Nyxia Unleashed

by Scott Reintgen

  Another click and the water stops. I’m drenched and gasping and not at all ready for the blast of air that comes next. Ten seconds later I’m completely dry and remarkably clean and smelling a little too much like Moms.

  Wary of setting something else off, I backpedal slowly. Everything’s a threat now. Lean the wrong way and I might get flushed out to sea. I’m a few steps clear when I hear:

  “Oh.”

  I whip my head around to see Morning, eyes wide and the deepest red fighting up her neck and her cheeks. She should look away, but she doesn’t. I cover what I can, moving away from her slowly. “I think I found the shower.”

  She laughs, but the noise is drowned out as the shower activates, flattening me again.

  Morning sits with me on the balcony. There’s no mention of the embarrassing moment in the shower, but she’s still flushed and half giggling. Endless ocean stretches out below us. To our right, hundreds of ships toss at anchor.

  It’s beautiful, but my eyes keep finding their way back to the strap of Morning’s tank top and the hip peeking past her jeans. She grins when she notices.

  “Hey, I didn’t come here for that,” she says. “It’s time to run the details. This is what I used to do with Anton. Walk through the scenarios. I want to see through your eyes, think with your brain. Let’s break everything down. The less surprises the better.”

  “About Babel?”

  “About anything.”

  “Right,” I say, thinking back through it all. “Let’s start with Rahili.”

  “Suspicious as hell,” Morning mutters.

  “Requin didn’t have to send us there,” I add. “He could have confirmed she was alive on his own. The confirmation was a ruse, but to do what?”

  “Plant something? Bug something?”

  “Requin needed us in range of her or the base. That’s all we know.”

  Morning chews on one nail, eyes out to sea.

  “Right. How about the Imago?”

  “Speak says there are only twenty women left.”

  Morning nods. “Which confirms Longwei’s theory. It’s not about physical reproduction. They can’t reproduce because they’re running out of women.”

  “And that means they’re going to die out, doesn’t it? Why would Babel push to get all of this done right now if they can just wait fifty years or so?”

  “Defoe and Requin,” Morning says simply. “Do they strike you as the kind of people who are willing to hand off the inheritance of all their hard work to the next generation?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Back to the Imago,” she says. “They’re long-lived. Their average life span is way longer than ours. But you’re right. No matter how you swing it, this is the last generation.”

  I’m still navigating through the details. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why bring us?”

  A knock at the door startles both of us. Morning raises one eyebrow, wondering if I was expecting someone. We step back in from the balcony as Parvin peeks inside.

  “Sorry, hope you’re decent, but, Morning, we need to talk.”

  Morning stands. “Sure, come on in.”

  “This is more of a show-and-tell. I need you to look at some of the readouts we’re getting from Corporal West’s glove. I’m mining some very interesting data from Corporal Rahili.”

  Morning glances at me. I wave her on. “Catch me up later.”

  She ducks out after Parvin. I stand, trying not to feel restless, and decide to find company. I take one of the lifts and roam into the second-story courtyard. We still have time before the Gripping Ceremony, so I’m thrilled to find Katsu lounging in one of the chairs. We’ve had time to get used to walking around without our nyxian masks, but I’m struck for the first time just how much he looks like a kid. He sits there, quiet, enchanted by the ocean waves.

  I take the seat next to his. “Nothing like vacationing on an alien planet.”

  He smiles over. “Agreed. Too bad the service in this hotel sucks.” I laugh as he rattles an empty glass and calls out to no one, “Another mojito! Now!”

  “The hell is a mojito?”

  “No idea,” he says. “Saw it on a TV show.”

  We both laugh. “How are you doing, man?” I ask. “Hanging in there okay?”

  He shrugs. “Better than you. I didn’t get kidnapped. And I don’t have a pregnant girl acting like she’s a bounty hunter or something. If there was a scoreboard, I’d be a few thousand points ahead of you.”

  I don’t want to talk about Isadora, because I don’t want to think about Roathy and Bilal and Loche and Brett. “Can you imagine?” I ask. “Five million people and just twenty girls.”

  Katsu raises both eyebrows. “Stiff competition. I couldn’t even get a date in Tokyo.”

  “Do you miss home?”

  It’s a question I ask myself every day. Detroit was beautiful, the way a flower is beautiful right before it’s about to die. Some days, I wake up and don’t ever want to go back. Other days, I can’t figure out why I decided to leave in the first place. I wanted to make my life there better, but things haven’t really worked out that way.

  “Tokyo?” Katsu scoffs. “Hell no. I hated that place. Why do you think I came here?”

  “For the money, I guess.”

  “Yeah, and that turned out well.” Katsu looks down at his hands like he’s never seen them before. He’s quiet for a while before he says, “You think we’ll make it back to Earth?”

  Another question I keep asking myself. Another fear that’s eating me alive.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “You heard Morning’s recording.”

  “Pretty messed up.”

  “More than messed up,” I say. “Babel’s playing God.”

  “Playing God? Sounds about right. They have all the power, they do what they want, and they don’t give two shits about us. I’d say Babel’s putting on quite a convincing performance.” He slams his cup down on the table. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Long after he’s gone, I’m still chewing on his words. At least they’re honest.

  Still, I don’t believe them, even if I don’t have much of a reason to believe in God. Too many nights without food. Too many times taking Moms to the hospital. I can’t recall extra blessings or catching breaks. There was never enough of anything. I know people had it worse, but I know a lot of people had it better too. Then my big break comes, and what has it gotten me?

  Kaya’s dead. Bilal too.

  Even if Babel weren’t lying through their teeth, I’d go home with a million dollars and still have a closet full of ghosts. It’s like, no matter which planet I’m on, deity isn’t all that interested in me.

  But that can’t be all of it. It just can’t. One thing’s always bothered me. My whole life’s been rough, but somewhere I picked up the idea that it wasn’t supposed to be that way. I don’t know where I learned about justice, when I started thinking I deserved something more. There’s a part of me that knows, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that the world is supposed to be better, more.

  And if there isn’t some God out there working behind the curtains, then I don’t think I’d have much reason to hope it will ever change. I can’t make heads or tails of the feeling, but I’m glad that a small part of me hasn’t given up. Kaya would be quick to nurture that part. Bilal would tell me it was always there. I’m glad for any reason to hold on to hope.

  “Emmett?” Speaker stands by the entryway. “The Gripping Ceremony will begin soon.”

  I nod and follow him down. The whole procession waits outside our barracks. We’re a strange mix. The Imago in their tight tunics and showy jewels, and then all of us rocking the closest thing we have to street clothes. A bunch of plain tees and jeans. It’s been a while since we’ve been outside a Babel uniform, and the effect is freeing. I tr
y to catch Morning’s eye as she walks, but she’s halfway through an animated conversation with Parvin.

  Everyone’s excited and talkative, well rested for once. I end up trailing the group, walking in step with Longwei. He doesn’t turn away or march faster. He matches my stride and nods a hello. We arrive at a columned building, and a pair of heavy arched doors is thrown open. The room we enter looks half courtroom, half coliseum. A gray gravel pit surrounded by stadium seating. The Imago lead us down the polished hardwood steps, across the first hardback pew, and into uncomfortable seats.

  Our escorts take their own seats in the row behind us. Boots sound, and a company of soldiers files inside, filling row after row. Longwei nudges me, and my eyes are drawn from the forming crowd and back to the gravel pit.

  At center, two nyxian boulders have punched up through the dirt, two or three meters high. Neither has been polished or shaped, but it’s impossible not to see the crude outlines of dark thrones. Around each, four hip-high columns have been constructed. They’re equidistant from the dark chairs, connected by dusty black shackles.

  My stomach turns uncomfortably as Holly is led out. A whispered word from the guard has her taking a seat on the throne to our left. She doesn’t resist as a pair of Imago patiently attach the shackles to her wrists and ankles.

  I swallow again when I spy movement at the back of the room. A prisoner is led forward by more soldiers, followed by General Gavelrond. Our gracious host has donned a golden tunic that shivers with its own light.

  The prisoner’s skin has faded to a dead color; his ribs are carcass thin beneath a scarred chest. He stands before us and doesn’t say a word as the soldiers chain him to the stone chair beside Holly. It’s a slow, deliberate process. One chain for each hand. One chain for each foot.

  Even before Gavelrond begins the explanation, I know I’m about to see something horrible. On my left, Alex’s hands are trembling. Longwei’s knuckles have gone white as he keeps a death grip on his chair. We can all feel the darkness hovering just out of sight.

  Holly sits in perfect stillness. Her eyes are dark pits, her posture straight. She looks a little worn by the constant drive to do the next task, but otherwise she’s healthy.

  My eyes flicker back to the Imago prisoner. I realize that whatever is left of this man is about to be taken from him. I don’t know how I know and I don’t care why. I feel like my own hands and feet are chained to the floor. A sideways glance shows that the same horror is snaking its way through the entire group. How do we leave without offending them? Is this really something we want to see?

  The chains rattle as Gavelrond steps forward. He stands before us like a lawyer would before a jury. My stomach turns again. Will we decide? Is that why they brought us here?

  “You’ve seen our order, our discipline,” Gavelrond says. “Easily one of the most important aspects of any army, any soldier. Aside from personal skill and ability, the only other aspect I teach and instill in every man I’ve trained is a hunger for justice. A desire to see the crooked made straight. The Daughters appointed us to be the upholders of the law in Sevenset.”

  The general gestures back to the chained man. If the prisoner recognizes that all eyes have swung to him, he doesn’t show it. Soldiers stand sentry at each of the four columns, their palms pressed to the surfaces as if to keep them from flying away.

  I do not want to be here.

  A vision of Kaya’s throat, streaked red. Karpinski kneeling before me and the blade at his neck, which looked more alive than he did. Bilal going cold in space.

  The room feels alive with dark things.

  “This man is guilty of murder,” Gavelrond continues mercilessly. “For that crime, our punishment has always been the same. He must be Gripped to the Eternal Tasks. We pray that the Maker will count his final days as a first penance for committing such an unspeakable sin. We also pray that when he is unmade, the Maker sees fit to re-form him by some better part, some better moment, some stronger passion than that which caused him to take another’s life.

  “It is less common, but we also ask that your friend be restored. This trade has been arranged. We will hand over the guilty to restore the innocent. Send one being into shadow to bring another back into the light.”

  Gavelrond turns back to the prisoner, and his cloak whips around his shoulders.

  “Do you have any last words, Seafind of the Third Ring?”

  The name pulls the man’s eyes up. They’re the quietest shade of blue I’ve ever seen. He stares at Gavelrond. I can just barely hear the words he speaks.

  “I am more than what you will make of me.”

  When Gavelrond doesn’t reply, Seafind retreats into darkness.

  “The rod and reproof bring wisdom,” Gavelrond says, and the words echo to me in Defoe’s voice. He was the first one to speak those words to me, to teach me what they mean. The rod answers for past mistakes; the reproof instructs future action.

  “Before these witnesses, let the Gripping Ceremony begin.”

  Air is sucked out of the room. All four chains lift from the ground on their own, stirring and writhing like serpents. I can’t tell if the guards are manipulating them or something else is, something deep within the nyxia. The prisoner doesn’t react until all four chains go tight. His whole body goes rigid and his eyes widen. Something takes hold of him, and we watch as he tries not to let it destroy him from the inside out. The screams come. Loud and shrill and as horrible as I could ever imagine any sound being. The chains rattle and his body twists inhumanly.

  On his right, Holly sits motionless. Her dark eyes do not blink. She’s a statue.

  A weight enters the air, a presence I can’t ignore or escape. The force grows and moves and shakes the walls, hungry and aware. I almost flinch when Alex takes hold of my hand and grips it hard. I’m left breathless; so are the others.

  There’s a moment when Seafind’s screams go silent. His head bows, and there’s a perfect stillness to the room. And then Holly gasps back to life. She takes in ragged breaths and stares down at the chains rattling around her wrists. Her eyes flick up to us. They’re green again, bright and full of the life we thought she had lost. She leans back in the chair, and tears start to fall down her face. It takes her two seconds to start sobbing uncontrollably.

  “I want to go home. Please, I want to go home.”

  Parvin and Morning are on their feet. Both look desperate to get down to Holly, but the ceremony isn’t complete. One by one, the chains around Seafind release. The guards rush forward, relieved to be unstrapping the chains. We all watch as Seafind lifts his head, and it’s not hard to see he’s no longer Seafind. The blue has left his eyes, replaced by black pits.

  “Seafind of the Third Ring has been Gripped to the Eternal Tasks of the Maker. From this day forward, he will know nothing but the justice to which he’s been bound. Go and find someone to serve.”

  Gavelrond steps aside as a door beneath us opens. We watch Seafind walk forward, steps steady and determined. He doesn’t look left or right, up or down. He goes, and the silence of the crowd devours me. The only sounds are Holly’s quiet sobs, and retreating footsteps on gravel. We listen until we can’t hear them any longer.

  Gavelrond looks up at us, hoping for signs that we’re pleased, but what he finds in our faces has him worried. Morning and Parvin leap the barrier, land hard in the gravel pit. Both of them help Holly out of her chains, sweeping arms around the terrified girl.

  The rest of our group looks lost.

  Our possible allies have shown a darker side. We wanted Holly back, but we didn’t know it would happen this way. They call this justice, but it’s still a reminder that every blade has a side that’s sharp. We were hoping to wield the Imago like a weapon against Babel. Today is a reminder that we forgot to inspect what kind of weapon we had in hand.

  I file it away under D for Doub
le-Edged Sword.

  It takes a second, but I’m the first one to rise. Longwei’s face is a nightmare. I’ve never seen so much emotion from him. Alex wipes away tears. I look down the long row of friends and family. I force my voice to be loud enough for all of us.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “Come on. Everyone up.”

  Morning and Parvin guide Holly out of the pit. One by one, the Genesis crew follows my command. An entire procession of Imago watch us carefully. Speaker stands near the back, looking concerned. Gavelrond’s watching from the arena, speechless.

  They realize they’ve made their first miscalculation.

  I lead our march through the dark halls.

  Outside, the sea smells like it’s dying.

  Speaker tries to understand. “I thought you wanted Holly returned to you.”

  “We did,” I reply. “We just didn’t know what it would cost. I mean, do you do that to people on the regular? Send them into the same darkness Holly had to live through?”

  “Seafind will move through Sevenset in service to all,” Speaker explains. “If someone asks him to perform a repair, he will attempt it. If a soldier asks for his help in lifting supplies into a boat, he will attempt it. The Gripping punishment is reserved for those who will not choose redemption on their own. He will live the better life he refused to choose for himself.”

  The entire group stands together in the streets of the Seventh.

  “He’s forced into it,” I say. “It’s not real redemption if he can’t choose it.”

  That answer frustrates Speaker. “The Gripped are all around us. Less on the Seventh than elsewhere, but they’re a pivotal part of our society. Imagine the cruelest in your world transformed. A man who would have chosen to murder again will help build homes, repair bridges, sweep floors. Even you have been helped by them and did not notice.”

  I stare back at him. “Who?”

  “Journey,” he says. “The guard who served drinks before we entered Sevenset.”

  The thought turns my stomach. There was something strange about him, an absence.