Radicals (Blood & Fire)

by Frankie Rose

  “I think for the moment we need to figure out what to do with you, Kit. You’re right. It won’t be long before the guards come sniffing around. They’ll come in force. Probably armed to the teeth. That’s why I’ve decided to keep Opa’s people away for the time being. They’re safer with James. It’s probably wise to send you out there with them, too.”

  This is not good. I don’t want to be seen to be running from a fight. Especially since it’s one that I have caused. I open my mouth to object, but Ryka gets there before me.

  “I’m not leaving her, Jack. Not with James. And I’m not leaving you, either. We’ll just have to hide her.”

  “And what corner of Freetown do you deem hidden enough to conceal her, son? Where are you going to put her that will keep her from being killed, or worse, captured and dragged back to that arena?” Jack and I are on the same wavelength. It would be worse to be captured alive than being shot dead. Ryka chews his lip, for the first time looking uncertain instead of angry.

  “The guards would never defile the Keep.” He tries to look at me but can’t quite make eye contact. He must know. He must know how absolutely unacceptable his next words will be to me. “We could keep her there until the threat’s passed.”

  “Have you forgotten that the High Priestess is insane and wants me dead, Ryka? There’s just no way. Luca would have to come with me, and I’m not letting those witches anywhere near him.”

  “Just think about—”

  “No.”

  Ryka drops his chin onto his folded arms, looking away. I want to crouch down beside him. Try and reason with him. There is no point, though; it would be wasted breath.

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re here or there, Ryka. You’re still going to be helping Freetown. Kit is part of us now. So are all the people that you helped to escape. They need your leadership and protection as well as any of us.”

  I love Jack for his words, but even I know that’s not why Ryka wants to stay. He stands stiffly and wipes his hands on the back of his pants. “Freetown is Freetown, Jack. It’s where I was born and raised, but it also claimed my father and my sister. It’s not my first priority. My family is.” He rocks back on his heels, stands, and then turns, vanishing into the shadows of the night like a blown out candle flame.

  Do I go after him? I ball my hand into a fist against my chest, rubbing my knuckles into the hollow of my throat. I do this instead of reaching for my halo these days.

  “I used to think Ryka would struggle, y’know,” Jack says. His voice is low, a gruff whisper. “He was always so shut off from the world. I didn’t think he’d be able to care for someone the way other people do. All the emotion just seemed to have been beaten straight out of him. His father dying and his mother leaving…well, that damned near crushed the kid. After that he seemed so, well, flat, I suppose.” Jack stands up, grunting from the effort. He places his hands on my shoulders and smiles softly. “I know now that I was wrong. My grandson feels things very intensely. That’s why he can seem cold, or why he holds people at distance sometimes—because it’s the only way he can protect himself. Because the people he does let in, the ones he does let himself care for, Kit, they hold such a grave and powerful ransom over his heart.”

  A lump swells in my throat. Grave might be a very appropriate word at this rate. Jack takes a step back, holds me at arm’s length as if studying me. His smile finally develops into a sad kind of grin. “I need you to understand my grandson, Kit. You’ve become a part of my family, a part of Ryka’s family, and I don’t think you know what that means to him yet.”

  ******

  I can’t find that elusive blond-haired boy anywhere. I look everywhere, but he has the advantage over me. He really was born and raised here, and I’ve been floundering my way around the maze of walkways and muddy side alleys for a little over a month. I’m basically still clueless. I also don’t feel entirely safe. While Ryka and Jack may tell me that I’m a part of Freetown, the other residents don’t seem too happy about the idea. I’m met with angry stares as I navigate the dark tent city, stares that are even angrier whenever I pass through an area that suffered more than others under the Sanctuary’s attack. Bullet holes riddle the sides of tents no matter where I go, long, narrow columns of light spearing into the darkness at maddening angles, and I can’t help but feel like I put each one of them there personally. I’m really pushing my luck walking around without a bodyguard right now, and yet I have to find Ryka. I’m torn between continuing and going back to see if there’s been any change with Luca when I catch a flicker of light up on the horizon. It’s high up, a flash of blue and white in the darkness. There’s someone on the Holy Walk.

  I know it’s him.

  If there’s one talent I’ve been developing since arriving in Freetown, it’s how to move silently. I am a ghost as I make my way up the sloped pathway leading toward the Keep. I don’t make a sound. Ryka leans against the gnarled old oak tree that stands sentry on top of the rise before the Keep, his back pressed up against the trunk. The breath catches in my throat when I see the person standing in front of him.

  Caius.

  My head spins for a full second while I try to work out the scene before me, but then reality closes in and I realise that it’s not really Caius. It’s the projection from my holostick. Caius is the blue and white flashing light I saw back down in the valley.

  “…twenty-one years old! Haha. She won’t leave me alone. Opa says she’s sweet on me. The old man keeps putting me on watch with her. I think he likes the idea that I might end up with his niece. I keep telling him, though, I’m already taken.” Caius runs a hand through his hair, smiles in that lopsided, broken way that I was so used to but now seems to inspire an endless sea of guilt. The projection flickers, and then strengthens again. Ryka clenches his jaw but keeps watching.

  “I don’t think he’s very happy about it, but Opa and I have been working on a way of freeing you. I think it might just work. There are four days between now and the next matches. If it were up to me, I’d free you right now and have done with it, but Opa thinks we should wait ’til after. He’s right, I guess. We wouldn’t have enough time to help you detox and teach you how to handle your emotions. I had to fight ten days after my halo stopped functioning and I nearly gave everything away. The power of what we feel…” Caius shakes his head, troubled. My palms start to sweat. What the hell is Ryka doing up here watching this? I never re-encrypted the holostick after I figured out how to open it. There didn’t seem any point. I can’t work out if I should be angry or worried that Ryka is up here watching messages that I haven’t even had the guts to sit through yet. I’m mostly just confused. I make my way toward Ryka, and he lifts his eyes to meet mine. They’re beyond sad. He doesn’t seem surprised or guilty that I’ve discovered him in the midst of this strange pastime. I don’t say a word. I just sit down beside him. He puts his arm around me, and we watch.

  “Opa’s opened my eyes to so much, Kit. As a people, we’re taught never to question the Sanctuary. Never to question who’s behind the scenes, organising the fights, organising the guards, the technicians, any of it. Even the Trues don’t talk about it. The old man thinks half of them don’t even know who’s pulling the strings, themselves. It’s all done by secret ballot. The winner is never announced. Our council have been trying to uncover the identity of the Sanctuary leader for the past two years. It’s actually pretty funny. The best kept secret in the world, according to Opa. He thinks they’re pretty close to figuring it out, though. They have someone inside. Someone who wants to help.”

  A snapping sound makes Caius jump. He looks to his left, frowning. A second later he opens his mouth but another sound, louder this time and closer (the rattling of a door?) stops him. He doesn’t even say goodbye. The message cuts dead without another word.

  The noise of the night fills up the silence Caius leaves behind—chatter from below around the fires, cicadas chirping loudly, the river charging, still in spate from the earlier rainfall
. Ryka runs his fingertips lightly up and down the skin on my arm. After a while, he says, “I realise you might think this is weird.”

  “Maybe. Just a little.”

  “Trust me, I’m not up here doing this for fun. I just need to know what he knew. He was awake in the Sanctuary a lot longer than you were. If there’s information stored on here that’s going to help us fight back against Lockdown then I need to find it.” He pauses. The sound of our breathing mixes together, and our chests fall into sync, rising and falling as one.

  “Are you mad at me?” he whispers.

  “No.” I’m really not. The thought had crossed my mind, that there would be valuable information in Caius’ messages to me. I should have simply been braver. Ryka lets out a long breath and I know he was panicked. “You probably should just get Callum or Jack to sit through them, though,” I say. “It’s got to be…awkward, right?”

  He makes a soft huffing sound as he presses his lips against my hair. “Awkward’s one way of putting it.” He reaches for me and threads his fingers through mine, slowly rubbing circles with his thumb into the back of my hand. “Listening to Caius talk to you is a very cruel and unusual form of punishment. But I feel like I owe him something, too, you know. If he hadn’t done what he did, you wouldn’t be here now.”

  That’s true. But Ryka feels grateful to Caius for his death, and I only feel anger. He should never have done it. He should have just run himself, instead of embroiling himself in things he had no business investigating. Especially politics. “What do you make of what Cai was saying? The Sanctuary’s people don’t even know who their leader is. Not even a clue according to Opa.”

  Ryka ponders this, staring at the patch of ground where Caius’ ghost stood moments ago. “I don’t know,” he says eventually. “Hiding a figure like that, I imagine it’s not an easy thing to do. There’s always a chain of command. It would only take someone willing to follow that chain up high enough until they reached the top to see who was calling the shots.”

  “Why do you think they were even trying? I mean it’s not as though they could have persuaded whoever it is to stop what they’re doing. To end the fights and remove the halos.”

  Ryka sighs gently, turning and kissing the side of my temple. “I doubt very much they were going to ask him to do anything, Kit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they were probably gonna kill the guy, and they were gonna enjoy doing it. This person, whoever it is, has been dictating the lives and deaths of people within the Sanctuary for decades. Your friend definitely had reason enough to want to kill him. Who knows why Opa wanted him dead, but…I’m willing to bet it was loss. It’s always loss that drives people to kill.”

  I’m chilled to the bone, though the night isn’t all that cold. I feel rather naïve as I let Ryka’s words sink in. Of course they were planning to kill the Sanctuary’s leader. Nothing else would have resolved the problem. Only the drastic action of taking the man’s life would have put a final stop to the violence and the bloodshed. I just, somehow, never even considered that Caius would kill anyone after his halo had been removed.

  I’m drowning in my thoughts. So much so that when a loud shout from below yells, “Kit!” my heart races in my chest. It sounded like…like Olivia? The gentle chiming of bells floats up on the breeze to us. Then blonde hair flashing like quicksilver in the shrouded darkness that lies thick over the holy walk. I scramble to my feet. Ryka, too. He looks wild, like he’s going to barrel down the hillside and collide with the girl racing toward us. Could it be? Could it be her? But then I remember. Olivia doesn’t wear bells anymore. She wears red, head to toe, wrapped in red. Cocooned in it.

  Melody arrives, panting in front of us, and the jagged sense of disappointment that rips through me is overwhelming.

  “Kit! Kit, you’ve got to come!” Melody’s frantic, trying to catch her breath. She must have run the whole length of hill. Her cheeks are splotchy, her eyes round and bright and filled with warning. “It’s your brother. You’ve got to come!”

  All thoughts of Olivia evaporate like an extinguished flame. I grab hold of Melody’s arm. “What about him? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s James,” she pants. “He’s hurting him.”

  Ella had said James would make a grand entrance back into Freetown. I hadn’t for a second considered that she meant he would try to jam a knife into my brother’s throat. Luca is in trouble. There’s nothing like fear to put wind beneath my feet. I run so fast, I leave Ryka for dust. I can barely see by the time I race into my tent. Lack of oxygen makes my head swim, which is why I almost don’t believe my eyes when I catch sight of the scene playing out by Luca’s bedside. Ella is kneeling on the floor, calmly watching on as James, dark hair falling into his face, bends over Luca’s prone body…

  …with a dagger in his hand.

  Seven seconds play out like this:

  One:

  A startled yelp erupts from my mouth, and I leap across the room, grabbing hold of James’ arm. “What the hell are you doing?” He shoves me off him way too easily for my liking. A single breath—I’m off the floor and James is pinning me to the support timber of my tent. His chest presses up against mine, and he smiles. He damn well smiles.

  Two:

  “Hello, kitty cat.” His knife glints in his hand. I react. I jam my knee into the inside of his thigh and swing my elbow, connecting bone with his temple.

  Three:

  He staggers back, dropping me, which gives me room to pull my daggers from my knife belt. I spin them so the blades point toward my chest…

  Four:

  …and I punch outwards, a double fist strike with the heels of the hilts. They connect with his solar plexus, his rib cage. James collapses, but I’m on the floor before I can blink.

  Five:

  I wheeze as I try and pull back some of the air that just got knocked out of my lungs. James climbs on top of me and pins me with his knees, just in time for Ryka to run into the tent.

  Six:

  “Get. Off. Her.” Ryka’s knives spin, wheeling silver blurs. One sings through the air…impacts into the beautifully carved headboard of my bed right above Luca’s head. James lunges for it, but Ella screams…

  Seven:

  “Stop this!”

  I rush to my feet and point my blades at James. Ryka is at my side. His knife is out, too. Fury roils off him like smoke over water. “You’re going for my dagger?” he asks. His voice is utterly flat, as though he’s calm. But he’s not. He’s astounded. “You were really going for my dagger.”

  James smirks, touches the blade tip of his own dagger to his lips. “Pure reaction. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

  It takes me a second to remember why this is a big deal. If a fighter in Freetown disarms another fighter, even touches his weapon, the other is disgraced. Cast out. Made to leave Freetown for good. I itch to launch my fist into James’ smug face.

  “What the hell are you trying to do to Luca?”

  “Luca, is it? Hmmm. Strong name. I like it.” James doesn’t seem faintly intimidated. He sits down on the edge of my bed next to my brother, and I growl.

  “Easy, kitty cat.” He holds up his hands. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “How do you propose to help him with a knife in your hand?” Ryka spits.

  “By doing this.” James is quicker than me, a fact that will shame me for the rest of my days. He whips out a hand and slides the blade of his knife with a deadly accuracy under Luca’s halo. I daren’t touch the man by the time I get to him. He has sharpened steel against Luca’s windpipe, and I don’t want to annoy him.

  “You people have no faith. That’s the problem,” James muses as he edges the knife around my brother’s neck. I want to scream, but something else comes out of my mouth.

  “Please, James. Please.” I’m begging him not to hurt my brother. The smirk falls off James’ face and for a moment his eyes flicker to mine. His look—what is that look?—doesn’t last
long; his concentration goes back to Luca.

  Ryka tenses, points his dagger into the back of James’ neck. “Get away from him. Now.”

  “Just one more”—the halo around my brother’s neck snaps open, falling loose around his collarbone—“second,” James finishes. My jaw hangs open.

  “How did you…? Why did you do that?” I can’t decide which question is more appropriate. More important.

  James’ smirk is back in full force. “There’s a connector between the skin and the device. Here…” He reaches out and lightly brushes a fingertip across the skin of my neck. I’m too shocked to bat his hand away for a moment, and when I do it only seems to amuse him. “All you need to do is sever the connection and…voilà. Maybe you ought to share that piece of information with August. I hear you went through quite the ordeal to get yours off.”

  James saunters past Ryka, giving him a gentle tip of the head, although the etiquette is false and designed to grate. He shoots me one last look before leaving. “As for the why? Sometimes things meant to aid our causes are the ones holding us back.”

  They are the High Priestess’ words. This is what she meant? That Luca’s halo was hindering him, even though it was healing his body? I’m seconds away from chasing after James and demanding answers, but I don’t go.

  “Sister?”

  I can’t leave now. Luca is awake.

  ******

  I watch Ryka train by the edge of the river. It’s raining again. Water pours down his back, his chest, his face. He’s been a man possessed for the past three days, unwilling to listen to anything Jack has to say about leaving Freetown. Today, I have to make him listen. I’m soaked by the time I pluck up the nerve to go talk to him. I pull out a knife and make sure he hears me as I approach—I don’t want five inches of steel in my face. We start our training without needing to speak. He’s gentle with me to begin with, gentler than I think he should be, given that we’re training. I show him I’m not made of porcelain.