by J D Astra
Finally, after what felt like a frigid lifetime of waiting, I was pulled from the water.
Hana hugged me close, her cheek warm against mine. “I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered.
Bile turned in my stomach as I remembered my father’s words. Hiro claimed they had lured me into the water to have me taken away. I knew Hana didn’t want me here—at risk—but I didn’t think she’d go so far to get me away. Had she helped him capture me?
“Good to know you still want me here,” I managed between exhausted gasps.
Her eyes narrowed on me. “What?”
Dokun came around from the steering room. “Jiyong, are you alright?”
I gave a single nod in reply.
“What happened?” Woong-ji asked, dropping to a knee beside me.
There were Enjiho all around, their cameras pointed down, watching me. There was nothing I could say without putting my friends and mentor at risk.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Give him some air, for Jigu’s sake,” Dokun said as he made broad gestures to the Enjiho crouching over me. The bots retreated a few paces, leaving me with just Hana, Woong-ji, and Dokun. Then the Enjiho got to work piloting us back to shore.
“When we declared this an emergency, she refused to board the train back to Moon Shadow without you,” Dokun said as he gestured to Hana. When we made eye contact, he winked and nodded—as if to say I’d found a great girl. Numbness inked out from the center of my chest. I couldn’t feel the worry of everything that had happened nor the happiness from the warmth of Hana’s hands cradling my back.
I couldn’t feel anything.
I didn’t want to believe that my friends had collaborated with Hiro and Ko-nah to get me out of Kokyu—but how else had Hiro grabbed only me from the beach? With all the students in the water, there had to have been something to indicate to him who to take. Hana had lured me onto the beach. Cho had thrown me in the water. Yuri had marked me as his target...
There was no one left I could trust.
I catalogued my feelings with a strange detachment, then filed them away. Hana helped me to stand on the rocking boat, then pulled the water from my hair and body suit. When I was dry, we went to sit at the front of the ship.
The Enjiho gave us space, while Woong-ji and Dokun stayed at the back of the ship with the navigation controls. The wind rustled their clothes as they talked amongst themselves about something serious. I turned my attention back to Kokyu, the towering city of neon brilliance, stark against the navy sky.
Hana slid her arm across my back and tucked her face into the crook of my neck. “What happened?”
I eyed the Enjiho, not far off. I didn’t have enough energy to shroud us in ry. “You’ve never wanted me here.”
“What are you saying?” she said, feigning concern.
The purple-silver haze of disruption glowed in a small arch around just Hana and me. She’d gotten better at projecting her protection fields, and even more so at hiding them. With our conversation protected, at least marginally, I felt comfortable opening up.
“You collaborated with Ko-nah to get me into my father’s hands, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice even and calm.
“Before you go head-hunting, just tell me what happened?” Her grip on my shoulder tightened and became less friendly.
“Stop playing dumb. Even if Hiro hadn’t told me, I put it together myself. You helped him capture me.”
“I wouldn’t ever,” she whispered, aghast. It was easy to see her emotion was fake. It was all just a show for the Enjiho. That was fine. I didn’t want Hana in danger. I didn’t want her making choices for me, either, but I loved her still.
I sighed. “You didn’t have the right to choose my destiny.”
“I...” She trailed off, then looked up to the captain’s hold. She pressed her forehead against my shoulder. “I just want you to live.”
“And I want you to live,” I said, pained. “But I wouldn’t have had you kidnapped just to keep you safe.”
Hana looked away to the long-set sun. The colorful lights of Kokyu came alive in the dark of night, and it was beautiful. I’d never seen such a big, bright city—not even the heart of Busa-nan. Little trains zipped about here and there, ferrying passengers home or out for excitement. Civilized Kokyu was a wonder.
Images of the terrorist who destroyed the train depot filled up the space between breaths. His sleek eye coverings that hid his identity, but not his smiling expression. He enjoyed what he was doing and would do it again, I was sure.
No, Kokyu still had a problem... one Dokun was trying to fix. What if he wasn’t the evil behind everything bad? Mae’s apprehension swirled at the edges of my consciousness. She didn’t know either.
“What if our place isn’t here?” Mae whispered to me. “What if they’re right, and everyone would be better off if we left?”
‘I couldn’t trust Hiro to do as he said he would, you know that. He could’ve been coercing me to go back to Busa-nan just to lure out Minjee, hold me ransom in return for her, or some other plot. We can’t be too careful when it comes to their safety.’
“What about our safety?” Mae asked.
I took a deep breath. Hana snuggled against me tighter. I felt her lip trembling against my neck. Was she remorseful for what she’d done or sad it hadn’t worked out as she wanted? Why had she trusted Ko-nah in the first place?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her breath tickled my skin, as did her tears.
I scoffed. “You wouldn’t have to be, if you’d just told me the truth.”
“I wanted to,” she said, her voice breaking with anguish. I knew it was the truth. “Dokun is dangerous—”
“Is he?” I asked, pulling away to look at her. “From what I’ve seen, he’s been doing a lot to help Kokyu, to make things better here.”
“But it’s all fake,” Hana said, her brow pinched with worry. “He’s making you see what he wants you to see. Ko-nah tried to tell us Dokun would take you—”
“But he didn’t. He let us go. And don’t tell me you’re trusting Ko-nah. He had us all eating lies from the palm of his hand last year.”
“Jiyong,” she whispered in frustration, but then fell silent.
A hundred replies swam through my mind. She was calling me blind, duped? She was the one who’d listened to Ko-nah, a known traitor. Despite my anger toward her, I pulled Hana back into my embrace. I didn’t want the Enjiho, or anyone else, thinking we were distressed.
I broke our quiet. “There are so many different truths flowing around this situation, how can we discern reality? When only liars are spinning the facts, who can we trust?”
“Can’t you trust me?” she asked.
I nodded. “Before this, yes.”
She squeezed her arms around me, her hands balling into fists as she gripped the wetsuit. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked out the words before breaking down.
I rubbed my hand across her back to quell her quiet sobs. “I forgive you.”
She looked up to me, her nose red and forehead wrinkled. “What? How?”
I chuckled at how cute she looked at her worst. She spent so much time wearing beautiful faces, it was refreshing to see her a mess. I rubbed away one of her tears with my thumb, then pulled her back into my embrace.
“I know you did this out of love. I don’t know if it was the wrong choice, honestly. I don’t know anything.”
And couldn’t trust anyone.
I held her a while longer. The wind ruffled my hair and the cold of winter nipped at my scar. My breathing stayed steady, and eventually, Hana’s matched mine.
She sniffled. “If it makes you feel better, Ko-nah advocated against this plan.”
I grunted. “No, it doesn’t. He’ll always advocate to save his own skin—and we saw how that turned out last year.”
“Right,” she scoffed. “That tsutsa-wei sangomnyon...” she trailed off in a series of curses in both Kokyugo, and Busaneo. I smiled at her
return to normalcy. I hated seeing Hana sad. She had such a fiery personality that gave way to the most interesting facial expressions—when she felt comfortable enough to show them.
I couldn’t shake what she had said, though. Ko-nah had advocated against the plan, which meant there had been a vote on the matter. An invisible band squeezed around my stomach, making me queasy.
“Who wanted me gone?” I whispered, and Hana stiffened.
“Me, Shin-soo, Cho, and Woong-ji. Four to two.”
When had they had time to talk this through? Hana had been with me almost exclusively... except when I was unconscious from the shūspekta attack.
Shin-soo didn’t surprise me in the slightest, but Cho... He had been worried most of all about the mission. Maybe, like Hana, he thought he could save me from some terrible fate, and if I was gone, the original plan was a bust. They would go on about their exchange or maybe get sent home—I couldn’t know what he thought. It was surprising to know Sung-ki wanted me to stay.
Then I remembered the alchemy master calling me over to work on the cultural report before I was pulled into the sea. Had he tried to stop it?
My head split like a log at the arborum, and I winced. It was like my brain was ripping its way out through my scar. I rubbed my temple to dull it to no avail. The anxious band around my stomach pulled until I felt hollow, inside out. I breathed through the feeling of control slipping through my fingers.
I didn’t own my life.
Chapter 26
I’D MANAGED TO CONTROL my feelings of hopelessness by the time we came ashore. There was another group of Enjiho waiting with towels and my warmed clothes. I changed, keeping my head empty with the practiced breathing Woong-ji had taught me in my first year.
Mae was quietly analyzing information I’d been able to pick up about the Valeria—Hiro’s ship—and every once in a while an image would flash through my consciousness. I wondered why her processing was becoming more and more visible to me, but I didn’t think about it too hard.
No thoughts for now.
I emerged from the changing room to see Dokun waiting for me. His forehead was creased in concern, and his lips turned down in a frown.
“Would I be able to speak to you for a moment before you return to school?”
I looked to Hana and Woong-ji who chatted amongst themselves near the train platform. Hana caught my gaze, but kept her expression neutral. After a tense second, she nodded as if to say she’d be watching out for me.
“Surely, jobu-ke,” I said, gesturing for him to sit at one of the luau tables under the canopy.
We took a seat, and one of the Enjiho knelt beside us. A compartment opened on the machina’s wide chest to reveal a chrome cylinder. It removed the object and set it on the table in front of Dokun.
He twisted the bottom of the object and it spun, revealing two small cups in a hidden compartment. Then he turned the top until a hole on the outer ring aligned with the inner cylinder. He tilted the hole over the cups and out poured a clear, jade green liquid from the incognito thermos. I felt the urge to take it from him, to pour the tea as a younger family member should, and stopped myself just short of reaching over the table.
I held my hand up to stop him instead. “I mustn’t put you out.”
“Nonsense,” he said, pushing the first cup toward me.
My childhood conditioning required me to accept the cup, but I didn’t drink. The warmth of it was nice on my hands, and I gripped it in both.
“I feel terrible for not reaching out to you. I never had my own children, and your father was something of a son to me. I wished I’d been able to put aside my shame and support your family.”
I scowled. “What shame?”
He pulled in a deep breath, eyes closed, then took a sip of his tea. “I am responsible for your mother’s and sister’s conditions.”
The words hung in the cool night air like a specter. This was his shame? He’d worried over our personal hatred of him because of the potion he’d given my mother?
I sighed. “She chose to take it. If there is blame to share, yours is little more than mine.”
His eyes snapped open. “What blame do you carry?”
I looked down at the tea. “She only took the potion because of me. She was jealous.”
“Oh, Jiyong. You have done nothing to shoulder this burden.”
“You always wanted more! Just like her!” My father’s voice raked open the old wound from when Mother told me the story on the balcony. If I hadn’t been so hungry to advance as a child, Minjee wouldn’t be a mute and my mother would be healthy. Father would’ve been home to raise his family. We would’ve lived normal, happy lives.
“I can see you’re still fighting those feelings,” Dokun said with kindness.
“You’re reading my thoughts?” I accused more than asked, and felt a twinge of guilt.
Dokun grimaced in disgust. “Never. Such a horrible intrusion of privacy. But I could see it all over your face. You feel responsible, and nothing anyone says will change that, will it?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be absolved when my mother is cured and Minjee is strong.”
He scowled, scrutinizing me. He drank his tea in silence, then gestured for me to hand over my full cup. He poured the liquid back in the container, then returned the cups to their cubby at the bottom of the thermos.
We stood, and he placed his hand on my shoulder again as he steered us toward the train platform. “I wanted you to know you can always come to me if you need anything.” Then he smirked and said, “Whether your instructors are here to kill me or not.”
I chuckled, feeling strangely at ease. I paused and bowed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Shall we get you three back to Moon Shadow?” Dokun offered.
We climbed aboard the waiting train. Hana was quick to pull me away to a corner, squeezing my hand nervously. She didn’t cast a ry distortion around us to ask me what he said. I think more than anything, she wanted me nearby.
Dokun had the street below Moon Shadow cleared so he could drop us at the base of the hill. He bid us farewell, reminding me to take his offer to heart, and then left us to the climb. We were quiet on the way up. Some part of me burned to ask Woong-ji just what was going on, but I kept my mouth shut. I couldn’t trust anything she had to say—especially not when Ena’s eyes and ears were everywhere.
Ena, as well as three bowls of rice and fish, was waiting for us when we passed the entry hall. I devoured my portion with thanks, avoiding all of Ena’s questioning glares.
“I’d like to see you in my office,” she said when I’d finished my food.
“The truth will not change by morning. Let the boy get some rest,” Woong-ji interjected for me.
Ena glowered, then looked to me with a dismissive nod. I bowed, thanked her, and made my way up the stairs. My body was heavier than my eyelids, and everything ached. My once-numb leg shook with every step, and I took the stairs at a painfully slow pace. Finally, we reached the top level of dormitories.
“I’ll give you a zo massage before bed to help,” Hana offered with a smile.
I shook my head. “I need to cleanse the infusion from my system first. I’ve waited longer than I should.” I pushed a strand of stray black hair behind her ear, then pecked her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her smile weakened. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”
She turned away, head down and shoulders bunched up to her neck. I shouldn’t have let her walk away feeling like that, but I didn’t stop her. She rounded the corner and disappeared, leaving me at my dorm door.
I collapsed into my bedroll. It wasn’t as soft as the beds back at Bastion, but it felt like a cloud compared to what I’d been through. I sighed deeply and rolled onto my back. I smelled, but showers, dental hygiene, and anything else would have to wait. The zo infusion in my muscles could turn debilitating if not handled.
Air filled my lungs in rhythmic cycles as I created zo from the late dinner and sent it to
unentangle the infusion from my muscles. I started with my legs, the worst off of anything else. It was like pulling hundreds of tiny needles through my skin every second. When I struck a nerve wrong, I’d get a jolt of stabbing pain through to the bone and up my spine.
I went on like this for at least an hour, though drowsiness pulled me away from the task every minute. Finally, my body was cleansed and the infused zo broken down for core mass. I spent time rotating my impressive third band. Most interesting was the fat, sixth block that created the red, hijacking munje—uw.
The block filled my vision, and I inspected it even more closely. There was a thin sheet like glass inlaid at the center of the block, where the energy would flow through to the core. I’d never looked so close at a block before, and so I was surprised to see the same clear sheet in the blocks of the second band, and the first.
So, it was no different in form. What was so special about this block that it could create the new munje type?
Mae’s presence came to the forefront of my mind when she spoke. “It could’ve been that when you absorbed the shūspekta’s energy, you consumed information as well. You overheated and passed out in part due to the massive amount of data processing your brain was doing. It could’ve been you were learning from that, uh, creature. It’s interesting to think that nanites themselves could’ve formed into a mimic of a living creature. I wonder about sentience...”
She trailed off, and I let the vision of my core fade. Rustling on the other side of the room, then footsteps across the floor piqued my interest. It came from the end where both Ko-nah and Genta slept. The footsteps were lighter, intended to be quiet.
My foot was nudged as they passed, and I instantly became alert. I cracked one eye to see Ko-nah slipping out the door to the hall.
I closed my eyes again, leaning my head back. For Jigu’s sake, I just wanted to sleep. But I couldn’t keep wandering around in the dark with my eyes closed. I needed to do everything in my power to understand what was going on, and since no one else felt keeping me informed was a priority, I’d have to take it upon myself.