by Jason Letts
Deciding the charade of pretending to ignore each other had gone on long enough, Tris stopped and crossed her arms. The man turned to face her and smiled. He had clean teeth, clean skin, and an air suggesting he wasn’t from this city, or at least the parts she’d seen.
He said something to her, and Dedrick volunteered the translation.
“’Come with me,’” he said. Tris stood her ground until another comment followed. “’If you come now, you won’t be harmed.’”
Even Dedrick seemed perturbed as the words spilled out of his mouth. Tris would’ve given anything for the safety of her guard and artisan group, but at the moment she didn’t have a choice. Only Moa could protect her.
She nodded, and the man led her into a nearby alley. He walked so quickly it was hard for her and Dedrick to keep up, and she wondered if he’d even notice if she stopped following and turned away. If she made it out of this, she promised she was going to hire a constant bodyguard.
It took more than ten minutes of winding through smaller streets until they made it to a typical clay hut. The only thing inside was a thick rug, which the man removed to reveal a set of stairs leading deep underground. Tris grimaced and Dedrick glanced questioningly at her.
“Ask him what this is about,” Tris said to Dedrick, who translated the reply.
“’You’re not alone in this city.’”
The man with the foreign clothes had little emotion and didn’t seem particularly strong. There was a chance he had a weapon on him or some fighting skills.
Slowly, she crept down the stairs with Dedrick beside her. To Tris’s surprise, the man didn’t follow her, instead staying by the entrance. The stairs went deep underground, torches illuminating them at regular distances. A spider web-lined path led from the bottom of the stairs along a tunnel. Only a few beams seemed to keep it from caving in until the walls switched to concrete.
Voices echoed through the underground hallway, which intersected with others ahead. She peeked into a large room that had a dozen passageways leading out, and as many men and women inside. To her surprise there were desks with computers, phones, and wires everywhere. It was more technology than she’d seen since she had gotten on the plane in Ristle.
“Trissandra Bracken,” a voice in a thick accent echoed, and suddenly everyone looked her way. Tris gulped, but there was nothing to do but step forward. She was the virtuoso of this city, and she had a strong Moa. That meant she had nothing to hide.
“I’m here,” she announced, though she received no indication they could understand. Someone said something, and Dedrick translated.
“’Come forward.’”
She stepped into the center of the room, noticing how thin the air was. A printer beeped nearby, but otherwise silence persisted until another voice rose. When Tris’s eyes found the speaker, it startled her to discover the person had two heads, a man’s and a woman’s, and three arms. It was reasonable to assume they were conjoined twins, if there was any relationship between the reasonable and the actual. Sometimes both heads spoke simultaneously; sometimes they alternated phrases.
Dedrick buried his face into Tris’s waist. They were not grotesque, Tris thought, they were just unusual. Her attempt to remain calm remained until the boy muttered a translation.
“’You’ve been the victim of a cruel joke. There is a man you have met known as the Unseen Man. He kidnaps a woman and cuts her throat and then lets her walk loose in the city. This is the mark of death. Madoran people are nice to her because they know she is about to die. It’s their way to celebrate and bow to the sick and dying. The Unseen Man did this many times over the years.”
The twins behind the desk pushed a folder in Tris’s direction. Riddled with unease, Tris reached out to open it, discovering glossy pictures of a handful of fair-skinned women of various ages on Madoran streets. They all had smiles on their faces despite the same scar carved into their necks. Tris glanced at the last picture only to find it was a picture of herself. The folder and all of the pictures fell to the floor.
“The Unseen Man is very hard to capture,” Dedrick translated. “And worse, he is very persuasive and persistent. You must leave at once.”
Tris had heard enough, and she broke for the exit as quickly as she could without breaking her sandals and stubbing her toes on the concrete. Dedrick struggled to keep up. He whimpered behind her, possibly crying, but Tris felt dead inside, as if she’d already lost her life.
It stung when she finally made it back to the dock and saw the big ship bound for the Iron City already out to sea. She wanted to be on it to go home, and if not that, then she wanted to take the letter and burn it. Everything would be better that way.
Instead she was stuck here, kicking herself for getting suckered in by some grand, ridiculous story carried on the breath of a murderer. He’d been drawing out her torture for a long time, making her not into a storybook queen but an assassin’s oblivious mark.
Maybe Moa was bullshit, too, and it all meant nothing since she wanted to get on the boat and run. Her chance to leave was gone, so she resolved to survive here and carry with her mission. Not since giving birth did her life have this much purpose.
She turned to Dedrick and put her hand on his shoulder.
“They told us a scary story,” she paused, trying to keep the terror from seeping through her eyes and voice. “But we’re not going to let it happen. There are people here who depend on us. They believe in us and I’ve helped them. Nothing can change that. I’m not going to be another victim, and I’m not going to let the threat of being one paralyze me from doing what I have to. Nothing bad’s going to happen to us, not as long as we stick together.”
CHAPTER 17
Sierra had her mother’s nerves. They swelled in her joints and filled her lungs as she watched the harbingers of the imminent destruction of the ClawLands lurch closer through messages she intercepted over the wire. From the idle banter of the workers-turned-soldiers to high-level communiqués from seasoned military personnel loyal to one of the enemy companies, the invading forces presented such a sprawling juggernaut that she feared not a brick would stand in the ClawLands by the end. And that was before Sierra spoke to Taylor.
“Is he here yet?” she called across her office to the open door.
“Not yet,” Skuire replied, anxiety in his voice.
Learning that the Illiams would retaliate for Taylor’s mind-blowingly stupid stunt by attacking from the south had all but sealed their fate. Why the hell had he done that? Now that Melody had swiped the Bracken family fortune, Sierra reasoned Taylor did it to ensure the Brackens’ defeat, as if fighting off the Wozniaks from the north and men from Bolt & Keize flying in helicopters from the west weren’t enough. It was clear Taylor took after his banshee mother and was siding with her. Though how could she blame him when she herself had drawn the wrath of another family?
“I can fix this,” Sierra said to herself. It was a habit she had when she was nervous. If she said it aloud, it had a better chance of coming true.
The only common link between all four powers was the foreign telecommunications giant, Pasocom, which was a neutral party owned mostly by the Lus. It had taken cycles to break into various accounts, but now she had enough access to implant scripts that would edit messages as they were sent. The goal was to revise messages and distort coordinate readings so that the Wozniak, Illiam, and Bolt & Keize armadas would collide just west of the ClawLands.
With any luck they’d take each other out. But it would require Sierra’s constant attention—something she didn’t have, because the ‘no confidence’ vote was looming over her head. Scheduled for the next cycle, it would come right around the time she anticipated the attack to begin, right around the onset of a night the Bracken Empire might not outlast.
“He’s coming,” Skuire announced, forcing Sierra’s fingers from the keyboard. She sighed, knowing if they were to have any chance of success, much of it would depend on this man.
Meekly enteri
ng her office, the head of Intercorporate Relations at Bracken shuffled forward. Milford’s men had been preparing their arsenal, and now it was time to put it in place.
“Are we ready?” she asked.
“Yes, there are plenty of booms in the bag.” The squirrely man with the big glasses grinned. Sierra coaxed him around so he could see a map of the area that she had pulled up on the screen.
“Good. We’re going to have to use all of them. It might take working around the clock, but what you need to do is set your charges on the west side of town against some of the ridges,” she advised.
“But just the west? What about the north and south? I’ve already got one in place on the southerly road,” he said.
“Look, I’d rig every hill surrounding the town, the gas plants, and the reserve power stations if I could, but we don’t have enough time or explosives. I’m going to try to funnel them all west, so let’s anticipate a majority of the attack coming from that direction. Put some by the ridges, and then put some a little farther out by the hills. The Wozniaks and Illiams might not see each other until they’re standing over our minefield, and we can send them all to After at once.”
It sounded so good, and she could picture the explosion decimating both armadas, but Sierra knew wiping them out wouldn’t be so easy.
“We’ll get it done,” Milford confirmed, rubbing his charred hands.
“That’s not all,” Sierra said, straining. “You have to be careful to keep the charges clear of any Claws. If any gas escaping through those fissures explodes, the landscape of the entire region could go to pieces. The pods are designed to prevent this, but just be careful.”
“Of course,” Milford nodded, squinting.
“And as awful as it sounds, we have to rig the train tracks. I haven’t been able to rule out that someone won’t try to slip into town on the rails,” she said.
“I see.”
“And then…” Sierra hesitated.
“What is it?” Milford asked, but she found it so hard to voice something so terrible. She leaned forward to look Milford in his goofy eyes and put a hand on his shoulder.
“In case we lose everything, we have to set charges against the major supports of the towers. If the battle is lost, we need to demolish them.”
Milford was awestruck for a moment before accepting the order. He scrambled away but then doubled back.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’ll fight them off as best I can from right here,” she said, resigning herself.
“But what if the towers blow?” Milford said.
“Then I’ll hope I won’t be remembered as a failure after I’m gone.”
In truth Sierra resisted the urge to run every second. It would be so easy to take the elevator downstairs, get on the next train, and leave her entire life and identity behind. But the people in town were preparing to defend their homes, even if it cost them their lives, and Sierra couldn’t dishonor them or her family by abandoning them. Being President of Bracken Energy was more than just crunching numbers, Sierra had learned; it was about energizing the spirit and conviction of an entire community. Her father was still the man for that job, and fortunately he was out in town doing his part to help.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.” Skuire’s voice echoed into the office before a round man of advanced years strolled in through the open doors. Sierra immediately recognized him as Oran Jorgund, the member of the Bracken board who always wanted to build on the Boiling Sea. He closed the doors behind him.
“I hope you don’t mind, my dear, but I’ve got something important to talk to you about concerning tomorrow’s ‘no confidence’ vote,” he said, waddling forward. Even after he finished speaking, his lips continued to move as if he were chewing on something.
“And what’s that?” Sierra asked, skeptical but intrigued. This was the first time a board member other than Carlisle had entered her office.
“I think there’s a way that you can pass the vote. See, Carlisle doesn’t have nearly as much influence as he thinks,” he explained. Sierra regarded him coolly.
“I see. So what are you proposing?”
“Would you mind standing up and coming over here where I can see you?” Oran suggested.
“What?”
“Never mind. I think I can whip together enough votes so that you can pass and keep your job,” he said, washing his hands. Sierra immediately concluded that such an offer had not been made to her father, who’d been certain of losing his vote.
“What do we have to do?” she asked, crossing her arms. Oran rubbed his chin and the side of his lips as he appraised her.
“I thought you’d be curious. But this isn’t the right place or time to sort out the details. I think if we had a more private meeting after work we could do everything necessary to make sure you stay right where you are for a long time to come.”
Sierra knew enough about men to understand what he was getting at. She set her fingertips on the desk in front of her and stood, regarding him as one might look at something stuck to the bottom of a shoe.
“You mean you want me to sleep with you and then you’ll fix the vote so that I’m approved. Is that it? The ClawLands and the company are bracing for a bigger threat than they’ve ever faced, one that could wipe us out completely, and you think I’m going to spend the precious time I have left to prepare letting your loose, sweaty skin rub against me just so you can renege on your deal and laugh as I’m thrown out the door? If we go down, it’ll be because of people like you who only pursued your own profits and pleasure. Now get out before I do something that’ll prevent you from making it to that vote at all.”
CHAPTER 18
It had been a long walk back to Lynxstra for Taylor, who had spent most of it ignoring Nissa, until he finally returned to Granby Tower and the bed he wouldn’t leave for another twelve hours. By the time he awoke everyone had heard about what he’d done, minus the part about him doing it. Each person knew they were a breath away from an eruption of violence unlike any Cumeria had seen since its inception.
Taylor prayed that the price would be worth what he was about to get in exchange for it.
The remaining cycles of the day passed in a blur. He missed classes, didn’t do his work, and agonized about what was going to happen. When his mother called, she said the words he’d been afraid to say.
“That school’s a waste of time. You need to come home now before it’s too late,” Melody ordered. She was at Hockley House near the woods outside Ristle. As one might expect from a family of bankers, the front door looked like the hatch to a giant safe with a steel wheel.
“You’re right,” Taylor agreed. “I’ll be starting home before the cycle is out.”
He ended the call and dropped the phone on the bed. Looking around at his dorm room and belongings felt surreal; they would no longer be his in a matter of minutes. Someone had spray painted “Fucking Gasies” on the door, which he wouldn’t miss. He should’ve guessed some students would take sides or turn against the Brackens. The only people Brackens could count on for defense were each other.
Stuffing his guard supplies into a bag and concealing the knife he’d taken from the Illiams in a deep pocket that ran down his thigh, he set the key on the desk and slipped out the door, fully certain he would not return anytime soon. A brisk wind met him as he left the warm dormitory and entered another long night. Keeping his head down to avoid unwanted attention from other students, Taylor skulked to the edge of campus and descended the hill to the adjoining town.
It was the second time he’d taken this particular path, but in his mind he’d followed it a thousand times. He moved quickly down quiet cobblestone streets until he came to a well hidden on a back terrace by the edge of town. He recognized the van that had left him behind at the FarmFields in a nearby driveway.
“And here I thought you weren’t going to come,” Nissa said, seated on the edge of the well. She had one leg crossed over the other
and the ponytail on the top of her head. His attraction to her now came with a heap of self-loathing.
“I’ve earned my place,” Taylor replied, forcing a subtle smile. He dropped his bag near the well.
“That you did. Let’s go, then,” she said, hopping off the edge. They followed the path toward the fence, the steep hill, and the large pipe leading into the darkness. Deeper they went until Nissa stopped them at the hidden entryway to the Ma Ha’dere sect’s hideout. Her hand took on an iridescent blue color, and she pressed against the door until it popped open.
Light flooded into the pipe ahead of boisterous cheers that seemed better suited for a wedding. But the entire group of figures let their hoods down, showering him with their infectious excitement, and ushered him in toward the center of the basement that had the giant bowl of blood.
The driver put his arm around Taylor, started another chant, and spoke to Taylor with staggering levity for someone trying to wreak havoc on the nation.
“You made it,” he said, beaming. “You joined us, passed the initiation, and now you’re ready to learn the secret of the Ma Ha’dere. It’s an ancient power we control, one that draws upon the very basic energy of life to combat the unnatural power structures that oppress us,” he said, becoming reverent.
“What do I have to do?” Taylor asked.
“You have to meet with the sect leader, as we have all done,” he said.
Although they’d been speaking in hushed tones, everyone cleared the way for a section of the basement Taylor hadn’t noticed before. They all pointed the way to another door with the palm imprint on it. Taylor noticed that it was ajar; he needed only to nudge it open before entering a darker chamber lit by candles.
The door shut itself behind him, and only then did Taylor sense the presence of the dark shroud that seemed to be hiding behind the candlelight.