by Brenda Poppy
Symphandra and Scar looked at each other warily. It was clear that neither was a fan of the risky plan, but they had no alternatives to propose. So they each nodded slowly in agreement.
“Good,” Burn said, trying to sound resolute. “Organize the meeting for an hour from now. That will give me time to clean up.” She set the soup bowl on the table beside the bed and tried to hoist her legs over the side and onto the floor. She managed – barely – but found that her legs didn’t want to support her weight.
Her sister appeared at her side, offering a hand. Burn took it, unsteadily getting to her feet and hobbling to the bathroom. Her body felt like it had been trampled – and she remembered, belatedly, that it had. Her arms and legs were stiff and difficult to move, and her stomach and ribs felt tight and restrictive. If she moved too fast or turned too far, a sharp pain blossomed in her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs.
Scar helped her get undressed and eased her into the tub, careful not to touch the large purple bruises blooming on her skin. It was strange, seeing this completely different side of her sister. Burn was used to being the caretaker in their relationship, the one who looked after the house and the money and Scar. But she was beginning to see that she may have underestimated her sister.
Still, Burn was an independent creature at heart, and she shied away from being bathed like a toddler. She told Scar she could manage on her own, and her sister went off in search of Symphandra.
Burn scrubbed at her skin with the soap, trying to erase not only the caked blood and dirt that covered her, but also the memory of how it had gotten there. Her cuts stung in the cool water and her teeth chattered as she worked, but she didn’t rush. She could sense more battles looming on the horizon, and she wanted to savor this moment, this peace, while she could.
After removing the majority of the filth and debris, Burn hoisted herself out of the murky water. She dried herself off, then turned to the bandages that had been left out for her. She carefully wound one around her midsection, hoping to keep her jostled ribs in place, then used a few more to tie off some cuts that had opened back up on her arms and legs.
Once she was thoroughly mummified, she risked a glance at herself in the small mirror above the sink. The sight that met her was jarring. She barely resembled the Burn from last night, the one in the fine dress with the flushed cheeks and dark eyes. Now her eyes were dark from bruises and lack of sleep. A large brown and purple lump covered her cheek where Cross had struck her, mirrored on the other side by shallow slashes from Wight’s fingernails. She looked away, not wanting to see more – or to remember more.
Feeling steadier on her feet, she left the bathroom and found some clothes laid out for her on Symphandra’s bed – a flowing cream-colored shirt and loose brown pants. Burn struggled to get the shirt over her head, her arms protesting the increased angle, but she eventually managed it. Once dressed, she felt better somehow, more stable, and she went in search of the others.
Burn found them in the kitchen, huddled together in quiet discussion. Scar was smiling slightly at Symphandra in an expression that Burn had never seen before, and the whole scene felt warm and intimate. She hated to interrupt them, but she knew that time was not on their side.
“Thank you for the clothes,” she said in an attempt to break them out of their reverie. It worked and they looked up, both wearing a small smile.
“No problem,” Symphandra said, waving her hand. “I’m just sorry I had no time to hem them.” The pants were indeed long on Burn, but as long as she didn’t have to run for her life, she didn’t foresee that being a problem.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Burn said in a rush. “What did you do with my old clothes?”
“Well, we considered burning them but thought the fumes might attract attention,” Scar said wryly. “They’re over there.” She pointed to a pile near the door.
Burn rushed over and rifled through the clothes, quickly finding the pants and grabbing the contents of the pockets, including the vial of ManniK. She also took the Peace Officer’s gun, slinging its cord across her back.
“Ready?” she asked them, feeling somewhat stronger. The two nodded, and they all donned masks, goggles, and cloaks before walking out into the cool night.
Burn pulled up her hood and tucked her hair under it, hiding as much of her face as she could. She wasn’t sure if she’d been declared a fugitive yet, if Cross had figured out that she’d escaped and put a price on her head, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
Together, the three women glided through the dark streets. Well, two of them glided and Burn hobbled after them, trying to keep up despite her injuries. Even with her impaired state, though, they made good time and soon found themselves outside the safe house. Symphandra used her finger to gain access, and Burn and Scar followed her into the unassuming building.
Just as they had planned, they were the first ones there, and the two sisters tucked themselves into the darkness to await their scene. One by one, the Lunaria started to appear, quietly taking their seats. The mood was different from their last meeting, subdued and serious, with no laughter or chitchat to distract them from the matter at hand.
Hale was the last to arrive. At his appearance, Burn felt a sliver of anger shoot through her chest, but she clamped down on it, urging herself to stay calm. He wasn’t the enemy, she reminded herself. Their goal was the same. And, more importantly, she needed him on her side if they were going to win this – or at least stand a chance.
The room sat in eerie silence as Symphandra stood, walking purposefully to the center of the circle. She addressed the gathered crowd, her voice low and serious.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. I would like to get straight to the point. I have recently received intel on the Peace Force’s plan, and it is grave news indeed. My source, who has gone deep within the organization, has suffered greatly to get this information back to us, nearly losing her life in the process. I urge you to listen to what she has to say and to heed her warnings. She speaks the truth, and I can vouch for her integrity.”
She paused, gauging the reaction of the room. They sat in rapt attention, their faces grim. “I would like to invite Auburn Alendra to the floor.”
With that, the room erupted in whispers. Burn emerged from the shadows and limped through the circle to join her friend. They stood arm to arm, together against the crowd. Upon seeing Burn, Hale rose and began to approach them, but Symphandra put a hand up to stop him.
“I know you’ve all heard certain accusations regarding Burn and her allegiances, but please allow her to say her part. If you are not satisfied with her explanations, you are free to do with her as you please. But I hope you take her words to heart. Countless lives hang in the balance.”
Burn’s heart pounded in her chest as Hale stared at her, his mouth twitching. After a few seconds, however, he sank back into his chair, and a small portion of Burn’s anxiety eased. She stepped forward into the light so that the full extent of her injuries could be seen by the gathered crowd.
“After our last meeting, I formed a plan to infiltrate the Peace Station in search of more information, using my father’s old contacts. This plan failed. Not only did I hear nothing of value, but I was discovered by General Cross and his suspicions were raised. I knew that any other attempts to gather this information would have to be done outside of the Peace Station and would require incredible ingenuity.”
The crowd stayed silent as she spoke, hanging on her words. She couldn’t tell if they believed her – or were simply biding their time until they could finish her off – but she kept going, nonetheless.
“Through an incredible turn of luck, an acquaintance – the same one I was seen with last night – approached me and invited me to the Peace Force ball. This acquaintance, an officer, has no idea where my real allegiances lie: with the Lunaria. He merely saw me as a romantic interest, and I encouraged his attentions in order to get closer to the truth.”
Burn felt a pan
g of guilt when speaking about Kaz as if he were merely a means to an end. But it was the truth. She had used him – and then thrown him away.
“I attended the ball in search of answers. With the help of Symphandra and my sister, I was able to infiltrate their inner sanctum and discover more about their plan. I learned that it involves those of us born with gifts, as well as the street drug known as ManniK, which they’ve been testing on us. And I learned that it will result in innumerable casualties. But once again I was discovered by Cross. This time I couldn’t escape.”
Burn shuddered at the memory of Cross’ hot breath on her face and his body pressed up against hers. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to rid her mouth of the sour taste that had appeared at the thought of his touch.
After a moment, she pressed on, explaining where Cross had taken her, what she’d learned from Wight, and how she’d escaped. She withdrew the vial from her pocket, passing it around as proof of her claims. She glossed over the painful details of her ordeal, knowing that the bruises on her face and the injuries across her body would tell the story better than she could. When she reached the end, she paused, considering her audience.
“We have the chance to stop a terrible atrocity,” she continued, her voice grave. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it – or even if it’s possible to succeed. But I do know that we only stand a chance if we work together. Thank you.”
Done with her speech, Burn limped over to an empty chair and sat, her legs weak from the effort of standing. Symphandra once again stood alone in the center of the circle and addressed the quiet room.
“You’ve heard the whole story and must now understand the dire situation in which we find ourselves. It’s up to you what we do next. The fate of the city, of so many innocent lives, lies in your hands. What would you like to do?” She addressed the question to everyone assembled in the small room, slowly rotating to meet their upturned eyes.
Hale was, of course, the first one to speak. “How do we know she’s telling the truth? This could all be an elaborate plot to lure us out into the open. How do we know we can trust her?”
“You’re right,” Burn answered from her seat, causing Hale to frown in confusion. She wasn’t supposed to agree with him. She was supposed to fight back. But she knew that fighting with him would do no good. “Trusting me is a leap. Trusting anyone, especially someone with ideas so different to your own, is never going to be easy.” Her mind flashed back to what Scar had said only yesterday. I think some people are just scared to trust those with different ideas.
“But the simple fact is that we need each other. I need you and you need me.” She addressed this directly to Hale, unblinking. “I’ve never let you down before, and I don’t intend to start now. I’m one of you. And it’s us against them now.”
She continued to stare at Hale, daring him to fight back. But to her surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he gave a small nod of approval and stayed silent. Burn let out a quiet sigh of relief. That was one less battle she would have to fight.
Several more of the Lunaria raised questions, but each dealt with the details of the plan, seeking additional information or clarification instead of probing her veracity. Burn answered each member calmly, laying out the plan to the best of her knowledge. It was clear that she didn’t know all the details – like what time they planned to start, where they would be setting off the ManniK, or even how much of the force would be involved. But her intel was considerably more than they’d had before, and it put them far closer to an even playing field.
The conversation gradually shifted, morphing organically from a discussion of the Peace Force’s plan to how the Lunaria was going to combat it. Hale and Ansel, an older man with the potent gift of manipulating fire, naturally got into an argument about firepower, while Symphandra, Scar, and an elderly woman talked heatedly about the likelihood of finding another drug to lessen the effects of ManniK.
“The problem is that we don’t have enough people,” Ramus interrupted, leaning forward in his seat. “Even if we all called in our favors and sources and operatives, we’re only looking at a couple hundred people at the most. The Peace Force has thousands – and they’re armed.”
“We could try to recruit more,” suggested Brindle, a younger girl whose powers involved the manipulation of light. “Start grabbing people off the street and telling them what’s happening.”
“They’ll never believe us,” Ramus countered. “And even if they did, that would take far too long. We don’t have time to recruit and train an entire army. It’s not possible.”
“What we need is more people like us, more individuals with gifts,” said Scar, jumping into the fray. “Then, even if we don’t have the advantage in terms of numbers, we’d have the upper hand when it came to strength. Think about: a gifted army. It’s what they’re afraid of. That’s why they arrest us and vilify us and keep us down. So, let’s give it to them! Let’s make their fears a reality.”
“That’s a fine idea,” came Hale’s voice from the other side of the room. “But how do you suggest we go about that? Our kind prefer to stay in the shadows. They’re safer in the dark. They don’t tend to stick out in public or congregate in easy to find groups.”
“Unless they’ve already been brought together for us,” said Burn, something sparking in her mind. It was such a strange statement that no one else quite knew what to say in response. Burn held up a finger, silently asking for a moment to think as she parsed through her hazy memories of the day.
The officer who had saved her from being trampled, the one who had escorted her past the barricades, he had said something about prisoners and overcrowding. His words came back to her slowly, as if she had heard them in a dream. Gonna have to toss some of ‘em out, if you know what I mean. She hadn’t known what he’d meant at the time. But she certainly did now.
“They’re planning to throw a bunch of them – a bunch of us – into the Pit. They’re trying to free up the cells. I bet whoever they don’t kill during their little massacre they’re going to toss in jail and label enemies of the state.”
Hale latched onto her thought process, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. “That means there’ll be a prisoner transfer, probably sometime tomorrow. If we can find out when it’s happening, we can intercept them. That could mean scores of new allies – people who already have a grudge against the Peace Force.”
“I can use my intel on some of the officers to find out when the transfer will be,” Burn said, her excitement matching his. Their previous animosity seemed all but forgotten, and they moved closer to one another, feeding off of each other’s energy. “Then you can put together a team to ambush them and bring them back.”
Hale nodded, already mentally forming his crew. Meanwhile, the rest of the Lunaria looked on, stunned at their sudden camaraderie yet hopeful that this plan might work.
They stayed late into the night, hashing out the details. It was still a long shot, and everyone knew there was no guarantee of success. But having a strategy, a purpose, and a team of people alongside them fueled each member on. Even Burn, whose injuries and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, felt invigorated by the solidarity.
Still, the time came when her fatigue got the better of her, and she found herself nodding off despite the frenetic energy. Struggling to stand, her legs having long since stiffened, she hobbled to find Symphandra and her sister, who were huddled with a small group discussing battle strategies. Burn beckoned them to leave and they followed, waving goodbye to their compatriots. Together, the three women walked out into the night, the promise of another meeting already on the horizon.
Chapter 21
Burn’s sleep was uneasy, filled with images of violence and pain. And Cross. She couldn’t tell if they were memories, warped by her subconscious and twisted into narratives where she couldn’t escape, or fears of what the next two days might bring.
She awoke early, her head clear but her muscles stiff and her chest aching. Her
tab was next to the bed, salvaged from their home by Scar before their escape, and she grabbed it, hoping to wipe away the remnants of her dreams with work.
Before settling down to business, she scanned the Peace Force-sponsored news, checking for any reference to her or ManniK or what had happened down in Wight’s lair. Thankfully, either Cross didn’t know or he was choosing to cover it up, because there was no mention of the events among the headlines.
That done, Burn got down to the matter at hand: blackmail. Specifically, blackmailing Cross’ officers into revealing the time of the prisoner transfer. She scanned her database of secrets, looking for something serious enough that someone would risk their job to conceal it. Infidelity? No. Gambling? No. Extorting money from a violent criminal in exchange for keeping him out of prison? A serious contender.
Burn didn’t know which officers would be in charge of the transfer, so she spread her net wide, selecting individuals from across the organization to threaten. Although in this case, she reflected, it wasn’t just a threat. A bit of chaos on the force would be useful in the coming war. So if they didn’t give her what she needed, they’d soon find themselves facing up to their past indiscretions – and Peace Force punishments were never pleasant.
She sent her messages with the swipe of a finger. It was so easy to ruin lives, she thought, so simple to send their worlds up in smoke. A normal person would feel guilty, a small voice said in the back of her mind. But Burn had long since become desensitized to that. She knew that to fight fire, you had to find some fire of your own. This was hers.
Reluctantly, she lifted herself off the bed and onto the floor, shuffling to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, she saw that her bruises had blossomed, bringing yellow and brown tones to the watercolor of injuries across her skin. The pain still lingered, but the memories were fading little by little, shut out by the balm of her present safety and the looming presence of something far worse on the horizon.