Into the Black Page 8

“Well, no, but things have changed in eighteen years. Asha is dead, humans are persecuted now more than ever—”

  “We can’t just rip the government apart. I’m not even sure they’re going to let me be Sira to begin with, and even if they do, there’s no way I’ll have enough support to make such a drastic change. Humans in the government—that is never going to happen. At least not in our lifetimes.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Rani says. “Two decades ago, we would have said a half-blood Sira was impossible—but here we are and you’re a real candidate—the only legitimate candidate.”

  “I won’t be for much longer if you keep me here.”

  “I need your word you’ll help us with this.”

  I run my hand through my hair. Search for the words. “Look, I want rights for humans as much as you do—and if I manage to become Sira, you can bet I’ll do everything I can to make Safara safer for humans. But what you’re asking for isn’t a reasonable solution—you’re demanding anarchy. We can’t just throw out generations of tradition and try to force something new on them. They’ll kick me out of the capital and off the throne in a heartbeat—no, worse, they’ll throw me back into the Arena and then there won’t be anyone around to stop them.”

  She grimaces. “I doubt that; as much as I’d hate to lose you—and I would—we’ll still be around regardless.”

  “That’s not the point—there are ways to make changes without triggering a global war by throwing out the government that’s kept them peaceful for generations.”

  Rani shakes her head. “The system will never be balanced as long as it’s run by a single ruler—a ruler who more likely than not will be fully Sepharon again at some point even after you’re on the throne.”

  “If I’m Sira and my heirs take over after me, they won’t be completely Sepharon.”

  “No, but unless you marry a human—which, let’s be honest, is unlikely—your heirs will be even less human than you are. And their heirs will be practically Sepharon. And their heirs for all intents and purposes will be Sepharon, and we’ll be back to square zero again.”

  Less human than you are. The words sting even though I should be used to it by now. I hate the term half-blood and everything it implies: that I’m less than human and less than Sepharon. That I’m not a whole anything. And there she is, my own mother affirming she thinks I’m lesser, too.

  The sting runs deep and twists bitter and black in my gut. But as much as I want to call her out on it, focusing on the current conversation is too important.

  “You’re assuming the world will be in the same in two generations—or my great-grandkids will be biased against humans.”

  “It’s not exactly a far-fetched scenario.”

  “It’s not, but …” I sigh. Glance around her tiny, dim office. Try to compose myself to say this the best I can. “Look, I can’t see into the future—I don’t know what the world will be like in ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred years. Maybe things can change now, but it’s not going to change for the better if we try to overthrow their government. All that’ll do is establish humans as enemies; it’ll show the Sepharon they were right to hate us all along, and if they respond in kind again, I don’t know we’ll survive it. Any of us.”

  “Which is why we have to win. We have to strike fast enough that they won’t see it coming and hard enough that they won’t be able to get back up again.”

  “Which is impossible. Even if you did manage to take control of Asheron—which I’m seriously doubting—there are eight other nations, each with their own powerful army you’d have to convince, too. Asheron’s army is strong, but it isn’t strong enough to fight off eight nations at the same time.”

  “You’re not seeing the big picture—”

  “I am, but your big picture is suicidal and will only make things worse for everyone. I’m willing to work with the humans, of course I am, but I’m not promising to help you make such a boneheaded move.”

  She shrugs. “Then I hope you’ve made yourself comfortable. Looks like your stay’s just been extended.”

  Holding on to Deimos with my uninjured arm as we race over the sands feels like a time I wish I could go back to. A time when the purring beneath me wasn’t a machine, but an animal—my dearest kazim, Iro. A time when I was steering in the front, bent low over Iro’s back, his powerful muscles moving beneath me. A time when Eros was sitting behind me, his arms wrapped around my middle, laughing as the sand whipped around us and the world sped by.

  A time before Serek, before the assassination attempt on his life, before I ran, and Eros was tortured, and a band of criminals found me, and I broke Eros’s heart and nearly got him killed again, and Roma murdered his brother, and I put Roma down.

  A time before so much pain, so much fear and anger and hurt and death. A time when all that mattered was the heat of the suns and the expanse of the desert.

  That time is long past, and the feeling whirling through my blood isn’t freedom or a moment of peace; it’s the churning of fear, hot and ever-present in my gut. It’s the heavy knowledge that if we don’t find Eros, and quickly, and if we don’t convince him to return to Asheron, it’s over. Sulten, or Simos, or Jolek, or someone else will become Sira, and Eros, and his people, and anyone like him will remain at risk. Because while nearly everyone agrees what Roma attempted with the nanites was awful, none seem interested in making amends or trying to make life more equitable for the redbloods.

  The bike slows to a stop, and Deimos sits up and glances around. Near us is a patch of blackened rocks and what was once a prickleplant bush, but has now been ripped apart, also with blackened edges.

  “Huh,” Deimos says.

  “Kazim didn’t do that,” I answer.

  “Naï they didn’t.” He gets off the bike, walks over to the bush’s remains, and lifts a black leaf. It crumbles between his fingers. “Burned.”

  I walk over to the rocks and pick one up. Half of it is black—with streaks of darkness racing over the surface and a chunk of it broken off. Deimos steps beside me and touches the rock—some of the black smears off on his fingers.

  “Soot,” I say.

  He nods. “Those marks, though … and something to break the rock. It looks like part of an explosion.”

  I glance at him. “An explosion in the middle of the desert.”

  He smiles wryly. “Kazim didn’t do that, either.”

  “You don’t think …” I glance around, my stomach sinking with Deimos’s words. “I don’t see any … corpses.”

  “They could be buried by the sand, but … hold on.” He slides his visor back down and taps something on the side of his helmet. After a pause, he does the same to mine, and blue lines race across my visor, outlining the edges of everything near us. He taps it again and the blue lines disappear, filling my vision with reds and yellows and whites, making Deimos appear as if he’s made of flame. One more tap and the blue lines reappear alongside the red, white, and yellow blobs.

  “It tracks heat signatures for people and objects,” Deimos explains. “Which is why I look like I’m made of magma.”

  I nod and peer across the sands—a few paces to our left, a bundle of tiny yellow and orange blobs with long yellow tails move beneath the sand.

  “Cute,” Deimos says. “I’ve always liked entu—they have a nasty bite if you’re not careful, though.”

  I smile softly. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “They’re useful when you’re out in the desert—if you follow them, they’ll take you to the nearest natural source of water.”

  I glance at him. “Do they? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “Shae, I’m decently sure that’s how the nomads survive out here. Of course, I’ve never spoken to one, but it would make sense given their lack of access to more advanced technology…. Do you think Eros would know?”

  “Probably. He grew up with them.”

  Deimos smiles. “Fascinating.”

  I lift a shoulder and glance over the sands. “S
o, if we’re looking for corpses … would this filter pick them up? I can’t imagine they’d still be warm unless this just happened.”

  “They won’t be warm, naï, but they’ll still show up—probably as a dull blue or purple. The filter would recognize it’s not sand. I don’t see anything, though—which is good.” He turns slowly in a circle.

  I turn with him, and a small square several paces ahead lights up on my visor with a blue outline. I walk over to the square, pick it up, and raise my visor. “Deimos.”

  Deimos steps beside me and touches the red strip of fabric. At the top is yellow lettering—but the letters aren’t in Sephari.

  “Looks like a … face scarf? For sand protection?” Deimos says. “But probably rebel owned. I don’t suppose you can read the redblood language.”

  I shake my head. “That means they were here, though. Right in the same area as the explosion.”

  Deimos nods. “May or may not be connected … though given their tendency toward explosives, I’m leaning toward may.”

  “I agree.” I crumple the fabric in my hand. “If Eros came this way, maybe the rebels stopped him.”

  “With an explosion? Drastic, but not impossible, I suppose. Neither of them are here, though, and it’s not like we know where their base is.”

  What did you see, Eros? What did you see?

  I bite my lip. “We don’t, but … I may have a guess.”

  Deimos arches an eyebrow. “You do?”

  I nod. “Let’s keep going.” I turn back to the bike and freeze.

  So do the two kazim sniffing our bike.

  My heart thunders in my ears as I glance at Deimos and take a shivering breath. I don’t have to wonder if these kazim are feral or tame—without nanites, any of the formerly tame kazim are undoubtedly wild again. In a way, I’m almost glad Iro passed before the nanites failed; seeing him turn against me would have been the worst betrayal of all.

  “Where did they come from?” I whisper. “I didn’t see them on the scan at all.”

  Deimos barely shakes his head, his hand steady at his hip, where I hope he has a weapon. “Kazim don’t show up on the scan—their fur masks their heat signature. They have the perfect camouflage out here.”

  The kazim continue sniffing our bike—more specifically, my bag hanging off the bike. Their long, crimson tails swish lazily as they nudge my bag into the sand. I don’t dare move—every breath feels like a risk. I’m unarmed—not that the Asheron guards would have ever allowed me any weapons—but even if Deimos and I were both as armed as soldiers, we wouldn’t be able to take on two kazim alone.

  “Did you pack food?” Deimos asks so quietly I almost don’t hear him above the kazim’s low growls and purrs, like grinding stone.

  I nod.

  “Okay. Let’s sit. Slowly. Very slowly.”

  My heart climbs into my throat. “Sit?”

  Deimos nods. “We need to make ourselves small, unintimidating, and uninteresting. If they attack us, we’re dead.”

  “Are you sure?” I hiss.

  “Sure there’s no way we can take on two kazim? Absolutely.”

  That’s not what I meant, but one of the kazim looks up from my bag and stares right at me. It looks so much like Iro did, from its deep, sand-tinted fur to its piercing eyes. A part of me aches at the memory, but this is not Iro. This kazim could kill me.

  I move slowly, so slowly my legs burn as I sink to the sand. The kazim’s ears flick as it eyes us. Sweat drips between my shoulders. My stomach is a mess of knots. My center is ice. I hold my breath and pray. Please don’t let it eat us. Please don’t let it kill us.

  The truth is, I don’t know what Kala listens to and what he doesn’t.

  The truth is, I don’t deserve saving at all. Not after what I did to Eros and his family and his people. Not after what my failure set into motion.

  But deserving or not, the other kazim rips into my bag and the food spills out—a couple wrapped fruits and vegetables, packs of dried fruit and meat, and a wrapped pastry. It’s enough of a distraction. The kazim watching me pounces on the food while the other drags the bag over the sand, purring lowly. The closer kazim gathers the bags in its mouth and rolls onto its back, happily chewing through the wrapping.

  I glance at Deimos. To the bike. Back to Deimos. He nods. We crawl slowly, slowly. My arms shake beneath me as we near the bikes—and the kazim on its back, eating my food just the length of a person away. Deimos had left the bike on standby—which means it’s floating and humming softly, ready to go. I just don’t know how we’ll get on it and accelerate fast enough to get away from the kazim, should it startle and attack.

  We’re close now. The hum of the bike barely masks the thick, slobbery chewing sounds of the kazim nearby. I’m shaking so much my teeth clatter—I set my jaw and breathe through my nose.

  “Where are we going?” Deimos whispers. “Enjos?”

  I’m too shaken to speak. The kazim’s tail thumps the sand on the other side of the bike. I just nod. Enjos. Enjos is where we’re going if we don’t get eaten by kazim. It’s only a guess, and I could very well be wrong, but it’s the only guess I have.

  Deimos carefully grabs the bike’s steering unit, looks at me, and jerks his head over his shoulder. I crawl backward as he slowly drags the bike away from the kazim, cringing as he does, as if he expects them to realize what’s happening and attack us.

  We double the distance. Triple it. The closest kazim keeps eating and rolling in the sand while the other chews my bag to shreds. It’s a good thing I didn’t have anything important in there.

  “Okay,” Deimos finally whispers. Sweat glistens on his face and shoulders. “We’re far enough. Let’s just go while we can.”

  My voice is still caught in my throat, but I nod and stand, trying not to look at the kazim as we throw on our helmets and climb onto the bike.

  One breath later—two—Deimos kicks off and we shoot across the sands.

  We arrive with the suns high above us and their heat pouring over our shoulders, but that doesn’t stop the chill sliding down my back as we pass the bodies of the men I killed. The men Eros helped me kill. The men who would have—

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open them again.

  “Do you know what happened here?” Deimos asks.

  “Those men are criminals,” I answer. “They tried to … hurt me.”

  He glances back at me. “You did this?”

  “Some of it. Eros helped with the last few. But we didn’t …” I grimace at a split-open corpse. “The animals have taken advantage of what we left behind.”

  Deimos nods. “Where should we stop?”

  “I … the temple.” Heat flashes over my face at the thought of returning there, but I force the words out anyway. “Let’s go to the temple.”

  Deimos nods, and we move forward. Over the corpses of the men we left behind. To the place I ruined everything with one desperate kiss.

  An alarm blares overhead, startling Mal and me out of our beds. Red light flashes through our room, again, again, the sound slamming against my heart, over, over. It’s not screaming, it’s not screaming, I’m fine, I’m fine—

  “Uncle Eros?” Mal yells, slapping his hands over his ears. “What’s going on?”

  Inhale, exhale. Relax. Everything is fine. We’re fine. I take a shaky breath. “Let me find out.” I move toward the door, but Mal stumbles toward me.

  “Wait!”

  I stop and face him. Mal squints up at me, wincing with every scream of the alarm. “What if it’s dangerous?”

  “I’m sure we’re fine. They’re armed to the teeth down here. I’ll just go find out what’s going on—I promise everything is going to be fine.”

  “You can’t promise that. You don’t know what’s going on any more than I do.”

  “I don’t, but—”

  “I’m coming, too.”

  I frown. Would Mal be safer here, or at my side? The truth is, I’m not sure. I can’t be sure
of anything down here—I can’t trust anyone or anything, not really.

  “I’m not a little kid anymore,” Mal says. “Let me go with you. I can handle it.”

  I sigh. “Fine. Let me, um … should I hold your hand or something?”

  Mal glares at me.

  I laugh. “Okay, okay, sorry. Um. Here.” I hold his shoulder. “Just so you don’t—”

  “Let’s just go.”

  We do—I’ve taken all of one step forward before the door swings open and the guard beckons us out into the hall.

  “I can watch the kid, but Commander Jakande needs you,” he says.

  “I’m not a—”

  “Mal’s coming with us. Let’s go.”

  The guard hesitates but nods and leads us forward. Five mos later and with my ears ringing as loud as the sirens, we enter the monitor room they brought us to when we first arrived. The door closes behind us, muffling the scream of the alarm, but the sound still echoes painfully in my ears.

  “Do you know these two?” Rani points to the screens.

  My stomach sinks as a camera zooms in on Kora’s face. I grit my teeth. She’s here. Probably for me. And I doubt it’s to apologize.

  No, she’s probably here because of Serek’s message.

  A guy with light brown skin and mismatched eyes and markings stands next to her—Sepharon, dressed in black and red, so not from Asheron, where their colors are black and gold, and not from Elja, where their uniforms are white and red. He doesn’t seem to be threatening her, though—they stand side by side, looking at the building we’re beneath, while the guy speaks to her.

  “So, you were here recently?” he asks in Sephari, his deep voice filling the room.

  “Oh, shit.” Shaw laughs. “Hold on, we know that chick—that’s the one Eros was macking with the last time we saw them. The ex-Avra.” He grins at me. “Am I right or am I right?”

  Rani looks at me. “Are you still romantically involved with her?”

  My face warms and I scowl. “No. Not that it matters.”

  Shaw snickers. “Trouble in paradise?”

  I glare at him then glance at Rani. “She’s not a threat.”