Nadi (NINE Series, #2)

by Loren Walker

  “What? No!” Phaira exclaimed. Is this what the girl thought of her? As a drug connection?

  Sydel glared at her like a sullen teenager. “Why won’t you share?”

  “Share?” Phaira repeated. “I’m not - I don’t have a stash here, Sydel.” She yanked away her hands. “And even if I did, there’s no way that I’m exposing you to it.”

  “Why? Why is it okay for you, and not for me?” Sydel accused, lifting one bony shoulder. “You do it, and you must get some satisfaction out of it.”

  Phaira winced, but Sydel continued to talk: “Why can’t you just let me have it? What does it matter? Why shouldn’t we just do whatever we want?”

  Phaira took Sydel by the wrists. “What’s happened since I left?” she demanded. “What’s going on that I don’t - ?”

  “I’m waking up,” Sydel interrupted, lifting her chin. “I’m pulling my head out of the sand, as you once told me.”

  “No, you’re digging into a whole different pit,” Phaira corrected, giving the girl’s wrists a yank. “The Sydel I know wouldn’t even think to ask me about meka.”

  “You don’t know me,” Sydel shot back. Then her lips quivered. “Do you know we’re nearly the same age? Yann erased my memories,” she added, with a small bark of laughter. “Seven years, gone.”

  Phaira did know. Yann had confessed it to her, weeks ago. But it wouldn’t help to confirm it outloud.

  “Now everything makes sense,” Sydel continued. “Why everyone in Jala Communia, all the people I loved and grew up with, why they drifted away. I wondered for years what I’d done wrong, what I’d said to make everyone hate me so much. Now I know. They were afraid. They knew I was unnatural. Just some foolish pawn, easy to manipulate, soft, stupid Sydel.” She jerked her wrists away from Phaira’s grip. “Well, I don’t care anymore.”

  Phaira took hold of Sydel by the shoulder and steered her to the mattress on the floor. When the girl sat down, Phaira slid next to her. “Look at me,” she demanded.

  Scorn on her face, Sydel glanced over.

  “Yann was terrible to you,” Phaira told her. “You’re right to be so upset. But you don’t ever, ever use meka. I mean it.”

  “But you do.”

  “I’m an addict.” Cold rushed through Phaira. She’d never said those words before; even as she spoke them, she was desperate to take them back.

  “You hate me.” Sydel’s voice brought her back. “Even more than before.”

  “I don’t – I don’t hate you,” Phaira said, with a sigh at the end.

  She slung her arms over her knees, and looked down at her feet. “I’m really scared of you, Sydel,” she confessed.

  “You don’t have to be”

  “But I am,” Phaira interrupted. “I’m terrified you’ll explode again, or take over our minds, or some other awful thing.”

  She glanced at the girl. Sydel’s mouth was in a thin line, her eyebrows knitted together.

  “But you’re a good person,” Phaira continued. “It’s obvious you’re a good person. You’re kind, and generous, and you’re probably better than the rest of us put together.” She exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know how to relax around you. Or if I ever should.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” Sydel’s words came out in a rush. “I’ll never hurt you, or your family, or anyone. Never again. I’m not going to be that person.” She looked fierce and pink, with some of that familiar stubbornness. Buoyed at the sight, Phaira wished she could tell Sydel that she believed her.

  “You need to know something, Sydel,” she said instead. “I met up with CaLarca.”

  “What?” Sydel recoiled. “Where?”

  “It doesn’t matter. But we spoke, and - “

  “You can’t believe a word she says,” Sydel interrupted. “She was manipulating us the whole time.”

  “I know,” Phaira told her. “She told me everything. She wants to make amends with you.”

  Sydel snorted. “I don’t care what she wants. I only care about what I want.” Her jaw tightened, and she nodded three times before continuing. “I want to take responsibility for the things I’ve done. There’s one Sava cousin left; I want to apologize to him for killing his kin.”

  “You can’t do that,” Phaira said immediately. “It’ll bring the world down on our head, and us, and lead everyone straight to - ” Then she stared at the girl’s profile. “Wait, did you do it already? Did you reach someone?”

  “No. I don’t know how to reach the Sava family, the grandfather, or the remaining cousin.” Her head lifted, and her determined eyes met Phaira’s. “I want to apologize to them.”

  Phaira felt weak. “Sydel, you mean well, but you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I can’t move forward until I confess the truth,” Sydel said. Her face darkened. “And you can tell CaLarca that if she wants to make amends, she’ll do the same.”

  A quiet knock echoed through the room. Phaira and Sydel looked up. Renzo and Cohen stood in the doorframe.

  “There’s -” Renzo began. “I don’t know how he found us, but… Yann is out there.”

  Sydel shot to her feet. “He’s here?”

  Cohen nodded. “He says he has to talk to -”

  “Is he alone?” Phaira broke in.

  “No,” Renzo said. “He brought reinforcements.”

  IV.

  The balding man stood red-faced and puffing, his hands on his knees. Behind him, on the final stone step of the Toomba entrance, his four companions were unfazed, their hands behind their backs, dressed in the unmistakable colors of law enforcement. Phaira froze at the sight.

  It was only by her brothers’ prodding that she started to walk. The foursome stayed close, Sydel in front, drawing closer and closer to the Communia elder. During the silent walk, Phaira stared at Sydel’s back, wondering what the girl was thinking.

  When she stopped, six feet away from her former master, Yann straightened. “I’m so sorry, Sydel,” he croaked, his voice gritty from dehydration. “I owe you so many apologies.”

  “What are you doing here?” Her question was barely a whisper.

  Yann moved to embrace her. “When I heard about Kings, I had to see you -”

  “Hands off.” Phaira’s voice was half-lost in the wind, but the man caught the intent.

  Yann lowered his hands. “You’ve changed. You’ve become so strong.”

  “Not for the better,” Sydel said flatly. “Though inevitable, given my heritage. Predestined to hurt.” Her gaze drifted to the four men and women behind Yann. “Are they here to arrest me?”

  “Of course not,” Yann soothed. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Sydel’s face twisted. “You excommunicated me because I was wrong, in every way.”

  Yann sighed. “My word,” he muttered, “still as argumentative as ever.” He gestured at the men and women in uniform. “They are here as escorts. If you will only listen -”

  Cohen made a low growl in the back of his throat.

  “Why now?” Renzo barked, his arms crossed over his chest. “A sudden change of heart?”

  “No,” Yann said. “New information.” He glanced at Sydel again. “Kuri came to see me.”

  Everyone stiffened, but Yann kept talking. “And I think he’s right. I think after all this time, we have to come together again, and sever the last connection to what happened so many years ago.” His hand lifted to the back of his neck. “We have to remove whatever was implanted into our brains, and we need you to do it.”

  “Me?” Sydel gasped. “How can I do such a thing? I’m no surgeon.”

  “This kind of surgery is incredibly costly.” He sighed again. “As crude as it sounds, we need rana. And you, as the rightful heir to Joran’s estate, can provide it. You can save us all.”

  “You’re here for money?” Phaira burst out. “After everything you did!”

  “Stop,” came Sydel’s hushed voice. She gazed at Yann. “What do you need?�
�

  “Syd,” Cohen gasped.

  “A signature, and a vial of blood,” Yann said, ignoring the outbursts. “The blood to acknowledge your existence as Sydel Shovann Asanto, the rightful heir to Joran Asanto’s estate. The signature to transfer ownership of the existing accounts.” He smiled faintly. “You’ll be quite the heiress, my dear.”

  “Why now?” Renzo questioned. “Why do this now, and not years ago?

  “Because I didn’t know about the others,” Yann said. “My concern was keeping Sydel safe, not my own wellbeing. But we all want the chance to start anew, if she is willing. If she is the girl that I raised.”

  “She’s far more than that,” came a new voice.

  Everyone turned. There was CaLarca, hunched over her cane, breathing heavily and glaring at Yann. A frightened hiker, her escort, was already running at full speed down the stairs, his footsteps richochetting through the mountains.

  “What are you - ?” Renzo and Cohen exploded.

  “She came with me,” Phaira interrupted. “Stand down.” It was enough to shock both brothers into silence.

  Then Yann spoke, wonder in his voice. “Cyrah. You’re here.”

  CaLarca grimaced. “Don’t.” She shuffled towards Phaira and the others. A crack broke through the atmosphere, somewhere in the distance. Everyone jumped, looking in all directions, but there were only birds in the air, and the sound of wind.

  “I’m also here to apologize,” CaLarca began, eyeing Sydel.

  “I don’t care about apologizes,” Sydel interrupted. “Our issue goes beyond each other. We need to make amends to the survivors of the first attack.” Her glare cut a line between Phaira and her brothers, pinning Yann and CaLarca. “If you do that, I’ll sign the papers, and provide the blood.”

  Emotions passed over Yann’s face: fear, disgust, wariness.

  “I will do it,” CaLarca said after a long pause.

  Sydel turned to the man. “Yann?” Her chin lifted. Phaira felt it, that old tension crackling between them, just like in the Communia.

  “If it means you’ll forgive me,” the old man said, “then yes.”

  *

  There was no question of letting Yann into the Arazura to make the call. Regardless of his intentions, there was too much uncertainty, too much tension simmering between CaLarca, Yann and Sydel. Neither Phaira nor her brothers could predict what might happen, but Phaira was the one who suggested that if an apology was to be made, it should be made to the surviving Sava cousin, Theron. And it should be made in private, inside the grandmother Vyoma’s house.

  “You come too,” Sydel told the siblings. “I want you all to bear witness.”

  Then she strode past them, heading for Vyoma’s red wooden hut in the cavern.

  “Remain here,” Yann instructed the silent officers, before following her.

  “This is crazy,” Renzo muttered to his siblings. “She’s crazy.”

  “She’s not crazy,” Cohen said sullenly. “Stop saying that.”

  “Well, this is going to be a disaster,” Renzo snapped at his brother. “Why are we going along with this, we should stop them.”

  “I don’t think we can,” Phaira said. “It’s over our heads.”

  All three slowed to watch CaLarca shuffle past them. Phaira studied the green-streaked braids sway in the center of the woman’s back, the heavy gait, the click of metal on rock.

  “How could you, Phair,” Cohen said under his breath.

  “Not now, Co. More has happened than you know.”

  “Well, I’m not going up there,” Cohen announced gruffly. “You two do what you want.”

  Then he stalked away, his broad back disappearing around the corner.

  Phaira blinked. “He’s pleasant.”

  “You have no idea,” Renzo sighed.

  When they reached the front of Vyoma’s house, the two huddled before the open door. The sound of footsteps on the creaking staircase wafted over the threshold.

  “Why suggest Theron?” Renzo whispered.

  “Better than the grandfather,” Phaira said. “Trust me.”

  “But you barely know him,” Renzo exclaimed. “How do you know that he won’t command all the syndicate to wipe us out?”

  Phaira lifted one shoulder. “You worked alongside him, Ren. You really think he’s that kind of guy?”

  “Sure, we got along fine,” Renzo said impatiently, “but that was a few major catastrophes ago.”

  Phaira shrugged again. She craned her neck to peer up the rickety stairwell, into the darkness.

  Renzo sighed, long and low. “Well,” he began. “Someone has to make the introduction. Might as well be me.”

  *

  There was barely any space in the attic to stand, let alone keep the safe distance that everyone wanted. Every eye checked for proximity: who looked at what, who sweated, who might be contemplating a weapon, physical or metal, and the space quickly grew awkward and overheated.

  The sooner this is done, the better, Renzo thought, placing his Lissome on the foot of the bed. He quickly activated a video-screen, expanding it to three feet wide with his hands. Then he drew up a virtual keypad. He looked at Sydel for confirmation. She stood straight-backed, her mouth set in a determined line.

  Renzo held his breath and typed. Numbers and symbols flashed across the screen, bypassing borders, sending out inquiries.

  Waiting for responses, Renzo stole looks at CaLarca and Yann. They stood next to each other; surprising, given their animosity. Yann looked like he might pass out, the blood vessels around his nostrils spidery. CaLarca refused to make eye contact with anyone, glaring at the floor.

  The screen went black. Renzo could hear swallows, feel how everyone was collectively bracing for sound or sudden light. A click sounded through the Lissome soundsystem. Then a voice.

  “Renzo?” The audio was clear, though the picture remained dark. Theron Sava sounded surprised, though not angry.

  “Yes,” Renzo said uneasily. “How’s it going?” For a moment, he wondered if he should add sir to the end of that sentence.

  “Funny you called, actually. I was going to look you up. Had a couple of questions for you.” There was a pause. “But I sense this isn’t the right time.” Another pause. “What’s with the crowd?”

  Renzo wet his lips. “Some people want to talk to you. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Some people,” the man repeated. “Your brother is well, I hope?”

  “He’s fine, yes,” Renzo said, peering into the blackness. “Can’t you activate the visual, Theron? This is weird.”

  “No.” There was no further explanation. “And Phaira?”

  “I’m here,” Phaira said, though she remained in the corner, out of sight.

  “You’re Sydel.” The statement made everyone stiffen. “The little stowaway. Back in the fold, I see. Are you the one looking for me?”

  Sydel’s cheeks flushed deep pink as she stared into the void.

  You don’t have to do this. Renzo tried to push his words into her mind. I can shut this off in a moment, make some excuse.

  “Please, Mr. Sava, may I see you?” Sydel finally asked. “I want to ensure that you hear me.”

  “I can hear you. What do you want?”

  Sydel took in a deep, shaky breath. Then she blurted out:

  “I am responsible for the death of your cousins.”

  Phaira bit her thumbnail, trading looks with Cohen. CaLarca stared at the back of Sydel’s head. Yann looked surprisingly calm, his hands in his sleeves, waiting.

  “Tell me how.” Theron’s voice was quiet, but sharp.

  “I have the ability to generate energy,” Sydel began, visibly trembling. “I was under duress, strangled by your cousin Keller, and I lost control of the energy. It killed your cousin Keller, and damaged the foundation of the underground base, causing it to collapse. Which your other cousin was caught in.” There were tears in her voice. “I’m so sorry. And I’m so sorry for what happened to you when you w
ere a child. You and your family.”

  The tension in the room heightened by a thousand degrees, as everyone held their breath.

  But Theron said nothing.

  “I know this is sudden,” Sydel continued. “And I know you’re distraught, and confused, I can sense it -”

  “Sydel,” Phaira warned from the corner.

  “But I hope you have the capacity to forgive,” Sydel concluded. “And not just me.”

  She looked over her shoulder at CaLarca and Yann.

  “You with the green hair,” came Theron’s quiet voice. “You’re one of the originals, aren’t you?”

  Renzo saw real fear on CaLarca’s face as she took a step forward. “Which - which one were you?” she asked the black screen.

  “Black hair. Eight years old. Red shirt.” He listed off the facts without emotion.

  “I was fourteen,” CaLarca said haltingly. “And very scared, and trying to understand what I was involved with. I only saw your family from a distance, but I didn’t actually -”

  Then she corrected herself. “No, that’s not right.” She took in a long, steadying breath. “I should have stopped the others, or at least tried to,” she confessed. “I should have told someone what happened. It’s just as cowardly to keep it a secret all these years, and… I’m sorry.”

  Sydel nodded, relief on her face.

  “But this man next to me has no remorse.”

  Yann started. But CaLarca plowed on, drawing so close to the screen that Renzo thought she might tumble through. “He wears another face, but Kuri Nimat was one of your attackers, and he deserves all your wrath. He can take on appearances, but I’m sure you have the resources, Mr. Sava, to track him down. I encourage the use of every single one.”

  Yann darted forward, grabbed the Lissome and threw it at the opposite wall. The Lissome ricocheted, just inches from Phaira’s head. The screens dissolved with a burst of static. Phaira had her hidden knife drawn and flipped in reverse. Renzo backed into the corner, his hands up. Sydel’s hands were fixed to her mouth.

  Braced in the doorway, Yann’s face shimmered. The jowls tightened, hair spread over his head, and his body thinned. Within seconds, it was a new man, tall and lean, mid-thirties, black-haired, bronzed and handsome, looking at them with pity.