by F. T. Lukens
“Who did you say you were again?” the woman asked.
“We didn’t,” Jakob shot back.
She crossed her arms. The stunner was strapped to her back but within easy reach. The electric charge of the prods pricked the star in Ren’s middle, and he sparked in response. It was only a flicker, but again, Ren blinked blue.
Asher grabbed his hand.
“I think maybe you should. Or we might decide to leave you out here to the elements.”
Jakob lifted his chin. His cheeks were pink from exertion. His eyes shone a cold blue. His breath hung in clouds. “I think maybe you should fetch someone in charge if you can’t decide whether to bring us to the camp or not.”
Ren sighed. Asher rubbed a hand over his face. So much for keeping Jakob from being reckless.
The statement certainly struck a nerve. The leader moved forward and pushed hard on Jakob’s shoulder. He took a step back to keep his balance; snow and twigs crunched under his heel.
“I am in charge.”
“Prove it. Take us in.”
She shoved a finger in his face. “You don’t give me orders.”
“Obviously someone does.”
She bristled. “Fine, we’ll go.” She held up her gloved hand to silence the chatter from her men. “But if you try anything, we’ll kill that one first.”
She pointed to Ren.
“Fine,” Jakob said.
Ren balked. “Wait, what?”
She cocked her hip, and Ren imagined her mouth in a self-satisfied smirk.
He started to protest, but was shoved in the back again, and this time Asher grabbed his arm to keep him from falling. He shot a glare to the owner of the prod before the group started moving, but received no reaction, not that he could tell. He loathed the face shields.
They continued on, following the woman along the boundary of the tree line that separated the small forest from the Laurels. The white trees on the right of their path grew thicker, until the branches intertwined, and even bare from the season, the brush was so thick it was difficult to see through. Ren didn’t know how they would be able to traverse the Laurels. To complicate matters further, the snow and the white wood of the laurel trees blended, and, even squinting, Ren found it difficult to discern any passage. Other vegetation ran wild in the small spaces left—ferns and vines and briar patches. Though dormant because of the cold and the snow, they still made the area impassable. Everything was a blur of white with occasional patches of brown. If they had entered on their own, they would have been lost within minutes and would never have found their way out.
Ren’s questions about the entrance were answered when they stopped in front of a thick group of trees. At their feet, almost hidden by the clinging snow, was a protection stone. Carved into the rock was the familiar lettering of the language of his ancestors. And beneath those was an X. On the note the X didn’t mean to cross the Laurels. It marked the entrance.
Ren nudged Jakob and jerked his head toward the symbol.
Jakob’s eyebrows shot up, and he smiled, quick and bright, then smothered it when a guard looked his way.
Their leader glanced around, and then swept back a curtain of vines to reveal a small alcove. She ushered them through, kept watch until the entire group was inside, then allowed the vines to fall back, which obscured the view and the light. Ren found himself beneath a natural arch made from two trees that had sprouted near each other and grown until their branches had become entangled. Ren couldn’t tell where one tree ended and the other began.
Asher’s eyes were wide, and he pushed his hood back. “This is amazing.”
“Quiet, now,” the woman said harshly. “Come on.”
She beckoned them onward. They ducked, bodies hunched, as they walked several feet through a tunnel that was longer than Ren had thought. About the time Ren developed a crick in his neck, the tunnel opened up and revealed the head of a twisting path.
Two more guards stood waiting, weapons in their hands, helmets on. “What do you have?”
“Stragglers,” she answered. “Found them wandering in the forest. They claim they’re from the village by the lake.”
“Really?”
One of the guards pulled off her helmet. She was impossibly young to be wielding any kind of weapon, and her wide smile when she saw Jakob made that more evident. With her wild dark hair and bright blue eyes, the resemblance was striking.
“Jakob!” she cried. She dropped her prod and her helmet in the dirty snow and leapt at her brother.
He caught her in a hug. “Ezzy!” He squeezed her tight so her feet left the ground, and they held on for a long, intense moment. When Jakob finally set her down, he didn’t let her go, but kept one arm around her shoulders.
“Ezzy, you remember Ren? Right?”
She blushed and shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, of course. Liam’s older brother.”
“Is he here?” Ren asked. His pulse fluttered. Hope was present and dangerous, until she looked at the ground and shook her head.
“No, I’m sorry. But your mother and father are here.”
Ren’s knees went weak. His vision and hearing fuzzed out; the only sound was his heart thundering, while black dots danced across his eyes. He staggered back, dizzy, and clumsy. Asher caught him and held him up before he fell to the ground. His legs trembled and he had a stray thought about how Liam would’ve made fun of him for swooning. He chuckled and rubbed at his eyes and leaned on Asher’s embrace until he regained his bearings.
“They are?” His voice was a shiver. “Where?”
“In the camp,” Ezzy gestured over her shoulder. “Follow the path.”
“Wait,” the leader of the group that had found them said. She took off her helmet; her red hair stood on end. “How do you know these two?”
Ezzy squished into Jakob’s side. “This is my older brother Jakob. Jakob, this is the leader of our guard, Beatrice.”
“You’re Levitt’s son?”
Jakob nodded.
“Well, why in the hell didn’t you say so when we met?”
“Because I didn’t know who the hell you were.”
“You should’ve said!”
“You’re dressed like one of Vos’s guards and you’re carrying a stunner.”
She made a scathing retort. They bickered, and Ren barely paid attention to the conversation. His thoughts centered on talking to his mother, on what he might say, what he might do—but his focus snapped back when he heard mention of the stronghold.
“Salvaged, from the citadel,” Beatrice said, both pride and a challenge in her words.
“You go to the citadel?” Ren straightened, though he was unsteady on his feet. Asher’s hand stayed on his arm.
“When we need supplies.”
“So it’s empty, then?”
Beatrice shrugged. “Sometimes there are birdmen hanging about, but we avoid them easily enough.”
“What are birdmen? You keep mentioning them, but it’s a term I’m not familiar with.”
Beatrice smiled; her freckled cheeks were like apples. “It’s a term we used in my village. It means the Phoenix Corps.”
“There are Phoenix Corps? Here?” Asher asked.
“Unfortunately. The limited intel we gathered is that they’re looking for someone or maybe a few people. We’re not really sure. But they’re here and they are a bunch of weeds, let me tell you.”
“I need more information.” Asher pointed a finger at the group.
“And who are you?” Beatrice crossed her arms and eyed Asher critically.
“He’s a friend,” Ren said, twining his fingers with Asher’s, ignoring the way Asher startled and stared at their hands. “And we can find out more in a while, but my parents…” Ren trailed off. A lump formed in his throat. “My parents are here,” he sai
d, quiet, awed.
“Right.” Asher backed down. “You should see them.”
Ezzy clapped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I can take you to the camp.” She looped her arm through Jakob’s. “Come on. Daddy is going to fall over when he sees you.”
A mixture of excitement and dread swirled in Ren’s stomach as he walked down the path to the village. He was about to see his parents, about to talk to his mom. He didn’t know what to say, what to reveal, if anything at all.
The path curved gently, and, when they’d stepped through another copse, the camp lay before them. The buildings were no more than shacks that looked as if they could barely bear the weight of a light snow, but there was no snow on them at all. They had been clustered in no discernible pattern. There were dozens, made from a combination of wood, metal, and blankets. Some of them shared walls the way apartments were stacked on the drifts. Which one belonged to his parents?
Cooking fires burned outside away from the wood and cloth. Tarps hung overhead in the trees as well. They reflected the smoke and the flames, and, when Ren crossed into the meadow, under the first layer of canvas, it was like walking into a wall of heat. He took off his scarf and unzipped his coat, shrugging out of the heavy fabric. Asher and Jakob did the same. At Ezzy’s instruction, they dropped their winter gear into a pile, and she led them deeper into the commune.
Ren didn’t know how the villagers had pulled it off, but the ground was free of frost and snow, and small gardens grew. Ren and Asher lingered. Asher bent to finger the leaves, as Ezzy and Jakob continued ahead of them.
“It’s a greenhouse,” Asher said. “Like on the drifts.”
Ren elbowed Asher hard in the ribs and shook his head. “Keep it down. We shouldn’t broadcast that you’re a drifter. Keep your tags and tattoo hidden. Something’s going on here.”
“I noticed.” He looked around, scoffing. “Birdmen? What the cogs? The Phoenix isn’t just a bird. It’s a mythological creature, and we are soldiers.”
Ren bit back a retort. “Your ridiculous contempt for the name is noted. Now, will you shut up?”
Asher pouted and crossed his arms.
Sighing, Ren pushed his hair from his eyes. “I’m serious. Try to keep your drifter opinions to yourself so you don’t get us thrown out of—”
“Ren?”
The voice was tentative, uncertain, but familiar. Ren snapped his head up and watched as his stepfather approached, carrying a bundle of wood. He looked the same, big and brawny. His brown hair was salted with gray, and his beard was full, as he always wore it in the winter.
“Ren, is that you?”
Ren straightened. He raised his hand in an awkward wave. “Um… hi.”
The firewood tumbled to the ground, and Ren found himself caught up in a bear hug. His stepfather’s arms crushed Ren to his barrel chest.
“I can’t believe it.”
Ren’s relationship with his stepfather had been lukewarm at best, awkward and strained most of the time, and contentious every once in a while. They didn’t hug. Emotion hadn’t been an aspect of their association. But wrapped tight in his stepfather’s arms, Ren felt tears gather because he was safe. For the first time in a long while, he was safe, without the throb of the star in his chest. He clutched back.
“Katherine!” he bellowed. “Kat! Come out here.”
He pushed Ren to arm’s length; his meaty hand curled around Ren’s forearm.
“What is it, honey?” she said, a laugh on the edge of her words. Pushing back a curtain decorated with flowers, she emerged from one of the shacks nearby. “What is the fuss all about?”
She wiped her hands on her apron. Her red hair was pulled back from her face in a complicated knot, and she had streaks of gray at her temples. Her eyes were bright, but her face had aged. She looked careworn, fatigued—the price of losing her home and both of her sons.
She gasped when she saw Ren. Her hands flew to cover her open mouth. Her voice trembled. “Ren?”
“Mom.”
She attacked him. It was the only way he could describe it. He wobbled backward, almost fell, but Asher supported him for a second. His palm made a reassuring pressure between Ren’s shoulder blades before he stepped away.
“My boy.” She cupped his face. Her hands were warm, and she kissed his forehead. “Oh, my son. How did you…? Where have you…?” She hiccupped. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe it. Are you okay?”
“I’m good. I’m good.” He held her hand to his face. He was good. He was bursting. All he’d wanted was to return home, and he had. He had made it. He had made it.
“You need a haircut. You’re shaggy.”
Ren laughed.
“And you need a good meal. You don’t look like you’ve been eating.”
That was true. Ren hadn’t been eating on the ship. He’d been too consumed with nightmares and electricity and power. What else did she see? The circles under his eyes? Could she read the things that had happened in tense lines around his mouth or the slump of his shoulders?
“A lot has happened,” he said simply.
She nodded; her smile dimmed. “It has,” she confirmed. She patted his cheeks and pulled away. She wiped at her eyes, then noticed Asher for the first time. “And who is this?”
“I’m Ash,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Ren’s friend.”
“We met at the citadel, when…” Ren trailed off. He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Kat pushed away Asher’s arm and pulled him into a hug. Asher held his body stiff, but, after a moment, he relaxed into her embrace.
“You look like you need a good meal as well,” she said, stepping back and eyeing them. “And a warm place to sleep and ward off the chill.”
“That would be very nice,” Asher said.
His stepfather bent to gather the wood back into his arms. “Come along, then. We’ll get you both sorted.”
Kat beamed. She took Ren’s arm and tugged. Ren grabbed Asher’s hand, and they were swept along into the camp.
* * *
His parents’ shack was tiny. The four of them fit, but barely, sitting on a threadbare rug on the floor. But it was cozy and warm, which was a surprise.
Ren and Asher received bowls of rich, hearty stew. The broth was fragrant, the vegetables were fresh, and the meat chunks were plentiful. Ren ate his fill, slurping from his bowl and sopping the remnants with a hunk of bread. Asher ate politely, though with zeal, and, by the end, Ren could’ve dozed off where he sat—warm and content and happy and back where he belonged, even if he wasn’t so sure of that last part.
His stepfather left to tend to the fires, which was his job in the little community. When he departed after a tender pat on the head to Ren and a kiss for Ren’s mother, the three of them were alone. His mother stacked the dishes, then fidgeted. She picked at a loose thread in her apron. Her fingernails were dirty. When she spoke, she didn’t look at him, but stared at a spot on the packed dirt floor. “What happened, Ren? When you were taken?”
The question was tentative, as if she wasn’t sure how to ask, or whether she really wanted to know.
Ren and Asher exchanged a glance, and Ren sat up straighter, keeping his legs crossed beneath him.
“You have to be more specific. So much has… it’s been almost a year. It was barely spring the last time I saw you.”
“The last I saw of you and Liam was when you two went to swim in the lake.” Her brow furrowed, and she worried the string between her fingers. “Was Liam with you when you went to the castle?”
“No,” Ren said. “I saw him in the forest. They had him, but he got away.” Ren ignored the sharp glance from Asher. Asher knew the whole story, having heard it on one of the nights they’d spent locked in the dungeon. “You haven’t seen him?”
“I dream about him,” she said. “But n
o, I haven’t seen him. Not since the day they took you. He must have been taken, too.”
Ren pressed his lips together and took a shallow breath. “He wasn’t at the citadel. Where else would he have been taken? Who other than Vos would have wanted him?”
She finally looked at him. Her eyes were green, like Liam’s, but they were haunted, afraid. “There are several possibilities for people with special gifts like him. Like you.”
The confession was like a stunner blast to the chest rendering him helpless. One moment, Ren’s heart beat, and the next, it seized painfully. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. His muscles locked. He stared at her with fists clenched against his thighs, eyes burning, body rigid.
“You knew,” Asher said, softly, gently accusing, but oddly compassionate, as if her knowledge was a burden.
She nodded. The gesture unlocked Ren like a key. He breathed, though it wasn’t calming or even; it was ragged and distressed. Tears of anger welled in his eyes as he remembered: the confusion and the dread; the prods and the locks and the cell and the ships; the nights wondering what was happening to him and trembling with exhaustion; the panic as he slipped into the machines; being hunted across a landscape and across the cluster and not really understanding why; being overwhelmed with power and having his humanity burned out of him in waves of blue electricity; having no agency, no control; being weaponized, dehumanized, and scared, so scared; terrified he would succumb to the thrall of tech, lose his humanity, lose his mind.
Ren jumped to his feet; the action startled both his mother and Asher. He towered over her, with his shoulders hunched to keep from knocking his head on the ceiling.
“Ren?” Asher said. “Calm down.”
“You didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?” He sparked out. His vision went blue. There was nowhere for the star to bleed to, other than Asher’s pulse gun, or the tech in his shoulder. And both were too small to warrant the attention of the rage which throbbed through him.
His mother blinked at him. Her face was pale, and she had twin spots of red on her freckled cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Ren. You have to understand. There are things going on that you don’t know.”