The Seeds Trilogy Complete Collection: The Sowing, The Reaping, The Harvest (including The Prelude)

by K. Makansi

  Another airship is hovering over the Farm. It sits about thirty meters above one of the hothouses the workers have broken into. It takes me a moment to recognize the design. It’s not military-grade. With twin flamethrowers positioned at the front, these are the ships we used to use to clear forest or swamps for new farmland. They aren’t equipped with gun batteries or shield capabilities and they haven’t been in regular use for about thirty years. But now I’m thinking of Evander’s nickname and wondering … Where is Remy? Where are the others? My eyes are trained on the airship, watching it descend. I can barely comprehend his words when Evander says, from behind:

  “I breathed fire on them.”

  The airship now hovers about ten meters above the ground, and my heart stops as twin jets of blue-white flame erupt, sending people below running, screaming, engulfed in flames, their clothes incinerated, hair burning, and flesh dripping like grease from their bones.

  I cry out, but no sound comes.

  “Evander Sun-Zi, the Dragon,” he says slowly, drawing out every syllable. “That’s how I got my nickname.”

  I pause for another half-second, my thoughts rattling in my skull, watching as dozens—no, at least a hundred—Farm workers are incinerated in the flames. The field lights up, wet and smoking, as the airship pivots in the air. People running, screaming, rolling on the ground. Smoke and autumnal orange and dragon’s breath. It smells like fall, the crisp scent of crackling fire, but with the added aroma of death. Flames sucking at the heels of screaming protesters like a cat lapping up cream.

  I turn, lunge at him. My only thought now is preventing that airship from doing any more damage, and I can’t do that if I don’t have a weapon. I put every ounce of energy I have into that initial spring, bounding at him like a deer over a hedgerow. His eyes go wide with surprise as he skitters backwards and pulls his gun up, but I’m too fast. My hand is on the barrel, pushing it to the side and out, so that when he pulls the trigger the hot metal burns my arm but the shot goes wide. He throws his other arm up at me, perhaps thinking my hands are going for his throat, to kill him, but I’m focused on the weapon. With my right hand I pin his shoulder to the ground and with my left I wrench the Bolt out of his hand. He brings his knee up into my gut but I’ve already got what I came for, and in an instant I’m off and running.

  The airship hangs in the sky, and I imagine the pilots sitting safely above the melee, smug, waiting for orders. Bolt fire from our cloaked airship starts raining down on the sector ship, but Miah and Firestone are too high, their direct hits can’t target the underbelly where it’s most vulnerable.

  The ship’s attributes run through my mind.

  Airship, light class, model introduced S.A. 64. Twin flamethrowers installed for land clearing and Farm work.

  Firepower: None unless modified.

  Shield capacity: Light.

  Shield dispersal: Located at the wing-to-hull joint.

  Control systems: Hull, front belly, beneath cockpit.

  That’s twice in one day I’ve had to be grateful for Aulion’s intensive drills. The idea that I might owe that man anything makes me sick. I bit back the sting of bile as I run.

  I don’t have much time before Evander or one of his soldiers comes at me, so I flip the energy dial to its highest setting, kneel, take aim, and fire. At this setting it takes three full, endless seconds to recharge, but in that time I can see I missed. I swear, aim again, and fire, and as I wait for the capacitor to reload, I watch the blue Bolt fire strike the exposed intake vent of the engine compartment. Sparks and flame shoot forward as the airship lurches sideways and starts to fall. I stand, watching as it tumbles slightly from the sky, listing downwards, and then—

  White explosions of light in my vision, followed immediately by blackness.

  Pain.

  Nausea.

  When I come to, my head hurts like hell and I feel like I’m suffocating. I gasp for air before realizing there’s a boot pressing into my windpipe, just hard enough so I can pull in slow, raspy breaths. Before I open my eyes, I know the boot belongs to Evander. He’s holding the Bolt I stole from him, watching something in the sky. From this vantage point it’s hard to see his expression. I wriggle and try to move, but then he looks down at me and points the weapon at my head.

  “Not a fan of fairy tales, are you? Otherwise, you’d know it’s a bad idea to rouse the wrath of a dragon.”

  His face is neutral. He looks like someone casually remarking about a change in the weather. He turns back and looks at the sky again. I crane my neck, but nothing’s there.

  “Aulion will be disappointed when he hears I got to you first,” he mutters to himself. Then he glances down at me, a look of fatality in his eyes. His fingers clutch the gun a little tighter, and I know he’s had enough of my antics. He’s stopped talking. That’s how I know. I close my eyes and wait for death to take me. The thought flies through my head as hope dies in my chest: I love you, Remy.

  But instead of dying, I feel the pressure fall away from my throat and I open my eyes again to the brightness of the world and see that someone has a knife to Evander’s back. Someone small, dark, and with an unruly mess of brown curls like a halo crowning her head.

  20 - REMY

  Spring 13, Sector Annum 106, 15h09

  Gregorian Calendar: April 1

  My heart beats all over my body. In my thighs, in my chest, in the pit of my belly, the blood pulses with insistent, unstopping regularity. In that pit I feel the spark of hatred, and it’s beautiful, powerful, intoxicating. I hate Evander and everything he stands for, and now he has nowhere to go.

  “Drop the Bolt and get off him.” My voice emerges as a growl, low and unfamiliar, as though it came from someone else’s throat.

  “Ah,” Evander gasps, as my knife presses into his throat. “True love. Aulion was right after all.” He chokes out a laugh and tosses his Bolt aside in a gesture of surrender. It infuriates me. I know he hasn’t given up so easily—no, this is mockery. “Valerian Augustus Orleán betrayed the Sector for a girl.”

  Vale coughs, gasps, sits up. I can only just see him out of my peripheral vision. My eyes are locked onto the airship, the ship that just moments ago was hailing fire and death down onto the people we were trying to save. Was Luis down there? I wonder desperately. Was Rose?

  Anger, the same rust-red color as the burning field below, clouds my vision. But it’s tempered by gratitude. Thank you, Vale, for doing what none of us could. For taking down that airship. The damage has been done, but you did what you could.

  Then an elbow connects with my ribs, and in one astonishingly fast motion Evander knocks my knife arm up and safely away from his throat, twists around to land an open palm in my diaphragm and a gleaming blade squarely in Vale’s shoulder. I double over, the air in my lungs gone. Vale, who had been struggling to his feet, is back on the ground, blood already staining his clothes. Evander dives for his Bolt, slings it over his shoulder, and turns away, sprinting.

  Come back and face me, you fucking coward!

  Vale sits up again, his face a mask of anguish and concern. I run over and kneel beside him. I lay my hand on his chest, and he looks at me almost bashfully, blinking back tears of pain and yet somehow a smile teases the corner of his mouth. Then he reaches up to grasp the hilt of the knife buried in his shoulder and wrenches it free, grimacing from the pain. He falls back on his elbow, gasping.

  “I’m fine,” he manages. “I’ll be fine.”

  I nod at him, briefly, meeting those sea-green eyes and thanking all the fates that it’s not him I’m facing on this battlefield. I draw in a deep breath, clench my knife in hand, and set off after Evander.

  I can’t think of anything except The Dragon. I knew that he would be violent, but I underestimated his capacity. That double-barreled airship, the flamethrower, torching people—men, women, children—before my very eyes. Their screams, their limbs flailing helplessly, trying to beat out the flames. The way they eventually, inevitably, crumpled
to the ground like puppets with their strings cut. They were innocent, and they died.

  I couldn’t help them.

  Like Evander’s flames, the hatred grows, an inferno flickering into life in my belly. Sparks flying, it towers upward into my chest, spirals into my breath, ignites my eyes. Everything is at once more lucid, more real, than it has ever been, and yet this is not me. Someone else, something else, is in possession of my body, propelling my legs forward, pumping the blood through my veins till I am deaf with the sound of it. A power I’ve never felt before overwhelms me, and I can only watch as this new creature hunts for justice.

  I lob a few low-energy shots at him. My first two are misses, and he jumps to the side and starts running again, but my third connects solidly and brings him spinning to the ground. Another shot and he flops like a fish out of water, convulsing from the electrical pulses. Then I am on him, my knee drilling solidly into his diaphragm, preventing him from drawing breath or fighting back. I place my Bolt against his gut and fire again. He goes still, but at low energy the strike is not enough to kill him.

  My mind is fully disengaged from my body, as if I am floating above myself, watching as I press the Bolt into his throat, grab my knife, and pull it up to his cheek.

  “A is for Alexander,” I whisper, saying it aloud even though he’s unconscious, drawing shallow breath. He doesn’t stir as I draw blood. My words echo in the stillness around us, the bedlam from the battle behind us has faded to nothingness. I carve a thin, light A into his flesh and draw a circle around it. The crudest image you’ve ever drawn, Remy. Droplets of blood collect on my knife and run down his cheek.

  “For my sister, Tai Alexander. For my mother, Brinn Alexander. For my father’s heartache, Gabriel Alexander. For Eli, my chosen brother. For Sam, who asked too many questions. For my grandfather’s secret.”

  Blood runs back toward his hairline, tracing its way around his ear and dripping into the grass. The blood is quick to congeal. I turn his cheek and slice an “R” into the skin of his left cheek, drawing a circle around it, too. “For the Resistance. For Remy. For Revenge. You won’t ever forget me, now.”

  He opens his eyes and gasps, and the roiling inferno blazes so hot in me I want to retch. He doesn’t yet know what I’ve done. He can only feel the pain—thin, hot lines traced into his flesh.

  “You’ll pay,” he chokes out, then he spits in my face, and I pull the Bolt back and crack it up against the side of his head.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss and wipe his spittle off my chin with my sleeve.

  I glare down, the fearsome Dragon, unconscious for the moment, my bloody marks carved into his face. But instead of pride, the usual reaction I have as I step back to admire my work, I feel nothing but shame. What did I just do? How could I have done this? How could I be filled with so much hatred, and think its power was beautiful? My insides are scorched, charred. I press a finger lightly to the edge of the “R” and feel the bead of blood on my fingertip. With a heave, I pull off him and pocket my knife.

  I leave him lying in the grass, and turn away, seeking peace and stillness and understanding. What have I done?

  In the distance, the fighting seems to have quieted. A lull. Bodies lie strewn among the grasses, some moving, others not. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot two soldiers following me, creeping through the grass. I see a flash and dodge their Bolt fire by skidding then rolling on the ground in front of me, but then I’m on my knees firing and catch one of them in the hip. It’s enough to send him down. The other stops to aim at me, but the shot is off by a few inches.

  But before he can reload, he gasps and crumples. I look in the direction of the Bolt that took him down and see Vale, kneeling behind a blossoming cherry tree, watching me.

  The tree, a cloud of white-pink flowers and fragrant nectar, untouched, somehow, by the fighting, seems totally out of place amidst the death and destruction at my feet. The stark contrast between the serenity of the tree and Vale, decked in his military garb and with a gun cocked against his shoulder, makes me want to cry.

  I turn a three sixty, looking around for any remaining soldiers, but I see none. Most have retrenched or evacuated—for now. They’ll be back, though. And in full force.

  Reaching up, I touch the camera still attached to my headband, and I pull it off, turn off RECORD, and stuff it in my pocket. The world seems to have gone quiet and still as Vale approaches. I swing my Bolt back over my shoulder so it rests on my pack. He reaches out his hand to help me up, and I think back to the raid, the night he captured me and Soren and took us back to Okaria, prisoners of the Sector.

  “Are you okay?” he says. He’d asked me that same question that night. And then he’d said, I’m not going to hurt you … Remy, I’d never….

  Today he saved my life, just as I saved his.

  “Yeah,” I say, and put my hand in his. He pulls me to my feet, and, without saying another word, we run toward the Resistance rendezvous point to join the others.

  “…Might not make it.”

  Might not make it. Jahnu might not make it. Jahnu is injured. Jahnu might not make it. Jahnu might leave me, too. Jahnu, dying. Jahnu, my best friend. I never worried about Jahnu. He was quiet, patient, careful. He was supposed to make it. He was safe.

  I lean on Eli’s shoulder, and feel the medic’s words echo in my mind, over and over again. I can’t process it, I can’t move forward from that, I want to hold on to it as a possibility, as a ‘might,’ and never ever let it go further. It’s impossible. He can’t leave. He can’t die. He’s been my best friend since we were in diapers. We were going to grow old together. We were….

  But he might make it. I cradle that thought like a baby. If I nurture it enough, it could grow into a reality, it could come true. In the next room, the surgeon cuts through muscle and bone to keep Jahnu alive, and it could happen, it could.

  Beside me, Soren’s got his arms wrapped around Kenzie, rubbing her back in slow, methodical circles. She looks into the distance as if nothing exists. I, too, feel as if nothing exists anymore except the vague comfort of Eli’s presence and the thread keeping Jahnu in this world. The Farm certainly doesn’t exist anymore. Many of the workers fled into the woods, including Luis and Rose, and many others died. The rest are under lockdown. The second decisive battle in Resistance history, and, just like at Thermopylae, we were utterly caught off guard by the severity of the Sector’s response. Evander Sun-Zi, true to his nickname, brought to Round Barn the flaming wrath of a dragon.

  I sit and stare at the floor waiting for news, vaguely aware of people coming and going. Someone puts a blanket around my shoulders. Someone else puts a drink in my hand.

  “Drink this,” Rhinehouse says. Rhinehouse? When did he get here? He hands me a cup of something vaguely brownish. I stare into it, watching the liquid swirl and lap up against the edges like tiny tides against the seashore. Not that I’ve ever seen the seashore. It’s only something I know from my dad’s poems. Oh, Lake Okaria has waves, he used to say, but it’s not the same. Now Jahnu may never see the seashore. Never feel the ocean tide rushing over across his skin. Never grow old with Kenzie. “It’ll help you sleep,” Rhinehouse says.

  “Come on,” my dad says. Dad? My father gathers me into his arms and ushers me down the hall to a dimly lit room and a rickety bed where Kenzie is already asleep. He pulls the covers up over both of us, sets the cup on the floor beside me. “I love you,” he whispers and brushes my hair back from my cheek. I remember the feel of my knife on the Dragon’s cheek.

  I roll over and stare up at the ceiling.

  “You okay, Little Bird?” Eli asks. Where’d my father go?

  “Yeah,” I say. No, I think.

  “Remy?” Soren asks, his voice hushed. When did he get here? I look over at him, sitting gingerly at the foot of the mattress. Next to me Kenzie is sleeping, a few stray red curls peeking out from under the blanket. “Did you kill Evander Sun-Zi?”

  “No, I didn’t kill him. At least, I don’t
think I did.”

  “What do you mean, ‘you don’t think you did’?” Eli says. He’s kneeling beside me, eyes tired, hooded with worry. “Either you did or you didn’t.”

  They’re both whispering, but their voices pound against the inside of my skull like drums. I shake my head. “I’m sure he looked dead, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “We’re expected at a briefing in ten minutes,” Eli whispers. I push myself up.

  “All of us?”

  “You don’t have to attend. You can rest.”

  For once, I’m glad he offered me an out. I don’t think I could talk if I tried. I can barely understand my thoughts, my actions. I don’t understand who I was out there. Who I’ve become.

  The droplets of blood collecting around the knife as I carved my initials into his cheeks.

  “Okay. I’ll stay here with Kenzie.”

  Eli leaves my side. Kenzie moves slightly, and Soren gently eases himself up and moves to sit next to me. He takes my hand in his. I stare at his whirlpool-blue eyes and wish I could lose myself in them, just disappear, drown in the depths of those irises, forget everything, and swim in them forever. But I can’t.

  “I want you to know—” he hesitates. “While we were out there with Bolts flying and everything on fire … I saw you standing over Vale. I saw what happened.” I nod numbly. “And then Vale, taking down the other guard … I want you to know, no matter what happens … with any of us … I really care about you, and I want you to be happy. I want us both to be happy someday. Okay?”

  I don’t understand, so I just nod.

  “I just wanted to say that.” He strokes the back of my hand.

  “Okay. Thank you. I want you to be happy, too, Soren. Can you hand me my cup?”

  I drain it and hand it back. He leaves the room, and as the sleeping draught takes effect again, I move closer to Kenzie. In her drugged sleep, she pulls me near, and even though everything hurts and nothing exists but the possibility of Jahnu not being with us anymore, I feel warm and safe next to her. We retreat to our own sanctuaries of unconsciousness, refugees from the pain of possibly living in a world without the brilliant, patient, kind, loyal, funny, sweet, peaceful man we both love.