish Dwellers around the cavern. “You’re right.” Molly pushes a strand of hair away from her face and lets out a long sigh. “We need to find another way to handle this. I’d better have a talk with Marron to see what else we might do.” With a muffled groan, she stands. “You’ll need to stay here alone for a few minutes.” She hesitates. “Try to be nice, Brooke?”
“Sure. I’ll try,” I grumble, though I’ll do no such thing. People who try to be nice are false. They’re liars. You should never force your behavior to be a certain way. You should just be. Maybe it’s not going to be nice, but at least it’ll be honest. “When you get back, can I go? I want to see my sister.”
I can’t get enough of Clara. She’s changed so much in a year. Not just in the way she looks—taller, thinner, and older. She talks like the Dwellers now, all sharp-edged. She even moves like them, a little hesitant, a little poised. I need to draw that out of her.
“You’ll see her again soon. We all have to pull our weight around here, and don’t forget that it was the Dwellers who brought Clara back.”
“It was the Dwellers who took her.”
“Her abduction was more than just their doing.”
I can’t disagree with that.
Vale, Perry’s brother, was as responsible for Clara’s abduction as the Dwellers were. Even more so, since he was our Blood Lord. It was his responsibility to protect us, but what did he do? He sold my sister and he sold his own son, Talon.
For food.
Then he tried to frame Perry for it.
I’m not the only one of the Tides who still has a hard time accepting how crooked Vale was. It’s strange how you can know something—know the pointy, sharp truth—but still want to bend and blunt the edges so it fits better in your mind.
Molly gives me a wink and walks away, knowing she’s won our little debate.
When she’s gone, I kneel next to Soren. I found out from Molly earlier that he was helping Aria inside the Pod. I should dislike him for that, but he’s the healthiest one here, so he’s my favorite. Even though he soaked my sleeve.
“If I give you water again, will you keep it down this time?” I ask, seeing that his eyes are open. Barely, but they are.
“Can’t make any promises,” Soren rasps. He’s kidding around, which is another reason he’s my favorite. This place is hell. If you can joke in here, then you can make light of just about anything.
“Well, aim to the side this time, all right?”
He nods and parts his lips. I bring the water to them and pour it in slowly. He’s sallow and sweaty, but he wouldn’t be bad-looking if he weren’t a Dweller. He has a strong face, with a heavy brow and eyes that look like they don’t miss much, even in their glazed, sickly state.
All the Dwellers are fair, with no wrinkles or scars or blemishes. I guess those qualities were done away with in the Pods. I feel very lucky that I look as good as they do—or better, actually—just by plain good fortune.
I can tell Soren is taking small, careful sips so as to keep the water down. “What’s your name again?” he croaks when he’s finished.
“Not telling you again.” All I need is forty Dwellers moaning “Brooke” to me all day long.
Drinking has made Soren out of breath. He’s panting a little when he says, “Outside . . . what’s happening?”
“Aether. Lots of it.”
His eyes narrow like he’s trying to picture the sky outside, and a small worry line appears on his brow. “How are we going to—”
“There’s nothing you can do to help,” I assure him, “especially in your pathetic condition, so just go back to sleep.” I get up and move on to the next person.
Molly says I’m not making enough of an effort with these people, but I really don’t think she’s been paying attention.
My path through the cavern is methodical. And targeted. I work my way toward Aria, who I’ve avoided until now.
I didn’t want Molly watching me around her. I didn’t want to feel like she was policing me. Like she thought I might hurt Aria. Being suspected of that would streak me, even though the idea of doing her harm does hold some appeal.
It takes me ten minutes to reach Aria’s side. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching me, I kneel next to her, moving as quietly as I can. She is in a deep sleep or maybe unconscious, but she is an Aud. I don’t want to take any chances that I’ll wake her.
As I look her over, my heart starts thudding and my face warms with anger.
Her right arm is bandaged, but blood seeps through the wrap, staining the white gauze with bright red spots.
Her arm was shot, apparently.
It’s becoming infected, apparently.
I should feel bad for her, I suppose.
I don’t.
She looks good for someone who’s wounded. That actually is apparent. Her hair is as black as the darkness around me but still shines like a diamond. Her skin is as pale as the moon, and she breathes like an Aud.
Soundlessly. Elegantly. Gently.
I am blond and strong and loud and determined, and no one will ever call me elegant. No one will ever see me as gentle. She is everything I’m not.
And Perry chose her.
Over me.
I let out a slow, shaky breath. Leaning closer to her, I picture Perry kissing her. Coals heat in my stomach, warming with every second that passes. The heat becomes unbearable; I nearly expect to see a glow through my shirt.
I can’t stand it anymore and have to let it out. Words pour from my lips.
“You probably can’t hear me,” I whisper, “but I hate you. I hate that you took away who I love. He was mine and we were happy until you came along. Maybe you think you fixed that by bringing Clara back, but you didn’t. Perry should be mine. Not yours.”
I sit back on my heels. The coals are still sizzling inside me. That didn’t make me feel any better.