The Warrior

by Victoria Scott

  But when my eyes see that fifth word, I know what it means. I know what it means before I use the context clues. I know what it means, and it’s like my mind has always known.

  The word is gregari.

  It means grace.

  It’s as simple as that.

  I speak the foreign word out loud, and my tongue wraps around it like an old friend. The book tumbles from my grasp, and my heart clutches at the bones surrounding it. My eyes search the library. For what, I don’t know. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I feel like I could run the width of the world and it wouldn’t be enough. I’m royally freaked out from discovering all these things I can do that I shouldn’t be able to do.

  My ears ring.

  And I stop breathing.

  Not because I understood a word I wasn’t supposed to, but because I sense someone moving outside the hallway. At first I think it’s Charlie, returning after dropping off the books to Oswald. But the way the shadow darts by, I know better. It could be a liberator, but even if it is, what are they doing out of bed? Kraven was firm when he said we needed to sleep between training sessions. And I’m the only one who goes against Papa K’s direction.

  I move toward the door, muscles burning with anticipation. When I get close to the entryway, the heavy, oak door slams shut from the outside. I grab for the handle, but it won’t budge.

  Charlie.

  They’ve locked me in here, and she’s walking the hallways.

  I lose my mind with fear. I slam myself against the door again. Over and over until I’m certain my shoulder jerks out of socket. When I breathe in, the heavy scent of a fire blazing hits me. I spin around and see that a corner of the library is ablaze. I’ve had my back to that part of the room this entire time, but I don’t now. The certainty of what’s happening is unmistakable: the heat of the flame, the sound of the books crackling, the door locked shut.

  Someone has started a fire in the library and trapped me in here.

  My wings burst from my back, and I take myself high into the air to escape the licking orange and red. But there’s too much smoke up here, and now I’m dropping down, hitting the ground with a thud. The fire spreads quickly, and my body warms even faster.

  I have to get out of here!

  I return to the door and throw myself into it once again. This time I yell. I remember the bells, the ones I thought where so useless, and charge toward where I see a string. I yank, but nothing happens. The blaze has burned through the strings that connect around the house, eaten it alive.

  I’m going to burn to death. But I have dargon on my ankle. Liberators can only die if their cuff is removed, but how can my body heal if it melts into ash and that ash scatters? And what of the fire? Will it reach the rest of the house and consume the others?

  I’m not one to ask for help, but just this once, I scream. I yell so loud the sound rattles me to my core. It unnerves me more than the fire does. Even more than feeling the heat grow into an unbearable pain.

  I search for something to break the door down with. The table, a chair. I can hardly see either through the dense blue-black smoke. I grab the chair and, holding my breath, I ram it into the door. The heavy wood doesn’t budge. Everything in the room is getting eaten alive by the fire, but the door is still standing. I grab the table next and slide it across the floor until it rams the door. Nothing.

  My lungs begin to spasm. I’ve never felt them before, and to feel them now—burning for air, burning to escape my body—it almost takes me out of my own head. I cough until I’m sure I’ll never inhale again. Smoke fills my nose, my ears, my mouth. A heat more intense than I’ve ever experienced in my life slithers up my left leg. I glance down.

  I’m on fire.

  This time when I yell, I’m sure the sirens outside must hear my cry.

  I don’t want to go out like this. Not screaming. Not crying for someone to rescue me. And then a strange thing happens. A peace crawls over me. I think to myself, if I were ever going to ask for His help, to reach out to Him, now would be a good time. I’m not sure why I’ve never thought about this before this moment, or why I do now. But once it’s in my head, I can’t help it. I can’t help imagining what might happen if I asked.

  And yet, I remain quiet.

  My mind screams with agony as I try to escape the crackling flames on my legs. But I won’t ask Him for anything. He left me before, on that dark road with my father. Why would anything be different now?

  The pain is all consuming.

  I forget everything.

  I forget Charlie.

  My senses all call for my attention at once. They all hurt in torturous ways, and the cacophony of anguish is unbearable. I crumble to the ground.

  I raise my head once more. I want to see how this all ends. I want to watch as I burn.

  Someone is standing an arm’s length away.

  Their body dances behind the flames.

  16

  Eyes That Burn

  Soon there are two bodies I see amid the flames.

  The one I first saw rushes forward, and the second dashes right behind him. They grab me and drag my body outside the library. The guy holding my right arm, Neco, rips off his shirt and orders me to roll back and forth.

  “Listen to my voice,” he roars. “Do it!”

  My mind drowns in pain. It can’t comprehend what he’s saying. But somehow, my body understands. It rolls back and forth, and Neco smothers the flames that suckle my flesh. The other guy—Max, I think—barks instructions at humans nearby, though his voice quakes with uncertainty.

  “Go to the kitchen and get buckets of water,” he says. “Ring the bells. Get everyone. Do something!”

  It sounds like Christmas as the bells chime their tune. It’s like the whole house is laughing.

  Smoke pours from the open doorway and into the hallway. There’s so much, great, thick pillows of it. I can actually hear it rushing out like a flock of crows in flight. Neco drags me back farther and manages to kill the fire on my legs.

  Soon Valery and the Quiet Ones are there. Everyone jumps into action by helping bring water from the kitchen, but they’re all terrified, and it makes them clumsy. The fire’s thirst isn’t being quenched, and I’m afraid the whole house will fall victim to its greed.

  My legs feel like they have a heartbeat, and that can’t be a good sign. I get to my feet and howl. At least I can stand. My jeans are now ’80s-looking blue jean shorts, shredded at the knee. As smoke continues to billow from the library doorway, and the fire eats away the last of our books, I experience a sharp clap of fury. This is Kraven’s fault. He’s the one who made us stay here when we should have left. He’s the one who told us to train when he should have been planning a way to rescue Aspen and hide Charlie.

  Where is he?!

  Annabelle rounds the corner, her face filled with fear.

  Something else dawns on me the moment I see her. Something I can’t believe I haven’t thought of before now. If a siren or collector locked me in the library, where are they now?

  I run to Annabelle, limping from the pain. “Did you see Charlie?”

  Annabelle shakes her head, crying. “I…I don’t know. I left the room a while ago.”

  Kraven rounds the corner. Charlie is behind him accompanied by Paine and, farther behind, Blue. She’s safe. I want to go to her. But what I want more is an outlet for this anger.

  I fly at Kraven.

  “This is your fault!” My hands grab his shirt, and I throw him into the wall as if he’s a play toy. Kraven sees the blaze and begins to yell commands, but I’m not having it. I don’t want to hear the sound of his voice.

  I slam him back into the wall and am overcome by an irrational desire to end Kraven. If he’s gone, I can create a strategy. I can lead these liberators to war, and I can save Aspen and Charlie both. “I’m going to kill you, Kraven. This is your fault!”

  “Get off me, Dante,” he clips. “We must stop the fire from spreading.”

  I gr
ab his head in my hands and knock it once, twice, three times against the wall before he can react. “You let me take her there. You knew what would happen!”

  I’m not making any sense. I’ve lost my freaking mind.

  All I know is I want to hurt someone.

  My fist crashes into Kraven’s face. Then I grab his head again. I want to smash his skull until it spills open. But once I have it in my hands, once I really look at him—

  Everything stops.

  As I watch, Kraven’s eyes fill with green so that there’s no white, no black. Just dragon scale green. It looks like the liberator inside him has vanished, and all that’s left is the shadow of a monster inhabiting his body. His face is every horror movie I’ve ever seen, every nightmare I’ve suffered. The bones in his cheeks protrude farther than they should, and his chin elongates. His ears lengthen into a pointed tip, and his nose flattens. I scramble to get away from him, but now he’s the one holding me fast. I can’t look at him. I can’t. Because when I do, it’s like I’m seeing the face of the devil himself. Or perhaps it’s the face of God I’m seeing. Maybe this is what God’s wrath looks like.

  He opens his mouth and says, “Stand down.” Except when he says it, it’s more of a guttural growl that’s hard to understand. His whole body is shaking as if he’s about to emit fire of his own.

  I escape his grasp and slam into the wall opposite us.

  He blinks, and his eyes and face return to normal. Then he turns away and calls out orders in a calm tone. “Max and Blue, help the humans put out the flames. Valery, go and find anything else that can hold water. Annabelle and Charlie, go with the Quiet Ones and bring back blankets. Thick ones. Paine and Neco, pull doors from their hinges. We’ll use them to seal off any entrance into the Hive the fire might have created.”

  Kraven turns to me. “Go and find Oswald. Ensure he’s safe and then return to help.”

  Everything and everyone was in a state of chaos before Kraven arrived. And now, even though their faces are smeared with fear, they have a job to do. It comforts them. Kraven is here, and he’s going to take care of everything.

  “Dante,” Kraven says, his voice a warning. “I said go.”

  I glance around one more time, at the smoke heaving into the Hive, at the liberators and humans thankful for their leader. Then I glance down at my own hands. “I’m sorry, Kraven. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Look in on Oswald.”

  I check to make sure Charlie is really okay, and then race down the hallway.

  If I were being honest, I’d say I want to question Kraven about who locked me in the library and set it ablaze. I’d want to ask him where that person is now, and whether it was a coincidence that Neco was the first to find me.

  But I don’t do any of those things. I just run as fast as my charred legs will carry me. Pain shoots through my body with every step, and my lungs burn, burn, burn. I’ll do as Kraven asked without question. Because for the first time tonight, I saw the leader in him. Even if his eyes and face did freaky shit there at the end, I trust his decisions. He doesn’t have all the answers, I know that. I’ve seen the doubt in his features before. But he’s doing what he can, and he’s doing it with concern for each of us.

  If I were being honest, I’d say that tonight I was scared.

  And that Kraven being there made it better.

  …

  Two days after the fire, the flames are gone, and the library is boarded over. All but a handful of books remain, namely the ones Charlie took to Oswald. The old dude is beside himself that the library is destroyed, and I don’t tell him how last night I could interpret that one word without using context clues. I don’t want to get his hopes up before I’m sure I can be of any help.

  One good thing comes out of last night: Oswald was able to unlock a new part of the scroll with our new translations.

  Those with hardened hands shall pave the way to victory.

  Today, everyone in the house is assembled in the training room. It’s a tight squeeze. I’m not sure I ever realized how many humans resided at the Hive. There are a small handful, the walkers, who know how to fight like we do. They help secure the corridors as we sleep and help us train in shifts during the day. They’re also the only humans who know exactly what we are.

  But the rest are cooks and maids and repair men who buzz around the house and keep things running. They wouldn’t know fighting if Chuck Norris walked in the room. I wonder why they are here.

  Kraven stands in the center of the room. “I called you all here today because I wanted to address what happened last night. As many of you know, the library was lit on fire, and we believe the person who did it also locked Dante Walker in the room with the intent of killing him.”

  Charlie stands beside me, and when she hears this last part she clutches my hand. I kiss the top of her head to ensure her I’m okay. The Quiet Ones may have had to knock me out last night and work miracles on my calves and lungs, but I’m okay.

  Kraven addresses the humans now. “What some of you may not know is that Dante Walker cannot be killed.”

  Kraven may expect the humans to gasp.

  They don’t.

  He then proceeds to tell them everything about us, about how they may be in danger if they choose to stay. And yet they still don’t gasp or scream or point fingers or grab pitch forks. Their faces are more like, Yeah. And?

  A woman wearing a gold shawl and a pale blue blouse steps forward. “Kraven, if I may?”

  He motions for her to speak.

  “We all know what you are,” she says. “But we’re happy to stay. We came here to work because the pay is good, and we don’t have anywhere else to go. You didn’t ask questions about us when we arrived, and so we don’t ask questions about you.”

  Kraven doesn’t seem shocked. Not that he’d show it if he did. He seems more relieved. “I wondered if you knew.”

  A guy on the other side of the room, hidden by a row of bodies in front of him, calls out, “You guys have yelled about wings and saviors and demons right in front of us. Did you think we believed you were writing movies or something?”

  The humans laugh, and surprisingly, so does Kraven. “So you’ll stay?”

  They nod eagerly, like they can’t wait to be a part of something bigger than themselves. What I want to know is how Kraven planned on getting them out of here if they’d insisted on leaving.

  “You won’t be asked to do more than you already are,” Kraven adds. “And you should know that He is thankful for each of you. You will be written in His heart for eternity for your work here.”

  The woman in the gold shawl is moved to tears at this. I gaze at her and the others. Were these bad people? Did Kraven give them a second chance at life and salary and camaraderie by asking them to work here? I’ve never questioned these people’s choice to work at the Hive, but today I do.

  Kraven thanks the humans for joining us and reminds them that if they change their mind about staying, to please find him. That he won’t be upset. Though seeing the determined looks on their faces, I doubt that’ll happen. Together, these people seem like a family, and what’s more, I think they’ve come to consider the Hive as their home, a place they will stay aboard even if it pulls a Titanic.

  Once the humans have gone, and only the liberators and walkers remain, Kraven speaks again. “Some of you may be nervous about what happened last night. Please know, things like this will continue to happen. As the rest of the world sleeps, we alone will face these battles. We will not fail in our trials. I have a plan in place. And a crucial part of that plan is preparing you for battle. I will be accelerating the pace of your training, and some of you will be surprised at what your liberator body is able to do with war approaching.”

  Kraven stops and shoots a pointed look at me.

  I’m guessing he’s referencing his trippy face transplant from last night. Or maybe to what I was able to do in practice against Neco. Either way, his words are uns
ettling.

  …

  The liberator isn’t kidding when he says we’ll train harder than ever before. Over the next several days, we complete Sector 2, Shadow in Combat, and move on to Sector 3, Incapacitation. In this sector, we learn how to be the aggressor in a fight. Half way through the session, I feel as if I could take on a professional cage fighter. We’re taught how to step into our enemy’s body and to take another step for each punch we throw.

  “Accommodate for your enemy’s head kicking backward,” a walker says. “Step into him. Again. Again.”

  We learn where to kick and where to debilitate the human body, collector or not, and with what part of our hands. And we learn when to take a fight to the ground and when to stay on our feet. This sector is so different from the first, Basic Defense, it blows my mind. I’m freaking loving it. In Sector 1, they told us to avoid being hit. In Sector 3, they urge us to avoid being hit by never giving them the chance.

  “The key,” Kraven says, “is to know when to use defense and when to use aggression. When in doubt, be the aggressor.”

  Hell yeah.

  I never experience a burst of power like I did with Neco, but that may be because I have a sense of calm today. War is coming in one week. Kraven is preparing us. It will be tragic, but in the end, everything will be okay. We’ll have our day to fight, and we’ll bring Aspen home.

  She’s alive. She has to be alive.

  But for now, we’ll stay near the Hive because the war is unavoidable, and at least here we know the lay of the land. Or at least that’s what Kraven says. I decided something last night in the fire and that’s this: I’m committed to learning this defense stuff. But even though I’ve stopped fighting Kraven on this one point, I still keep an eye on Neco at all times. Because I won’t forget there’s a traitor among us. I won’t forget who the first person was at that fire last night.

  Neco. Hey, Neco. I’m watching you, asshole.

  17

  Circle of Friends

  Tonight we take dinner in the only room made entirely of windows. It’s on the third floor of the house and overlooks the ocean. It reminds me of the training room without the red, spongy mats or the stank of eight liberators attempting to hurt each other.