Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series)

by J. Barton Mitchell

  Show us, they implored. Show us again.

  Mira knew they wanted her to picture the Nexus, the beam of energy the dying one had shared with her. She understood why, but she was too tired. It was unsettling how much effort it took to constantly push back the Assembly, to focus through them.

  Show us. Show us. Show us. Show—

  The projections stopped as they were overwritten by a more commanding presence, one whose colors glowed brighter than all the rest. She recognized the way those colors wavered in her mind, the same way she distinguished all the individual patterns of the Assembly.

  It was Ambassador.

  The others moved away as it approached. Ambassador was making them give her space, both physically and mentally. She opened her eyes and saw the huge, silver, five-legged Brute standing over her, its triangular eye bouncing back and forth as it studied her.

  Guardian …

  Thank you, she projected back, enjoying the peace and the silence.

  Mira still didn’t understand Ambassador’s role here, why the others seemed to relent to its command, but she guessed he was some kind of “noble,” much like the green and orange Royal who had pursued Zoey into the Strange Lands. Apparently, that status counted for something, even among rebels.

  You have questions, Ambassador projected. It must have been obvious.

  Mira did indeed, one in particular, an obvious one. Why do you fight for us if the cost is so high?

  Because we do not believe, was the predictably cryptic answer.

  In what?

  In the Scion. In the Ascension.

  The first of those, she understood. The Scion was what the Assembly called Zoey, but the other was an unknown.

  Imagery burst to life in her mind, and she shuddered as it ripped through her. Image after image, telling a story, just like when Ambassador had explained the Nexus.

  Mira watched as the now-familiar wavering, golden energy fields of the Assembly burned into someone she didn’t recognize: a woman with blond hair, beautiful, like an older version of Zoey. The woman’s eyes opened … and instead of irises or pupils or even the black, spidering trails of the Tone, they were filled with bright, golden light. The view pulled back to reveal more people, many more, millions probably, their eyes all glowing just like the first.

  Someone stood at the top of a huge, monolithic black structure, staring down at the hosts of people below, like a queen observing her subjects. This grand image below filled that person with feelings. Excitement. Pleasure. Triumph.

  That person was Zoey, standing at the very apex of the Citadel, and the feelings were hers.

  Mira’s eyes snapped open, her heart racing. That’s what Zoey was to them? A way to … be human?

  Ambassador read her thoughts. Human is irrelevant, it told her. They will never be trapped again. Never without form. They sacrifice much. They sacrifice who they are.

  It was fascinating and terrifying at the same time, but it still didn’t answer her question. What do you want?

  To stop the Ascension.

  Something dark occurred to her then, something frighteningly obvious. If Ambassador and the silvers wanted to stop the Assembly’s plan so much, for whatever reason, would they be willing to kill Zoey to do it?

  The feelings that exploded from Ambassador were nothing short of horrified. It even took a crunching step backward. She is the Scion. She will Ascend us.

  To Mira, it sounded like a great contradiction. “But you just said…”

  She will Ascend us, Ambassador explained, but not how others believe. The Scion will make us whole. Make us as we were meant.

  Mira sighed and shook her head. She didn’t understand, the concepts were too foreign, too … inhuman. All she knew was that Ambassador wanted to stop the horrible vision it had just shown her, and, it seemed, save humanity from a horrible fate. Beyond that, whatever else it thought, at least it was on Mira’s side.

  Her next question came almost subconsciously. Are you dying too?

  The giant machine looked back. We all cease to be.

  Mira smiled. “How philosophical of you.”

  The machine rumbled its strange, distorted sound, and while Mira was sure it wasn’t the alien’s version of a laugh, she did feel a lighthearted energy from it.

  We are fading, it confirmed. We have little time.

  Mira was surprised at the emotion she felt, a deep sense of regret and sadness, and it was hers, not Ambassador’s. It occurred to her that the alien had been here, with her, in one way or another, longer than any of the others. She’d come to rely on it, more than she knew.

  How long? she asked.

  Days.

  Mira’s eyes closed tight. “Then that’s it? Then you’re dead and gone and so is everyone else?”

  There is time, Guardian. We will win.

  “How?” she demanded. It seemed impossible. Something about the alien’s nature, its inhumanity, its inability to judge or chastise her, allowed her to be more honest with it than with Dane or Dresden or even Holt. “Where we’re going they outnumber us a thousand to one!”

  Because we fight as one.

  Mira frowned, thinking that was certainly an optimistic appraisal.

  The others will not, it explained. They acknowledge Mas’Shinra. But they will not fight as one. It is their way.

  Mira thought she could see what Ambassador was getting at. He was saying the different clans would fight them separately, one at a time, not as one giant force. Still, it didn’t particularly give her much comfort. How does that help? The sheer numbers of just one clan are—

  The Electives.

  Mira knew Electives were what Ambassador called each clan’s specific and unique abilities, and she had seen firsthand how varied they were. The blue and whites, the Mas’Shinra, favored a balanced approach, heavy and medium walkers. The reds preferred heavy armor. Mas’Erinhah relied on stealth and speed, and Ambassador’s clan, Mas’Asrana, seemed designed for strength and close-quarter fighting.

  Even so, she still didn’t understand. How do the Electives help?

  They are by design, it answered. To prevent dominance. No one Elective is superior.

  Something about that made sense. The answer occurred in the form of childhood memories. “It’s like Rock, Paper, Scissors.”

  It wasn’t a surprise, the confused emotions that came from Ambassador.

  Rock. Paper. Scissors, it projected questioningly.

  “It’s a game,” she said. “Each player picks one of the three, and each one can beat one of the others. It’s … kinda hard to explain, actually.”

  Scissors, Ambassador projected instantly.

  Mira stared at the machine oddly. What was it—?

  Rock.

  Mira sighed. The alien was trying, unsuccessfully, to play the game. “No, we have to do it at the same time. Otherwise I can just—”

  Scissors.

  “Ambassador…”

  Rock.

  Paper.

  Paper.

  Rock.

  The projections were suddenly coming from all around her now, from the others, not just Ambassador. She could feel their inquisitiveness, their fascination at the idea, simple as it was. Mira just groaned in frustration.

  “Forget the game!” she yelled, and the projections ceased. “You’re saying our group has an advantage, because it’s more than one Elective fighting together at once?”

  Correct.

  “If we only face one clan at a time,” Mira said to herself, “even outnumbered, we have a chance, because more than one Elective trumps a single Elective.” She could feel the beginnings of something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. But it was dim at best.

  You will see, Ambassador told her.

  Mira didn’t argue, she just hoped it was right. Instinctively, she looked westward, toward the beacon of light in the night sky. It was closer now, growing brighter every day.

  The Nexus, Ambassador said.

  It took a moment for the w
ords to sink in. When they did, she looked back at the machine in surprise.

  “That beacon is the Nexus?”

  Each clan carries a remnant. They blend in orbit.

  Mira stared back at it in a different way now. It’s beautiful.

  Ambassador rumbled its distorted, electronic sound, as if in agreement.

  Do you think she’s okay? Mira projected. It was clear to both of them whom Mira meant.

  She is the Scion, Ambassador stated, as if that should explain everything.

  Mira lay all the way back and closed her eyes, exhaling a deep breath. The incessant pushing and prodding entered her mind again, clamoring for her attention.

  Show us, they pleaded. Show us again.

  Mira smiled at how childlike they really were. The Assembly, the great conquerors of Earth, were nothing like what most survivors believed.

  It is not necessary, Ambassador told her.

  It’s okay, she thought back. I don’t mind.

  She remembered the image of the Nexus, focused on it, fanned it brighter, and let it blend into the thoughts of the others, letting it fill them. Waves of rapture flowed over her from the entities, and Mira soaked it all in. Tomorrow, yet again, the feelings of anxiety and loneliness would return and threaten to overpower her, but that was tomorrow.

  Rock, Ambassador projected again.

  Scissors, projected another.

  Mira laughed. Why not?

  “Okay,” she said, as the other machines gathered around her. “I’ll teach you.”

  18. WE DO NOT MOURN

  MARSHALL, AMBER, EVERETT, STONEY, Mira recited in her mind, over and over.

  She and Max stood inside a human circle of White Helix, two thousand strong, which wrapped around in a giant loop the dusty flatland Dane had chosen for the funeral. It needed to be flat to hold the pyres, and be big enough to contain the White Helix as one large group. It was no easy task to find the right spot, and Conner had seen it as a waste of time, but she insisted. It was the least Mira could do.

  All told, they had lost one hundred and seventeen Helix. A large number, but nothing compared to the almost six hundred that died during the escape from Currency. Mira prayed it was a trend that continued.

  She stared at the hundred-plus small funeral pyres and the bodies wrapped in charcoal gray linen that lay on them. It was a reminder of not just the loss of life, but that it had occurred, many could argue, because of her.

  Cynthia, Jonathon, Harrison, Mikhael …

  This was her first White Helix funeral. She hadn’t been invited to the ones for Gideon and those who died at the Severed Tower. The second, after Currency, had been when she was still unconscious following the battle. Mira wasn’t sure she would have gone anyway, the sight of all those dead, of the travesty …

  This time, she had to. She wanted to see them, to never forget the repercussions of what she and Holt had begun.

  Bashir, Tomas, Coakley, Sumi …

  She asked Dane for a list of their names, the ones who had fallen, and he had obliged, even though it confused him. For the Helix, death was not something to lament, it was simply a fact of their lives, but she wasn’t White Helix, and she never wanted to forget the sacrifices people had made. So she memorized the names, one after the other. If she could remember their faces too, she would, but she hadn’t even met all of them.

  Brendan, Attila, Destiny, Margaret …

  The fallen had been arrayed with their feet pointing toward the northeast, toward what had been the Strange Lands. Next to each pyre stood the fallen’s Doyen. If the Doyen had lost more than one of his Arc, a close friend stood in his place, and they held the Lancet of the fallen warrior. The deceased’s rings were still on his or her fingers, and they would burn with the body.

  Dane stepped forward, the hot wind ruffling his wavy hair. Mira could sense the attention of thousands of Helix turn to him. They saw him as their leader now, and it was a weight he bore the best he could.

  “There is only one thing we must learn,” he said, reciting the traditional words, “one last thing. Tell me.”

  “To face death unflinchingly,” the crowd of Helix shouted.

  “We do not mourn the fallen,” Dane continued.

  “We do not mourn the fallen,” they chanted back.

  “We honor them.”

  “We honor them.”

  “For they have made us stronger.”

  “For they have made us stronger.”

  Dane nodded, and for just a moment, his gaze moved to Mira. She may have been the only one who could really see the conflict in his eyes, but that was for the best. The others needed to see him as strong.

  “There are not more than five musical notes,” he recited, “yet the combinations give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.”

  Mira flinched as those who stood next to the pyres, all at once, snapped the shaft of the fallen’s Lancet over their legs.

  “There are not more than five primary colors, yet in combination they produce more hues than can ever been seen.”

  As she watched, they placed the two broken ends of the weapon underneath the pyre, so that the crystals touched, and then moved away quickly. When Antimatter crystals touched, the reaction was violent.

  “There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet they yield more flavors than can ever be tasted.”

  Each pyre burst into flame, and depending on the crystals, they burned in a variety of colors—mixes of red, green, and blue that lit up the dusty plain as the sun continued to set. As beautiful as the sight may have been, for Mira, it elicited only sadness.

  Taylor, Sawyer, Sherman, Harris …

  “We are strong. Together, we are stronger,” Dane finished.

  The Helix, as a group, knelt to the ground, their heads bowed, feeling the heat of the flames. Mira kept her eyes on the pyres, on the colors, unable to look away.

  “There will be more to fall. We will grow even stronger. But we do not mourn.”

  “We do not mourn,” the Helix chanted.

  Max sat next to her patiently, studying the colored fire, but making no sound. He and Mira watched with the others until they disbanded, moving back toward the Landships. They had only observed the flames a few minutes, but such was their way. Like Dane had said, they did not mourn.

  Mira stayed, ignoring the heat from the colored flames. Her body was covered in sweat, the heat almost unbearable, but it was one of the few times something had managed to drown out the incessant projections from the Assembly. For that, she was thankful.

  “You let this weigh on you too heavily,” Dane said, standing next to her. She’d assumed he’d left with the others.

  “How can I not?” she asked back, and in spite of her efforts to keep the bitterness from her voice, she failed. “There’s hundreds of them.”

  “And why is that, Mira?”

  She stared in shock, surprised he had asked her so bluntly. It was like a slap. “They’re dead because of me. Is that what you want to hear? Because they’re willing to die for my cause?”

  “You’re wrong,” Dane replied. “They’re willing to die for their cause. You don’t get to have her all to yourself, she was the Prime to us long before you even met her. Gideon told us she was the most important thing in this world, and every one of us believes it. We’re not dying for you, Mira, we’re dying for Zoey. It’s our choice, and you need to learn to honor it instead of being horrified by it, if you want them to follow you.”

  Strange as it was, she knew he was right. Mira didn’t pretend to understand the White Helix, but their ways were their ways, and she didn’t have a right to dismiss them. The bitterness from before dissolved away, her gaze softened. “They don’t have to follow me, I have you for that.”

  “That can change any day,” Dane said.

  Mira felt cold. “Don’t even say that. I have no idea how I’d do this without you, so you do not have my permission to make everyone else ‘stronger.’ Do you understand, Dane?”


  “Ordering me around now?” he asked with a slight smile.

  “On this particular subject, yes.”

  “You worry too much, you know that?”

  They smiled at each other. Mira liked Dane, she decided. In the Strange Lands he had been so stubborn and stern. She still remembered how he confronted her after the Assembly stole Zoey, but she supposed that was the same emotion she was seeing now, just in another form. She didn’t realize it then, but Zoey meant a lot to him, to all of them. In the time since, he’d become someone she depended on, and his presence had become a great source of comfort.

  Dane looked past her, to the west. “It’s getting closer.”

  In the far distance, the glowing, brilliant beam of energy that was the Nexus streaked upward into the sky, now that the sunlight had faded. It was growing slowly brighter.

  “Every time I see it,” Dane continued, “I feel this … hopelessness, almost. It’s so far away and getting there, I have a feeling, is going to be the easy part. How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” Mira asked, confused.

  “Not get … overwhelmed. Not just give up. I’ve never met anyone more committed to something than you, more fearless.”

  Mira almost laughed out loud. If only he knew …

  She thought through her answer. “Someone … important told me not to focus on the goal. Told me to keep my eyes on where I had to go next, never any further than that. So that’s what I do.”

  Dane nodded. “Gideon always said, ‘Plan for what is difficult while it is easy, do what is great while it is small.’ I’m not sure it’s the same thing, but it’s close.” She felt his eyes move to her. “You’ll see him again, you know.”

  Somehow Dane had guessed she was talking about Holt. Maybe it was an easy guess, because the sad thing was there were very few people in her life that really qualified as “important.”

  “He thinks I’m dead,” Mira said, and the words made her feel sad … and very alone.

  “I know Avril’s alive,” Dane replied. “She made it out of Currency and she’s survived everything at Faust. I know because if she was gone … I’d feel it. And it’s not a White Helix thing, it’s what happens when two people are connected, and you and Holt are connected.”