by TM Catron
Calla looked back at Thompson.
Calla narrowed her eyes in disgust.
“You fool! Now who do we take to the Condarri?” said Calla.
“They will accept his body.”
“They will question us. You have brought death on us all!”
Doyle sheathed his knife as he said, “How so? You were going to be questioned anyway.”
“As were you.”
“Maybe. Thompson killed the Condarri. They will accept that.”
“We have no proof!”
“Did you think Thompson would roll over like a dog and confess?” Doyle stood dangerously close to her now, his previous charm gone, replaced by something else. His demeanor disconcerted her—she had always been able to read him. Except for the day he had bested her on the dais.
“No,” she said.
The three moved toward Doyle, quickly and silently, like raptors circling for the kill. Calla expected Doyle to resist. She lunged toward him, blocking his escape, and raised her fist to strike. But he grabbed her arm and twisted her in front of him, faster than she had ever seen him move.
“Kill him,” she ordered aloud. But the three knew Doyle would kill Calla first. She felt his smug smile from behind.
Calla sensed the Nomad soaring toward her. She had not summoned it.
Doyle pointed his gun at the three hybrids. Three shots rang out. Calla seized the opportunity to elbow Doyle in the face, but he blocked her, wrestling her to the ground and pinning her with his body. A few feet away, the bodies of her loyal three lay dead. Calla fought back. In another moment, she would be free.
DAY 83
MINA DREAMED THAT DOYLE CAME in to check on her a few times and even woke once to look out at the dark, empty room. She rolled over and slept until she could not sleep anymore. When she woke for good, the room was still dark.
She found Doyle standing in the cockpit, looking at something round in the air in front of him—a shimmering projection of Earth. He turned to her when she walked in. The globe floated toward her at Doyle’s touch.
“Go ahead.” He nodded.
Mina tentatively brushed her fingertip against the globe. It warbled in the air and scooted away. Doyle grabbed it and placed it in front of her. It was like a beach ball, only smoother, and almost transparent. Mina put a hand on either side of it. The smallest pressure made it shrink, and Mina squeezed it down until it was the size of a basketball.
Mina instinctively expanded her hands while gripping the ball, and the globe followed her movement, growing larger, filling the cockpit.
Doyle stepped aside. “Very good. Now try something else.”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
Mina released the globe, and the hologram floated in the air where she left it. She spun it slightly with her hand, and Earth rotated on its axis. When the eastern US came into view, she stopped spinning. The mountains looked real. No, not just looked real—she could touch them. When she did, the hologram shifted. The round planet disappeared and a three-dimensional representation of a mountain replaced it. She could even view individual trees.
“Imagery is current,” Doyle said.
Mina’s heart skipped a beat. “I can see . . .?”
“Anything. What it looks like now.”
Mina wasn’t certain she wanted to continue. She pushed the globe off to the side and looked at Doyle. “How long was I asleep?” she asked.
“Eighteen hours.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“On a bunk in the back.”
“Oh. Umm. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” Doyle smiled—not the grinning smirk he used when he was being condescending, but a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes.
Maybe he’s right, she thought. Maybe there’s more human in him than anything else. She cast around awkwardly for something to say, but nothing came to mind. She grinned back at him.
“I can’t believe you aren’t berating me with questions.”
“I can’t decide what to ask first.” Mina gazed out the cockpit window into the dark water. She felt Doyle’s expectant eyes on her. “What about giving me a tour of the Nomad?” she asked finally.
“Why not?” he said and led her out into the corridor. Of the four doors, she had only been through one—his bedroom—so he opened the one next to it. They stepped into a brightly lit room with a surgical table beneath a robotic arm, identical to the one that had fixed Mina in the bunker. A large window predominated the outside wall of this room, too, offering another view of the dark water. A counter ran the length of the room to the right, with cabinets above and beneath. Every surface gleamed.
“This is the med bay,” explained Doyle.
The next door opened to the galley, which held freezers and storage for dried food, and a small table with two chairs crammed along one wall. The door between the galley and the bunk room in the stern of the ship turned out to be another tiny bathroom. They stopped just inside the bunk room.
“One thing,” Mina said. “The outside of the Nomad appears to be a Condarri ship, yet everything on the ship is human-sized, and most of it looks perfectly human. A Glyph wouldn’t even fit up the ladder, would it?”
“That’s right.” Doyle propped his arm on the bunk just inside the door. “The Nomad is the only ship of its kind. Hybrids built it as an experiment, really. A blend of Condarri and human technology. I guess you could say it’s a hybrid, too.”
“Did you help build it?”
Doyle gazed around the room. “Wish I had. I was too busy with other things.”
“How many hybrids are there total?”
Doyle shifted his weight before standing up straight.
“You don’t want to tell me?”
He met her eyes. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Mina didn’t break eye contact. She wanted an answer.
“Over a million.”
Mina choked out, “A million?”
“Not too many when you think about all the work involved. All of us filled multiple roles.”
“A million,” Mina repeated softly. She walked over and sat tentatively in one of the chairs. The cold hard metal surprised her after the more comfortable seat in the cockpit. “And they’ve been on Earth for years?”
“Twenty or thirty, depending on the batch of hybrids.”
“Batch?”
“Hybrids were prepared in batches, raised in batches, sent to Earth in batches.”
Mina looked up at Doyle. He hadn’t moved except to tuck his hands in his pockets. He spoke quietly, but he wasn’t asking for pity, merely citing facts. He watched Mina, and for once, his gaze did not unnerve her. “How old are you?” she asked.
“Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five Earth years?”
Doyle smiled. “Yes. There are no hybrids older than forty. Hybrids were raised on Earth time to make the transition faster when they landed. I came to Earth for the first time when I was fifteen.”
What had Doyle been like at fifteen? Mina could not imagine. She drew a deep breath and exhaled, then stood to look around again. The closed door at the back of the room led down the spiral staircase to the hold.
“What else is below us?” Mina asked.
“The core of the ship. I
t’s powered strictly through solar energy. The entire surface of the ship contains microscopic cells, like solar panels except much more sophisticated. The core stores the energy until it’s needed.”
“Won’t we run out down here?”
“No. We have enough fuel to power the Nomad to the other end of the galaxy.”
Mina chewed her lower lip. Thinking about flying to the other end of the galaxy was too much, like she should wake up from this dream any moment and find herself back in the woods.
“What now?” she asked.
“I still have a job to do,” he said grimly.
“I thought you were done spying on the camps.”
“My orders changed to hunting rogues. Right around the time I met you. Spying on camps was secondary. The rogues split off slowly at first, and for a while we kept up with them. Then they began dropping off the map. We can’t find some of them at all. Don’t know how or why. I was supposed to be looking for Halston.” Doyle nodded at Mina’s gasp of recognition. “And we found him. He’s been slippery, and I want to know what he’s up to. Ever since he deserted we’ve had more go rogue than we can contain.”
Mina recalled the snippet of the silent conversation with Williams Doyle had shown her. “So Thompson is a hybrid, too?”
“Was. Thompson’s dead.”
“Did you kill him?” Mina suspected the answer even before he nodded. It didn’t bother her as much as she thought it should have. “And you’ve been in contact with them all along?”
“Off and on.”
“But you’re rogue now.”
“They don’t know that. I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.”
“Explain.”
Doyle motioned her out of the room, and they walked down the corridor to the cockpit. “The Condarri need to think I am still following orders. The rogues are a threat to everybody—humans, hybrids, Condarri, and each other. Some rogues have banded together, others are working completely on their own. I think I know why, and if I’m right, then none of the rogues is trustworthy.”
“Is that your true reason for killing Williams?”
“Williams wasn’t rogue. He attacked you, Mina. And he would have turned me in himself, whether he thought I was rogue or not, if he thought he could gain something. I wasn’t going to give him the chance.”
“So what now?”
Doyle settled in the captain’s chair and gestured to the seat she had chosen yesterday. “We’re going to West Virginia.”
“Lincoln,” Carter whispered.
Lincoln opened his eyes and peered out through the open flap of his tent. Carter stood bathed in the moonlight that filtered through the camp. “What’s the matter?”
“She’s out for a run. Schmidt’s still asleep. His cold is worse.”
Lincoln sat up quickly. “What do the others say?”
“I woke you first.”
The others sleepily pulled themselves from their tents and gathered in front of Nelson’s.
Nelson yawned, his brown hair falling down over his eyes. “It’s now or never?”
“Looks that way.”
“I vote now.”
Alvarez rubbed her eyes. “I vote stay.”
“After all that prep?”
“Yes. Sorry, Nelson, there’s something to what Nash said. What about you, Lincoln?”
Lincoln shifted around. “I vote stay. Alvarez is right.”
Nelson scoffed but didn’t argue. They all looked at Carter.
Carter sighed heavily. “I say go. We really just don’t know when, or if, we’ll get another opportunity. I’m sorry for Nash, but we can’t stay based on a remote possibility.”
“This is awful,” said Alvarez. “I don’t want to split up.”
They all stood mutely, weighing each outcome. Finally, Lincoln said, “I guess I’m willing to go if it means we stick together.” He looked at Alvarez.
She swallowed and nodded. “Me, too.”
They went to their respective tents to gather their gear. Five minutes later, they met in front of Lincoln’s tent with everything they wanted to take with them. He considered taking down his tent, but it would eat up too much time. Baker could return any moment.
Lincoln’s heart pounded as he adjusted his heavy backpack. He looked at his friends. They were ready.
Silence bore down on the gaping stone hall of Condar, its presence lurking among the shadows. The deep circular grooves of the adarria graced the onyx-colored walls. They shifted, allowing beams of brilliant, fiery light to escape from behind the deep etches. The light glinted off the dark floors, illuminating a broad stone dais floating in the center of the room. Then the hall grew dark once more.
Adarria covered the dais, too, but they were quiet here. Atop the platform, a black vortex of darkness swirled slowly upward, its wispy tendrils concealing something, binding it within. A hybrid rotated slowly above the giant stone, her body hanging by a mask formed of the same aether twisting around her.
Calla neither raged nor cried out against the ties of her prison. Instead, her fury burned inside her, warding off the bitter cold of the great hall. She relived the betrayal in her mind. Dar Ceylin had killed the three and attacked her, stealing her ship. She awoke here, in darkness in the great hall of Condar, accused of . . . what? Murder? Treason? Incompetence? All carried a death sentence, yet Calla had not spoken to anyone since she woke. And she might never have the opportunity. A trial was unheard of for a hybrid—Calla had played judge and executioner many times herself. The Condarri could easily leave her here to starve.
Fresh anger washed over her, threatening to rip apart her tender threads of self-control. Dar Ceylin had a weakness now, of that Calla was certain. He had made a mistake when he killed Thompson. He had given himself away.
Calla yearned to speak, to defend herself. She had always been loyal to Condar and would prove it. She tried moving, but she had nothing to grasp but the aether. It mocked her as it glided through her fingers. The prisoner had one other option—to communicate through her adarre. The Condarri might kill her for her insolence, but dying was preferable to hanging in shame.
Gathering her remaining strength, Calla reached out to the adarria in the hall.
~End Book I~
Acknowledgments
I HAVE A HOLE IN the back of my house. It’s the best kind of space, with a comfy chair and cozy lighting and a desk just big enough to get work done, but not so big it can be piled high with distractions. Over the past two years, my family has put up with my frequent disappearances into this hole. I go in and don’t come out for hours, and sometimes then only for coffee. My husband, Eric, has been extremely patient with me. If he had been any other sort of person, I might not have finished this project. I love you, babe.
And to Jeremy, my greatest fan, thanks for being so enthusiastic about your stepmother’s desire to write. One day when you read this book, I hope you know I wrote it for people like us—for people who like stories.
This book would have been a very poor work indeed without the advice, encouragement, love, criticism, and praise of Nicole (who suffered through the first awkward pages). To Dad, Carina, Tracy, and Pam—thanks for putting up with my incessant babbling and giving me feedback whether you felt like it or not. Any mistakes in this project are mine, not theirs.
I am truly blessed.
To My Valued Reader
THANKS FOR JOINING THE WORLD of Shadowmark! If you have a moment, head on over to the marketplace where you purchased the book and leave a review! (Psst! I’m also on Goodreads.)
Want to get an alert when the sequel is released? Sign up here for book news, free content, contests, and more! (I promise never to spam you!) Visit tmcatron.com.
In the meantime, turn the page for an exclusive first look at Book II of the The Shadowmark Trilogy.
Happy reading!
(The following is an exclusive preview of Book II of the Shadowmark Trilogy. It may not be in its final form.)
DAY
83, from Book II
Calla hung above the dais, suspended by the dark, smoky mask covering her face. The aether twisted around her body like a great black serpent. The adarria twisted with the aether, their deeply etched circles allowing red-hot beams of light to shock the dark stone hall. Calla’s body bent under the pressure, ribs constricting past endurance, cracking. She writhed in agony, but the aether only twisted further, holding her tightly. When Calla’s spine snapped, her mouth opened in a silent scream. She wanted to shout her innocence to Condar. But the aether would not even give her that final satisfaction. She had failed. Even her voice failed her. And she would die.
No. She was loyal.
Dar Ceylin, she thought. The traitor. But she could not accuse Doyle yet. Without proof, the Condarri would only prolong her torture. Calla’s vision blurred. Black spots appeared before her eyes. She fought against the death waiting for her in the darkness, summoning her remaining strength for one last plea.
The aether withdrew from suffocating her. Calla gulped the air, her chest exploding in stabbing pain. She stifled a cry and hurried to explain before the Condarri decided to kill her for dawdling.
The adarria hushed, the light disappearing. But they were listening.
Calla’s mask released her. She fell twenty feet onto the dais, body crumpling onto the stone with a thud. She took quick, shallow breaths. Each one sent agony through her body.
“No,” she whispered. Her breath hung in the cold air. “No, my lords.”