“Easy, fella,” came an unfamiliar male voice, heavy with a foreign lilt. Roark rifled frantically through the handful of accents he was familiar with. His formal education had focused very little on the outside world, and he had only ever met foreigners in passing. He was not familiar with this particular accent. He blinked, drawing the stowaway into focus.
He crouched in the corner of the truck bed, inches from the entrance. A hood covered his head. He shook it back to reveal long dark hair and darker eyes. He grinned, flashing blazing white teeth. “Hands where we can see them,” Roark ordered as Evie stepped up to stand beside him, her stingers sizzling in her hands. The rest of their comrades pressed against their backs, watching the scene unfold with bated breath.
The stowaway laced his fingers behind his head, still smiling up at them genially. The truck bounced when it struck a pothole, and a strand of hair slipped into his face. He shook it back with a huff. “Guess I need a haircut,” he chuckled. “You feel me, pretty boy?”
Roark tightened his grip around his revolver. “Who are you?”
“Jonah, just Jonah.”
Evie breathed in sharply. Roark flicked his gaze toward her, startled. Her jaw was set, her hooded eyes flashing in the electric glow of her weapons. “You’re Tovairin,” she said. Somehow, she made it sound like an accusation.
Of course. Roark kicked himself for not recognizing the accent sooner. Tovaire was the war-torn nation adjacent to Arexis, Evie’s homeland. He only knew what he had heard from Evie and her parents, that Tovaire had fallen into chaos after the war. That it was now run by bloodthirsty gangs funded by drugs and human trafficking.
“What are you doing here?” Roark demanded.
Jonah sighed, as if it truly pained him to be answering their questions. “Well, I was having a nap until the truck started moving about an hour ago, then you fiesters jumped on board.” His smile spread like a plague. “I get it was dark and all but, really? None of you noticed me?”
“This is why we should have gone first, Trip,” Terra snapped.
Roark tossed her a glance over his shoulder, passing a warning through his eyes. The blonde girl did not seem to sway despite the constant motion of the truck. She had drawn her largest knives, machetes that could cut through skin as well as bone.
Jonah pushed a low whistle through his lips. Roark turned back to him, his eyes narrowed. As much as he despised Terra, he hated the way Jonah was looking at her more.
“Look at you with those big knives,” the Tovairin noted appreciatively. “Someone take a piss in your coffee? Would it kill you to smile?”
Terra bared her teeth, twirling her blades with dangerous ease. “I would, if I was cutting out your tongue.”
The vicious words did not deter the rogue. Jonah chuckled, his eyes roaming up and down her body.
“Skitz … enough!”
Roark nearly lost his grip on his revolver when a blunt force knocked him aside. Evie steadied him as they watched Ronja take his place before the stowaway. She had drawn one of her stingers and held it before her like a sword, painting both their faces blue. Her hood was flipped back, revealing her onyx wig and searing green eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Tell us right now or this goes in your eye.”
Jonah sneered at the crackling end of the weapon. “Trust me,” he said, raising his eyes to her face. “I’ve had worse.” Ronja switched her stinger to her right hand and popped the top clasps of her overcoat. The branching knot of scar tissue over her heart was particularly prominent in the violent glow. The stranger arched a brow in surprise.
“You sure about that?” Ronja asked flatly, transferring her weapon back to her dominant hand.
Roark smiled. He loved how fierce she was. She was a river dammed only by skin, a devastating creature forged in hardship and suffering. Not a solider, a survivor.
“Feisty,” Jonah noted, leaning toward her. Even kneeling, the top of his head almost reached her shoulders. “I like that.” Ronja cranked back her weapon, twisting the handle so it blazed brighter. The stowaway flinched. “All right, all right, easy,” he mumbled. “I was just having a laugh.”
Ronja did not appear to find the humor in his words. When she spoke, it was with irrefutable authority. “Answer the question.”
“If I do, will you please put that down?”
The girl smirked, her eyes glinting with twisted mirth. Roark felt his mouth go dry. “Depends on your answer.”
Jonah huffed, shaking his long hair over his broad shoulders. “Fine, fine. We heard you were in a bit of a snare, so they sent me to see what I could do.”
“They?” Ronja inquired brittlely.
“Your old allies from yesteryear,” he drawled. “The great nation of Tovaire.”
19: The Kev Fairla
The engine coughed beneath them, fracturing the stunned silence. Ronja gaped at Jonah openly. He watched her with an unnerving combination of curiosity and conceit, his face dripping in the violent light of her stinger. She had heard him speak, but had not understood him.
Evidently, she was not alone.
“Wait, what?” Iris asked dubiously. Ronja glanced back over her shoulder. The surgeon stood on her tiptoes, bracing herself against Samson to see Jonah. She was the only one not aiming a weapon at him.
Jonah eyed her with swollen pupils, shaking his head in wonderment. “What is it with this city and beautiful women?”
“You’re not my type,” the surgeon replied tartly.
“Shame,” the Tovairin sighed. Evie made a noise reminiscent of a growl, her stingers blazing brighter as she spun the handles.
“You said you were sent here to help us. Elaborate,” Ronja pressed.
“But of course,” Jonah answered with mock sincerity. “I am part of a little group of Tovairins called the Kev Fairla.” He paused, waiting expectantly for a wave of recognition or excitement. All he got were creased brows and bewildered glances. He grunted, clearly hoping for a better reaction. “Well, maybe the Arexian has heard of us.”
All eyes switched to Evie. Trepidation sparked in Ronja. The techi did not look like herself. Warring emotions crowded her face, she looked half ready to brawl, half ready to vomit.
“Evie,” Iris said cautiously, pressing a gentle hand to her arm. “What is it?”
The techi swallowed, trembling visibly. “The Kev Fairla are a gang,” she said through her teeth. Her penetrating gaze never left Jonah, who continued to smile doggedly. “They murdered their queen decades ago and have been ruling in place of a real government ever since.”
“Sounds like you disapprove of our coup,” Jonah noted dryly. “You have to admit, Parish was insane.”
Evie continued as if he had not spoken. “Arexis and Tovaire have been at war since before I was born. They attacked us unprovoked.”
Jonah let out a harsh laugh, craning his head back. “That war ended years ago. When was the last time you were home, pestre?” Evie flinched. The Tovairin smirked. “Ah, did I strike a nerve? Have you ever even been to Arexis? Can you even read your own reshkas?”
Evie lunged, stingers snapping. Without thinking, Ronja threw out her arm to stop her. A familiar agony kissed her forearm, muted by her leather sleeve. A cry of shock and pain ripped from her chest as she clamped her hand over the smoking fabric.
The techi swore, backpedaling and holstering her weapons. “What the hell, Ronja?” she bellowed.
Ronja let her hand fall from her singed arm, glowering at the techi in the swaying lantern light. Roark and the others were gawking at her as if she had just sprouted a fresh ear in the middle of her forehead. Jonah was silent. She felt his eyes on her. If he was grateful for her intervention he did not say as much. “We have no idea who he is,” she said firmly.
“He just told us!” Evie spat.
“Not everything.”
Evie barked a laugh, looking around wildly for support. Everyone was either looking at Ronja or the wooden floor. “Ro,” the techi
pleaded. “You don’t know these people.”
“And you do?”
“Enough!” Roark barked, striking silence into their throats. The auto lumbered over another pothole, which Ronja barely registered as the shiny stepped up to stand beside her. Their eyes locked. They shared a nod, then rounded on Jonah. The rogue glanced back and forth between his captors innocently, his hands still resting atop his head. “At ease,” Roark said, jerking his chin at him.
“How generous,” the Tovairin said silkily, letting his brawny arms fall to his sides. He let out a sigh of relief, flexing his fingers and rolling his wrists.
“We’re going to ask you one more time,” Roark intoned. “What are you doing here?”
The Tovairin chuckled, a low rumbling that meshed with the hum of the engine. “What do you think? We want to help you take down that fiester you call The Conductor.”
Another wave of stunned silence rushed over the compartment, staunched only by the guttural hum of the engine and the whistle of the wind through the canvas. The Anthemites stared at Jonah as if he were speaking in his native tongue. He gave a bland smile, waiting patiently for their response.
“Why?” Samson finally broke the hush. Ronja glanced back at him. They had not spoken since their argument on the street. She had almost forgotten he was there.
Jonah straightened up, the humor wiped clean from his dark features. “Wow, you really are cut off. Time for a history lesson, I guess. Tovaire supported Revinia when you decided to break from Arutia during The War of the Ages. In return, you gave us enough ammo to win our freedom from Vinta.”
Ronja wracked her brains, sifting through her limited knowledge of the outside world. In school, they had only learned about one war, the one that caused the chasm between Revinia and its parent country, Arutia. This, she supposed, was The War of the Ages. She vaguely remembered reading about Tovaire breaking from Vinta in a contraband book she found in the Belly. Before she could recall why they left, Jonah spoke again.
“We owe you,” he said genuinely. “We heard this Conductor fella is a real piece of work. You helped us gain our freedom, we want to return the favor.”
Ronja felt the world tilt, and it had nothing to do with the rocking auto. She blinked rapidly to level her vision. Since being freed from her Singer, she had spent a lot of time thinking about the world outside the walls. It had never occurred to her to wonder how others saw Revinia. Did they know about The Music, about the mutts and the lies? Suddenly, she doubted it.
“You expect us to believe you came all the way across the ocean just to pay a fifty-year-old debt?” Roark asked doubtfully.
“Did I say that was the only reason?” Jonah purred. “Our organization”— He emphasized the word heavily, shooting Evie another scowl, which she returned full force. —“is low on weapons. Revinia is one of the last nations on the planet with a full arsenal. We help you take down The Conductor, we get half his weapons.” The Tovairin spread his large hands peaceably. “Sound fair?”
“Why not just make your own weapons?” Ronja asked doubtfully.
“Well, Tovaire is an island, our resources are pretty limited.” Jonah cocked his head to the side, considering her, as a blush crept through her makeup. “When was the last time you were outside your walls?”
Two months ago, she wanted to say, but she knew that was not what he meant. She had never crossed the Revinian border and he damn well knew it.
“The world is, how would you say it? Skitzed,” Jonah explained. His nonchalant manner was gone, replaced by an aura of bone deep exhaustion. Ronja had no idea if they could believe his story, but she got the feeling he was being candid, if only for the moment. “It all went downhill after The War of the Ages. While you’ve been sitting pretty behind your walls, the rest of us have been fighting for our lives.”
“What have we been doing?” Evie grumbled.
“The larger nations like Vinta and Lestradov have most of the weapons,” Jonah went on. “Vinta has been trying to reacquire us for years. We can only hold them off for so long.” He hung his head, his hair swaying with the motion of the auto. “If they storm our borders, our country, our culture, everything will be lost.”
Ronja cut her eyes to Roark, only to find he was already looking at her. He arched a thick brow inquiringly. She gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Why now?” Roark demanded, feigning immunity to the tragic tale. “You must have known you were running low for some time, why come to us now?”
Jonah chuckled morosely, lifting his head to look at them. “Smart boy, we have known for a while. About as long as we’ve known about the Anthem.”
It took everything Ronja had to keep her expression flat. She felt rather than saw Roark stiffen at her side. He opened his mouth to claim ignorance, but Jonah beat him to it.
“Save it,” he said, waving a callused hand. “Did you really think no one was going to hear about a band of freedom fighters in the most secretive city in the world?”
“Well … uhhh … ” Roark stuttered, for once at a loss for words. “Yeah.”
The Tovairin shook his head, a knowing smile twisting his mouth. “The deeper a secret is buried, the more people try to dig it up.”
“Stop dancing around the question,” Ronja snapped. “Why cross the ocean now?”
“We knew we needed the Anthem in order to take down The Conductor, but you hadn’t made any progress defeating him, even after all this time. There was pretty much no chance of us getting our hands on any of his weapons.” He paused, genuine excitement winking in his gaze. “Then we heard about the Siren.”
The auto rounded a sharp corner, causing those not holding onto one another to stagger. Ronja remained static as a pillar, scrutinizing Jonah through pinched eyes. “The what?” she asked carefully.
“Maybe you have another name for it,” Jonah said with an offhand shrug. “Probably something better than some bird from a fairy tale. The point is, we heard you got your hands on a powerful weapon.”
“You heard wrong,” Roark answered tightly.
Ronja glanced over at him, confusion and fear wrestling in her stomach. Why did he look so upset? The only siren she could think of was a wailing fire alarm. She had no idea how that related to weaponry or fairy tales.
Jonah looked Roark up and down. “Easy, fella. All we want is ammo and guns, you can keep your bird.”
“Excuse me,” Ronja broke in loudly. “What the hell is a siren?”
“A siren is myth. Half woman, half bird.” Ronja turned around, trusting Roark to guard her against the Tovairin. Terra was watching her boots intently. Her intense hazel eyes glinted in the lantern light. “Their voices can shatter empires, bring men to their knees.”
“How do you know that?” Iris inquired, shock ringing in her soprano voice.
Terra shrugged, then looked up at Ronja.
A chill sang down her spine as understanding clicked into place.
I will be your weapon.
Welcome to the Anthem, singer.
“Oh,” Ronja breathed. The sound was swallowed by a deafening screech from beneath them. She winced as the truck rolled to a stop, the high-pitched noise scraping her eardrum.
Roark holstered his revolver with a flourish, then spoke to the group at large. “What do we do with this one?” he asked, gesturing at Jonah as if he were a piece of luggage.
“I have an idea,” Evie answered at once, eyeing the Tovairin with disdain. “We kill him.”
Terra swept her blades across one another with a ringing whistle. “I like it.”
“No,” Ronja and Roark snapped in unison.
Iris spoke up, ever the voice of reason. “We treat him like we did Ma … ” She bit her tongue, glancing at Jonah suspiciously: “ … our last prisoner and put a bag over his head.”
“That may look a bit suspicious,” Jonah pointed out dryly.
Pitch, Ronja thought. He was right. Sneaking around in the middle of the night was dangerous enough, but if they
were caught with a prisoner, they were pitched. “We take him inside and lock him up.” She turned to Roark, abruptly realizing she had no idea where they were. “This place has more than one room, right?”
The boy snorted, rolling his eyes at the canvas ceiling. “Yes, it has more than one room.”
“Then we lock him in one and figure out what to do with him later.”
“And if he bolts?”
Ronja tracked the question to Terra. Her knuckles were bleached around her knives, her hazel eyes narrowed through her violet bruises. “Then you can do him in yourself.”
Terra cracked a smile. Static spouted from the radio Evie had tucked into her pocket, making them all jump. “Oi! You planning a banquet back there? Get out of my auto!”
20: The Warehouse
Terra was the first one out. Roark aimed to beat her, but backed off when she shot him a look that could curdle milk. The Anthemites waited in tense silence as she scanned the area, her silhouette quivering against the tan canvas. Finally, she summoned them with a low whistle.
Iris, Evie, and Samson leapt out next, landing on what sounded like wet gravel. Roark motioned for Ronja to follow but she shook her head, her eyes stuck on Jonah. The Tovairin pondered her with interest, still on his knees with his arms at his sides. “Something you want to say, loralie?” he purred.
Ronja bristled. She was not familiar with the word, but his tone was one she knew all too well. “Get up,” she ordered sharply.
Jonah complied with a groan. It was only then she realized how long he must have been kneeling. Ronja swallowed as he got to his feet, shaking out his legs. He was massive, taller than Roark and stronger than Samson. Even through his jacket she could see the outline of his powerful biceps. She fought the urge to take a step back.
Roark aimed his revolver at Jonah, glowering at him down the short barrel. “Ronja will go first, you and I will follow. If you take one step out of line … ” He gave the revolver an indicative shake.
Jonah barked a laugh, his dark eyes flashing. “Ever shot anyone with that, fella?”
Radio Page 12