The Zoya Chronicles Boxed Set

by Kate Sander

  "Now," Kapre said, "how good is your system?"

  The councillors at the table looked at each other nervously, none daring to speak.

  "I asked," Kapre said, staring straight at the President, "how good is your system?"

  "Not good," the President mumbled.

  "Sorry," Kapre said, walking right up to the President and staring him in the eye, "I didn't hear that."

  "Not good," the President said, looking away from Kapre.

  "Is it fair to assume that it's broken?"

  "Yes."

  "So it needs fixing?"

  "Yes."

  "So the Ampulex are here to fix it," Kapre said, standing straight and patting him on the shoulder, mere inches from Sol.

  A bird's cry reached him from outside the door. Small, unnoticeable, unless you were Sol and the call matched that of Elefteria.

  The army was here.

  Sol let the small knife he kept up his sleeve fall unnoticed into his hand.

  "Our Queen Mother and King Father only ask that you bend a knee," Kapre said. "Then, they will come and fix your problems. You never have to worry about anything again. Much like those idiots in Solias."

  Whatever the President's answer was going to be, he never got a chance to say it.

  Sol leapt up and drove the knife into Kapre's neck. Hot, thick blood spilled over his hands. Kapre's eyes went wide, his lips puckered as he gasped for air, blood leaching onto the floor.

  "Never talk about my mother that way," Sol whispered in his ear, wrenching the knife out of his throat. A spurt of blood reached the ceiling as the knife ripped out his throat.

  The Ampulex stood still, shocked for a moment.

  "NOW!" Sol yelled.

  The army stormed the room, the Ampulex soldiers so surprised at the turn of events that two lost their heads before they even drew their weapons. Councillors yelled and scrambled away from the table, trying to avoid the violence at all costs.

  Hera moved the quickest of all of them and jumped at the President, screaming. Sol pulled the President out from his chair and under the table. Hera let out a scream that was cut short. A few small yells and a thump, then all was quiet in the room.

  Sol let the President go, who rose from under the table, took one look at the blood around the room and promptly vomited. Sol rose from his hiding spot as well and assessed the damage. All of the Ampulex lay dead in the room. It seemed as though none of the Carabesh army had died, and the only councillor that had been injured was the dead Adrian.

  "Find the ship," Sol commanded the Captain, "Make sure none of the Ampulex remain alive. We cannot afford for them to get away." The Captain nodded and barked some orders to his soldiers.

  "Master Semper," the President said from behind him shakily, "I know that I've afforded you some liberties in these past six weeks, but it is not up to you to command the army."

  Sol pulled his shoulders back and stared at the President. "I am not Master Semper," he said. Everyone in the room stopped talking and watched. "I am Sol the nineteenth, son of Sol the eighteenth and heir to the throne of Solias." Gasps around him, but Sol didn't stop there. "I have also now saved your life three times. That is three blood debts that the President of Carabesh owes me. I am taking a thousand of your troops into Langundo with me, leaving you with plenty of army left over to defend yourselves."

  Everyone in the room was so shocked at the revelations that they couldn't say anything.

  The President nodded.

  "Good," Sol said. "Solias thanks you for your service. Now, I'm going home to clean up. Have one thousand meet me at the docks by this evening. We sail tonight for Solias." He strode towards the door.

  "King Sol," the President called softly.

  Sol turned.

  "Thank you. Defeat the Ampulex. Take your throne back."

  Sol bristled at the title, but stopped and turned.

  "I will."

  12

  Black Eyes

  Black Eyes stayed kneeling as the people of the Zoya Task Force behind her read the information. She couldn't read this language, so she was of no use until someone told her exactly what she'd unlocked.

  Until then, she needed to gather herself and try to find the words to describe what she had just seen.

  It was too crazy to grasp, and she was a ghost. Right now her life (or death) was crazy. And this, well, this took the cake.

  Carter tore himself away from the screen and left the room. Black Eyes didn't mind, she still needed time to process.

  How did this work? The Remiel that Tory had, it was a stone of power. It unlocked memories and, when in danger, emitted a huge burst of energy that sent Roald and Malin flying.

  Carter returned to the room, carrying a plaque.

  The door slammed shut and the rest of the ZTF jumped.

  "This," Carter said, slamming the picture of Roald Ammondson down on the table "this is the enemy. The father of the ZTF. We all know his history, we've all revered him for his foresight and really giving us and the Zoya a place to call home."

  The ZTF nodded their agreement, looking dumbstruck.

  "Without him, all of the Zoya here would have just thought they were crazy. We've all heard the horror stories of the Zoya we didn't find when they woke up."

  "Terrible things," Simone said.

  "Did you hear about that woman in Columbia?" Annabell added, barely louder than a whisper. "Electroshock therapy. Guess she went crazy from it."

  Everyone nodded, looking grave.

  "Exactly," Carter said. "Roald gave us a place to call home, in a world where anyone who woke up from a coma and spoke of the things they experienced would be ridiculed, or put in hospitals, or killed. He did great things for us. But, something happened to him."

  Everyone was staring.

  "You all read those journals. It looks like there's hundreds more entries to go through. He went crazy and wanted power more than anything. He's the one that's causing all of this. Millions of people have died so far from his recklessness in creating so many Zoya. And he's not doing it for the right reasons."

  Carter stopped to stare everyone in the face.

  "We are allowed to thank him for what he's done in the past, while trying to save our own future, and the future of everyone on this planet." He jammed a finger onto the picture. "This man is now the enemy. All thoughts of what he's done for us stays here. Freudman, Malin and Roald. They are enemy number one. And I want you all to agree that you won't hesitate in killing any of them."

  Every person in the room nodded in agreement.

  "That asshole killed Tomo and Senka," Annabell said. "We won't hesitate, boss."

  "Thank you," Carter said. "Now, each of you gain access to the server. Go through everything with a fine-toothed comb. Ram will split it up for everyone. I need to talk to Black Eyes. We reconvene at eighteen hundred to go over what we found and to start planning our assault."

  Determined nods. The ZTF were all in. The Ampulex didn't know what was coming at them. Carter approached Black Eyes and squatted so he was looking her in the eye.

  "Are you okay?" He asked, face lined with worry.

  "No," Black Eyes answered honestly. There was no lying to that man.

  "What happened?"

  "I went," Black Eyes said, "to the place where you told me to go." Eyes glistening, she looked up at Carter. "It's terrible."

  Black Eyes opened her eyes. Glad she didn't feel the cold, she squinted her eyes to see through the blizzard. Winter seemed terrible in this country. Wind whipped around her, pelting the ground and the sign next to her with snow. It was almost a total white-out.

  The street sign next to her was new and green with the words HURRELL RD painted in crisp white.

  Good, that's exactly where Carter told her to go. The words had no meaning, but Carter had shown her the sign on his tablet.

  Black Eyes slowly turned in a circle. At a T in the road, she was lost in the white- out. The map had been clear in her head, but the snow was mak
ing it difficult to know which direction she was supposed to go.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured the satellite image that she'd been shown. The sign was on the left-hand side of the road to where she wanted to go. Opening her eyes, she lined up the sign. Pleased that there was a street to go down right in front of her, Black Eyes strode forward through the blizzard. The building she was looking for should be down a few hundred meters on her left.

  It was still odd to not feel the cold. To see the wind blowing the snow but to have her hair lying flat and perfect on her head. Uncomfortable with the otherness of the entire experience, Black Eyes took out her knives and spun them.

  Even that was odd. Shot in the chest almost four years ago, she'd kept her knives with her. They were still sharp, yet she wouldn't bleed if she rubbed her fingers over the edge. She'd dropped her bow when she'd died, so it appeared she didn't get to keep the bow.

  Dying was an interesting experience.

  A dark building appeared ahead. Black Eyes had nearly stumbled into it with how bad the visibility was.

  Two guards on the door, one on either side. Black Eyes watched and waited, not caring about taking cover. One of the perks of being dead.

  The guards were dressed in all black parkas with an unnerving black faceless mask.

  Black Eyes watched and waited.

  The door opened. She ran forward to enter as another guard came out to relieve duty. The snow whipped around and Black Eyes had to hurry. She couldn't just enter the building without a door open. It'd be nice to float through walls, but apparently that wasn't the case.

  Darting forward to catch the opening, Black Eyes noticed a guard's head moving. Following her. As if he could see her.

  But that was impossible.

  Not able to see his eyes, Black Eyes caught the door as it closed and noticed all three guards looking directly at her. They cocked their heads in unison, as if listening to someone talk in their ears. Their heads all snapped forward in unison as if receiving an order, reverting their attention to the blizzard outside.

  The door closed behind her. An automatic buzz sounded and the door locked.

  Completely unnerved by the experience, Black Eyes faced the dark hallway. Made of brick with swinging yellow lights above, there was a definite creepy vibe.

  They can't see you, she thought, striding forward into the shadowy hall. It's just in your head. There's no way they can see you.

  Her feet didn't make a sound. No footprints were left from the storm outside. Shaking her head, she continued forward. You're being stupid, she thought as she walked through the building. You're a ghost, what are you afraid of? Not like they can kill you.

  The thought, gruesome as it was, calmed her. She'd already died. What can these guys do to her? Kill her again?

  Not likely.

  The hall opened into a dark room. Black Eyes squinted. Darkness, as far as she could see. Stepping into the room, fluorescent lights flickered on overhead, casting the large room in an eerie glow.

  Tanks. Hundreds of them, about eight feet high, made of metal and lined up neatly in rows. Dumbstruck, Black Eyes walked slowly towards the first tank. The floor was lined with heavy tubing that ran to the tanks haphazardly, as if the tanks had been quickly installed and not wired neatly.

  As she approached, a window lit up, bubbles reflecting the weird blue light. Walking up slowly, she looked inside.

  Roald.

  Black Eyes gasped and stepped back, turning to make a break for the door.

  Nothing happened. The lights stayed on, the room still empty. No sounds of a hand banging on metal or liquid draining from the tank.

  Embarrassed by her immediate reaction to flee, Black Eyes turned and approached the tank again.

  Breathe, she thought, the complete and utter silence unnerving her more than ever. If only her feet made a sound on the floor every step. At least that would be something tangible, something to break up the suspense.

  You can't breathe, you're dead. That's not your heart beating out of your chest, it's an illusion. Your heart doesn't beat.

  Standing on her tip toes, she looked inside the blue-lit metal tank.

  Roald was there. Eyes closed, tubes running into his mouth and nose, floating weightless in the fluid. Bubbles emerged from his nose every breath.

  "Holy shit," she mumbled.

  A scuffle behind her, with footsteps running away.

  Black Eyes turned. A shadow running down the hallway. Freezing, she didn't know what to do. No one should have seen her... But how did the lights know to turn on?

  Shit. She needed to get out of here. Now. They knew she was here. Maybe it was impossible, but they knew. A grating metal sound as the overhanging door began its slow, creaking, close in front of her.

  "Shit, shit, shit," she said, darting forward as fast as she could. Metal scraped against metal as the door picked up speed, gravity helping to drive it into the ground.

  Not going to make it.

  She picked up speed and, as the door was only a foot away from the ground, slid feet first under the heavy metal.

  Skidding against the wall, the door hit the ground with a loud bang in a cloud of dust.

  "What the hell," she said out loud.

  They knew that she was here.

  Nervous. Unnerved. Uncomfortable.

  Her pulse couldn't quicken because she didn't have a heartbeat. But man, if it could beat faster, it sure would.

  She needed to get out of here but she hadn't done her job yet. The mission was to get a lock on where this Freudman guy was and to learn as much information as possible.

  She may be dead but she ain't no quitter.

  So, the only option was to continue down the hallway. It ended pretty abruptly in a set of metal stairs. Not a soul was in the hallway with her. Shrugging, she headed up the stairs two at a time, not worried about her footsteps making noise.

  They don't know you're here. You're just making shit up 'cause of those creepy tanks.

  Valid points, but something was so wrong here. It permeated her bones. Those tanks were creepy, yes, but there was something off about everything in this old milk farm. And Black Eyes needed to find out what.

  The stairs cut back onto themselves in a landing. Black Eyes made it to the second floor, a long hallway with a couple of doors on her right-hand side.

  One was open, a small sliver of light on the floor.

  This floor was blocked off from the left, the huge room with the tanks taking up both stories.

  One entrance to the upstairs. One exit. No windows.

  "You ain't no quitter," she muttered, pumping herself up. "You came here to do a job. You're already dead. Just get off your ass and do it."

  The sliver of light went dark as someone passed in front of the door inside the room, followed by distant mutterings.

  "Fuck it."

  Black Eyes walked forward confidently towards the room.

  Fake it 'til you make it.

  The mutterings got louder as she approached. Stopping shy of the room, she waited. Pacing. She could hear someone pacing. And muttering. A man.

  On to it then.

  Turning the corner, she entered the room.

  Nothing. Just a living space. A small bed in the corner, dirty dishes in the small kitchen sink. The mutterings started again, this time from a room to her left.

  Black Eyes entered the small office, brightly lit from the blizzard raging outside its sole window.

  Freudman was there.

  But he looked terrible.

  Sitting at a desk, he looked over one hundred years old. Hell, he looked ancient. Deep, curving wrinkles pulled at his thin, gaunt face. Gnarled hands lay on the desk. Milky blue eyes stared at her, but not seeing her. Black Eyes wasn't sure if those eyes saw anything. Wisps of white hair lay haphazardly across his head and sprouted from his nose and ears.

  "No, no, no," Freudman muttered, his loose lips showing his gums instead of teeth. "They said don't use it anymore. No, no, no. You
have to listen to Malin. You have to."

  Putting his head in his hands, he wept. "They don't know how hard it is. They don't know what it's like."

  Shakily, the tremors in his hands rattling the table, he opened a drawer of the desk and took out a large, black stone.

  "Just once more," he muttered, staring into its center. His eyes lit up bright blue, the black gem somehow making them glow. "Yes," he smiled, the tremors stopping in his hands. "Just once more."

  The man transformed in front of her. It was like the years melted off his body. Wrinkles smoothed to tight skin. Gnarled and bony hands straightened out. His teeth grew back, filling out his gaunt face. Smooth, red hair sprouted from his head. Milky blue eyes turned bright blue.

  It took no more than a minute, but after he was done, a forty-year old Freudman was staring at her.

  Black Eyes stared back, not daring to move. Not daring to breathe even though she didn’t breathe anymore.

  He can't see you. There's no way.

  Freudman smiled and, with steady hands, placed the stone back in the desk.

  Stretching his fingers, he touched the screen to his computer, turning it on.

  Now was her chance.

  Black Eyes darted forward. Freudman typed his password into the computer. Black Eyes watched his fingers, memorizing the keystrokes. Which she had to do, because she couldn't read.

  Freudman leaned back and his screen lit up white as he started accessing his files. Black Eyes had gotten what she needed. Stepping backwards, away from the desk, she moved slowly.

  Freudman looked up from his computer and smiled, directly at her.

  "Wha-"

  The wire snapped around her neck, pulling tight, cutting off her air.

  Air? She didn't need air.

  Regardless of the mind-boggling situation of a dead woman being strangled, Black Eyes felt herself gasping, pulling at the wire around her throat, trying desperately to stay alive.

  "Ah, Cesar," Freudman said, rising from the desk. "I'm glad you're here. I received your warning that we'd be getting a visitor."

  Black Eyes tried to claw at her attacker's face. Her fingers hit plastic. A full face mask, just like the guards outside.