Firstlife
Page 40
I try to picture Clay smiling. I just see him lying in a pool of his own blood.
“I would have found myself in Many Ends,” Sloan says, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Have you ever...visited?”
We’re seated inside another four-by-four square, but I take no comfort in the warmth. I deserve the cold.
“No. I’ve tried,” Archer tells her. “We hear the screams of the people inside, and we’ve even attempted to follow spirits through the veil, but we’re always blocked.”
Sloan shudders, and maybe she even rethinks her no-realm stance.
“If there’s a way for one to enter,” I say, my tone now hollowed out, “there’s a way for others to enter.”
“You would think so, yes.” He stands, lifts his hand, the star in his palm glowing. He types inside the light, saying, “Come. We have four more miles to traverse.”
The walls around us fade, and the cold sweeps in.
We remain silent as we hike, and I’m glad. My mind is churning. Like Sloan, I’m one of the Unsigned. If I die right now, I’ll end up in Many Ends, most likely exchanging one torturous existence for another. But...
Maybe that’s better than the alternative.
Archer failed to rescue Clay. Strike one, Troika.
Killian’s actions led to the avalanche that put Clay in danger in the first place. Strike one, Myriad.
My parents. Enough said. Strike two, Myriad.
Rules that prevent TLs from saving a human life without being asked. Strike two, Troika.
We make it to the little town Archer mentioned about two hours after sunset. Heaters mounted to the tops of silver poles line the streets and illuminate our path with a soft red glow. Golden light shines from a multitude of box-shaped buildings carved into the side of the mountain. Every building is connected through some type of tunnel. There are no windows, no real personality.
Archer stops as the light in his hand flares. He moves into a shadowed corner to type.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Responding to a message from my leader.”
Jellyair creation...communication between Earth and a realm. What else can the device do?
“I have to make him understand...”
Archer’s frustration is clear, and I’m suddenly glad the cell phone implanted behind my ear was deactivated the day I arrived at Prynne. Vans hoped to make me feel isolated. Trapped. His mistake. If I can’t be reached, I can’t be tracked or ordered around.
“While you’re wasting our time,” Sloan says, batting her lashes at him, “would you be kind enough to tell us where we are?”
“The Urals.” His typing speed increases, his fingers jabbing at invisible keys.
The Urals. A mountain range that runs through western Russia. My mind whizzes back to one of my first history lessons. Almost a century ago, snow covered the mountains, but unlike every year before, the deluge didn’t melt with the change of season. The climate worsened, becoming so harsh trees and wildlife soon died. The realms finally stepped in and planted sustainable foliage.
“This town is like any other. There’s a mix of Troikan and Myriad loyalists as well as Unsigned. A few weeks ago, there was a riot among the three and tensions are still high.” The light fades, and Archer drops his arm to his side. His shoulders slump as he turns and shoves a bag of coins into my hand. “I’m sure the asylum has people living here, as well, to keep tabs on the citizens and in case inmates escape and live long enough to get here.”
Wonderful. “We need weapons. Good ones.”
“And you’ll get them. At the end of the street is a bed-and-breakfast. I know the owner. He’ll have everything you need... He’ll get you wherever you want to go.”
“He’s trustworthy?” Sloan asks.
“He is.”
Good. “You can go now,” I tell him. I’m done with him, with all of it.
He opens his mouth only to snap it closed. He can’t override free will. Part of the “love people unconditionally” law, I’m sure.
“Goodbyes are sad,” Sloan says, dragging her fingertips down her cheeks in her signature move. “Let’s wrap this one up before we start craving ice cream and start nomming on the streets.”
I meet Archer’s gaze, the copper irises haunted—and haunting. “We’ll be okay on our own.”
“Will you really?”
I’ll make sure of it. “Go.”
“I have a minute or two of leeway before I’m forced to obey.” He offers me a sad smile. “Without me, Killian will be able to reach you. And he will. He’s coming for you.”
“I can handle him.” It’s the truth. It has to be the truth. “Who’s the girl? Dior?” I’m not sure why the question leaves me now. Actually, I do. Killian is coming for me, and I want all the info I can get. Information is power.
A slight hesitation before Archer says, “Invite me back, and I might tell you.”
“Oh, no. You don’t get to play the intrigue card. You owe me.”
“Just as you owe me.”
How dare he! “I don’t owe you any—”
“You’re lying to yourself, or you’re lying to me. Which is it?” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He places his right hand over his heart and his left over his right, and a second later, he’s gone.
MYRIAD
From: P_B_4/65.1.18
To: K_F_5/23.53.6
Subject: Daily Means DAILY
Not only did you kill Vans before we finished with the resource, you have now missed several reports, Mr. Flynn. Miss Lockwood is important to me—to all of us. Tell me how you’re progressing with her NOW. After your fight with Archer, the Generals are debating your reassignment, among other things.
I’m debating whether or not to forget the identity of the person Fused with your mother.
Madame Pearl Bennett
MYRIAD
From: K_F_5/23.53.6
To: P_B_4/65.1.18
Subject: Threaten Me, and I’ll Ruin You
You want to reassign me? Please. I’ve been in the field since the age of fifteen. That’s four years, in case you’re having trouble with the math. In those few years, I’ve bagged more Firstlifers than Laborers who’ve worked for centuries. The Generals need me, and they know it. No one else will get through to this girl. No one else had better try. They do, and I’ll kill first, ask questions later. She’s mine.
She’s different from anyone I’ve ever dealt with, and I need more time to figure her out.
Also, if you try to use my mother against me again, I will do as I promised in the subject line.
Killian Flynn
MYRIAD
From: P_B_4/65.1.18
To: K_F_5/23.53.6
Subject: WHO Are You?
Usually you make snide comments, but you rarely become angry. And you’ve NEVER cared if we allowed another Laborer to take a shot at your assignment. You’ve always seen it as a personal challenge, a way to prove your superiority.
Are you falling for the girl?
That makes sense, I suppose. The General she’s Fused with is my daughter, Killian. You loved Ashley once. Remember? Because I do. I’ve never forgotten.
Work harder to sign Ten. Please. The longer she remains Unsigned, the more time Troika has to win her. We can’t allow her to side with the enemy. We just can’t.
“I would have found myself in Many Ends,” Sloan says, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Have you ever...visited?”
We’re seated inside another four-by-four square, but I take no comfort in the warmth. I deserve the cold.
“No. I’ve tried,” Archer tells her. “We hear the screams of the people inside, and we’ve even attempted to follow spirits through the veil, but we’re always blocked.”
Sloan shudders, and maybe she even rethinks her no-realm stance.
“If there’s a way for one to enter,” I say, my tone now hollowed out, “there’s a way for others to enter.”
“You would think so, yes.” He stands, lifts his hand, the star in his palm glowing. He types inside the light, saying, “Come. We have four more miles to traverse.”
The walls around us fade, and the cold sweeps in.
We remain silent as we hike, and I’m glad. My mind is churning. Like Sloan, I’m one of the Unsigned. If I die right now, I’ll end up in Many Ends, most likely exchanging one torturous existence for another. But...
Maybe that’s better than the alternative.
Archer failed to rescue Clay. Strike one, Troika.
Killian’s actions led to the avalanche that put Clay in danger in the first place. Strike one, Myriad.
My parents. Enough said. Strike two, Myriad.
Rules that prevent TLs from saving a human life without being asked. Strike two, Troika.
We make it to the little town Archer mentioned about two hours after sunset. Heaters mounted to the tops of silver poles line the streets and illuminate our path with a soft red glow. Golden light shines from a multitude of box-shaped buildings carved into the side of the mountain. Every building is connected through some type of tunnel. There are no windows, no real personality.
Archer stops as the light in his hand flares. He moves into a shadowed corner to type.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Responding to a message from my leader.”
Jellyair creation...communication between Earth and a realm. What else can the device do?
“I have to make him understand...”
Archer’s frustration is clear, and I’m suddenly glad the cell phone implanted behind my ear was deactivated the day I arrived at Prynne. Vans hoped to make me feel isolated. Trapped. His mistake. If I can’t be reached, I can’t be tracked or ordered around.
“While you’re wasting our time,” Sloan says, batting her lashes at him, “would you be kind enough to tell us where we are?”
“The Urals.” His typing speed increases, his fingers jabbing at invisible keys.
The Urals. A mountain range that runs through western Russia. My mind whizzes back to one of my first history lessons. Almost a century ago, snow covered the mountains, but unlike every year before, the deluge didn’t melt with the change of season. The climate worsened, becoming so harsh trees and wildlife soon died. The realms finally stepped in and planted sustainable foliage.
“This town is like any other. There’s a mix of Troikan and Myriad loyalists as well as Unsigned. A few weeks ago, there was a riot among the three and tensions are still high.” The light fades, and Archer drops his arm to his side. His shoulders slump as he turns and shoves a bag of coins into my hand. “I’m sure the asylum has people living here, as well, to keep tabs on the citizens and in case inmates escape and live long enough to get here.”
Wonderful. “We need weapons. Good ones.”
“And you’ll get them. At the end of the street is a bed-and-breakfast. I know the owner. He’ll have everything you need... He’ll get you wherever you want to go.”
“He’s trustworthy?” Sloan asks.
“He is.”
Good. “You can go now,” I tell him. I’m done with him, with all of it.
He opens his mouth only to snap it closed. He can’t override free will. Part of the “love people unconditionally” law, I’m sure.
“Goodbyes are sad,” Sloan says, dragging her fingertips down her cheeks in her signature move. “Let’s wrap this one up before we start craving ice cream and start nomming on the streets.”
I meet Archer’s gaze, the copper irises haunted—and haunting. “We’ll be okay on our own.”
“Will you really?”
I’ll make sure of it. “Go.”
“I have a minute or two of leeway before I’m forced to obey.” He offers me a sad smile. “Without me, Killian will be able to reach you. And he will. He’s coming for you.”
“I can handle him.” It’s the truth. It has to be the truth. “Who’s the girl? Dior?” I’m not sure why the question leaves me now. Actually, I do. Killian is coming for me, and I want all the info I can get. Information is power.
A slight hesitation before Archer says, “Invite me back, and I might tell you.”
“Oh, no. You don’t get to play the intrigue card. You owe me.”
“Just as you owe me.”
How dare he! “I don’t owe you any—”
“You’re lying to yourself, or you’re lying to me. Which is it?” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He places his right hand over his heart and his left over his right, and a second later, he’s gone.
MYRIAD
From: P_B_4/65.1.18
To: K_F_5/23.53.6
Subject: Daily Means DAILY
Not only did you kill Vans before we finished with the resource, you have now missed several reports, Mr. Flynn. Miss Lockwood is important to me—to all of us. Tell me how you’re progressing with her NOW. After your fight with Archer, the Generals are debating your reassignment, among other things.
I’m debating whether or not to forget the identity of the person Fused with your mother.
Madame Pearl Bennett
MYRIAD
From: K_F_5/23.53.6
To: P_B_4/65.1.18
Subject: Threaten Me, and I’ll Ruin You
You want to reassign me? Please. I’ve been in the field since the age of fifteen. That’s four years, in case you’re having trouble with the math. In those few years, I’ve bagged more Firstlifers than Laborers who’ve worked for centuries. The Generals need me, and they know it. No one else will get through to this girl. No one else had better try. They do, and I’ll kill first, ask questions later. She’s mine.
She’s different from anyone I’ve ever dealt with, and I need more time to figure her out.
Also, if you try to use my mother against me again, I will do as I promised in the subject line.
Killian Flynn
MYRIAD
From: P_B_4/65.1.18
To: K_F_5/23.53.6
Subject: WHO Are You?
Usually you make snide comments, but you rarely become angry. And you’ve NEVER cared if we allowed another Laborer to take a shot at your assignment. You’ve always seen it as a personal challenge, a way to prove your superiority.
Are you falling for the girl?
That makes sense, I suppose. The General she’s Fused with is my daughter, Killian. You loved Ashley once. Remember? Because I do. I’ve never forgotten.
Work harder to sign Ten. Please. The longer she remains Unsigned, the more time Troika has to win her. We can’t allow her to side with the enemy. We just can’t.
