The Exo Project

by Andrew DeYoung

  No, if Kyne was gasping at her first sight of where the Forsaken lived, Po guessed it wasn’t the camp itself that shocked her. It was the chaos that reigned there.

  Just beyond the tents, a group of Forsaken clustered in a circle, roaring at the top of their lungs.

  “What are they doing?” Kyne asked.

  “Watching a sparring match. The Forsaken haven’t been in any battles for the past ten seasons. So they fight to keep their skills up.”

  As they came close, the mob parted and two men came bursting out. Po and Kyne leapt back as the two men flew past them, one staggering back on his heels, the other lunging forward with fists clenched. The staggering man had a knife in one hand; when he’d regained his footing he made a wild swipe in the air. But the other man ducked, then struck his opponent’s wrist with the flat of his hand. The knife fell into the grass. Then, the man who’d knocked the knife away continued his attack, knocking his opponent down with a kick to the chest. He dove on top of him and punched him in the head with his fists, over and over again until the crowd rushed in and pulled him away.

  Po and Kyne walked on as some of the men dragged the loser’s limp body away and tried to sit him up, slap him back to consciousness.

  “Have you ever done that?” Kyne asked. She looked at his face. “Is that what happened to your cheek?”

  She reached toward the gash on Po’s face, but he jerked his head back and looked away. The gash had been given to him on his first night—all new Forsaken were required to win a fight before they’d be let in the camp. His first fight had lasted only ten seconds, and the man who’d subdued him—a huge beast of a warrior with scars notched all the way up and down his arms—had marked Po’s face with a dagger to celebrate his win. That night, Po slept alone on the plain, shivering and crying and wishing that he could go back to the village.

  But he didn’t. The next day he returned to the Forsaken camp and fought again—only this time, he kept running away from his opponent until the man got exhausted and showed Po his back. Then Po dove on him, wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, and squeezed until he fell down, unconscious. Po was ashamed to have won in such a cowardly way. But when he pulled himself off the ground, his opponent still lying limp beneath him, the Forsaken men all slapped his back and congratulated him—and Po, in spite of himself, had smiled, pride blooming in his chest and making his whole body feel bigger.

  “I’ve done it before,” Po said now. “Everyone in the camp has to.”

  They moved past the crowd watching the sparring matches and into the Forsaken camp—and here they came upon another strange scene. Men were clustered around a rectangular structure that had purple-gray smoke pouring through the door and a hole in the roof. From time to time, they’d reach for a pipe, smoke it lazily, then set it down again, propping their elbows on the ground. Nearly half the camp seemed to be there.

  “What’s going on here?” Kyne asked.

  Po sighed and answered with a single word: “Maiora.” He didn’t offer any other explanation.

  Xendr Chathe had been the one to discover maiora on a scouting party. But he couldn’t have anticipated how the substance, a downy, sticky white webbing that brought powerful hallucinations when ingested or smoked, would spread through the Forsaken camp like wildfire. The maiora now had enthusiasts, fanatics. The rectangular building on the edge of the camp was a maiora den; the building was usually so full that those who couldn’t fit inside clustered outside the door and smoked their pipes on mats set under the sky. The camp was now evenly split between those who thought the maiora should be forbidden—that it would make the Forsaken weak and vulnerable to attack—and those who thought that it was a link to a higher consciousness, to the Ancestors, that it could give each of them the power of the Sisters and the Vagra.

  Kyne followed Po as he cut a path between the tents that steered wide of the maiora den. He stopped at the door to Xendr Chathe’s hut.

  “Wait here,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll tell you when you can come in.”

  Kyne’s eyes flashed. “But—”

  “Just wait,” Po insisted. “In the village, the Sisters are in charge—but things are different here. There hasn’t been a girl in the camp for … well, for a long time. You can’t just walk into Xendr Chathe’s hut like it’s nothing. Wait here. I’ll tell you when to come in.”

  Po waited for Kyne to nod her assent, then lifted the veil over the door and walked inside to speak with the leader of the Forsaken.

  48

  Xendr Chathe’s hut was vast, larger than any other building Po had ever been in. Standing at one end of the hut, he couldn’t see to the far wall. The space was lit here and there by the orange glow of small lamps that barely pierced the darkness. The far side of the dwelling was shrouded in blackness. Squinting, Po could only just make out the hulking shape of a body slumped in a chair.

  “Xendr,” Po said into the darkness, his voice thin and timid.

  The shape moved, lifted itself from the chair. Xendr was facing away; all Po could see was a robe hanging from the man’s broad shoulders and covering his massive back.

  “What is it?” Xendr asked without turning, his voice rasping like a handful of stones scratching one against the other.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Xendr, I—”

  “What is it?” Xendr bellowed impatiently.

  “It’s … it’s one of the Sisters. One of the women from the village. She’s asked for an audience with you.”

  Xendr Chathe turned and moved forward from the darkness into the dim light. He stepped gingerly, with the trace of a limp—the walk of an aging warrior who no longer fully trusted his creaky bones. But his robe hung open, and underneath, his bare chest was still thickly muscled from many seasons of ranging and scouting through the hills, of raiding foreign villages and doing battle with the enemies of the Vagri.

  At least, those were the stories. In the time Po had been with the Forsaken, there hadn’t been a single battle or raid. Rumors in the camp held that Xendr had killed every last one of their enemies, or that they’d fled so far from the plains that no one would see them for another hundred seasons. The Forsaken were a society of warriors—but for a long time now, longer than most of the younger Forsaken could remember, there’d been no one in the barren landscape for them to go to war against.

  “Who is it?” Xendr asked. “Your sister? I told you I didn’t want to see her.”

  “She insisted.”

  Xendr grunted his irritation. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a woman in the camp.”

  “I know,” Po said. “If you want me to tell her to leave—”

  “Xendr, if I may …”

  Po wheeled around to find Kyne standing behind him.

  “I told you to wait outside,” Po said.

  “I know,” Kyne said. “But I heard you through the curtain. I can speak for myself. I don’t need you or anyone else to announce me, to beg permission from the great Xendr Chathe.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Po moved toward Kyne, expecting Xendr to ask him to forcibly remove her from his presence, but to his surprise Xendr simply laughed.

  “She’s got a lot of nerve, your sister!” Xendr boomed. “I like that. Go ahead, then—speak! Let’s hear what you have to say.”

  Kyne hesitated. “I’d prefer to speak with you alone.”

  Xendr moved forward until he was only a few paces away from Kyne. The look he fixed her with was hard and unblinking. “Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of both of us. I don’t keep secrets from my men.”

  Kyne was silent for a few moments.

  “I come to you with an offer of alliance,” she said at last.

  Xendr grunted. “Alliance. What are you talking about?”

  “An alliance between you and me. Between the Forsaken and the Sisters of the village.”

  Xendr was quiet. He walked back to his chair, flipped it around so it was facing Kyne, then fell into it heavily, slou
ched to one side, his legs splayed out on the ground in front of him.

  “And why would I want this … alliance? The Sisters answer to the Vagra, not to you.”

  “Things are changing. The arrival of the Strangers—”

  Xendr scoffed. “The Strangers. Everyone keeps talking about these Strangers. Why is everyone so afraid of them? We’ve protected the Vagri from threats in the past. We’ll do it again.”

  “Then you haven’t heard,” Kyne said. “You haven’t heard that the Vagra forbade your men from hurting the Strangers. That she brought them into the village. Into the Sisters’ camp.”

  Xendr’s face froze and he sat up in his chair. “No,” he said. “That I hadn’t heard.”

  “Then you also haven’t heard that the Vagra seems to be …” Kyne paused. “Distracted. By one of the Strangers. A boy.”

  Po’s heart beat faster. Anger boiled in his stomach.

  “Distracted,” Xendr said. “What do you mean?”

  “Her loyalties are divided,” Kyne answered. “She’s incapable of leading the Vagri.”

  Xendr leaned back in his chair again. “And you would have me do … what? The Vagra has been chosen by the Ancestors. You may think that doesn’t mean anything to me, but it does. I grew up in the village, the same as you did. I still remember the words my father taught me: The Ancestors are the ones who have gone before. Those who have passed on. They went to a place both beyond and within this place. They walk alongside us. They bind us to one another. They heal us. And they speak to us. Going against the Vagra is severing our only true link with the Ancestors.”

  “Kiva is not the true Vagra,” Kyne said. “I heard the Ancestors before her, when I was only eleven seasons old. And now you have the maiora. I’ve tried it for myself, and when I did I saw a vision of death and blood in the village—a warning of what the Strangers are capable of. The maiora is the only link to the Ancestors we need. Help me. We can take control of the village and rule together. You and me. You and your men, you don’t have to be Forsaken any longer. We can live together, all of us, one people, under our joint rule, yours and mine.”

  Xendr heaved himself from his chair, grunting, and wandered away into the darkness at the back of the hut.

  “You’ve given me a lot to consider,” he said. “May I have some time to think about your offer?”

  “There’s not much time,” Kyne said. “The Strangers are already here. They could be preparing to kill us as we speak.”

  “Even so, rebellion against the Vagra is no small thing. I need time. A day or two. Please,” Xendr said.

  Kyne pursed her lips and, after a moment, nodded.

  “Very good,” Xendr said, then extended his arm toward the door. “Now, if you’ll give us a moment, I need to speak with Po. One of my men can bring you back to your village.”

  “I don’t want an escort,” Kyne said. “I can return to the village on my own.”

  Kyne went to the door. After she’d gone, Xendr moved close to Po and spoke in a low voice.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Po pressed his lips together and let out a slow breath through his nostrils. He didn’t know what to say. Kyne was simply carrying out her plan, the one she’d told Po about weeks ago. That was why he had come to join the Forsaken in the first place—to help his sister be Vagra so that one day he could be with Kiva. His hand drifted up to the scar on his cheek as he thought about how much he’d done to put Kyne’s plan into motion, how much he’d sacrificed.

  And yet, now that the time had come, it didn’t feel right. Kyne had told him that Kiva would be grateful to them for taking the burden of being Vagra away from her—but she hadn’t seemed grateful when she’d confronted them at the pit. He’d begun to realize that Kyne had been lying to him, manipulating him.

  “I don’t know,” Po said finally. “I don’t like it, though. Kyne’s my sister, but I still don’t trust her.”

  Xendr nodded slowly and looked off to the side. “Neither do I. Still, what she offers is tempting. I fought my whole life to protect that village. But our enemies are gone, and I’m an old man now. I’m tired. To return to the village, to have a hut, a garden, a woman—I can’t pretend I haven’t thought about it, sometimes.”

  Po had been thinking about a life in the village, too—the life he’d left behind when he followed Kyne’s command to leave. Some nights, it was all he could think about.

  “So you’re going to do it? You’ll take Kyne’s alliance?”

  Xendr shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I made a promise.”

  Po squinted. “What kind of promise?”

  “To the old Vagra. She helped me, once, when I was a younger man—younger even than you. She helped me become leader of the Forsaken. In exchange, I made an oath to stay away from the village for as long as I lived. But she’s dead now, and if what Kyne says about this new Vagra is true, if she really is distracted by this Stranger, this boy …” Xendr trailed off and then raised his head, met Po’s eyes. “I didn’t fight my whole life so that a new Vagra could destroy everything I fought to protect.”

  Heat rose to Po’s cheeks. His body clenched. An image of Kiva and Matthew walking together, hands touching and heads angled inward, came to Po’s mind—he pushed it away and gave his head a hard shake.

  “No. Kyne’s wrong. I didn’t agree with the Vagra bringing the Strangers to the village. But she would never betray her people. Not for these … these creatures. No. I don’t believe it.”

  Po had spoken louder than he meant to, and Xendr looked at him with surprise. Then he gave a nod, a signal that he wouldn’t pursue the subject any further if Po didn’t want to talk about it.

  “One thing Kyne offers that appeals to me is a way to control the maiora,” Xendr said. “I wish I’d never discovered it. It’s taken over the camp, but I still don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

  “The Vagra,” Po said. “She can help us. She can tell us whether the maiora is of the Ancestors or not.”

  “You know her, yes? She’s a … a friend of yours?”

  Po hesitated. “We knew each other as children,” he said.

  Xendr nodded. “Go to her. Tell her about the maiora. Tell her that we need her help.”

  “And what should I tell Kyne?”

  Xendr looked at the ground and put a finger to his lips as he thought. “Don’t tell her anything. Not yet. Not until we see what the Vagra can do for us. We’ll remain loyal to her for now, but Kyne may be right—the Vagra may not be the right person to lead. It may be time for a change.”

  “How will we know?”

  Xendr didn’t answer right away. He turned and walked to the wall of the hut, where various weapons—a spear, a bow and arrows, and a sword—were leaning against the wall. With a sudden motion of his arms, he threw his robe to the ground. His broad shoulders and sinewy back glistened in the lamplight. In the dimness, Po could just make out the scars notched up and down both of Xendr’s arms—self-inflicted wounds, according to the rumors in the camp, one cut for each of Xendr’s kills in battle. He reached down and picked up a sword.

  “Just keep an eye on her,” Xendr said, turning the sword back and forth in his hands to examine the blade. “Watch the new Vagra closely. If she makes a mistake—one wrong step—I want to know about it.”

  49

  matthew

  “It’s disgusting,” Sam muttered as they plodded back to the Corvus. “It’s not right.”

  “What are you saying?” Matthew asked.

  Sam shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “No, I’m really interested,” Matthew said, anger rising in his chest. “I mean, you haven’t said a word for hours—not since you nearly got me killed by firing off that goddamn gun of yours at the wrong time. You’ve been acting weird all day. And now you finally speak up and tell me that it’s nothing? No. I want to know what your deal is. What’s so disgusting? What’s not right? Tell me.”


  Sam walked in silence a few paces, angling his face away. Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, he turned back to Matthew and spoke.

  “Fine, you want to know what’s disgusting? It’s the way they live, whatever they are. It’s wrong, it … it’s unnatural. It makes me sick to my stomach.” Sam’s lip curled and he swallowed, as if he were really choking back vomit rising at the back of his throat. “The way their women stalk around at night, going from one man’s bed to another like it’s no big deal. It’s nauseating. They treat their men like slaves—slaves for sex, for taking care of their children and growing food. And what do they do? Sit around in the center of that village like they’re the rulers of everything.”

  “So, we should kill them all? Use your guns to kill them one by one?” Matthew shook the ion shotgun in Sam’s face, clutching it single-handed by the stock.

  Sam pushed Matthew’s hand away. “Get away from me. I know what I saw. I know what’s right and what’s wrong. I’m not blinded like you are.”

  “Blinded. What are you talking about?”

  Sam sneered. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. That girl, that little witch of yours. She’s got you under some kind of a spell. I saw how you were sniffing around her. Everyone did. It’s disgusting—even they think it’s disgusting. You stay with your own kind.”

  “Stay with my own kind? Can you even hear yourself right now?”

  “Would both of you just shut the hell up?” Dunne snapped.

  Sam and Matthew, stunned at Dunne’s sudden outburst, turned to look at her. She walked on without paying any attention to them.

  “We’ve still got at least an hour’s walk ahead of us,” Dunne said, half to herself. “We haven’t eaten or slept in hours. So why don’t you both just keep your mouths shut and save your energy for walking?”

  “But he said—,” Matthew began, until Dunne cut him off with a flat hand in the air.

  “I heard what he said. I’m too old—and too damn tired. If you want to fight, you can keep it to yourselves. Stay out here and wrestle, for all I care. Me, I’m going to the ship to get some food and some sleep.”