Flashfall

by Jenny Moyer

  “Ready.” I stand, and he pushes me up, as hard as he can. My head hits something. I cry out, and instinctively catch myself, my feet splaying wide to hold myself aloft.

  “Rye!”

  “I’m all right.” I reach up, feeling the surface I whacked with my head. “It’s some kind of cover. Wait … there’s something wedged against it.” I try to make sense of what I’m feeling with my hands. “It’s a light stick!” I call, cracking the tube. Green light glows to life in my hands. My breath catches.

  “Is it a way out?” Dram calls.

  “I think so. Come up here. You need to see this.”

  I hold the light toward him, and it illuminates a pattern of hand- and footholds, carved by whoever made this last climb. They are just the right size for Dram.

  Step in my steps.

  I wonder if they are his father’s. Arrun Berrends may be alive somewhere on the other side of this cover. Alive, because he carved a path to freedom in the dark, with his bare hands and the bones of rebels before him.

  Dram holds himself below me. “What did you find?”

  I shine the light on the items attached to the cover. Reaching up, I pull down a bottle of water and pass it to Dram, then open a narrow pouch of foil with some kind of writing on it. “I think this is food.” I take a cautious bite, but I’m not used to chewing my food. My tongue explodes with foreign flavors and sensations. “Here—” I pass the rest to Dram.

  He makes a face as he chews. “What’s that other thing?”

  I tug down the folded card and open it up. “A map.” My eyes scan the words and then fly back to the diagram. I have to read the words twice more before I believe what it says. “Holy fire.”

  “Rye?” Dram shifts closer to me.

  “This tunnel doesn’t lead into the city. Alara’s thirty kilometers south.”

  “Then what’s on the other side of that cover?”

  I hand him the map. “Striders.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  0 grams flash dust

  DRAM STARES AT me like he’s looking for signs of flash fever.

  “Look at it.” I point to the diagram that shows a hoverfield surrounded by Strider barracks. “We’ve escaped to the Congress’s military compound.” We study the words on the page, as if they’ll make better sense the longer we look at them.

  “What do you think an ‘Inquiry Module’ is?”

  I shake my head. There’s no picture on the map, just dire warnings to avoid them.

  “So we may have to fight our way to the city?” he asks.

  “Or we go back and find out what the flashtide is.” Even now, my muscles shake from holding this cramped position. If we don’t go now, I won’t have any strength left for whatever’s on the surface.

  Dram looks down at the darkness beneath our narrow tube of dirt. There is nothing in that direction but death.

  When he meets my eyes, I’m wearing my resolve like armor. He nods.

  We set our hands to the tunnel cover and push.

  Using Dram’s hand for leverage, I slide up through the narrow passage. A tangle of weeds and underbrush covers our exit. A hand seizes hold of me.

  “Don’t speak,” a young man commands softly. Kohl lines his eyes, and his shaggy brown hair hangs past his ears. He draws me from the tunnel and guides me behind a wall before lifting Dram free and tamping the cover into place with his boot. I watch the man throw his back against the wall alongside us. Silver rings span his fingers, and he wears more pendants than I do. The knotted green sash at his waist jingles with tiny charms when he leans to peer around the corner.

  “Who are you?” I whisper.

  “Bade Imber,” he says. “And you, Subpar?”

  “Orion,” I breathe.

  “You’re charmed Congress didn’t pick up your movement,” he says in his thick Conjie accent.

  I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words.

  “Get down!” he whispers.

  A hovering metal machine whirs by. It hangs above the place we emerged, and a light, like a caver’s headlamp, radiates from beneath it.

  Bade draws his hand from his pocket, cradling a bit of dirt. He opens his fingers and a flame flares to life. My breath stops. I watched Roran conjure stone, but I can hardly believe what I’m seeing.

  “We’re slayed if it finds you.” He angles his hand, like he’s preparing to throw the fireball.

  The machine pivots slowly, and I realize it’s a miniature hover with a glass viewing shield in front. It glows from within, illuminating an empty containment capsule lined with metal clamps and arms.

  Fear penetrates my haze of shock. I thought nothing could be worse than the cordons. Perhaps this side of the shield offers no refuge, after all. The machine’s light clicks off, and it skims by, silent as a breath.

  “I think that’s an ‘Inquiry Module,’” I whisper to Dram.

  “Forget the machine,” he says. “What the hell is he?”

  Bade stretches his hand, and the flame dissolves. “Free Conjie.”

  “You can make fire?”

  A cocky grin lifts Bade’s lips. “It’s a rare talent.”

  “I thought you couldn’t conjure anything this close to the curtain.”

  “Not in this dirt,” he says. “Too much cirium. But my pockets are filled with the earth of the provinces, and it’s very much alive.”

  “How did you know we were coming?” I ask.

  “You set off a beacon when you entered that tunnel. One of ours.”

  “Bade!” A woman runs from the shadows. “They caught Vale and Asher—” Her words break off when she sees us. “You got them in time. Good.”

  Her beauty is startling, her green eyes so intense they seem unreal. Gem, my mind shouts, but she’s dressed like Bade and speaks with his accent. And her arm doesn’t bear a Codev, but a woven metal cuff that matches his.

  The woman studies Dram with equal intensity. “Bade,” she murmurs, “look at his face.”

  Bade narrows his eyes on Dram. “Who are you?”

  “Dram Berrends.”

  “Fire, he’s Arrun’s son!” she says.

  “My father,” Dram says, “he’s alive?”

  “He was before the Striders found us.”

  Arrun’s alive. I glance at Dram.

  “How do you know my father?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

  “He leads the resistance,” she says. “We were on a scouting mission, tracking the—”

  “Enough, Aisla. This could be a trick,” Bade says. “Congress could be using them—”

  “It’s not a trick.” Aisla lifts Dram’s green memorial pendant in her hand.

  Bade’s eyes widen. “You two are the first Subpars to find your way here in years. There’s a lot to explain, but there isn’t time now—we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “Striders coming,” Aisla says.

  Soldiers march past, herding two Conjurors toward a small craft. I stare at the Conjies’ hands. They’re covered in mesh gloves that look like woven links of cirium.

  “Binders,” Bade whispers, following my gaze. “Keeps them from conjuring until Congress can Temper them.” He glances at Aisla. “Can you fly the Skimmer?”

  “Yes,” she answers.

  “I’ll provide cover and get Vale and Asher. You lead the Subpars on.” They share a conversation in a glance. I feel like I’m watching Reeves and Lenore outside tunnel nine. He reaches into his pockets, and his hands come away streaming dirt.

  Aisla draws a gun. “Follow me.” She springs forward, clearing a path as we sprint for the craft.

  Fireballs blast past us, taking down Striders one by one. All at once, the ground erupts and thick vines burst up through the dirt, weaving a tight screen that shields us as we run.

  Dram leaps into the winged craft, and I follow, clambering into the cargo space.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” Dram asks.

  “To the mountain provinces, but I’m gonna try to lose them in the c
urtain first.” Aisla dives into the cockpit and flips switches above her head. The sound of turbines whines through the air, and the engines rumble to life. “Clear the door. I’m sealing her up.”

  Bullets spray the side of the craft, and I drop down, pressing my body flat. Vale and Asher leap inside, and Bade slips through just before the hatch closes.

  “Get moving, Aisla!” he shouts.

  Sirens erupt from the compound.

  The hover lifts, and Bade grasps Dram’s arm. “Your sister—is she still in Outpost Five?”

  “You could say that,” Dram replies, an edge to his voice.

  “Lenore died,” I say.

  Bade drags a hand over his face. The sounds of the engines roar around us. “You should know,” he says, loud enough to be heard, “your father never stopped trying to get you out—to free everyone trapped in the flashfall. That beacon you set off was his design.”

  “My dad was just a caver. A marker,” Dram says.

  “He’s more than that, Subpar. Strap these on.” Bade tosses us each a harness and pack and ducks into the cockpit. “Follow their lead.” He nods to the other Conjies pulling on gear.

  “What are these?” I call.

  An older man grins. “Parachutes.” He hands me a large wrist monitor. “Altimeter. Pull the cord at six hundred meters.”

  The craft streaks into the air. Cirium shields slide over the windows.

  “Hold tight,” Bade calls through the ship’s intercom. “This won’t be smooth.”

  I think of the hover rides I’ve had and tighten my grip. The Skimmer climbs, and I catch myself against the side of the hold.

  “I’m taking us up,” Aisla says. “We need as much altitude as possible before we stall out in the curtain.”

  “Hang on tight,” Bade says. “Curtain’s gonna rob our power for a sec—”

  His voice cuts off, and we plunge into darkness. Emergency lights come to life, bathing us in blue light. The ship wobbles, like it’s not sure which side it wants to drop toward.

  “Pull yourselves to the hatch,” the Conjie beside me says. “Hurry!”

  We move toward the back of the ship, our hands wrapped in the net along the sides. The Skimmer plunges and dives, and we make our way, hand over hand, to the hatch.

  “Prep your chutes,” Bade says. “I’m going to fire a pulse blast to shake them off our tail.”

  Vibration rumbles up through the floor of the craft, so loud that I feel it rattling my bones. Dram hauls me to my feet and checks my harness. My hands shake too hard to fasten the altimeter.

  “I’ve got it,” he says, securing the band around my wrist. A thundering boom shakes the Skimmer. He guides me to the floor, and we weave our arms through the net.

  The lights flicker back on.

  “Still on us,” Aisla says. “I’m gonna try to lose them. Hold tight!”

  I can’t possibly hold tighter than I already am. The ship climbs so fast, the force presses me to the floor with the weight of a cordon shard. Beside me, Dram groans. I feel like someone’s stepping on my stomach—then suddenly the pressure eases and we plummet.

  Dram and I grip the net as our bodies fly upward. I use every ounce of strength I have to hang on; the force of the pull wants to rip me free and plaster me against the ceiling. My eyes tear, and the pressure builds until I can’t take a breath without effort.

  “Lost them!” Aisla announces breathlessly. The ship levels out, and I gasp for breath on the floor of the hold, arms shaking.

  “Flash. Me.” Dram mutters.

  The hatch grinds behind us, opening slowly.

  “Don’t get too close,” Bade says. “Don’t want you falling out till it’s time.”

  I squint my eyes at the widening space. It’s …

  “Sky.” I scramble across the hold and clutch the net by the hatch. It opens fully, like a window over a world I’m seeing for the first time.

  “Flash. Me.” I whisper.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  0 grams flash dust

  WE MADE IT past the curtain. I can still hardly believe this one unequivocal truth. But the sky—big and blue and cloudless—fills my line of sight all the way past the mountains in the distance. The land stretches out in shades of green I never knew existed—grass and trees more vibrant than I ever imagined.

  In an instant, my life’s divided between what was before and what comes after. I lived in oppression on one side of the curtain, and now … I live.

  “We made it,” I whisper. Wind blows tendrils of hair against my cheek. My eyes water from staring so hard at the view.

  Without taking his eyes from the sight, Dram weaves his fingers through mine.

  “One last step.” My hand tightens on the strap of my parachute.

  Dram squeezes my hand. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

  We watch the ground shrink beneath us as the Skimmer climbs. My heart hammers against my rib cage. Can people really survive such a fall?

  “We’re almost there,” Bade says over the ship’s intercom. “Do you remember what I told you?”

  “Jump away from the hatch,” I call over the wind blowing into my face. “Arms and legs out.”

  “Pull altitude?” he asks.

  “Six hundred meters,” Dram says.

  “Good. And after you land?”

  “Ditch the chutes and head up the north face of the tallest mountain peak,” Dram shouts. “Use our names.”

  “Or your face,” Bade says. “They’ll take one look at you and know who you are. That works both ways, though—if Striders see you, you’re slayed.”

  I stare down at the valley hugging the mountain pass, trying to imagine myself gliding to the ground.

  “It’s time,” Aisla calls. “I’m emitting an exhaust burst to cover your jump.”

  My fingers dig into the metal door frame. “Dram!”

  He catches my face between his hands. The gauge on his wrist glows orange, ready to count down every meter that we drop. His eyes shine, lit with excitement. We’ve traded places. It’s like the neck of nine, only I’m the one frozen in fear. “I can’t—”

  “This is like the cliff before the second orbie pool,” he shouts over the wind. “How many times have we scaled it?”

  “Hundreds.” I shake so hard, my teeth chatter.

  “This is easier. Nothing out there wants to eat us!”

  “Dram…” How can he smile right now?

  “We’re doing this now. Together. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You need to go!” Bade shouts. “I’ll count it down for you. Ten, nine, eight…”

  “I’ll be right behind you, ore scout.”

  “… six, five…”

  I grip the sides and stare down at the ground. I will be brave. I will honor my mother and Wes—and Reeves and Lenore. I will finish what I started when I climbed the post above the tunnels and cut down the sign.

  “… four, three…”

  The Congress says we are nothing beyond the tunnels. They are wrong.

  I step to the edge.

  We are the fortunate ones.

  * * *

  I let go and jump.

  My stomach plummets. Air hits my body, pushing against me so hard I can’t breathe. I may never breathe again. My eyes shut tight, but I can’t remove myself from the horror of this fall that won’t end.

  That’s not right. I need to see. My wrist gauge. I’m supposed to check …

  Panic seizes me. Numbers scroll through my mind—429.21 grams; 3.7 milliliters; 22 hours, 19 minutes—but they’re not the ones I need.

  I free-fall, staring wildly at the numbers spinning on my altimeter. I try to find Dram, but he must be above me—I can’t see him. Has he already pulled his chute? Am I late?

  Fire oh fire oh fire!

  Coordinates spin through my mind, but I force myself to recall the only number that matters now.

  The ground rushes up at me. My arms and legs stretch out from my sides, and I drop through a layer of clo
ud.

  Six hundred meters.

  I glance at my altimeter: 552 meters. I pull the cord.

  My chute plumes, yanking my body. I finally take a full breath. Finally take my first good look at my landing area.

  That’s when I see the hover.

  TWENTY-SIX

  0 grams flash dust

  THERE IS SOMETHING about gliding to certain death. It’s serene and catastrophic at the same time. I run a list of possible escape options through my mind, but in the end, I’m powerless to do anything but float from the sky like a broken bird, right into the waiting circle of Striders.

  My legs buckle when I touch ground. I don’t even try to get up when the soldiers cut my pack loose. I press my hands into the grass, feeling it, sun-warmed and verdant, before they—

  I’m yanked to my feet with grumbles of “let’s go, Subpar,” and steered aboard the craft. I tip my head back, watching the sky as long as I can, for a last glimpse—

  The hatch shuts, sealing me inside.

  “Welcome back,” Cranny says.

  I make a sound of shock. How? my mind screams.

  “You’re running out of cordons to send me to,” I say, working to hide my despair. I collapse onto a seat.

  “The commissary sent me to collect you,” he says.

  A week ago, Cranny’s inflated self-importance would’ve annoyed me. Now I just feel empty. Where’s Dram? Did he make it?

  “You have a talent for survival, Scout,” Cranny says.

  I don’t trust myself to speak. Right now I’m wishing I had Bade’s talent for fireballs.

  “Alara has further need of your service.”

  “I would rather run toward the flash curtain.” I don’t recognize my voice. Steel laced with venom. Dram would tell me to tread lightly. He’d remind me that Cranny holds the power here.

  “Ah, defiant to the end,” Cranny says. “You’re not the one heading toward the curtain, though. We picked up Dram not far from here.”

  I thought I was beyond feeling. I was wrong. Anguish grips me. “What do you want?”

  “First, let me tell you what I’m willing to offer. Dram will be spared the flash curtain. He will be taken to Alara.”

  I’m glad I’m sitting. I feel like I’m dropping from the Skimmer again.