by Loren Walker
"Why are you calling me?" came his deep, bitter voice through the sound system.
"I have information for you," CaLarca said. "Valuable information. And I need a favor."
Theron snorted. "You want a favor from me."
"Yes. We have worked together before, and now I want to do it again."
"You want to work with me," he repeated, in that same smirky tone.
It was time to get to the point. "You had an advisor named Bianco Sava, correct? Who worked for both you and your grandfather? He's not who he says he is."
Oddly, Theron didn't look surprised by the news. "All right. Let's hear it. And how much is this going to cost me?"
"As I said," CaLarca reminded him. "I want to make a deal. I don't want any rana."
"Say what you want to share, and then I'll decide."
“Fine." She swallowed her nerves. "Bianco Sava is a false name. His true identity is Joran Asanto."
Theron grew still. "Joran Asanto," he repeated. "Of the Asanto Foundation, the multi-million rana trust. Joran Asanto died in Kings Canyon."
"He didn't," CaLarca said. "He's the one who brought the NINE together in the first place. And he is responsible for what happened to your family, and to mine, and to Shantou. All of it."
"You speak about him in the present tense."
"Because I have it on good authority that he's alive and faked his death."
"Whose authority?"
"That's not relevant.”
"Oh really? How do I know you're not trying to manipulate me, like you do everyone else?"
CaLarca bristled. "Because my family is in danger," she spat. "And I have neither the access nor the means to get them out."
"You're calling me from the Arazura. Where are the others?"
"I need an answer, Theron."
"Why not ask your dear friends for their help? Unless, of course, you've already betrayed them. Again. I assume that's the case, if you're reaching out to me, of all people. Are you a thief, as well as a manipulator?"
"If you assist in the rescue of my family," CaLarca stated, "I'll protect you from Joran's NINE abilities. Then do as you like with him, as long as he ends up dead. That's the deal."
"Where is he now?"
"If you agree, I'll tell you where to find him. But not before."
Theron stared at her through the screen, his features so vivid that she could almost believe they were in the same room.
"I'll be in touch," was his final response.
Then the screen went black.
* * *
The box dropped in front of CaLarca with a thunk.
"You kept paper files on all of us?" CaLarca asked, looking up at Voss. "All this time?"
"I copied what I could from Joran's," he confessed, settling down next to her. "I wanted protection, an incentive to leave me alone, just in case. I couldn't trust anything digital, too easy to erase. I haven't loved him in years," he added.
"Years," CaLarca said flatly. "Can't imagine what it took to break the spell."
Voss looked pained at the remark, but CaLarca refused to take it back. She opened the box and flipped through the files.
Tehmi's was minimal, of course. And there wasn't one for Voss, no surprise there.
Shantou and Kuri's were the thickest: arrest records for narcotic possession, stolen vehicles, mug shots of the two of them, growing older and thinner and more sallow.
"He took advantage of their addictions," Voss explained. "They always needed rana, so they did assignments for him. Every time they got away, he reeled them back in."
I turned to the factory to drown out my memories, she thought. They turned to drugs. I understand, better than I would ever admit. Who knows what I would have done, had I not gone with Ganasan and taken his offer?
Now they were buried together in the Mac skerries, Kuri's bloodless corpse crushed under the collapsed house, Shantou's wrecked, mechanical body sunken into the mud.
"Joran was the one who changed Shantou into that red atrocity?" CaLarca asked.
"When he sent Kuri to find you, Joran promised to care for Shantou. But she wasn't well, mentally, and she let him experiment on her, growth hormones, brainwashing, cybernetic enhancements, all to see how it impacted her NINE ability. That's when I made the decision that I had to leave. I couldn’t take the screams."
CaLarca was growing more disgusted with Voss by the minute. "So, you left her to be experimented on, because you couldn’t handle it?"
Voss shrugged. "I never said I was a brave man, or even a good one."
Marette's file was thicker, with several press releases about her rise in music popularity as the performer EM LEE: interviews, curious scribbles in an unknown hand. "Shantou never went to her sister?" CaLarca asked, flipping through the records. "She must have seen Marette in the public sphere, known where she was."
Voss shook his head. “Marette paid for rehabilitation a few times for Shantou, begging her to get Kuri out of her life. It never stuck. After a while, they just stopped speaking. Shantou never mentioned her again. I don't know if Marette ever tried."
Yann's file was curiously bare. It didn't seem like they bothered much with reconnaissance for Yann, though perhaps it was due to the location of Jala Communia, so remote in the Midlands, and the fact that he was unmoving for the twenty-five years. There were blurry images, some jotted-down notes, but very little until she reached the end of the file and caught a photo of someone walking by Yann's side, shot from far away: Sydel, with her former braids wound on top of her head.
Then there were the last files, bundled together: hers, and Ganasan's. She flinched at the old photos of him, of herself, ten and fourteen years old, fierce and terrified in the flash. Yes, Joran had kept track of every stop she made, every factory she worked in in the North. They'd followed her to Ganasan's farm in the South. They had a picture of her with a pregnant belly, walking through the fields.
"I was lost for two weeks," she said slowly. "Lost between the time I went to Kings to find Sydel, and when the family found me in that crevice with broken legs. I don't know what happened in between." She lifted her eyes to Voss. "Do you know?"
Voss's gaze shifted.
"Don't bother lying to me," CaLarca reminded him.
"I don't know what happened, exactly," Voss said. "But I know Joran, Kuri and Shantou were gone for that amount of time, and that you were present, with them. I only heard short messages now and again, but no one would tell me what occurred. If I knew, I would tell you."
CaLarca stared down at the files in her lap. "I'm having trouble believing that one man could willingly cause so much pain and suffering."
"His one weakness has always been a hunger to see how much he can control. Everything was an endless experiment. Even our relationship."
"You need to stop mooning over him," CaLarca instructed. "It's getting annoying." She snapped the file shut. "Tell me how he got involved with the Savas."
"He stalked the children," Voss said. "He learned their contacts, and their routines. Then he actively put on weight, and changed his name, and waited for an opportunity. There was an assassination attempt on the former head of the syndicate, Iyo Sava. Joran was there, watching. He used Nyx on the assailant, stopping him from pulling the trigger. Then he stepped out and attacked, breaking the man's neck. Iyo Sava was grateful and offered him a position in his family as an enforcer.
"And over the years, he made himself indispensable to the family; he was able to make impossible deals, and calm agitation. Joran started to travel on Iyo's behalf to make negotiations and new partnerships, all with great success. Then he took the vows and took the Sava name as his own. That gave him access to the children, the four little cousins from Kings. Iyo Sava was their grandfather, their last living relative and now guardian. The children were teenagers, though, and growing wild. Joran reported on the four Sava cousins to Iyo regularly, advising on how to handle them."
"And what were you doing in the meantime, while all this was go
ing on?"
"I took care of the compounds he established before his death," Voss said. "I cared for Kuri and Shantou when they showed up. I kept reading, and researching, and gathering information. I pretended to be the good spouse whenever Joran showed up. But I've been subverting Joran's schemes for some time now. It's why it's taken so long for him to even get to this point. I can at least say that I delayed the end of the world for as long as I could."
She wondered about Voss. His acute loneliness, of a life passed by, and nothing to show for it. In love with a monster for decades, and left with nothing but regret.
"I need rest," she told him. "I'm going back onto the Arazura. Don't follow me."
* * *
On entry, there was a blinking red light on the Arazura's console. CaLarca took in a deep breath and held it as she connected the audio.
"Three days."
CaLarca blinked. "Three days for what?"
"You give me the coordinates. Be there in three days, at this same time. And be ready to do whatever I tell you to do."
Fingers shaking, CaLarca entered in the location of the Galee compound, that Voss had mentioned. The information was transmitted. "What is your strategy?" she asked.
"You don't need to know the details. Just be there to receive the package when I deliver it."
CaLarca bristled. "My family is not a package, Theron."
"Do you want them out, or not?
"I want a guarantee," CaLarca warned, "that my family will not be hurt. Whatever you do to Joran, my family comes first, and their safety. Is that understood?"
"Joran, first," came his curious, distracted response. "Then everything after."
A tight sensation started in her chest. "Please just tell me the plan, what - ?"
"You don't get to set the rules, CaLarca."
"You can't just - "
"I can, because you need me."
She did need him. But she didn’t like the tone of his voice. Theron was different somehow, from the man who stayed on the Arazura, who battled Shantou as the Red monster. Something had changed.
But what choice did she have?
"Agreed," she said. "Three days. I'll be there."
PART TWO
I.
Her face was cold.
Opening her eyes, the world rolled into view. Empty horizon. Sun peeking through the clouds. Sand and rock, with a thin sheen of rainwater.
Her dress was soaked, and the air was frigid.
Rolling slowly to a seat, Sydel had to drop her head between her knees. Her temples throbbed with pain. Her lungs were scraped raw. Her heart was skittering, its beat uneven. She could only imagine how the siblings would feel when they woke.
One by one, she crawled over to Cohen, Renzo and Phaira, who were sprawled across the ground. She placed her hand on Cohen’s jaw, thankful for the brief warmth. She fixed Renzo's glasses so they were level on his nose. She smoothed the wet hairs from Phaira's face, and tucked them behind her ears, noting all the pale scars on the woman’s face and arms. All three of the siblings had the same look on their faces, a grimace, as if caught in a bad dream. Best to wait and let them awaken naturally.
Cohen was the first, gasping. “What happened? Where are we?" he burst out, before he rolled over and retched.
Then Renzo's eyes shot open. He didn't move, just blinked. Then he craned his neck, searching the landscape, the lines in his forehead heavy. He was searching for the Arazura, of course, his treasure, his investment. Their home.
"I'm sorry, Renzo," Sydel said.
Renzo dropped his head with a thump. “And I taught her how to fly the damn thing,” he muttered.
“She did this to us,” Cohen said between choking breaths. “She left us. Threw us out like we were garbage."
Sydel turned her attention to Phaira, who was still prone on the ground. A drop of water tracked down Phaira’s cheek. But it wasn't raining any longer, and the rest of her face was dry. It was a tear.
"Phaira," Sydel whispered. "Are you in pain?"
Phaira inhaled, a strange, shuddering inhale. Worried, Sydel opened her mind, just a little. Yes, Phaira was in pain, but there was no blood, no red threads for her to pull free. Phaira was surrounded by a strange brown-green energy, like she was sinking into mud. What did CaLarca do to Phaira? Was this her last bit of revenge?
Then a shadow cast over her, and Cohen was shaking Phaira hard on the shoulder. "Phair!"
Sydel went to hiss at him to stop, but Phaira’s eyes flew open, her gray-green irises bright. "How long?" she croaked.
"Six hours," Renzo said, huffing. "She just left us here. Anything could have happened to us while we were unconscious. Someone, or something, could have…”
Then his eyes went wide, and he pulled out his Lissome from his pocket, his fingers moving in the air. Then with a yell, he threw the Lissome at the ground. It hit a jutting rock and broke apart from the impact.
"Rana's gone," he choked out. "All of it. She went into our account and cleaned us out."
"You gave her access to our account?" Phaira exclaimed, now up on one elbow, the palm of her other hand wiping at her face.
"I didn't think she'd rob us!" Renzo sputtered. "We were alone on the Arazura for over a month - we had to get supplies."
For the first time, Sydel saw how dangerous their situation was. They had no rana, no water, and there was no sign of civilization in any direction. And by the look of Renzo's Lissome, it was broken from his hurling it in fury; a tiny piece had been chipped off by the motion, which he now tried to put back together.
"Does anyone have another Lissome?" Renzo demanded, looking sheepish as he knocked the tiny flat square again and again.
Cohen was scanning the sky.
"Can you see something?" Sydel asked him, shivering.
"Smoke," Cohen said, pointing.
It was faint, and almost the same color of the clouds, but he was right: there was a thin stream of smoke. People.
"We need water," she reminded him, even more aware of how dry her throat was.
Cohen took off his rain-soaked shirt and coiled it like a spring. Then he wrung it over his mouth, and water ran down his chin. Sydel gagged, even though she knew it was foolish. She tried to find a section of her skirt that wasn't too dirty. Then she braced herself, ripped it clean and wrung a precious few drops of water into her mouth. There was a slight pool on the ground, in the crevice of a rock; she used the swatch of fabric to soak it up and braced against the taste of moss and minerals.
As she drank, a glint caught her eye, something black and thin on the ground. A sword, she realized, the one Phaira had used. She picked it up, wiping the mud from its brocade surface, surprised at how light it was.
"Our best option is to go north," Cohen announced to the group, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "If there's a burning fire, someone who started it has to be nearby. Maybe it's a village. At the very least, it might be someone with some idea of where we are."
"And if not?" Renzo pressed. "Maybe we should just stay here, try and get a signal."
Cohen cast a look at Sydel, and she heard his voice in her head: Help me. Get them to listen.
He was right. They had to stay together, remain calm, and find safety. She had to stop the reeling in her head, the temptation to collapse, to just accept that everything and everyone that they had counted on was gone.
Clutching the sword and sheath in one hand, Sydel extended her hand to Phaira. "Come on," she said gently. "We have to go."
Phaira didn't seem to hear. Still, Sydel managed to get the woman to her feet, even though Phaira was eight inches taller and far heavier, and prodded her to move. Phaira kept her head low, her blue hair covering her face. But she moved, and eventually Renzo did too, grumbling and scurrying behind Cohen as he led the pack, striding in the direction of the smoke.
* * *
Even with the smoke in sight, night began to fall as they walked through the plains, and Sydel started to wonder if it was really p
ossible that they might die out in the middle of nowhere.
Finally, it was too dark to see more than four feet ahead. Cohen found a cavern for shelter. They gathered sticks, like they were kids at camp, and Cohen sparked a fire with stone. Then the four of them rustled into the space, and Cohen drew his arms around Sydel, warm and strong and comforting.
"We need each other's body warmth," he instructed his brother and sister. "So hug it out."
Phaira and Renzo made similar faces of disgust.
"I'm serious," Cohen growled. "I know what I'm talking about. Get close."
After some shifting and repositioning, Renzo and Phaira were stacked against each other: Phaira cradling Renzo from behind. Her arms were around his chest, and her sharp chin dug in his shoulder.
Renzo jerked away. "Stop that.”
She gave him a smack on the arm in response. Renzo slumped heavily into her, making her squawk.
From behind, Sydel heard Cohen's sigh of exasperation. She cradled his thick forearm across her chest in her hands, and felt thankful, for once, that she was an only child.
The night was long. Sydel must have fallen asleep a dozen times, jerking awake, and seeing nothing but orange embers. Her feet and hands were numb. Even Renzo and Phaira had stopped fighting and were wrapped in each other's arms, huddled against the cavern wall.
The fire wavered all night, threatening to go out with every burst of wind. Then finally, finally, the black sky turned to navy, and then to purple, and Sydel wanted to cry with relief at the sight of the sun coming up. They had made it through the night.
Stomachs growling, throats dry, Sydel and the others continued to walk in the direction of the smoke, new bursts hovering in the sky. The landscape was changing, moving from flat and marshy, to rolling green and grey; were they approaching the mountain range? Were they coming close to Toomba, where Cohen’s grandmother lived? Then Sydel did some calculations, on where they had left, and where they had been abandoned. Toomba was hundreds of kilometers away, to the north. She had no idea what was in this part of Osha, near the east and south border.