by Loren Walker
The sun framed Cohen’s bearded face. No smell of smoke or chemicals, just the faintest whiff of gunpowder, Phaira realized. He stretched out a hand for her. She took it gratefully.
“What happened?” Phaira asked, trying to see around him.
“It’s done,” he told her brusquely. “He’s down. They all are.”
VI.
A burlap sack covered Kuri’s head. He lay on his stomach, his hands bound behind his back, and three Toomba militia stood guard.
The three bodyguards were on their knees, their hands on their heads. Their eyes were dilated, faces flushed, and they kept asking: “What happened?” Whatever spell was cast over them, it was broken now. And Phaira could see why in the distance: white-blond hair spread out across the rocky floor, streaked with red. Marette was dead, shot through the throat, by the look of it.
“You’re bleeding,” came Vyoma’s scratchy voice.
Phaira swiped under her nose with the edge of her hand, catching a trail across her knuckles. Then she ran her thumb over one nostril, then again, sniffing to make sure the flow had stopped. The grandmother stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Phaira, surveying the fallout.
“You were impacted by that wave,” Vyoma said, her words cool and clipped. “You’re one of them.”
“We barely know each other, lady, let’s not start judging,” Phaira retorted. She closed her eyes for a moment. Her head was still ringing.
“I forgot that you had some Eko in you,” she heard Renzo from behind. “You all right?”
“What did you do?” Phaira asked, opening one eye a crack. He was looking at her with concern, peering at her over his glasses.
“Anandi did it,” Renzo said. He glanced back at the Arazura with an exhausted grin. “She just flicked the switch.”
* * *
The device sat in the corner of Renzo’s cabin, a jumble of copper and rubber, with a thousand wires and a hundred different angles. Phaira studied it from the doorway. When her older brother was assaulted and left for dead, half of his skull caved in, she would have never thought that he could create something so incredible again. But only a year later, look at what he did. What he was capable of. It felt strangely frightening.
“Combination of a high-pitch frequency and electromagnetic pulse,” Renzo was explaining. “That’s why Vy put you in the caverns; I told her to, to shield you all from the blast zone. I knew it would still impact CaLarca and Sydel, but muted, at least.”
Vy. The name rolled around in her brain. Were they that familiar? Was he really so quick to believe the old woman’s story, just like that?
“You did this in the last two weeks?” she asked.
Renzo shrugged. “Two powerhouses living on the Arazura; makes sense to have a failsafe. Especially with Sydel’s instability.” He gestured at the device. “We have this now, so if it happens again, we can shut them down. And I’m working on a portable version.”
Phaira winced. It sounded so robotic. And calculated.
“Don’t get touchy,” Renzo said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s just a means to disorient and negate NINE abilities. Like a larger, more targeted version of the HALOS. It’s nothing permanent.”
How can you be so certain? Phaira wondered. She touched the edge of her thumb to her nostril, remembering the blood.
“Anandi?” she called out. “Are you sure you should still be on the line?”
“It’s fine,” Anandi’s voice carried through the room. “Completely secure. And the arrest warrants were dropped on me and Father. I’m guessing that had something to do with you, Phaira.”
Phaira waved her hand, even though she knew Anandi couldn’t see. She didn’t want to get into it. “How did you know what was going on here?”
“I picked up on your conversation with Theron Sava,” Anandi said. “Since we ran out of Liera, I’ve been trying to track you all down; had a dozen algorithms running, waiting for some identifying characteristic to register. Then the Hitodama contacted me, asking about Lander’s condition, and I got to talking to a few of them, collaborated on some ideas over the past week. They were with me when you called Theron. And he wasn’t doing much to guard the connection, surprisingly. We traced it, hacked into the Arazura and turned on the speakers to the outside.”
“And when everything went crazy, and I couldn’t get to the Arazura, she bypassed all my securities and activated the pulse,” added Renzo, pride in his voice.
“How’s Emir?” Phaira asked, staring at the creation in the corner.
“Better,” Anandi said, her voice quieting. “It was rough for a while, but now that he’s settled, he’s improving every day.”
“Do you think - ” Phaira started, and then stopped. She looked at her brother. “You know Sydel isn’t well, right?”
Renzo shrugged again. “Clearly, but I didn’t know what to do about it. We kept her safe, at least. She hasn’t hurt anyone.”
“You want my dad to talk to her?” Anandi chimed in. “He’s worked with patients who have experienced trauma. Maybe he can give her some guidance.”
“Maybe,” Phaira said. “When things are fully resolved.” She glanced at Renzo. “But we’ve got a decision to make first.”
* * *
The Toomba tavern was closed to the public. With shades drawn, and chairs in a circular formation, the residents of the Arazura sat astride, straddling, or with ankles crossed underneath.
“Ozias wants him,” Phaira began. “I don’t know if they have the means to contain him. But maybe we just go the conventional route. Turn him over and wipe our hands of it.”
“I can’t believe you made a deal with law patrol,” Cohen muttered.
“I didn’t have a lot of choices, Co,” Phaira shot back. “And I was trying to protect you and Ren and Sydel.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for protection,” Cohen said. “I could have handled it on my own.”
Stung, Phaira glared at Cohen.
Renzo lifted a tired hand. “Can you knock it off until this is settled?”
“Kuri won’t stay in prison,” CaLarca declared. “Even if they build a custom cell, the other NINE may come for him. Shantou is still out there. And Zarek. And who knows who else has been recruited. If they are working with Kuri, they could hurt a lot of people in trying to set him free.”
“What are you suggesting, then?” Renzo asked. “That it’s better for everyone if he just disappears?”
“The offer’s already been made,” Cohen said gruffly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“Vy can make it happen,” Cohen said. “If we ask, Kuri goes into the mountains, and he doesn’t come out. Same with that blonde girl’s body. They deal with this kind of thing all the time. The law doesn’t mess with Toomba militia.”
“What about the bodyguards?” Renzo pointed out. “What if they talk?”
“They were being controlled,” CaLarca said. “They have no memory of what happened. They’re desperate to leave the mountain alive. They’ll do whatever we ask.”
Phaira glanced at Sydel, who stared at her hands. “What do you think?”
“Is that what you all want?” came her quiet voice.
“It’s not a question of want,” Renzo retorted, though his voice was kinder when he spoke again. “If we don’t make the right choice here, it could be disastrous.”
“Believe me, I want nothing more than to never see him again,” Sydel whispered. “Or see any of this again.”
“Nor do I,” CaLarca muttered, picking at her fingernails. “He’s a thief, a blackmailer, a kidnapper. But he hasn’t actually killed anyone. At least, not successfully.”
“So forcing me over the edge of a mountain doesn’t count?” Cohen shot back.
“Stop fighting, please.”
Cohen fell silent at Sydel’s voice. She looked calm, but exhausted.
“I’m done,” the girl said. “I don’t want Kuri to hurt anyone. Ever again. I vote for the mountains.”
“I
t’s agreed then,” Phaira said, after a long, awkward pause. “We get up and walk out and don’t look back.”
Everyone nodded. Chairs scraped across the wooden floor as the five rose to their feet. Then one by one, they shuffled out of the door.
All except CaLarca, who hovered, leaning hard on her cane.
Then she made for the backroom.
Wedged between barrels of ale and storage crates, Kuri was bound to a chair, his head slung with a metal HALO loop, and, by his request, his head still covered by that sack. The HALO was disrupting his Eko ability, and by the look of his liver-spotted hands, his Nadi, too.
His head tilted at her entry. “Come to say goodbye?” he asked, his voice muffled through the burlap.
Her cane made a loud rap on the floor. “I want the truth, Kuri. What did you do to me in those two weeks?”
She heard snorting.
“I could just split open your head and pull out the memory,” CaLarca warned him.
“Nah, you won’t do that. Who knows what else you might see in there.” There was something sinister in the way he said those words.
But she had to ask him. “Is my family alive?”
Kuri chortled, a slight wheeze in his breathing. “I know nothing about that. I’ve been with you, remember?”
“Then who burned down my farm?” she demanded. “I saw the satellite images. Was it Shantou? Was it someone else you manipulated? Why did you do it?”
His hands gripped the armrests. The wood squeaked under his fingers.
“You pretend you can’t remember,” he murmured, “but I know the truth. After Kings, you were inspired. You loved using your gifts again. You loved going into people’s minds, like that silly Hitodama hacker’s. You were so proud of your idea to get close to Sydel, so eager to help Shantou, and Marette, all of us. In the whole two weeks, you didn’t mention your family, or home, not once. I think you were glad to be rid of them.”
Shaken, CaLarca stepped back, her teeth on the brink of chattering.
In a burst, she yanked the sack off his head.
Yelping, Kuri turned his face into his shoulder. She glared at him, taking in the sagging, pockmarked cheeks, the melanoma patches along his forehead.
Then she limped out of the room.
* * *
“What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“You said it yourself, Oz: Toomba has its own rules,” Phaira said into the Lissome. “He’s not where we left him, and no one is talking.”
“Don’t call me Oz. And we made a deal.”
“The deal was that I would track him down and contact you,” Phaira pointed out. “You chose to send no backup, no support, so don’t blame me for losing him. I’ll come in for debriefing, and tell you what I know.”
Inspiration struck her. “And I have information on the remaining NINE. If you’ll fund the expenses, I’ll do reconnaissance overseas.”
“What are you doing?” Renzo mouthed from across the Arazura common room.
Phaira waved her hand to shut him up. “There’s at least two other NINE out there. I have leads. I’ll uncover whatever I can and bring it straight to you.”
Suddenly, Cohen was next to Phaira, bent over to speak into the Lissome. “Detective Ozias,” he boomed. “I’m Cohen Byrne. Just so you know, I would have been happy to talk to you about Kings. If you still have questions, I’ll answer them.”
“Your sister put in a lot of effort to protect you from me, Cohen,” Ozias said with surprise. “You’re waiving that protection?”
“I never asked for it,” Cohen said.
Phaira held her breath, and her hurt in check.
Ozias was the one to break the silence. “At the moment, Cohen, I think I have the information I need. There’s a lot of processing to do. I’m glad you’re willing, however.”
“If you change your mind,” Cohen said, “I’ll be in Toomba.”
Renzo and Phaira glanced at him. Cohen continued to look down at the Lissome.
“Noted,” Ozias said. “And Phaira? Let me see what I can do.”
“Yes,” Phaira said. “Thank you.”
The connection broke. All three were silent. Cohen glared at them, his back stiff, his chin held high and his arms crossed, as if waiting for a scolding.
Then Renzo’s shoulders slumped. “If that’s what you want, Co,” he said, his voice exhausted. “Stay in Toomba.”
Something shifted in Cohen. “Don’t be sad about it, Ren,” he said, sounding a little like his old, bashful self. “I like it here.”
Really? Phaira wanted to protest. With all these mountain men, in the cold, in the middle of nowhere?
But she just nodded. “It’s your choice,” she managed. “You’re an adult. As much as we forget sometimes,” she added with an apologetic note.
“What about Sydel?” Renzo chimed in. “I doubt she’s sticking around here.”
Cohen shrugged. “She’s got her own issues to deal with.”
Curious, Phaira peered at her little brother. His eyes were moody and far away. She kept silent.
“Wait a minute,” Renzo interrupted, looking panicky. “If you’re staying in Toomba, and Phaira’s going on a search, then it’s just going to be me and those two girls in the Arazura?”
He looked sick at the prospect. Phaira couldn’t help but laugh. Even Cohen cracked a smile under that heavy beard.
“Not me,” came Sydel’s quiet voice from behind. “I’m leaving.”
Everyone turned. Sydel had changed into a brown woven dress, with a blue wool jacket belted over. A satchel was slung over her shoulder. Her copper hair had been trimmed, so it was at least even. Her features were sharper, more pronounced.
She doesn’t look like a scared teenager anymore, Phaira realized. She looks like someone to be reckoned with.
“Where?” Phaira finally asked.
Sydel smiled faintly. “I’m going to serve as caretaker to Emir. And when he recovers, I’m going to serve as his medical apprentice.”
“When was this decided?” Renzo exclaimed.
“Just now,” Sydel said. “He called me, and suggested it. I think it’s a good idea. It’s who I really am. Not all of this….”
She trailed off, averting her eyes.
“I want to go back to traditional medicine,” she finally continued. “And I’m officially retiring my abilities.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Renzo exclaimed.
“I do,” Sydel said. “I want to build a regular life, without Eko, or Nadi, or any of it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I just need to get down the mountain and find my way to Emir.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll take you wherever you need to go,” Renzo interjected.
Still, Phaira saw the furrow in his brow, and Cohen’s bunched forehead, even felt the tension in hers. She just assumed that in the end, they would all be together again in the Arazura. But what could anyone say? They were all destined to separate, at one time or another.
“Well,” Phaira broke the awkward silence. “I guess we should get going.”
“You be careful with Ozias,” Cohen said to Phaira gruffly. He hesitated for one moment, one long moment, before he crushed Phaira in a hug with those familiar, heavy arms.
“You watch out too,” she whispered into his ear. She wished she could say even more than that. She wished that he was still the boy who listened to everything she said, that she could ask him to stay with Renzo in the Arazura, that he could see that they were better together. Safer together.
But she bit her tongue, and let him set her back on the ground.
Renzo and Cohen embraced, Renzo slapping him on the back. “Call me if you need anything,” he told his younger brother. “No matter what.”
Sydel was gazing at Cohen, her hands clasped in front of her, her thumb tracking the other’s nail.
“We should - ” Phaira whispered to Renzo, gesturing at their cabins.
“It’s okay,” Sydel told them. “I don’t mind if you
stay.”
Cohen slowly turned to face her, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar nervous gesture. “I hope you… figure out what you need,” he said to Sydel. “Emir is a good guy.”
“I want you to know that I’m sorry for the way I acted,” Sydel said. “I was afraid, and confused, and not in my right mind.”
Did Phaira see a flush underneath his beard? “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I worry,” Sydel said quietly. “I never want to hurt you. Ever.”
“I know, Syd. It’s okay,” Cohen muttered, as one boot scuffed the ground. “I’m sure we’ll catch up at some point.”
Sydel’s face fell, just a little. Then her expression settled into calm resolution. “Of course.”
Oh no, Phaira groaned inwardly. Dammit, Cohen.
But her little brother was already striding to the Arazura’s exit. Just before the stairs, he hesitated, looking back at the three of them.
“Goodbye,” he told them.
“Goodbye,” they repeated.
VII.
The pyre burned orange and yellow, with the occasional spark of green. The body’s silhouette showed through the flames. Staring into the fire, Cohen swore he could smell burning flesh. He had to remind himself, again and again, that it was an illusion.
Vy had suggested the mock-service in memory of his father. It was how they dealt with the dead in Toomba. There were no fancy transports or burial grounds, just the burning of the body, the smoke joining the clouds, the ashes in the wind. She showed him how they built straw facsimiles of the dead, complete with head and limbs, to serve as stand-in. It happened more often than he might think, she told him; living in the mountains often brought sudden disappearances. She was skilled in building the straw body, binding the joints with rope with her gnarled, strong hands.
“I did this for your mother,” she told Cohen. “When I learned of her death. The ritual helps.”
In addition to the burning, words were to be said about the deceased. But Cohen didn’t know what to say.