by Loren Walker
“I picked up on your conversation with Theron Sava,” Anandi said. “Since we ran out of Liera, I’ve been trying to track you all down; had a dozen algorithms running, waiting for some identifying characteristic to register. Then the Hitodama contacted me, asking about Lander’s condition, and I got to talking to a few of them, collaborated on some ideas over the past week. They were with me when you called Theron. And he wasn’t doing much to guard the connection, surprisingly. We traced it, hacked into the Arazura and turned on the speakers to the outside.”
“And when everything went crazy, and I couldn’t get to the Arazura, she bypassed all my securities and activated the pulse,” added Renzo, pride in his voice.
“How’s Emir?” Phaira asked, staring at the creation in the corner.
“Better,” Anandi said, her voice quieting. “It was rough for a while, but now that he’s settled, he’s improving every day.”
“Do you think - ” Phaira started, and then stopped. She looked at her brother. “You know Sydel isn’t well, right?”
Renzo shrugged again. “Clearly, but I didn’t know what to do about it. We kept her safe, at least. She hasn’t hurt anyone.”
“You want my dad to talk to her?” Anandi chimed in. “He’s worked with patients who have experienced trauma. Maybe he can give her some guidance.”
“Maybe,” Phaira said. “When things are fully resolved.” She glanced at Renzo. “But we’ve got a decision to make first.”
*
The Toomba tavern was closed to the public. With shades drawn, and chairs in a circular formation, the residents of the Arazura sat astride, straddling, or with ankles crossed underneath.
“Ozias wants him,” Phaira began. “I don’t know if they have the means to contain him. But maybe we just go the conventional route. Turn him over and wipe our hands of it.”
“I can’t believe you made a deal with law patrol,” Cohen muttered.
“I didn’t have a lot of choices, Co,” Phaira shot back. “And I was trying to protect you and Ren and Sydel.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for protection,” Cohen said. “I could have handled it on my own.”
Stung, Phaira glared at Cohen.
Renzo lifted a tired hand. “Can you knock it off until this is settled?”
“Kuri won’t stay in prison,” CaLarca declared. “Even if they build a custom cell, the other NINE may come for him. Shantou is still out there. And Zarek. And who knows who else has been recruited. If they are working with Kuri, they could hurt a lot of people in trying to set him free.”
“What are you suggesting, then?” Renzo asked. “That it’s better for everyone if he just disappears?”
“The offer’s already been made,” Cohen said gruffly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“Vy can make it happen,” Cohen said. “If we ask, Kuri goes into the mountains, and he doesn’t come out. Same with that blonde girl’s body. They deal with this kind of thing all the time. The law doesn’t mess with Toomba militia.”
“What about the bodyguards?” Renzo pointed out. “What if they talk?”
“They were being controlled,” CaLarca said. “They have no memory of what happened. They’re desperate to leave the mountain alive. They’ll do whatever we ask.”
Phaira glanced at Sydel, who stared at her hands. “What do you think?”
“Is that what you all want?” came her quiet voice.
“It’s not a question of want,” Renzo retorted, though his voice was kinder when he spoke again. “If we don’t make the right choice here, it could be disastrous.”
“Believe me, I want nothing more than to never see him again,” Sydel whispered. “Or see any of this again.”
“Nor do I,” CaLarca muttered, picking at her fingernails. “He’s a thief, a blackmailer, a kidnapper. But he hasn’t actually killed anyone. At least, not successfully.”
“So forcing me over the edge of a mountain doesn’t count?” Cohen shot back.
“Stop fighting, please.”
Cohen fell silent at Sydel’s voice. She looked calm, but exhausted.
“I’m done,” the girl said. “I don’t want Kuri to hurt anyone. Ever again. I vote for the mountains.”
“It’s agreed then,” Phaira said, after a long, awkward pause. “We get up and walk out and don’t look back.”
Everyone nodded. Chairs scraped across the wooden floor as the five rose to their feet. Then one by one, they shuffled out of the door.
All except CaLarca, who hovered, leaning hard on her cane.
Then she made for the backroom.
Wedged between barrels of ale and storage crates, Kuri was bound to a chair, his head slung with a metal HALO loop, and, by his request, his head still covered by that sack. The HALO was disrupting his Eko ability, and by the look of his liver-spotted hands, his Nadi, too.
His head tilted at her entry. “Come to say goodbye?” he asked, his voice muffled through the burlap.
Her cane made a loud rap on the floor. “I want the truth, Kuri. What did you do to me in those two weeks?”
She heard snorting.
“I could just split open your head and pull out the memory,” CaLarca warned him.
“Nah, you won’t do that. Who knows what else you might see in there.” There was something sinister in the way he said those words.
But she had to ask him. “Is my family alive?”
Kuri chortled, a slight wheeze in his breathing. “I know nothing about that. I’ve been with you, remember?”
“Then who burned down my farm?” she demanded. “I saw the satellite images. Was it Shantou? Was it someone else you manipulated? Why did you do it?”
His hands gripped the armrests. The wood squeaked under his fingers.
“You pretend you can’t remember,” he murmured, “but I know the truth. After Kings, you were inspired. You loved using your gifts again. You loved going into people’s minds, like that silly Hitodama hacker’s. You were so proud of your idea to get close to Sydel, so eager to help Shantou, and Marette, all of us. In the whole two weeks, you didn’t mention your family, or home, not once. I think you were glad to be rid of them.”
Shaken, CaLarca stepped back, her teeth on the brink of chattering.
In a burst, she yanked the sack off his head.
Yelping, Kuri turned his face into his shoulder. She glared at him, taking in the sagging, pockmarked cheeks, the melanoma patches along his forehead.
Then she limped out of the room.
*
“What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“You said it yourself, Oz: Toomba has its own rules,” Phaira said into the Lissome. “He’s not where we left him, and no one is talking.”
“Don’t call me Oz. And we made a deal.”
“The deal was that I would track him down and contact you,” Phaira pointed out. “You chose to send no backup, no support, so don’t blame me for losing him. I’ll come in for debriefing, and tell you what I know.”
Inspiration struck her. “And I have information on the remaining NINE. If you’ll fund the expenses, I’ll do reconnaissance overseas.”
“What are you doing?” Renzo mouthed from across the Arazura common room.
Phaira waved her hand to shut him up. “There’s at least two other NINE out there. I have leads. I’ll uncover whatever I can and bring it straight to you.”
Suddenly, Cohen was next to Phaira, bent over to speak into the Lissome. “Detective Ozias,” he boomed. “I’m Cohen Byrne. Just so you know, I would have been happy to talk to you about Kings. If you still have questions, I’ll answer them.”
“Your sister put in a lot of effort to protect you from me, Cohen,” Ozias said with surprise. “You’re waiving that protection?”
“I never asked for it,” Cohen said.
Phaira held her breath, and her hurt in check.
Ozias was the one to break the silence. “At the moment, Cohen, I think I have the information I need. Ther
e’s a lot of processing to do. I’m glad you’re willing, however.”
“If you change your mind,” Cohen said, “I’ll be in Toomba.”
Renzo and Phaira glanced at him. Cohen continued to look down at the Lissome.
“Noted,” Ozias said. “And Phaira? Let me see what I can do.”
“Yes,” Phaira said. “Thank you.”
The connection broke. All three were silent. Cohen glared at them, his back stiff, his chin held high and his arms crossed, as if waiting for a scolding.
Then Renzo’s shoulders slumped. “If that’s what you want, Co,” he said, his voice exhausted. “Stay in Toomba.”
Something shifted in Cohen. “Don’t be sad about it, Ren,” he said, sounding a little like his old, bashful self. “I like it here.”
Really? Phaira wanted to protest. With all these mountain men, in the cold, in the middle of nowhere?
But she just nodded. “It’s your choice,” she managed. “You’re an adult. As much as we forget sometimes,” she added with an apologetic note.
“What about Sydel?” Renzo chimed in. “I doubt she’s sticking around here.”
Cohen shrugged. “She’s got her own issues to deal with.”
Curious, Phaira peered at her little brother. His eyes were moody and far away. She kept silent.
“Wait a minute,” Renzo interrupted, looking panicky. “If you’re staying in Toomba, and Phaira’s going on a search, then it’s just going to be me and those two girls in the Arazura?”
He looked sick at the prospect. Phaira couldn’t help but laugh. Even Cohen cracked a smile under that heavy beard.
“Not me,” came Sydel’s quiet voice from behind. “I’m leaving.”
Everyone turned. Sydel had changed into a brown woven dress, with a blue wool jacket belted over. A satchel was slung over her shoulder. Her copper hair had been trimmed, so it was at least even. Her features were sharper, more pronounced.
She doesn’t look like a scared teenager anymore, Phaira realized. She looks like someone to be reckoned with.
“Where?” Phaira finally asked.
Sydel smiled faintly. “I’m going to serve as caretaker to Emir. And when he recovers, I’m going to serve as his medical apprentice.”
“When was this decided?” Renzo exclaimed.
“Just now,” Sydel said. “He called me, and suggested it. I think it’s a good idea. It’s who I really am. Not all of this….”
She trailed off, averting her eyes.
“I want to go back to traditional medicine,” she finally continued. “And I’m officially retiring my abilities.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Renzo exclaimed.
“I do,” Sydel said. “I want to build a regular life, without Eko, or Nadi, or any of it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I just need to get down the mountain and find my way to Emir.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll take you wherever you need to go,” Renzo interjected.
Still, Phaira saw the furrow in his brow, and Cohen’s bunched forehead, even felt the tension in hers. She just assumed that in the end, they would all be together again in the Arazura. But what could anyone say? They were all destined to separate, at one time or another.
“Well,” Phaira broke the awkward silence. “I guess we should get going.”
“You be careful with Ozias,” Cohen said to Phaira gruffly. He hesitated for one moment, one long moment, before he crushed Phaira in a hug with those familiar, heavy arms.
“You watch out too,” she whispered into his ear. She wished she could say even more than that. She wished that he was still the boy who listened to everything she said, that she could ask him to stay with Renzo in the Arazura, that he could see that they were better together. Safer together.
But she bit her tongue, and let him set her back on the ground.
Renzo and Cohen embraced, Renzo slapping him on the back. “Call me if you need anything,” he told his younger brother. “No matter what.”
Sydel was gazing at Cohen, her hands clasped in front of her, her thumb tracking the other’s nail.
“We should - ” Phaira whispered to Renzo, gesturing at their cabins.
“It’s okay,” Sydel told them. “I don’t mind if you stay.”
Cohen slowly turned to face her, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar nervous gesture. “I hope you… figure out what you need,” he said to Sydel. “Emir is a good guy.”
“I want you to know that I’m sorry for the way I acted,” Sydel said. “I was afraid, and confused, and not in my right mind.”
Did Phaira see a flush underneath his beard? “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I worry,” Sydel said quietly. “I never want to hurt you. Ever.”
“I know, Syd. It’s okay,” Cohen muttered, as one boot scuffed the ground. “I’m sure we’ll catch up at some point.”
Sydel’s face fell, just a little. Then her expression settled into calm resolution. “Of course.”
Oh no, Phaira groaned inwardly. Dammit, Cohen.
But her little brother was already striding to the Arazura’s exit. Just before the stairs, he hesitated, looking back at the three of them.
“Goodbye,” he told them.
“Goodbye,” they repeated.
VII.
The pyre burned orange and yellow, with the occasional spark of green. The body’s silhouette showed through the flames. Staring into the fire, Cohen swore he could smell burning flesh. He had to remind himself, again and again, that it was an illusion.
Vy had suggested the mock-service in memory of his father. It was how they dealt with the dead in Toomba. There were no fancy transports or burial grounds, just the burning of the body, the smoke joining the clouds, the ashes in the wind. She showed him how they built straw facsimiles of the dead, complete with head and limbs, to serve as standin. It happened more often than he might think, she told him; living in the mountains often brought sudden disappearances. She was skilled in building the straw body, binding the joints with rope with her gnarled, strong hands.
“I did this for your mother,” she told Cohen. “When I learned of her death. The ritual helps.”
In addition to the burning, words were to be said about the deceased. But Cohen didn’t know what to say.
“Then why bother with the ceremony?” Vyoma countered. “What do you care if he’s dead?”
“We should have done this with Ren and Phair,” Cohen muttered. “They remember more. I hardly have anything. Just the bad stuff, and their stories.”
“Then I will speak,” Vyoma said. She tucked in her chin as she peered into the fire.
A few moments passed. Cohen looked down at his grandmother, whose head barely passed his sternum. He knew better than to say anything.
“Dasean,” Vyoma finally spoke, her voice clipped. “I expected more from you. For a long time, I blamed you for taking my daughter away. Now she is gone, and you join her. But my grandchildren found me. It’s the best of the both of you, given to me at the end of my life. So, for me, your death has been a blessing. And I thank you for that.”
She was crying; her face was still etched in stone, but there was a definite tear track making its way down the folds of her cheek. Cohen shifted, wondering if he could try and comfort her. Something told him it was no use. Maybe she didn’t even realize that she was weeping.
So, instead, he watched the fire. In his peripheral vision, he saw some of the townspeople hovering, but not daring to approach. He turned his head to the side, as a warning. The shadows retreated. He liked the respect he garnered here.
“Now you, Cohen,” Vyoma said, stepping aside.
“Father,” Cohen started. “Dasean,” he corrected. For whatever reason, it felt more natural. “It would have been good to know you better. To have you around. But I guess you weren’t able to take care of us. I get it, and I’m not angry. But I’ve been lucky, with Ren and Phaira. Because really, they’re my parents. I know that sounds weird, but
it’s true.”
He looked up at the plumes of smoke. “So if you’ve got any kind of presence, or power, or whatever,” he added, “please look after them.”
And as the fire flared, he added a prayer:
And please look after Sydel, wherever she is.
*
Sydel twisted the strap around her shoulder, staring at the door. She checked the room number again. It was correct. But she couldn’t muster the courage to knock.
Was she really leaving the Arazura? All of the siblings? No schedule, no security, no familiar embrace, no cabin on the ship that she’d come to call home. Phaira seemed so wistful when they said farewell, when the Arazura descended into the Mac, where she was slated to meet up with Emir. Sydel wasn’t sure what to do as they stood at the exit. Should they hug? Shake hands? There were a thousand conflicting emotions in the moment: strange affection, some measure of relief that she was leaving, a nagging worry in the pit of her stomach.
“Remember what I told you,” Phaira told her. “No matter how bad it gets, don’t ever touch meka.”
“Please be careful around CaLarca,” Sydel countered with a whisper. “She’s not stable. I don’t think she’ll try and hurt you, but -”
“It’s okay,” Phaira said. “I think we have an understanding.”
“But it’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, going to search for her family,” Sydel said quietly.
Phaira frowned. “I’m not - ”
“I know you’re going to seek out the NINE,” Sydel interrupted. “But I also know that’s part of your mission. You’re a good person.”
Then, impulsively, Sydel took Phaira’s hands and kissed their backs. “And don’t negate what I just said with a silly comment,” she added.
“Okay, okay,” Phaira mumbled, a faint, embarrassed smile on her dark lips.
For the first time in a long while, Sydel felt some measure of peace; calm enough to walk away, and into the streets alone, intent on following Emir’s directions to his place of recovery. But now that she was there, just outside his room, she was frozen with fear. What if she was a disappointment to Emir, as she was to Yann? She hadn’t given much thought to Yann, other than sadness at his death, and the bitterness, buried deep inside her. But the memories of his disapproval still held power over her. And here she was again, going under the tutelage of a senior.