She moved down the long compartment. The living metal shifted under her feet, thrumming and angry and sliding on the ice. Over her head, two bars hung from the ceiling, with a dozen straps dangling from each. Twenty-four in all. Empty harnesses lined the walls on either side of her.
Her foot connected with something squishy. Linné grabbed for her gun. Her holster was empty—Revna had taken it. With a sigh she crouched down, touching the floor to steady herself.
She’d kicked a survival kit, a pack for the cold winter. When she lifted her hand, she saw more jumbled against the end of the fuselage. Enough for each harness, and for the men in the cockpit. Parachutes hung from the wall.
This meant something terrible for the war. But right now, it might save their lives. Linné hoisted the pack, pulling it on even though her muscles screamed. As she reached for a second pack, something cracked near the front end of the plane. The fuselage rocked.
At first she thought it was the ice. Then she heard Revna scream.
She spun, and her feet were moving before she realized what was happening. She tumbled through the hatch shoulder-first and collapsed in the gunner’s chair. Revna had thrown her arms over her face. The front of the cockpit was covered in earth, and the far side of the bank drifted away from them in a widening patch of steaming water.
“Skyhorses,” Revna said. Linné looked up through the shattered windscreen. The Weave shimmered as it ate up spark. Long bodies spun above them. One dipped down, and red fire filled her vision.
Shit! The spark hit the ice in front of them with a crack, grazing the cockpit and making it jolt. A wave of heat came from the other end of the Serpent as a second blast of spark hit near the tail. Linné imagined a whole fleet of Skyhorses, flashing as they circled closer and closer. “Come on.” She pushed on the hatch above them, dislodging more glass and dirt.
“I can’t walk.” Revna’s breathing grew quicker.
Her leg. Shit again. “The wing. We’ll crawl.” Linné’s arms shook. Revna edged through the hatch and slid down onto the wing. Linné followed her, scraping her legs on the overlapping scales of the fuselage. The stolen pack threatened to tip Linné sideways. The Skyhorse engines roared, far too close, and the Weave illuminated the sky as the Elda navigators pushed more power through the throttles.
Beneath them, the ice groaned.
“Go, go,” she begged. Revna scrambled, she was nearing the edge of the wing, they’d make it—
The buzzing intensified as a Skyhorse dove. “Get off the plane,” Linné shouted.
“The bank’s too far,” Revna said, looking back. “It’s all ice.”
Well, it wasn’t water. Linné jumped.
She waited for the break, for the numbing shock of the water beneath. Instead she hit the surface hard and her feet slid out from under her. Her shoulder throbbed as it struck the frozen crust of the river.
A flash lit the sky. Spark blazed down. It punched through the cockpit and split the ice with a sound like a gunshot. The whole plane slammed forward and Revna shrieked. She tumbled from the wing.
Linné launched herself up and ran, sliding as she grabbed Revna by the arm again. Revna got her good leg under her and together they scrambled to the bank, cutting through the soft snow to solid earth beneath. They turned in time to see thin lines skitter across the surface of the ice.
The Serpent sat in a rapidly widening circle of dark water. Fire flickered at the front end, a golden beacon in the night, as the fuselage tilted into the river.
“I can see colors again,” Linné realized.
Revna burst into tears.
Cursed. Family killer. The words chased themselves through Revna’s head as she readjusted her prosthetics. First she’d destroyed her home. Then she’d gotten four girls killed because she hadn’t been willing to trade places in formation. Now she’d stranded her navigator in the middle of the taiga. Everyone around Revna seemed to die, and she survived whether she deserved to or not.
The taiga was slipping into the cold gray of dawn, and the noise of Skyhorse engines had diminished to a faint buzz. The pilots must have been convinced that Revna and Linné were dead.
Next to her, Linné ignored her snuffling tears in favor of taking apart the survival pack. She pulled out a blanket, a tarp, a hatchet, a pistol, and a pitiful ration of oats, jerky, and dried fruit. Linné holstered the pistol and hooked the hatchet to her belt, then rummaged at the bottom of the pack. “No cigarettes,” she muttered. She turned to Revna. “Did you lose my gun?”
Revna sniffed. “Sorry.” She wiped at her face, smearing mud and reopening half a dozen tiny cuts on her cheeks. She retied the strip of wool around her broken leg. The living metal pressed in, supporting her. It wouldn’t work for long, but it was better than nothing. Cold was already beginning to seep through the holes in her jacket. Her hands were dotted with cuts, too, from the mesh gloves of the Serpent. It hurt to move them, but she forced herself to roll her trousers down, to pick up the rations Linné had found in the pack.
Linné frowned at Revna’s leg as if it were a problem. Revna resisted the urge to snap at her. “I’ll make you some crutches,” Linné said.
What’s the point? she thought as Linné went off to find suitable branches. If Linné left her and went ahead, she could take news of the Serpent back to Intelgard. She could save the others. She could change the war. She didn’t need Revna for that.
No one needed Revna now.
When Linné returned, Revna tested the crutches in the soft snow. Linné stood at the bank, looking at the remains of the Serpent on the other side. The fire in the cockpit had died out, and ice was beginning to re-form around the fuselage. She lifted her hands and the spark trickled out of her, weak. The shadows under her eyes turned the color of a fresh bruise. Revna took an experimental step. “What are you doing?”
“I’m—” Linné shook out her hands. “Nothing. I’m ready to go. If we can get back to Intelgard soon enough, Hesovec and Zima can send a salvage team.”
Soon enough. “Do you think that would save us?”
“Save us from what?” Linné said.
“Interrogation. Torture.” Revna tried to say the words matter-of-factly, but her throat constricted. If they made it home, she’d spend the rest of her short life in front of a Skarov brutalizer, begging to die.
“We won’t get tortured,” Linné said.
She probably believed it, too. Revna couldn’t imagine that the general’s daughter would be tossed into prison forever. Linné had influence, for all she pretended she was any other child of the Union. But Revna’s enlistment had come with a caveat.
Linné slid the pack on and they started to walk. They’d taken only a few steps when Revna’s crutch slipped on a patch of ice, jerking her sideways. Her bad prosthetic bit into the ground, and she stifled a curse.
Linné ducked under her arm and levered her up. Revna pushed her away. She’d walked on her own for years, and it stung for Linné to help without asking.
“I guess I shouldn’t get too far ahead,” Linné said, eyeing her critically.
Revna’s temper flared. “You can do what you like,” she snapped. “Don’t let me ruin your chance to heroically make your way out of the wilderness.”
She knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left her mouth. But she clamped her lips on an apology. Linné didn’t deserve one. Linné’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up,” she said, and they set out.
The taiga shone cold and bright in the early morning. Branches glistened with frost, scattering the rich orange-red of sunrise over the ground. The snow-covered forest was a blank tapestry, and with every step, Revna and Linné stitched their story into it.
They followed an old hunting trail throughout the day, walking in silence on gently tilting terrain. When the shadows turned the world purple and the snowy landscape blurred, Revna couldn’t help feeling that they hadn’t gone far at all.
They mounded snow to make a shelter, and as it settled, Linné gathe
red wood for a fire. Revna found a tiny cooking pot stuffed at the bottom of the pack, then gathered their rations—enough for one man over a couple of days. Maybe the Elda had expected to live off the land.
In the fading light, Revna eased her trouser legs up. Her hands burned, even when she pressed them against the snow or her cold prosthetics. Her right leg came off with a pop. She peeled away the sweaty sock and sighed in relief as her raw skin was released. Her phantom legs ached. She’d have to wash her calves with snow and hope that she didn’t have too many blisters or a skin fungus by the time they got back to Intelgard. Or maybe the Skarov would love it. Maybe they’d let my legs fester.
There was a sewing kit in the pack; she could try to repair the torn buckle with it. But she couldn’t fix the pin, which had bent and snapped at the bottom. The socket holding the pin in place had broken, too, and she could hear fragments rattling in the leg when she shook it. The pin wouldn’t stay put in the damaged socket, and though the living metal might help her stay upright, walking would make things worse.
Linné dropped a bundle of sticks on the ground. “We eat, we dry out. Then we sleep. Hand me the pack.”
Revna watched her build a pyramid with moss and twigs, then dig around for a box of matches. They were silent until the fire caught, and they boiled some oats and meat with snowmelt to make a thick porridge. Revna fumbled with the spoon, trying not to let Linné see the cuts on her hands. The porridge scalded her tongue. “Not bad.”
“Needs salt,” Linné replied. They finished in silence.
Revna couldn’t figure her flying partner out. They’d been through battle together. Linné had put her own life on the line for Revna. But they couldn’t have half an hour of conversation here on the ground. Perhaps Revna would never be able to speak to Linné. Perhaps no one could. Except the Skarov.
Linné scrubbed the bottom of the pot out with snow, then held it over the fire to dry. When she judged it finished, she stuck it in the pack and scooted over to Revna. “Let me see your face. I want to check for glass.”
Revna wiped her filthy face with snow, inhaling sharply at the sting, and tilted her chin down.
Linné’s fingers were a gentle pressure as they pressed at a cut on her forehead. “How’s your leg?”
Revna toyed with the frayed cuff of her trousers. “Broken.”
Linné made an impatient sound, moving to her ear. “Very helpful. Turn your head.”
Revna turned. “How much do you know about prosthetics, anyway?”
“Good point,” Linné said.
She checked Revna’s neck, behind her ear, and the top of her shoulder, then started on the other side of her face in silence. The pause was awkward and Linné had actually been trying, so Revna finally admitted, “I don’t know how broken.” If they got back to the base, she’d see what Magdalena could do with it. The thought made her heart wrench.
She probably wouldn’t need to try. Revna knew what awaited her in Union territory. And she knew from personal experience that the Skarov wanted confessions, not truth.
“Maybe you should go by yourself,” she said.
For a moment she thought Linné hadn’t heard. She frowned at a spot on the right side of Revna’s face, pressing until Revna made a strangled sound. Then Linné said, “Go where?”
“Over the mountain. Back to Intelgard. You’ll—travel faster alone.” Revna almost faltered. Don’t be a coward. She didn’t have to be the curse that killed her navigator. “You can take the news back to the regiment.”
Linné stopped, fingers tightening around Revna’s chin. “Not without you.”
“Why?” Revna asked it curiously, but as she continued, her voice grew hard. “What the Union asks, we give. Don’t you believe that? Why shouldn’t you leave me behind?”
Linné pulled her hand away. “Because I don’t. I don’t leave people behind.”
Revna’s voice rose. “You left me behind a million times at the base!”
“I never left you to die!”
Revna picked up her leg. She didn’t want to look at Linné. “I guess that depends on what you told your Skarov friend.”
There was a short silence. The fire crackled, tantalizing and warm, reminding her of nights in Tammin in front of their woodstove. “What are you saying?” Linné said.
Revna rallied her courage. “Did you tell him I was a liability? Did you tell him I couldn’t handle the war?”
“Of course not. I…” Linné trailed off. Revna felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the taiga.
“Whatever you said to him, he’ll use it. Do you really think it’s better to let me be interrogated and tortured than leave me out here? This way you can tell everyone I died a loyal servant to the Union.”
“I didn’t talk to him,” Linné said.
“Don’t lie—”
“I didn’t. He talked to me.”
“About what?” About me. Revna did look at her now, seeing if Linné could bring herself to answer.
She couldn’t. Linné swallowed, then said, “It’s your turn to check me.”
She sat, more still than Revna had ever seen her, as if she were afraid to move as long as Revna’s hands were on her skin. Revna probed at her face with the tips of her fingers, pushing as lightly as she could. As she worked, Linné said, “Anyway, he’s never tortured anyone. We’ll go home, we’ll be interviewed, we’ll follow standard procedure.”
“Like Pavi and Galina?” Revna said. “They were standard procedure, too, and they never came back from Eponar.” She checked a dot of blood at the side of Linné’s nose.
Linné hesitated. Then she said, “We’ll explain what happened. We haven’t done anything wrong, so we have nothing to fear.”
A bitter anger rose in Revna’s throat. “You have nothing to fear, Zolonova.” Linné’s glare was murderous. Revna could feel her anger as palpably as if they were connected by their Strekoza. She didn’t care. How often had she heard that line from the Union or one of its mouthpieces? “How are you so sure that I won’t drag you down? That I won’t be a liability for you, too?” I am a curse, after all.
She expected Linné to shout, to put some of that murder into her voice. But to Revna’s surprise, after a long moment, she sighed. The rage left her. “You’re not a liability. I—” She fidgeted. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Her eyes darted up, hopeful. As if she’d said enough. “Apology not accepted,” Revna replied. Linné would have to try harder.
They lapsed into silence as Revna finished checking Linné for glass. Then Linné shifted and collapsed the fire with a spare stick so that they could relight it. “Whether you accept my apology or not, we still have to share a blanket. So maybe we can get some sleep and continue insulting each other in the morning?”
“Can’t wait.”
Linné made a snow bed in the shelter while Revna washed her legs. Her phantom feet still itched and burned, and they would only get worse the longer Revna and Linné were stuck out here. They spread the tarp out and pulled the blanket over themselves, then lay down side by side, without speaking. Revna thought of Mama, cupping the back of her head, snuggling Lyfa between them. Mama had been proud of her, then. Would she be so now?
They’d studied survival at Intelgard, but after half an hour, Revna started to wonder if they’d made their shelter wrong. Her teeth felt as if they were freezing to her lips. She tried to warm her hands with the spark, but they seared and pulsed and she gave up. It was probably for the best; she didn’t want to set fire to their blanket and accidentally incinerate Linné. Who would take their story back to the Union?
The ache in her muscles spread to her bones. She tucked her nose under the edge of the blanket and pulled her goggles down over her eyes, tearing the scabs there. Whenever she breathed in, it felt as if the cold had formed a fist that punched the inside of her chest. Linné’s body was rigid next to hers, so still that Revna was half-convinced she’d already frozen.
“It’s too cold to slee
p,” Revna said at last.
She expected Linné to ignore her. But she said, “Yes.”
“If we’re going to die out here, you might as well tell me why you got me grounded.”
Linné huffed a warm breath in her ear. “We’re not going to die out here.”
“Well, I want to know anyway. Whatever you’ve got to say, I’ve probably heard it.” The laundry list of reasons she wasn’t fit for this or that—for factory work, for school, for piloting, for love.
Linné shifted, rustling the blanket. “Why was your father sentenced to life on Kolshek?”
Of course. Of course Tannov had told her. Revna wasn’t surprised that Linné knew, not really, but she was surprised at the way it hurt. Her father. Her poor father. “He used to smith living metal at a factory. After my accident he saved the scrap to make my new legs.”
“It is treason to steal from the factories. We’re at war,” Linné reasoned.
“We weren’t then.” The words came out sharp, unforgiving. Her father had sacrificed everything for her. Linné couldn’t possibly understand. “And the metal wasn’t going to be used for anything. But the Skarov still came for him when the war started.”
“They let you keep the legs?”
“The formal accusation was dissidence. Papa’s foreman convinced them that they didn’t need to take my legs.” My daughter is your age, the foreman had told her, the day she’d learned that Papa was gone.
The blanket tugged on her as Linné scratched something. “Was your father a dissident?”
“Of course not.” They’d wanted him because he could work living metal. The northern coast was rich with it, which made Kolshek an ideal prison. Ice dotted its waters year-round, and no one could hope to survive the swim to shore. And living metal could be temperamental. The Weave worked through it over thousands of years, and then men forcibly removed it from its natural space. Entire mines had collapsed in the past because they were staffed with men who didn’t understand how to keep it calm.
He could be dead already. She’d taught herself not to think like that in Tammin, but on the taiga, only a few steps away from death herself, the concept held some comfort. He might be waiting on the other side of life. She imagined Mama and Papa and Lyfa taking her somewhere that wasn’t so abysmally cold, where her phantom limbs didn’t hurt all the time. “When you get home, will you tell them I died in the crash? I want my family to keep Protector status,” she said. If they were still alive.
We Rule the Night Page 26