Quietly, I jam my left heel into my right. Pinching the boot down, I slide my left foot up as far as I can. It’s hard with the ropes tight over my ankles. A second later, though, it slips the heel. The boot tips over the wrong way. I glance up in panic, but she’s still tracing a route across the map. Carefully, I tilt the boot back with my foot. There’s a frightening second of nothing. Then the nyxian coin tumbles out, bouncing twice and spinning to a stop. I shift my body and snatch it up with bound hands. It’s a life jacket in the hands of a drowning man.
Jerricho starts to say something as I focus on my first manipulation. I’m amazed when it takes. The black coin expands, and the only image I can summon comes from those regular nights with Pops down at Snookers. I center the image of a pool cue in my mind. It stretches the substance until the opposite end smacks against the nyxian console. As soon as it makes contact, I feel the bigger connection pulse to life.
All that nyxia, all that power, all at my fingertips.
Jerricho whips around, curses flying, but I’m too fast. My second manipulation flings itself through the link: flare gun, flare gun, flare gun. The manipulation shivers from my brain, through the link, into the console. A familiar red-handled barrel takes form. Another thought points the thing skyward and pulls the trigger.
She lunges, but the shot is an explosion of sound and color. It cuts a path through the sky before bursting out, bright enough for anyone following us to see. Jerricho hesitates for just a second. I take the extended nyxia in both hands and pull myself to my feet. She starts forward again, but another tug brings the pool cue swinging around like a spear.
Jerricho dodges back, calling her own nyxia into its weapon form. She slips into a fighting stance before realizing she’s got it all wrong. I’m not looking for a fight.
I take a deep breath and leap.
The stars spin overhead. My hands almost fumble the nyxia. My entire body braces for impact as the water backhands the air from my lungs. The force of it crushes the entire left side of my body. I almost drown as my mouth opens in forced exhale.
Dark, cold, dark, cold …
I wonder if I’m about to die. But an anthem beats inside my chest. The same one that saved me from Isadora and Roathy. A bone-deep promise I make to myself every morning: today is not the day that I die. I come gasping out of the water. Overhead, the flare is falling. The boat’s momentum took it about five hundred meters down the river. I watch as it starts to wheel.
The nyxia pulses in my left hand, feeding off my urgency. I concentrate on the image of Pops’s army knife. I hold it there, front and center, before forcing the vision into the waiting substance. It shifts instantly, and the weight of his knife fills my palm. I lean my body so that I’m floating on my back and start slashing through the ropes.
The first few coils slip from my wrists. Jerricho’s turned the boat around. It thunders, picking up speed again. I slip the rope from my ankles, then tuck the knife back in my belt. A spotlight skips across the water, searching, as I start swimming to shore. My world is reduced to one stroke after another after another. All of Babel’s training in the tank resurfaces.
I don’t pause to breathe. I am an arrow firing at the eastern bank.
A roar announces the boat’s approach, but my hands slap down on mud and branches. I gasp out of the water, framed by light, and pull myself onto land. I don’t risk looking back. Two stumbling steps bring me through the bank’s brush and onto the plain. The spotlight follows. I’m pumping my arms, thinking about all the creatures that hunt at night, when something hits me at hip level. It takes me spinning into the taller grass, and I realize Jerricho’s caught me.
She comes out on top, but my hand is tight on the grip of my knife. I jab upward and she spins away. My blade grazes her left shoulder. I hear the hiss of pain as she backs off, towering over me, her figure backlit by the boat’s light.
I try to get to my feet, but she steps forward and strikes again. It forces me onto my back. She circles, strikes, circles. My second attempt at a jab fails. She knocks the knife from my grasp and lands a dirty elbow against my nose. The blow stuns me; blood gushes. I hack a choking cough as she stands over me.
“You are a worthy opponent. You will take me to the stars.”
“Emmett!”
The voice has us both squinting back to the river. Jerricho’s boat has been joined by another. The distant figure doesn’t wait for the ship to make land. She leaps from the prow and rolls to her feet. Jerricho continues to squint, but it’s a voice I would recognize anywhere.
Morning.
Chapter 22
Duel Through the Dark
Emmett Atwater
Blood runs down my nose. The slightest movement has my vision spinning. I groan my way onto an elbow and watch Morning’s approach. Her eyes burn from me to Jerricho. The Imago takes a single step, setting herself between us, and Morning’s rage doubles.
“Give him back,” she says, “and I’ll let you live.”
Jerricho laughs. “Do you plan to fight me alone? I am Jerricho, once of the Seventh Ring. I have killed savoys, slayed eradakan. This mace knows its way through bone.”
Morning slides out her hatchets and tilts her head. It’s a familiar look. She always did it before duels, a moment of weighing her opponent, of finding them wanting.
“Last chance,” she says, raising her voice. “Leave now and live.”
Jerricho laughs again. “I’ll take you too. A second Genesis. More beginnings.”
Morning’s face steels. There’s a second where the wrongness of all this pulses through the air. I don’t want Morning to do what she’s about to do. I don’t want her to die because of me. Before I can say anything to stop her, she’s sliding forward.
Her body dips and she closes the gap between them. A false lunge. Jerricho lurches. She only gives herself away slightly, but I see Morning’s eyes snap like a camera lens. She sees where Jerricho’s foot would have stepped and how her mace would have swung. She takes all of that in and slides to the right. I watch her circle before flashing forward.
The metal sings. A few exchanged blows is enough to erase the smile from Jerricho’s face. I wasn’t a match for her, but Morning? She pushes Jerricho to the edge of her comfort. It’s clear that Morning is probing the fringes of who Jerricho is as a fighter, picking up her habits. After trading a few more strikes, she clears space between them. Jerricho is breathing hard.
Morning changes tactics. The nyxian jacket lifts from her shoulders like mist. Jerricho narrows her eyes at the manipulation, then smiles.
A current cuts through the air. Jerricho is wrestling for control of the nyxia. I think about the Imago on the ship—Erone—who took hold of Kaya’s necklace, how helpless we were.
But in the space of a breath, the sling’s expression goes from confident to confused to worried. The nyxia in the air forms four black doors that look like they’re made of smoke. One appears in front of Morning. The other three surround Jerricho. She considers Morning’s creation and gives up trying to take control. The grip on her mace tightens.
Morning walks through the first door and everything distorts. The sound of a whip cracks across the sky, and she appears behind Jerricho. Her first blow cuts across Jerricho’s right calf.
The sling cries out, wheeling, but Morning is faster. A step back and she reappears in the second door. Another lunge brings her hatchet raking across a shoulder. She steps back again.
I stare as the doors draw inward, closing around the fight like a noose. Jerricho tries to guess where Morning will appear, but each of her lunges misses. Morning dips beneath every strike and tags Jerricho again, and again, and again. Each blow draws blood until Jerricho is barely on her feet, limping and struggling.
Morning shows no mercy.
The nyxian doors close until there aren’t any more gaps. They narrow into a perfect cube of black nothing. I hear a final scream before silence thunders out.
“Morning? Morning!”
The darkness melts away. Morning comes out one side, disarmed. She’s circling. I start to rise, desperate to help her, when I see Jerricho. She stumbles to a knee and collapses sideways.
Morning’s hatchet is buried in her forehead.
She kicks the mace away, and the two of us watch as Jerricho takes her last breaths. Morning’s chest heaves chaotically. I can tell it’s not the pump of adrenaline. She’s taken a life. Blood is on her hands. I start forward to help her, but she holds up a hand in warning.
“Give me space.”
I stand there, watching, as she leans over Jerricho. She closes the sling’s eyes and cleans the bloodied hatchet on the grass. After a second, she transforms her nyxia into a shovel and begins to dig. When I start to manipulate mine, she shoots me a look that’s made of iron.
“No,” she says. “You heard Speaker. Down here, you bury them yourself.”
Chapter 23
Across the Universe
Emmett Atwater
The sun decides to rise. Light stretches across the riverway and paints the highest branches gold. I sit there in silence as Morning buries Jerricho. A stranger in a strange land. Only when she sets aside the shovel, sweating and exhausted, do I cross the distance. Morning doesn’t say a word. She lets me wrap my arms around her. I hold on until she stops crying. She rescued me. She saved me. But the cost of this will chain her to this place forever.
I file this one away for both of us. I put this one in the place where I’ve stored the darkest memories, piles upon piles of angry moments: I for Injustice. She didn’t deserve this.
I can see her steeling herself, pushing the pain down far enough that she doesn’t have to feel it. After a second she looks up, face carved like some beautiful ruin. She pulls me down by the collar and kisses me. I run one hand through her hair. Each following kiss softens until we’re a whisper away. “I thought I lost you,” she says.
“I knew it was you. The second that boat pinged on her radar, I knew it was you.”
She nods once, eyes trailing the fresh grave. For the first time, she notices the blood coating her sleeves. The sight makes her tremble. “I—I told her to let you go.”
“Hey, none of that. Jerricho kidnapped me, poisoned me. I have no idea what would have happened if you didn’t save me. Fathom?”
Her jaw tightens but she doesn’t resist. I take her by the hand and lead her back to the river. She stands there like a ghost as I sit her down and help rinse off the stains. She’s not the first one to wash blood away in Magnia’s rivers. She won’t be the last.
I grab my knapsack, and we get into the boat. Morning sits in the back as I direct us back through the riverway. It’s as easy as reversing her route and letting the boat handle the rest. I keep an eye out for creatures, other ships, but it’s like we’re driving through an abandoned world. I don’t push the conversation, so most of the journey rolls by in silence. Near the outskirts of Myriad, she stands up and joins me by the console. After a few seconds, she takes my hand.
“You learn to defend yourself,” she says. “You know?”
I nod at that. “Like a sixth sense.”
“I got bullied at school. Bigger girls. I was pretty small for my age, I guess. Started figuring out how to use everything to my advantage. Reading people. Changing the fight. Most days I really hate that this is what I’m good at. But today? I would go back there and do it all over again. If it meant saving you, I’d go back.”
“That makes you a good person. You know that, right?”
She sighs. “Why are you so nice to me?”
I look down at my feet to make sure her words haven’t transformed me into something else, into a bird or the wind or something. “It’s easy with you.”
Sunlight strays through the branches. It’s bright across her light-brown skin. She’s beautiful the way a mountain is tall. I almost tell her before stopping. You don’t need to tell a mountain it’s tall. It already knows that.
The conversation turns. The river breeze reminds us of what we left behind. We share little pieces of our hearts, our homes. She tells me her favorite dessert. I describe my boys.
The words grow wings as we talk our way back across the universe.
Chapter 24
Pieces of the Puzzle
Emmett Atwater
The sight of Myriad brings reality’s shoulder slamming back into us. Omar waits on the dock, his wide face full of worry. Morning guides the boat in and tosses him the ropes. He sets to the task of tying us up, but it’s not hard to see how angry he is.
“You should have waited,” he rumbles. “Why risk going alone?”
“I ran into Jaime and Longwei on the bridge,” she answers. “I saw the boat leaving with Emmett on it. I made a choice. It worked.”
Omar heaves a sigh. “There were other slings in the base, but only Longwei’s hurt.”
I remember the way he stepped in and shoved Jaime out of the way. It might be the most unselfish thing he’s done since I first met him. I can’t imagine he’ll go exploring with us anytime soon. “He took a pretty nasty shot on the bridge.”
Omar helps us both off the boat. “One eye caught most of the damage. He’s in the med bay now. Should be fine. And the plans might be changing. Speaker says there’s an Imago guard making their way to us now. More security after the attack exposed Babel.”
I nod at that. “You never said if you found Corporal West?”
“We found him,” Morning says. “About three kilometers from the base. Dead.”
“We booked it back to Myriad,” Omar says. “But the attack was already happening, and you had already been taken. Come on, Speaker wants to address the whole crew. Make sure we know what happens next.”
The main room is full. Beckway and Bally stand by the entrance like bodyguards. The rest of the Genesis crew sits in grim silence until they see us. They let loose a roar and come surging forward, crowding around to welcome us back.
“Always getting in trouble,” Katsu says with an arm wrapped around my shoulders.
Jaime crowds in. “I’m sorry, man. I’m still not seeing straight from that shot to the head. I told Morning what happened as soon as she got here. I’m glad you survived.”
We bump knuckles. “Got lucky,” I say. “No sweat, man.”
As the noise settles down, Speaker steps forward and clears his throat.
“Emmett, I am glad to see you alive and well. I must apologize, on behalf of our entire society, for what happened here last night. It’s a mark against our hospitality that any of you were in danger.” He pauses meaningfully. “However, there is a clause in the Interstellar Contract regarding this. Babel gave us the right, in the event that they failed to protect you, to accelerate the timeline of moving you to Sevenset. We need to speak with one of your leaders.”
Morning nods over to Parvin. “Let’s get Requin on a call.”
It’s a surprise to see Parvin sporting the familiar, Babel-made glove that we all watched Kit use to control the station. Genesis 12 must have found it when they located West’s body. Jazzy stands at Parvin’s shoulder, talking through the floating interface. It takes them a few moments to figure it out, but a wall eventually retracts near the entrance to reveal the same kind of screen Kit used in our first conversation with Requin. Parvin sends off a message before looking back our way.
“I have no idea how long it will take,” she says. “For all we know, Kit put these requests in days in advance. I don’t even know when they’ll receive it.”
“We can wait,” Speaker replies. “Our guard is coming regardless, but we’ll remain inside the base until we can discuss the necessity to move on to Sevenset as soon as possible.”
The room takes a breath. Katsu mutters something about needing a mojito, and we all stare when Holly marches straight for the base’s makeshift kitchen. Katsu’s mouth hangs open.
“Wait …,” he says. “I didn’t mean you … I don’t think we even have ingredients!”
He pushes to
his feet and heads after her. My eyes flick back to Speaker and the other Imago. I hope they really have a solution for what’s happening to her. A second of eyeing Speaker is a reminder of what was so unexpected about Jerricho. I nod his way.
“My kidnapper was a woman.” My voice carries around the room. “We kind of thought there weren’t many women left. Based on what you’ve said, they live in the Sanctum, right?”
Speaker glances briefly toward the entrance. Bally and Beckway have taken an unconscious step forward, the news cracking across them like a whip. There’s a second where they all silently make sure they’re on the same page. Speaker takes a deep breath before looking back my way.
“Who was she? Did she give you a name?”
“Jerricho.”
Speaker lowers his eyes. I realize I’ve seen this kind of gesture before. Jaime did it, aboard Genesis 11. I must have dismissed it before because Speaker’s a different species—we were told the cues and the body language would be different—but he’s giving himself time to think. It’s the thing most people do as they dig down for the right lie to tell. When he looks up, that renewed confidence sits comfortably in his eyes. He spins gold for us.
“A staggering loss,” he says. “One of a handful of women remaining in our society. It’s senseless, really. Jerricho could have had whatever she wanted. I’ve never understood what might motivate someone to become a sling, but for a woman it is even stranger. I did not know her personally. I do remember that she was a warrior of some renown.”
He looks over to the other Imago. Beckway steps forward with a nod.
“She’s from the Seventh Ring,” he says. “Southside Battalion, a ranked duelist.”
Speaker weighs that. “Lucky, then, that the two of you are alive. It must have taken all of your considerable skill to bring her down together.”
Morning and I exchange a glance. She doesn’t mention the fact that she defeated one of their ranked duelists all on her own. I decide to keep my mouth shut about that too.
Nyxia Unleashed_The Nyxia Triad Page 15