Shadows of Empyriad (The Empyriad Series Book 1)

by Josi Russell

  The baby was content now. He refused to leave Molly’s arms. Sol watched her, busy taking care of the Stracahn, and saw in her a joy he hadn’t seen for a decade.

  When they heard the low rumble of the crawler, Sol forced himself to sit up and look out the window. He watched as Uncle Carl swung out of the cab and carried a bundle, wrapped in his own coat, into the kitchen.

  Sol watched through the arched doorway as Molly left the sitting room and met her brother. Sol felt sick at the look on her face as she pulled back the coat and peered at the child. Molly rushed Uncle Carl into the back bedroom—her bedroom—still cradling the baby in one arm.

  62

  Walt sat in the soft dirt at the end of the tunnel. Tears of frustration made dirty tracks down Sylvia’s cheeks. They had cleared the entire length of the ten-foot tunnel only to find the end of it blocked by an elk-sized, immovable stone.

  They had opened the tiny crevice as much as they could, and in the end, the opening was only the size of Walt’s head. There was no way to get through it. It was only a window to the area outside the park that they couldn’t reach. Reaching through, knowing how close they’d come, was almost worse than standing beside the impenetrable fence had been.

  The artillery had ceased, after one blinding flash about an hour ago. And the tunnel was warm from their body heat. They sat and shared their disappointment and their defeat in silence.

  Scuffling at the other end of the tunnel made Walt look up. He blinked in disbelief as Meir entered the tunnel. The First Avowed’s green robes stirred up the dust as he approached. The tunnel was narrow, and Meir filled the space.

  Meir’s eyes were full of sorrow. Walt remembered, then, that he had not only lost one of his family—he had lost fifty. And more before today’s tragedy. He thought of what Meir had said. This planet had taken so many of his people.

  Walt stood and reached for Meir’s hand. The Stracahn looked at him and, as they shook hands, Meir paused and traced a small tay’ren on the back of Walt’s hand. Walt bowed his head in respect.

  “I’m so sorry about your people.” Walt began. “We should have fought it. We should have kept them here—” Mier interrupted him by raising a hand.

  “Walt,” he said slowly, “My friend, I have learned that regret is a useless emotion. It changes nothing except your willingness to move forward.”

  Walt didn’t speak, but he wanted to.

  “And the experience has taught us,” Meir said. “Though we do not know what happened, we know that we must be very careful when choosing humans to associate with. Someone wanted our people dead, and until we know who, there are very few we can trust.”

  Sylvia asked the question Walt was thinking.

  “How did you get here? It’s freezing out there. And it’s three in the morning.”

  Slowly, Meir eased himself to the floor. Behind him stood Syd.

  When Walt gave the other Ranger a quizzical look, Syd explained. “He came up as I was getting off gate duty and asked me to help him find his people,” the Ranger said, “and I knew you wouldn’t have given up on the search for Zyn’dri. I tracked the spider and saw you’d been here a long time.”

  Walt stepped forward. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We can’t get out.” He gestured toward the stone. “I thought we had a chance.”

  63

  When Zyn’dri opened her eyes, a sweet smell hung around her. She was in a dim room, and the woman, Molly, was sitting beside her, holding the sleeping Stracahn baby. The clock beside the bed told her that it had been almost twenty-four hours—a single rotation of Earth—since she’d left the apartment with Walt and Sylvia. It seemed like much longer.

  “I didn’t die?” Zyn’dri asked, shaking the sleep from her mind.

  Molly smiled. “No, darling. Just rest.”

  But before she could lay back down, the house began to shake, and a rumbling came from the ground. Zyn’dri struggled to her feet. “The others!” she said, fighting her way out of the covers. She was pulling the door open when the shaking stopped. She heard Molly say, “It’s okay, Zyn’dri. They’re okay.” The shaking subsided, rolling away from them and leaving quiet in its wake.

  “The quake is over,” Molly said.

  Zyn’dri had to see the Stracahn for herself. She walked down the hallway and through the kitchen. The Stracahn children, and Pyrsha and her parents, lay about the living room, sleeping. It didn’t seem as if they had even noticed the quake.

  Zyn’dri breathed more easily. She turned to see Molly following her down the hall. When she turned back to the kitchen, Zyn’dri collided with a young man. A smile crossed her face as she looked up.

  “It’s you!” she said, and the night he’d helped her on the road came flooding back to her.

  He looked puzzled, then leaned down, peering into her eyes. His voice was doubtful when he spoke. “You’re alive?”

  She threw her arms around him. “I’m alive!” she cried, hugging him. Several of the children stirred.

  He laughed. “You’ve grown!” He said. “Tell me your name again.”

  “It’s Zyn’dri.” She was delighted to see him again. He had been her first human friend.

  “I’m Sol,” he said, smiling.

  She looked around the happy little kitchen. The big man who had brought her here was speaking to Molly as he stood in the corner, hastily drinking something that smelled like cinnamon.

  “I’ve got to get back over to the armory,” he was saying. “I just wanted to bring him home to you. He did good, Mol.”

  Zyn’dri crossed the room and hugged the big man, too. He seemed surprised.

  “That’s my uncle Carl you’re hugging,” Sol said, still smiling.

  “This is perfect!” She said, turning again to Sol. “You deliver things inside Yellowstone. You can deliver us. You can take us all home!” she said, “Back into the park.”

  Sol’s face clouded. “No, Zyn’dri. I’m sorry, I don’t work there anymore.”

  Zyn’dri stepped backward. She felt a knot in her stomach. “I have to get my people back to the village.” She said. “If you can take me to the fence, at the South gate, I’ll find a way to get them in. I saw a flash of light there, and I think it was some kind of signal.”

  She saw the two men exchange a look.

  “This has been an awful day for everyone.” The big man said. “You need to stay here a while.”

  Something about his words struck Zyn’dri wrong. Stay here? They couldn’t stay here. They needed to make it back into the park, back where they were safe.

  Before she could respond, another tremor shook the little house. The dishes rattled, and Sol’s uncle grabbed for the countertop. Amidst it, there was a commotion outside, and Sol strode past her. Uncle Carl followed him into the yard, and Zyn’dri stepped tentatively out onto the porch behind them.

  A bright, light craft was landing outside. Zyn’dri hadn’t seen anything like it in Yellowstone. She was fascinated by the way it bobbed down to the ground, blades spinning, and the whoosh of warm air that engulfed the porch when it landed.

  A boy about Sol’s age jumped out. “It’s Mezina!” he cried. Zyn’dri saw Sol and his uncle move toward the craft.

  “We need your mom!” the boy shouted.

  “She’s inside.” Sol’s voice was strained. The boy from the craft ran past Zyn’dri into the house as two men unloaded a board carrying a dark-haired girl. The girl’s arms drooped over the side, and bright drops of blood fell from her fingertips onto the moonlit snow.

  Molly followed the boy back out onto the porch. “No!” she called, “Take her to Doctor Jalloh in town!”

  “He’s swamped. He said to bring her to you!” the men were heading toward the porch. “And there are a lot more coming. We need all the medical help we can get.”

  “Here, Zyn’dri, take the baby,” Molly thrust the sleeping infant into Zyn’dri’s arms. “Take her to the barn!” she called to the men as she disappeared back into the house. Sol was walking
alongside the girl as they carried her away from the house, into the barn. His voice was urgent.

  “Mezina, Mezina, listen. I’m here. Hang on, Mez.” Zyn’dri saw his hand grasping the girl’s. It was covered in blood, too.

  She listened as the other men spoke to Sol’s Uncle Carl.

  “They made it to the Command Center just before your team stopped them. Made a real mess of it. She was in there.”

  “I’ll ride with you,” Sol’s uncle was saying. “I got the boy home. His mom says he’s going to be all right.”

  He looked up at Zyn’dri. “Tell Molly I’ve gone to the Armory to help.” Zyn’dri nodded.

  The kid who had gone into the house was speaking. His voice was high and agitated. “Commander, your house is full of aliens!”

  “Shut up, Connor. They were in trouble, and we’re helping them. Just like we’re helping Mezina.” Uncle Carl’s voice was rough.

  “You’d better not let Commander Hastings find out.” The kid named Connor replied.

  “My house is my business. Get in the spinner.”

  After the craft had taken off, Zyn’dri stood for a moment on the darkened porch, gazing at the trail of blood in the snow, and it began to make sense to her.

  There were, she had learned, patterns in everything. And the way this world had moved a few minutes ago reminded her of the barren rock of Empyriad in the days before they fled. What had made Empyriad, their gentle, stable world, so violent at the end?

  The scientists from Earth had hypothesized that it was the deforestation that had caused unnatural heating and subsequent shifting in the crust. But now, with the terrors of the day fresh in her mind: the angry mob at the gates, the soldiers firing on the Stracahn, the young girl broken and wounded, Zyn’dri saw that it could be more.

  The humans had brought more than a fungus to Empyriad. They had brought jealousy, hate, and fear. What role had those new emotions played in inciting the violence at the planet’s core in the months before they left? She thought of the disasters on Empyriad and thought of those she’d witnessed here: eruptions and earthquakes and storms. This planet was trying to tell them something.

  She looked at the blood again, dark against the snow, and remembered what Laska had written about Empyriad:

  These beings are so interconnected with the world that gave them life, that it has taken their turmoil for its own. It is not only geology, but Stracahn conflict, that will tear Empyriad apart.

  Ormes had been so angry about those journals, back on the ship, when he was trying to find out what Laska had left humanity. But maybe that was it.

  Zyn’dri cradled the baby and walked forward, shushing through the snow, following the trail of blood.

  Zyn’dri stepped inside the warm barn. Fine, soft dust covered the floor. There were cows in stalls along the edges and a long, rough table in the center. The girl on the board lay there, Sol holding one of her hands. Through an open door, to the left, Zyn’dri was surprised to see a shining steel room, where Molly was rushing around pulling instruments from various cabinets.

  Zyn’dri looked back at Sol and the girl. The arm nearest Zyn’dri was extended, and Zyn’dri watched with fascination the slow drip of red human blood that ran down the girl’s arm and fell from her fingertips off the edge of the table. She watched, transfixed, as it was received by the dirt below, as the dust parted and absorbed this tangible remnant of pain.

  And Zyn’dri knew. The Earth would not stand it much longer. Her elements combined to make these people, yet her ungrateful human children had burned the face of the land, destroyed her gifts, and spilled back the blood she had given them for centuries, splashing it back onto the Earth again and again, as many times as she gifted it. What had Walt told Zyn’dri? Human history was full of wars and conquests. There were millions killed in the previous centuries, and in his generation, billions of humans had died in their Terrene War? And today, more death. Now it made sense. Humans had incited the turbulence of this world.

  Zyn’dri felt the baby move in her arms. Would he somehow contract this plague of violence? Would the other Stracahn, who for now slept so peacefully in the house? And how long would the Earth tolerate the hostility of its children?

  Zyn’dri understood the turbulence at Earth’s core now, and she needed to tell someone. She needed to tell Walt and Sylvia, and she needed to tell Meir. The Stracahn could not stay here.

  Molly’s voice pulled Zyn’dri’s mind from the revelation. “We’ll bring her in, but then you’ve got to leave.” She said to Sol, then looked at Zyn’dri. “All of you.”

  Zyn’dri nodded and watched Sol as he helped his mother carry the girl into the shining room. When he came out and closed the worn wooden door, there was no indication of the room. He walked wearily into the house and washed his hands. The blood ran in pink rivulets down the drain of the white kitchen sink.

  Pyrsha’s mother was awake, and she took the baby. Sol and Zyn’dri sat in the living room, both watching the fire, as the seconds of the night ticked on.

  They were listening for Sol’s mother to return, and when the seconds stretched to an hour, she finally came in, exhausted, supporting a drowsy Mezina.

  Sol moved to them and lifted the dark haired girl. “Put her in my room, Sol.”

  Zyn’dri heard him ask if she would be all right.

  “She’ll be okay with some rest,” Molly said. “Her mom is on her way over, and I’ll look after her myself for the next couple of days.”

  Molly touched Zyn’dri’s hair softly when she walked by, then laid on the couch and soon fell asleep.

  Zyn’dri saw Sol go into another room. When he came back, he had changed out of the black uniform, into a tee shirt and jeans. He sat beside Zyn’dri on the floor.

  Zyn’dri looked at him.

  “How many years are you?” she asked. She knew she was almost eleven Earth years old, but she had a hard time judging humans’ age. She had thought Walt was about forty, and he had laughed heartily at that.

  “Seventeen,” Sol said.

  That surprised her. He looked weary, and his eyes looked much older than seventeen. He looked more comfortable now that he wasn’t in his uniform, and Zyn’dri felt more comfortable beside him, too. She noticed, for the first time, a design on his forearm.

  Zyn’dri was mesmerized by it. She reached out and ran a finger along its curve.

  It was a water pattern, and Zyn’dri had seen it before, in the tumbling water at the edge of the river. She recognized it as a wave.

  Sol didn’t move. She looked up into his eyes.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  Sol shrugged. “Just a banner.” She could see he was trying to explain. “A drawing on my skin.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “An old friend.”

  “Do you know what it is?” Zyn’dri asked.

  “It’s just a wave.”

  “No,” She said, running her fingers over it again, “don’t you know? It’s more than that. It’s a tay’ren.” She couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice.

  Sol gave her a puzzled look. “A what?”

  “A tay’ren. A special pattern. They do special things. I know one that is a healing tay’ren.” She shook her head, “Or maybe a cleansing one. I don’t really know a lot about them, but I think that one helps people get better.”

  Sol looked down at it, then shifted away, running a hand over the design. Molly stirred in her sleep.

  Sol motioned for Zyn’dri to be quiet. “That’s cool about the pattern,” he whispered, “you’ll have to tell me more about them sometime.”

  Zyn’dri realized she didn’t know very much about them. She wanted to know more. She wanted to ask Meir. Glancing again at the bold tay’ren on Sol’s arm, she wondered how Sylvia was doing without Zyn’dri to trace the healing tay'ren for her. Maybe Walt remembered it well enough.

  Zyn’dri pulled the thought of Walt and Sylvia close to her. She felt the ache of being away from them. />
  “Sol,” she said softly, looking at the sleeping children around her. “Help me get home.”

  Sol glanced up at her as if he were waking from a long sleep himself.

  “We need to go before that girl’s mother arrives,” Zyn’dri said, “who knows how she feels about us? And you heard those men. More people are coming for your mom’s help. We need to go home.”

  “Zyn’dri,” he said, and his voice had a stubborn note, “the park is sealed up. There’s not even a South gate there anymore. It’s just a solid fence.”

  She still couldn’t explain it. Something was leading her there. “Please, Sol? Just take us there and if it’s impossible, then you can bring us right back here.”

  “It’s freezing cold out there.”

  “It’s not far. If you have a vehicle, it won't take long.”

  Sol looked as if he were considering. “We have,” he hesitated, “a big hauler that we never use. It’s not the nicest way to ride, but it would get us all there much quicker than the crawler.”

  “Yes, Sol. Please?”

  He looked at her for a long moment and Zyn’dri knew he was out of counterarguments.

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll take you there. But my mom’s going to be furious that I let you talk me into it.” They both glanced at Molly, asleep on the couch.

  Pyrsha’s mother put the baby back in his hupta, where he gurgled happily. Sol insisted that he ride in the front, out of the cold, and that Zyn’dri ride there, too, to tell him where she wanted to go, exactly. She watched as Sol made sure the rest of the Stracahn were bundled in Molly’s quilts in the cargo area of the hauler before they lifted off and flew above the fields. Zyn’dri was chagrined to see that the dry pond they’d sheltered in was not too far from the gate. They could have been here hours ago. At first, Sol kept up a conversation with Zyn’dri as they flew, but gradually he grew quiet.