by K A Riley
The arrows sail harmlessly past us into the night sky.
Dropping down into a sitting position, her legs extended in front of her, Branwynne slides along the curve of glass until she lands with light feet on a narrow ledge. Rain follows her with Lucid and Reverie sliding down right behind her.
I take one last look into the room where Noxia, a hint of an approving smile playing at the corners of her mouth, is gazing up at me while her Hawkers reload their bows and prepare to fire another volley. She gestures for them to lower their weapons, which they reluctantly do.
Whipping away from the dome’s opening, I slide down the glass to join the others on the ledge. From there, we leap over to the flat rooftop of an adjacent section of the cathedral. Then, it’s another slide down a broken marble column to the next level.
It would be a terrifying feat of gymnastics even with us at full strength and in broad daylight. As it is, we’re panting with terror and making our way down the towering, half-demolished cathedral with nothing but a meager glow from the moon’s reflection on the marble to light our way.
Branwynne, dressed in her all-red leather outfit, looks like a firefly as she flashes in and out of view, leading us along a chipped horizontal ledge, down the twisted remains of an old set of metal fire escape stairs, and onto the buckled rooftop of a lower section of the cathedral not more than ten feet off the ground.
She leaps down and comes to a feather-light landing with the rest of us plunging to the concrete walkway right after her.
“This way!” she cries.
And then she’s doing that gliding sprint into the darkness that has us struggling to keep up.
Rain must know about the vortex of dizziness and nausea churning around in my head because she hooks her arm into mine as we run.
I try to tell her, “Thanks,” but no words come out.
She must be reading my mind, though, because she says, “Don’t mention it” out loud as we fly through the city.
50
Discovery
After one last look back at the cathedral, the five of us don’t waste any more time as we tear into a stumbling, frantic sprint at top speed in the opposite direction.
Like before, Branwynne leads the way through the city, only this time, it’s in a far less careful burst.
With cheetah speed and the agility of a gazelle, she leaps over wide chasms in the road, skirts through collapsed buildings, and races down a maze of narrow laneways as the rest of us summon every bit of strength we have to keep up.
She races straight through the doorway of what look like the remains of the old hotel she was talking about. We follow her through the litter-filled lobby where it looks like a concierge desk, rolled up hunks of synthetic carpets, and a bunch of old furniture were collected in the middle a long time ago to make a fire.
Passing through the lobby, we head down a long, tight hallway with buckling walls, burned-to-ashes wallpaper, and huge holes in the floor we have to hurtle in the near-dark.
Bursting through the doorway at the far end, Branwynne comes to a skidding halt outside the building with the rest of us slamming to a stop behind her.
“Over there,” she says, pointing past a curved and jagged-topped wall of very old bricks and stones. “Past the London Wall!”
Even though segments of it are still standing, what Branwynne calls a “wall” is mostly heaps of crumbly, weed-covered brick we have to clamber over. The curved part of the wall has huge holes in it and looks like the last torched leftovers of an ancient civilization.
After the wall, we arrive at a line of huge steel letters, rust-edged and lined up on overlapping angles against the bottom halves of a line of pillars and a row of rubble.
Capturing and reflecting the flecks of moonlight, the bulky metal letters spell out, “MEN DOOM FLU ON US.”
I trace my finger along the top edge of the “E” as we pass.
“It’s an anagram,” Branwynne explains before any of us has time to ask. “This was the Museum of London.”
“The rendezvous point,” Rain explains to Lucid and Reverie. “We’re supposed to be meeting friends inside.”
“Let’s just hope the boys got here okay,” I mutter.
In a wary crouch, we slip past the big leaning letters and into the open, rubble-strewn lobby of the building. Much of the upper floors and ceiling are long gone.
It’s quiet inside. Hunks of plastic, singed paper, and assorted garbage have been pushed up against the walls by the wind. Otherwise, the expansive lobby is empty, and my heart sinks.
I’m about to let worry take hold when a rustle from the far side of the huge room grabs our attention.
Bursting in from the opening in the wall on other side are Brohn, Cardyn, and Terk.
Reunited, the five members of my Conspiracy rush into a clump in the middle of the lobby with Branwynne, Lucid, and Reverie looking on.
We introduce the boys to the twin Emergents. There are awkward greetings. We’ve never been in a situation quite like this so no one’s really sure how to behave.
Unlike everyone else we’ve met, Lucid and Reverie don’t appear shocked in the slightest when the Auditor introduces herself. They don’t try to spin Terk around, peek under his cowl, or ask us where the breathy, disembodied voice is coming from.
When Lucid looks straight ahead into space and tells the Auditor that it’s nice to hear her voice again, it’s like he’s been talking to her this way for his entire life.
Reverie notices our surprise. “The Auditor was our instructor and guide in the St. Paul’s Processor.”
“For several years,” Lucid says.
“Like I was for you in Chicago,” the Auditor explains. “In the Mill. Although for a much shorter time,” she adds with a light laugh. “I’ve lived in different parts of the global network for a long time. Mostly under control of the Patriot protocols. So what I could do…who I could be…was pretty limited.”
“You’re here now,” Reverie says, standing next to her brother and staring straight ahead into the same space. “That’s all that matters.”
I wonder if they know about the Auditor being a construct built by my dad and based on my mom.
A flash of movement from outside and the sound of giggling kids interrupts us, so I don’t get a chance to ask.
“Are we safe here?” Terk asks, his head snapping left to right and back again.
“It’s just Scroungers,” Branwynne assures us. “They won’t bother us.”
The only light source is the weak threads of moonlight seeping down through holes in the roof, and Branwynne says she can’t risk using her holo-light in the open like this.
“The Hawkers couldn’t follow us out of St. Paul’s,” she tells the still worried-looking Terk.
Rain gives me a playful punch to the arm. “Not the way we got out, anyway.”
Brohn asks, “How?” and Branwynne gives the boys a brief recap of our narrow and very perilous escape.
“Branwynne’s parents said you might be able to help us,” I say to the twins.
Cardyn’s eyes bounce back and forth between Lucid and Reverie. “We had a friend…”
Lucid and Revere barely seem to register what we’ve said as they slip out of their white leather jackets, which they drop to the dirt and sand-covered floor. Underneath their jackets, they’re wearing matching, short-sleeved white compression tops with thin lines of black trim along the seams.
But the most amazing thing about them, the thing that makes all of our jaws drop, is the intricate, decorative black lines, swoops, and circles covering their forearms.
Cardyn points from their arms to mine. “They have tattoos, Kress. Just like yours!”
Sure enough, my unique pattern of so-called tattoos—the ones my father implanted in my forearms as part of his universe-changing project—are suddenly not so unique. Although the exact patterns vary slightly, there’s no mistaking the fact that these twins and I have got to be connected somehow.
I w
ant to ask them about the tattoos, but I’m too stunned to form words.
“Where did you get those?” Brohn asks on my behalf.
Reverie’s only answer is a smile and an invitation for us to sit down.
Branwynne starts to object, reminding us that there are still Hawkers out there who could come storming in here at any second. “Other than the Tower, there’s no safe place in the city, no place they can’t hunt us down.”
Lucid assures her that this won’t take any time at all.
We look to Brohn, who shrugs and tells us he’s willing to risk it. “It’s why we’re here, right?”
I blush and tell him, “Thanks” as we all sit in a circle on large concrete blocks in the middle of what was once the museum lobby.
“We lived in Boston until we were about five years old,” Lucid begins. “I remember us being taken away in a military truck in the middle of the night but not much else. Not until the Processor.”
“Processor…” Terk mumbles.
“First in Missouri, I think.”
“Or Illinois,” Reverie says.
“Right. We were never really sure.”
“Could it have been the Emiquon National Wildlife Refuge?” Rain asks, her mouth open in anticipation.
Brohn, Cardyn, Terk, and I are also eager to hear Lucid and Reverie’s answer. As we discovered on our travels, Emiquon National Wildlife Refuge was the location of our original Processor, the one where we were trained, where we found out the truth about the Eastern Order, and where we lost Karmine and nearly lost Kella and Terk.
Reverie shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. We were pretty young. But not long after that, we were transported over here to St. Paul’s. It’s where we met the Auditor. We thought she was there to keep us imprisoned and under control. But she wasn’t. She worked against the En-Gene-eers. She helped keep us alive.”
“I wasn’t able to help them get out,” the Auditor apologizes. “Not like I did with you in Chicago.”
Reverie shakes her head and lets out a deep exhalation. “We were in there for a long time.”
“Until twenty minutes ago,” Lucid says with a grin in my direction.
Cardyn raises his hand, his eyes on Lucid. “You said you were born in Boston?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Kress was born in Boston,” Brohn tells them.
Lucid’s and Reverie’s eyebrows go up in unison. It would be an amusing moment of synchronized surprise if the coincidence of it weren’t so jarring.
Render barks out a gurgling series of kraas! from the fractured edge of the second floor where he’s flown up to watch over us and keep an eye out for Noxia and the Hawkers.
“He says we’re here together for a reason.”
Brohn, Cardyn, Rain, and Terk look at me as they realize it wasn’t me who said this. It was Branwynne.
51
Lyfelyte
I whip around to face her. “You can understand what Render’s saying?”
“No.”
“Then how—?”
“I can understand how he’s feeling. Kind of his general intention. Of course, I haven’t known him as long as you have, so…”
I’m torn. I kind of like knowing there’s someone else like me who can connect with Render like this. On the other hand, this is the only ability I’ve had in my entire life that’s ever made me special, and I’m not a hundred percent sure I want to share it.
Reverie leans forward, her voice low. “Did you ever hear of something…some place called the Lyfelyte?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Brohn exclaims. “But yes! The light that passes back and forth through some kind of membrane between universes. The space between waking and dreaming. We heard about it from our friend Caldwell back home.”
“Well, we need to go there,” Lucid says.
“Go there?” Cardyn snaps his head around, scanning the perimeter of what’s left of the museum. “Go where? I think we’ve done enough traveling for one lifetime.”
Brohn puts a take-it-easy hand on Cardyn’s forearm. “The Lyfelyte,” he asks the twins. “Where is it?”
Lucid and Reverie exchange a kind of conspiratorial glance before Reverie stands up. “It’s wherever we are.”
Reverie runs the backs of her fingers along her forearm tattoos and then reaches out and does the same to mine.
“What are they?” I ask. “What are they really?”
“They’re keys.”
Brohn’s voice is unusually soft. “Keys to what?”
“The Lyfelyte,” Lucid says. “Think of them as numbers in a combination lock.” He points to his own tattoos, then to Reverie’s, and finally to mine. “The Auditor found the Lyfelyte.”
“It’s what your father hoped I could do,” the Auditor says.
Lucid gives his tattoos a tap. “We need these to get us in.”
“And we need him,” Reverie adds, pointing up to where Render is watching us all intently.
I open our connection, and Render flutters down to perch on my outstretched arm.
Reverie instructs us to stand up and tighten our circle.
With the eight of us now pressed together, I flash back to when my friends and I were first taken from the Valta on the day we turned seventeen. There were eight of us then, too.
For a second, a trick of the light makes the lobby look like it’s glowing, like the walls and floor are moving. But when I blink, there’s nothing but a faded blue halo, probably filtered moonlight through the open roof, saturating the room.
“Should we hold hands or something?” Terk asks, his eyes darting nervously around our eight-person circle.
Reverie laughs. “It’s not necessary. The way we’ll be connecting is beyond the realm of physical contact.”
“Just as well,” Cardyn says to me out of the side of his mouth. “Who knows where their hands have been, anyway, right?”
I don’t close my eyes. At least I don’t think I do. But everything—Branwynne, Brohn, my Conspiracy, Render, the twins, the hotel lobby—it all goes dark as if I have.
When the blackness dissolves into substance, I’m standing with the others, only we’re not in the museum lobby anymore. We’re not really anywhere.
It’s like we’ve stepped into an unprogrammed VR world, only we’re not plugged into anything. And it’s not really a world. More like a barrier or a gateway, some kind of passthrough between worlds. Or between…universes?
It’s like an expanded version of the wall Branwynne magically transported us through back in St. Paul’s.
Whatever it is, we can see and sense each other as Render flies ahead, leading us through the galaxies of rotating and revolving orbs and into what Lucid tells us is the Lyfelyte.
We’re walking, but I don’t know what this surface is. It’s more like an absence of surface. I can’t feel anything underfoot. But we move on anyway, careful to ease our way around the swirling clusters of spherical orbs.
“Don’t touch those,” Reverie warns.
“Why?” Terk asks nervously. “Will they hurt us?”
“No. But you’ll hurt them. And they can’t afford to be hurt.”
“What are they, exactly?”
“They’re possibilities.”
Rain tugs on my sleeve. “Hey. I can tell which way they’re going to go.”
“Really?”
“It’s my Culling. I guess it works in here, too.”
“So where are they taking us?”
Rain shrugs. “I just know which way they’re about to go, not where we’re going to end up.”
We do stop eventually, and it occurs to me that I have no idea how much time has passed. What happened to our physical bodies? Are we still standing in the middle of the rocks and rubble of the hotel lobby? Have our travels in this strange place taken minutes? Seconds? Or have we been in here for a lot longer?
It’s a disorienting sensation, and I’m not sure how much more of it I can take when, up ahead, Lucid and Reverie come to a
stop.
Soaring in a slow circle around one of the marble-sized orbs, Render banks down, scoops it up in his beak, and lands on my shoulder.
The small sphere in his mouth glows a swirling yellowish-white against the pitch-black background we’re all half-standing, half-floating in.
I look from Lucid to Reverie, who nod to me like I’m supposed to somehow magically know what they want me to do.
Render’s voice slips into my head.
~ Take it.
He drops the marble into my open palm.
What is it?
~ It’s a possibility.
The Auditor’s voice sounds hollow and far away even though she’s still strapped to Terk’s back, and he’s right next to me. “The mind isn’t an observer of the universe. It’s a participant. At its best, when it’s clear and free from distraction, it’s a creator.”
I close my fingers around the marble, and the black void we’re all in swirls into a kind of pixilated cloud, which turns into irregular shaped clusters of more spheres, which I realize are morphing back into the rocks and stones of the museum lobby.
Enveloping us, Render stretches his wings across what remains of the expanse.
We watch as his wings blur from black to silver and tighten up before disappearing completely against his body.
His hacking calls give way to a smooth, even hum before all of his features fade.
The raven that was Render is now a silver and white jet, breaking through the bottom layer of low-hanging clouds.
Before our eyes, it glides to a jostling stop on a bumpy black tarmac behind a building.
It takes me a second to realize why the building is so familiar.
Shaking off the dizziness from the out-of-body experience, I snap back into the museum lobby and into a sharp, fully attentive focus. “It’s the Arrival Station. The one where we first came in yesterday.”
“Where we met Grizzy?” Brohn asks.
“Yes. We need to get back there. Now!”