Haven 6

Haven 6 Page 27

by Aubrie Dionne

  Yes, but I can make it a bet­ter place. An­ger coursed through Striver as he dug his fin­gers into the steam­ing ash. Jolt. This was Jolt’s fault.

  Striver pulled him­self to­gether and stood up, yank­ing out an­other ar­row. Jolt had ali­en­ated him­self from the rest of the battle by blast­ing his co­horts into the un­known. He was un­pro­tec­ted. Growl­ing in an­ger, Striver barreled to­ward him with one pur­pose in mind.

  Jolt turned in his dir­ec­tion. Re­cog­ni­tion lit his fea­tures as he raised his gun. The end of the bar­rel shone red, re­flect­ing the flames around them.

  Striver had reached fir­ing range. He slowed and re­leased an ar­row just as Jolt pulled the trig­ger. A cur­rent of air rushed around him as Striver dove for the ground. The golden light tickled the hairs on his arms, miss­ing him by mil­li­meters. For a brief second, a gentle fin­ger of pla­cid peace brushed his hair, quench­ing the pain in his heart. Striver yearned to reach out and pull that feel­ing back, to live in it forever.

  Jolt’s voice brought him back to real­ity. “I’ll send you where I sent your brother.” The pir­ate aimed the gun at him and grinned.

  Hand shak­ing, Striver reached for an­other shot. The gun needed seconds to re­charge, and Striver only needed half a second to pull the bow back and re­lease his own power­ful weapon. Aim­ing for Jolt’s heart, he sent the shaft rip­ping through the air.

  Liv­ing in the Law­less lands his whole life had given Jolt the re­ac­tion time needed to step side­ways be­fore the tip hit. The ar­row slipped by, sli­cing through the leafy cov­er­ing of his shirt. A thin streak of blood blos­somed on his bare chest.

  He chuckled as if they tossed a ball back and forth. “Let’s play an­other round.”

  Golden light ex­ploded from the bar­rel, and Striver covered his head, closed his eyes, and rolled back­ward into a dip in the earth. The golden cur­rent passed over him again, call­ing to him like a song from his child­hood. Des­pite all his good sense, he opened his eyes. The golden swirls moved over him, dan­cing in the wind be­fore co­ales­cing into an im­age. A face. But not just any face; it was his father’s long nose and high fore­head.

  Striver’s eye­lids fluttered shut, block­ing it out.

  Soren’s tale was right. The golden li­quid brings back your past.

  But right now he wanted to live in the present to give Jolt what he de­served. Striver lay closer than Weaver had, and he’d coun­ted how long the gun took to charge. He had three seconds to make it.

  Striver stood and Jolt’s gun buzzed. One.

  He sprin­ted to­ward Jolt, kick­ing up ash. Two.

  Jolt’s face hardened into a frown, and he tried the trig­ger, but the cham­ber hadn’t reen­er­gized and noth­ing happened. Striver rammed into him, knock­ing them both to the ground. Three.

  Striver landed on top of Jolt’s hard chest, knock­ing the air out of his lungs. He grabbed Jolt’s neck with one hand, while the other bashed the pir­ate’s wrist into a rock, try­ing to loosen the gun from his grip. Jolt’s face reddened as he reached for Striver’s neck. He gripped Striver’s shirt, and the pir­ate yanked him down. Striver had braced his legs against the ground, and it kept his bal­ance. He smashed Jolt’s wrist into the rock again and the gun fell from his fin­gers. Striver kicked it into the flames, mak­ing sure that’s where it stayed.

  When Striver looked back, Jolt’s fist smashed into his face, knock­ing him over. Striver blinked, suck­ing in ash as pain ex­ploded in his jaw. Jolt squirmed out from un­der him and stood, look­ing for the gun. For­cing him­self up through the pound­ing pain in his head, Striver scrambled to­ward Jolt. His fin­gers slipped down Jolt’s leg and grabbed hold of his pants cuff.

  Striver jerked him back. “We’re not done.”

  Jolt whirled around and snarled, the scar on his fore­head pulsing with life. His pock­marked face gleamed in the fire­light. “You’re stronger than your brother. I wish you’d come over to my side in­stead of him.”

  Com­par­ing him to Weaver sent Striver over the edge. He yanked so hard, Jolt’s knee gave out, and the pir­ate tumbled on top of him. They rolled in the steam­ing ash, Jolt punch­ing and kick­ing. Striver caught Jolt’s leg as it came up to his stom­ach. He spoke through grit­ted teeth. “My brother was a good man.”

  Jolt laughed and ripped his leg from Striver’s grasp. “Your brother failed.”

  An­ger flowed like mol­ten lava in Striver’s chest. This man had led at­tacks against his vil­lage since Striver was a young boy. He’d ruled the Law­less like a greedy dic­tator, and now he’d taken Weaver away. In Striver’s book, that was one bad move too many.

  Striver and Jolt pitched down a hill to­ward one of the lar­ger fires. Jolt wrestled his way on top, and his hands closed on Striver’s throat. Striver pulled at Jolt’s wrists and the pir­ate tightened his grip. The fire danced in Jolt’s dark gaze as the corners of his lips curved up.

  “Now you’ll die, too.”

  Striver struggled to suck in air as he spoke in a raspy voice. “This one’s for Weaver.” He turned his body side­ways, pulling Jolt into the fire be­side them. The hot flames seared Striver’s face as they licked up Jolt’s back. Jolt screamed and re­leased Striver’s neck. Striver turned away from the fire as the pir­ate squirmed and rolled, try­ing to put the blaze out. The dead leaves he’d threaded in his clothes for cam­ou­flage fed the flames as the fire spread through­out his body.

  Jolt’s dy­ing screams did not sa­ti­ate Striver’s pain; they only ad­ded to the hor­ror of the battle sur­round­ing him. Empti­ness sucked a hole in his chest. Refuge seemed like a smal­ler, more bar­ren place without his brother. He could kill as many Law­less as he wanted, but none of them would bring Weaver back.

  …

  Eri pulled her­self to­gether and trudged up the ramp. Weaver had given his life for her to make it, and the least she could do was try. Tears streaked her face as she bolted through the fa­mil­iar cor­ridors and buzzed an el­ev­ator. She gasped back a sob, try­ing to calm her­self enough to speak with the com­mander as a per­son and not a blub­ber­ing mess.

  How am I ever go­ing to tell Striver?

  Weaver’s death was her fault. She was the one who’d lec­tured him about re­spons­ib­il­ity, play­ing the guilt card. She was the one who needed the di­ver­sion.

  The el­ev­ator beeped and the doors par­ted to an empty cor­ridor.

  Where is every­one?

  Fight­ing out­side in the battle or locked in their rooms hop­ing for the best? At least, that’s what she needed, be­cause someone had to help her gain ac­cess to the com­mander.

  Eri shot down the cor­ridor and buzzed the door panel, boun­cing on her tip­toes as she waited for a re­sponse. Aquaria’s face flashed on the screen, her eyes widen­ing. “Eri? Is it really you?”

  The sight of her sis­ter brought her com­fort she’d not had in a long time. She soaked it up, col­lapsing against the screen. “I need your help.”

  Aquaria rushed off screen to press the panel. “Of course. Come in.”

  The door de­ma­ter­i­al­ized, and Eri col­lapsed into her sis­ter’s arms. Aquaria smelled like soap and per­fume, all the lux­ur­ies Eri had left be­hind. Those smells used to be so nat­ural to Eri, but com­pared to the scent of real blos­soms they seemed fake, one di­men­sional, and de­riv­at­ive.

  Aquaria held her close, squeez­ing all the air out of her lungs. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “The com­mander blocked my com­mu­nic­a­tions, so I had no way—”

  Aquaria smoothed over Eri’s hair. “I know, I know. Litus told me.”

  “You know everything go­ing on?”

  “Litus has kept me in­formed since you res­cued him.”

  Eri breathed a sigh of re­lief. This wouldn’t take as long as she thought.

  Aquaria looked her up and down. “What are you wear­ing? You look as though you’ve
been tramp­ling in the jungle all this time.”

  Brush­ing dirt off her crudely knit clothes, Eri shrugged. “I have.”

  “Look at all the scratches on your arms, and your boots are torn up bey­ond re­pair. What’s this? A leaf in your hair! Come, sit on the couch. I’ll get you some wa­ter and an­ti­sep­tic spray.”

  “I don’t have time.” Eri slumped onto the couch. It wouldn’t be long be­fore someone emerged the vic­tor out­side the ship. But she had to take her time con­vin­cing Aquaria to help her break into the com­mander’s con­trol deck. She still didn’t know how deeply her sis­ter’s re­bel­li­ous streak ran, and she couldn’t have Aquaria turn­ing her in.

  Her legs ached and her cheeks burned from the flames out­side. She hoped Striver was all right.

  The plastic felt oddly sterile against her skin after sleep­ing on fern beds and the ground of Haven 6. She felt like wherever she touched, she smeared dirt. The room looked as though Aquaria hadn’t changed any­thing since the last time Eri vis­ited. The same holo­paint­ing of daises un­du­lated on the wall, and the plastic couch had a shiny green gleam. It was a dream in a chaotic world.

  “Non­sense.” Aquaria rushed back in with a bottle of min­eral wa­ter and a soy­wafer. Eri chugged the wa­ter and threw the wafer on a side table. As Eri gulped, Aquaria sprayed her arm and rubbed it down. “Litus has changed so much since you first landed. And I owe it to you, Eri. You’re the one who saved him from the Law­less. You opened his eyes.”

  “You know about our con­ver­sa­tions?”

  She nod­ded, fold­ing her hands in her lap. “Litus told me everything. How you bravely went back into the Law­less lands to save him and how you taught him to ques­tion what’s truly right for us as a colony.”

  Eri wiped wa­ter from her chin. The last time she’d had any­thing to drink was in the cave, sev­eral hours ago. “He loves you.”

  Aquaria nod­ded. “When he left, I was glad he was gone. I ig­nored his mes­sages when you’d landed. But as the days went by, I missed him. After you res­cued him and he fi­nally wrote again, I was so re­lieved. We’ve been talk­ing through our loc­at­ors every night.”

  Eri grabbed her hand, time press­ing in. “You have to help me if you want him to be safe.”

  “Why? What’s go­ing on?”

  “The people who res­cued us are fight­ing along­side Litus and his team, help­ing them beat the Law­less. But the com­mander plans to turn on them once the Law­less are de­feated. She doesn’t want our two so­ci­et­ies mix­ing. Litus will be stuck in the middle. He won’t stand for the mass an­ni­hil­a­tion, and there’s a chance he’ll be labeled for treason and killed with them.” Eri felt the weight of the world on her chest. So much of it was her fault. She’d con­vinced Litus to take her side.

  “Oh Eri, how can I help?”

  Eri’s thoughts flit­ted a kilo­meter a minute, and she had to calm them down to form co­her­ent sen­tences. “First of all, I’ll need a tooth­brush and a small makeup mir­ror.”

  Aquaria rolled her eyes. “That’s easy. What’s the hard part?”

  Eri breathed deeply. If Aquaria didn’t agree with her, she may have to fight her own sis­ter. “I’m go­ing to talk to the com­mander. If she doesn’t bend…” Eri touched her laser. “I’ll take over com­mand of the ship my­self.” She paused, gauging her sis­ter’s re­ac­tion.

  Aquaria looked as though she’d swal­lowed a large, bit­ter pill. Then she breathed deeply, nod­ding her head and glan­cing at the dais­ies be­fore her gaze re­turned to Eri. “I’m go­ing with you.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Eternity

  Blind­ing light.

  Weight­less­ness.

  Pro­found, all-en­com­passing peace.

  Weaver’s eye­lids fluttered open. The river coursed be­side him, wa­ter crest­ing around the rocks, spit­ting puddles of white foam. The rap­ids used to grip him with fear, but today he calmly tee­ter­ing over the banks. The spray had lost its icy touch, and the rocks were solid and level un­der his feet. The sun­light cast everything in a haze, and the world seemed muted, as if it were fi­nally at peace.

  A fish­ing rod lay on the rock be­side him, the dark lum­ber con­trast­ing with the gray stone. Weaver bent down and ran his fin­gers over the smoothed wood. A sil­ver grub­ber dangled at the end on a hook, thou­sands of legs wig­gling in the air. Re­cog­ni­tion hit him like a splash in the face. This is my rod; the one I’d lost that day when I tumbled into the freez­ing wa­ter.

  Hold­ing the lost rod in his hands gave him a sense of com­ple­tion, like he’d found the one item that had been miss­ing his whole life. Silly, it’s just a branch with a grub­ber at the end.

  A trot­ter leaped from the rap­ids, gleam­ing sil­ver-pink in the sun­light be­fore plunging to the pool be­low. Today was a good day for fish­ing. The slight angle of the sun and the chill on his arms as­sured him trot­ter sea­son was in full swing. The wa­ters were prob­ably littered with throngs of fat spe­ci­mens as they swam to­ward the breed­ing grounds in the lower plat­eau south of his vil­lage.

  But he never went fish­ing alone. Where was Striver? A cur­rent of un­ease shot through his gut. He’d been in­volved in some­thing be­fore this. Some­thing im­port­ant. Striver had been there.

  A high-pitched whistle echoed from up­stream, dis­tract­ing him. The call of a swil­low wisp, sweeter than any sound he’d ever heard. Think­ing about roas­ted wing made his stom­ach gurgle. Maybe he’d set a trap in­stead of fish­ing. Clutch­ing the rod, Weaver jumped from rock to rock up­stream.

  The swil­low wisp gazed at him with a skep­tical black eye and launched into the can­opy.

  Where there’s one, there’s more. Weaver scanned the banks for swamp reeds to tie into a trap. The rocks he stood on were bare, but a thicket of reeds sprouted farther up­stream. Weaver leapt dis­tances he’d never broached in the past. His legs stretched longer, and he landed with ease. Wip­ing his dry fore­head, he glanced at his shirt. No sweat. A trek up­river like that would have surely, in the least, quickened his heart. But today the muscle beat steady and calm. He bent down to pull the tough cas­ings from the reeds and they slipped off ef­fort­lessly in his fin­gers.

  It felt good to be do­ing some­thing he was fa­mil­iar with, un­like whatever or wherever he’d just come from. He thought he’d smelled fire and ash only a mo­ment ago, but the sweet lily pad blos­soms over­powered any scent from his memor­ies. Had there been a fire?

  Low hum­ming rode the wind. Weaver mouthed the words to the tune.

  Gentle, si­lent breeze

  Lift me up

  Where stars twinkle in the night.

  Where no walls di­vide

  Or laws abide

  Where no one needs to hide.

  Gentle, si­lent breeze

  Lift me up

  Where my heart reigns free

  Only then will I see

  How to live in har­mony

  And be who I’m meant to be.

  The song eased the wor­ries prowl­ing in the back of his mind. The hum­ming grew fainter and Weaver shot up, drop­ping the reeds on the rocks be­low.

  He fol­lowed the tune farther up­stream to the foot­hills of the moun­tains. The trees grew dense, and the river widened un­til he knew he couldn’t swim to the op­pos­ite bank. What did it mat­ter? The wall was on the other side. No one wants to go be­hind the wall, do they?

  A sil­hou­ette stood farther up the ri­verb­ank, a tall man cast­ing a lure with a fish­ing rod of his own. Weaver ran, and the warm wind pushed him along. The man turned and blinked as if he wasn’t ex­pect­ing to see an­other soul on that bank with him. Weaver froze, para­lyzed by dis­be­lief and hope.

  “Father?”

  The man stepped to­ward Weaver, placed his rod in a crevice between the rocks, and rubbed his thumb over the stubble on his son’s cheek. Search­ing Weaver’s fea­tures as
if he didn’t re­cog­nize him, his father whispered, “You’ve grown so much.”

  All these years, and his father stood not a minute older than the day he dis­ap­peared, with no ap­par­ent in­jur­ies to hold him back. Weaver felt be­trayed. “Where have you been?”

  “Wan­der­ing.” He spread his hands over the river ex­panse.

  Wan­der­ing? What kind of an an­swer is that? Weaver’s jaw tightened in an­ger. “While you’ve been fish­ing, Striver and I had to grow up on our own. Mom got sick, and you weren’t there.”

  His father nar­rowed his eyes, like Weaver spoke in riddles. “I’ve only just set out a while back.”

  “A while back? You mean ten years back.” Weaver felt a mix­ture of want­ing to put his arms around the man and hug him and want­ing to shake some sense into him.

  “Funny you speak of years, Weave.” Dad spread his hands out be­fore him. “I’m not a day older than when I left.”

  Weaver’s shoulders tingled as he real­ized what should have been ap­par­ent from the start. “You’re right.”

  His father put a hand on his shoulder. “Sit down, catch your breath. It looks as though you’ve been run­ning from some­thing.” Golden swirls danced in his father’s gaze.

  The scene of the battle rushed back to him. Jolt had hit him with his gun. The golden light had gushed around him, en­ter­ing his head and his soul un­til he couldn’t block it out, un­til the golden mist be­came part of him and he van­ished into its stream. He was in the place of non­time, the other di­men­sion Eri had talked about. But this wasn’t a memory.

  Weaver had never met his father like this on the up­per banks of the river. They al­ways came to­gether, fished to­gether, and left for home. Be­sides, his father would only no­tice his aged ap­pear­ance if…if he was the real deal.

  “You’re really here, aren’t you?”

  “It’s good to see you, son.”

  Striver had been right. He’d ar­gued with his brother over their father’s dis­ap­pear­ance all their lives. Weaver thought their dad had grown rest­less and joined the Law­less, while Striver re­mained adam­ant he’d never leave them if he could help it.

 

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