Everlife (An Everlife Novel) Page 6

  With a snarl, I leap to my feet.

  “I’m surprised you’re so upset about this,” she says. “You told the Butcher you didn’t love him and couldn’t be trusted. Why is that, I wonder. Did you lie to him? Your actions speak louder than your words.”

  I take another swing at her, then another, but she easily dodges both times.

  “You don’t want to take me on, Miss Lockwood. I trained Levi, who trained you. There’s nothing you can do that I can’t do better.”

  Not true. She can’t share Light. I can. Or could. I pause as comprehension slams into me. I’m absorbing Light, but no longer sending the beams to the citizens of Troika.

  Don’t cave to panic. Don’t you dare.

  At least I’m strengthening. And I can find a way to fix this. I can, and I will.

  “Perhaps you buy into the hype that you are somehow special? So precious, so unique.” She sneers at me. “Myriad wanted you because they wrongly believed you were Fused to nine of their fallen Generals. We know better. And guess what? We tell every recruit they are special to us—that they are the chosen one—and that their actions will affect the war, because it’s true. Everyone must work together, with the same goal. We must be one body. The body.”

  Mind—blown.

  I knew it. I’m not any kind of chosen one. Although… “By your logic, I am special, because everyone is.” Together, we are the chosen one. Together, we can win or lose the war. “If no one is special apart from the whole, how did I become a Conduit? How did you become a General?”

  “Birth doesn’t dictate our station, Miss Lockwood. Hearts do that. Yours happened to be more open and receptive to Light than most, more willing to share.”

  Her answer doesn’t jibe with the things I’ve been taught. “I was an infant when my status as a Conduit was detected.” Perhaps a better word—decided. By Eron? “How could my heart be open and receptive to things I didn’t yet understand? I had no concept of anything outside hunger or—”

  “Wrong,” she interjects. She adopts a cool mask, hiding her emotions. “Humans understand less than they think, but spirits are far wiser than anyone realizes.” Her head tilts to the side, her eyes like lasers. “I’ve watched you with your brother. I’d venture to guess he’s able to speak into your mind.”

  She’s right. Jeremy is only a few months old, has no concept of language, and yet he has spoken to me telepathically. The rest of my objections wither. I have other questions, of course. I always have questions. Knowledge is power. But this woman is not the person I want teaching me. She might have trained Levi, but she isn’t half the warrior he was.

  “Other infants speak to their loved ones, too.” She spreads her arms wide, all I’m the smartest woman in the universe. “Just like I told you. Wise.”

  “I will not be blackmailed.” A promise from the depths of my soul. If she knew me, even a little, she would understand I always mean what I say and say what I mean. Those who are weak, lie. Those who are strong, defend the truth, whatever the cost. “I told you. I will vote for the one I think is best. You won’t change my mind.”

  The color drains from her cheeks, the cool mask slipping away. There’s no hiding the desperation in her eyes now. Desperation I’ve seen reflected back at me more than once, when I stared into a mirror, wondering how I could get myself out of whatever mess I’d fallen into.

  “Please, Miss Lockwood. Tenley. How you feel about Mr. Flynn is how I feel about General Orion.”

  Oh, now she calls him Mr. Flynn?

  “He means everything to me,” she continues. “When my family died, he was there for me. Let me be there for him. And he will save us from Myriad. He will. You just give him a chance.”

  The darker part of me—my Myriadian side?—laughs. Such a fool. She’s handed us the key to her destruction.

  Us? No, oh, no. “He didn’t save us before. What makes you think he’ll succeed with a second chance?”

  She opens her mouth, snaps it closed.

  I’m not done. “If you know the love I have for Killian and took him away from me anyway, if you are using him to blackmail me, you are worse than I realized.” Even still, I focus on my Troikan side, where compassion holds my heart in a vise grip.

  She’s hurting. There’s no need to kick her while she’s down. And really, Luciana isn’t the first person to ask me to vote for Orion. Levi did, too, right before his Second-death.

  I know two facts about him. (1) He was a war hero who led his troops into battle with vigor and cunning, and (2) his return would be good for Troika. But so would Levi’s. And Meredith’s and Archer’s. But I care about Myriadians, too. I want what’s best for everyone.

  “You love Orion the way I love Killian?” I say. “Even though the General is married to another woman?”

  She flinches, as if I landed another punch. “I didn’t say I was proud of my feelings, only that I have them. And I’m not asking you to pick him simply because I miss him. I’m truly concerned for our home, Miss Lockwood. Mere days ago, Myriad almost destroyed us. One second we were happily working as usual, the next we were fighting for our lives. If Myriadians aren’t stopped, they’ll come at us again, and again. Our children will be hurt. Or worse! Just…think about all I have said.” She taps her wrist. A Light shines from her forearm, a keyboard that is an extension of her comm. As she types, she says, “Your choice could ensure our victory. Or our defeat. If we lose, everyone you love will perish.”

  “So I’m the chosen one, after all? Or perhaps you mean Orion is the chosen one, all on his own.”

  She scowls. Then, having no response, she transports away.

  Zero! I’m not done with her—or Shamus! But first things first.

  As I rush through the next Gate, no animals follow me. A flicker of disappointment burns my chest, but I quickly tamp it down. I make my way to the House of Secrets, where the Eye is located. The portal will allow me to see anyone in the Land of the Harvest or Troika.

  I exit the Gate onto a circular sidewalk about the size of a football field. Along the outer edge of the sidewalk looms one skyscraper after another, as well as two piles of debris, courtesy of the bombings. In the center is an island, connected to the sidewalk through multiple bridges, and in the center of the island is the Eye, a massive oval of glistening mist, surrounded by a cluster of jagged, unpolished diamonds.

  Throngs of people meander in every direction, some coming, some going. Four-legged animals—everything from dogs to donkeys—trail a few of those people. The smart ones who accepted Eron’s gift.

  Something I’ve noticed: Whatever our Secondking does, he has a good reason, and that reason is always beneficial to us, his people. Take the Exchange, for instance. On the surface, it seems cruel. If we do something wrong, either inadvertently or on purpose, we are forced to trade places with the one we harmed; just for a moment, we experience the past through the other person’s eyes. We feel their pain, learn their thoughts.

  Honestly, a whipping would be easier to endure. Physical wounds heal. The ones on our hearts scar, and last forever.

  “Excuse us.”

  The voice pulls me out of my head. A massive wolf with snow-white fur looms just in front of me. Eyes the color of emeralds stare at me, expectant. His teeth are long, sharp and as white as his fur. The better to eat you with, my dear.

  I reel. “Um. Hi.” I’ve never had a conversation with a wolf before.

  Is he my—

  “My human would like to speak with you,” he says.

  Oh. I look behind him, and spot a guy who is vibrating with eagerness, sadness and hope all at once. He’s covered in soot, his clothing torn. Clearly he’s been working to clean up the mess.

  “Please,” he says. “My wife died this year.” He speaks Swahili, a language I’ve never learned; even still, the Grid translates every word in an instant. “I know you haven’t met her, and that most of the realm wants one of the Generals to return, but please. Please! Consider my Fahari. She was the kindest,
sweetest, most loving woman ever born.”

  Someone else I’ve never met pushes him out of the way, vying for my attention. “You must vote for—”

  The wolf turns and growls at the newcomer. Newcomer’s eyes widen as his mouth snaps closed.

  Then, tone as calm as can be, Wolf says, “Allow my human to finish his conversation, then you may speak.”

  Guardian animals are amazing.

  Unfortunately, the ferocity of the growl draws everyone else’s attention. Suddenly, those others issue pleas of their own. Well. Word has certainly spread. Tenley Lockwood is the one who will decide who comes back to life, courtesy of the Resurrection.

  A stray thought arises: Am I Tenley Flynn now?

  “I’m sorry,” I announce. I doubt anyone hears me. “I’m in a hurry.”

  I push through the masses. Once I’m standing before the Eye, I search the portal for any hint of darkness inside Troika…with no luck. Zero! I whisper Killian’s name…still nothing. Foot stomp.

  Maybe I’m supposed to do more than look and speak? But what?

  Ugh. I can’t ask anyone for help. If a Troikan discovers a Myriadian currently lurks in our midst, mass panic could ensue.

  Okay, so. Coming here was a fool’s mistake. Noted. But where can I go? My apartment was destroyed in the most recent attack, and anywhere else, I’ll be inundated with citizens just like these, desperate to influence my vote.

  I’m tempted to open the door to the Rest and ask Archer, Meredith and Levi for advice. But the shadows…

  Luciana’s warning rings in my head. What if the shadows now taking up prime real estate inside my head somehow use the bond I share with my friends to sneak into their sections of the Grid?

  Can’t risk it. Not until I erect some sort of block.

  Once again I fight my way through the crowd. A little more difficult this time around. No matter. I manage to slip through a Stairwell, then a Gate, and finally end up in a scorched—abandoned—manna field, no workers nearby. Raindrops join the flower petals, gently falling from the Veil. Before my eyes, little green buds break through the soil.

  I lie upon the earth, the rain a light pitter-patter against my skin, mixing with a warm cascade…of tears? Ugh. I’m married, but I’ve never felt more alone. I’m—

  Welcoming pity. A shudder rocks me. I will not feel sorry for myself. If I do, I’ll weaken. Pity will only drain my hope and leave me empty.

  Now is the time to rise and shine and fight for what’s right.

  I have too much to do to sulk.

  First up, Killian’s liberation. End goal: freedom from war.

  Loyalty, passion, liberty.

  Strength. Clarity.

  Light.

  Yes! I close my eyes and open a door in the Grid, unleashing a flood of Light. As shadows hiss and run, I do my best to erect a mental block before concentrating on my bond to Killian—

  Suddenly I’m six years old. I’m perched on my knees, my stomach empty and twisted with hunger, my skin caked in dirt. I ran away from the Learning Center weeks— months?—ago. No one wants me, fine. I can make it on my own, and I’ll prove it.

  Or so I thought.

  I gasp, realizing I’m in Killian’s head, reliving one of his memories.

  Two men stand behind him, ensuring he’s locked in place as a well-dressed man paces directly in front of him, back and forth, back and forth. One of those men is holding a wafer of ambrosia and yelling at Killian, furious that he tried to steal food from him. Him, an exalted General.

  Finally the General stops and glares at Killian with cruelty and calculation in his dark eyes. “You want this, boy?” He shakes the ambrosia in Killian’s direction, making sure he smells the sweetness. His mouth waters, and his gums ache.

  “Beg me for it.”

  Killian shakes his head no, refusing to beg. Even now, pride rules him.

  Motions exaggerated for effect, the General takes a bite of the wafer. Little crumbs fall to the floor, and Killian whimpers. When he reaches out, the man on his left stomps on his hand.

  A cry of pain from Killian—and me. Hot tears continue to pour down my cheeks.

  The memory plays on, the General reaching for the whip hanging on the wall. Killian stays put, still staring at the crumbs.

  With a nod from the General, the guards rip away Killian’s shirt.

  “Soon,” he says, unfurling the whip, “I’ll take you back to the Learning Center, where you belong. Until then, you’re going to beg me, as ordered. That, I promise you.”

  The scene goes dark, and, even as I sob, I question why I’m not allowed to witness what happened next.

  No doubt the answer is simple. It would have broken me.

  I had tae beg for scraps as a child, simply to survive. I’d rather die than beg for anything.

  So badly I want to wrap my arms around him, around the boy he used to be and the man he became. I want to protect him from the past, present and future. I want to know why he’s forgotten me, but I’m learning more about him.

  Something Luciana said nags at me. Love is not a feeling, but a choice. In that, I agree with her. But I wonder…

  What if Killian lost his memories because he must choose to be with me without having feelings for me?

  Will he?

  More determined to find him by the second, I brace and pursue our bond…

  A new memory takes shape. Killian stands in front of a mirror, naked. Gloriously, exquisitely naked. He’s only seventeen years old, yet muscle sculpts him. His skin is bronzed, mostly free of tattoos but littered with scars.

  Why didn’t those scars heal? He should have regenerated.

  A girl crouches behind him. She has short, dark hair, pale skin, elfin features and a slender build. She’s wearing a black tank top and a pair of barely-there panties, and it’s clear the two have just had sex.

  Envy pricks me. Envy and anger, with a dash of hurt. This boy is my husband, and this girl is seeing him at his most vulnerable. Seeing him in ways I haven’t. Not yet, anyway. Her memories of him belong to me!

  At least I recognize her. Erica used to Flank Killian, chronicling his exploits. Then she helped him help me, and Myriad locked her in the Kennel.

  Another item for my To Do list. Find her and set her free.

  I turn my attention to the small but luxurious room. The bed is covered by a plush black comforter while a fuzzy white blanket drapes the foot. A matching circular rug surrounds the bed. Softness when you lie down, softness when you stand up. The walls are painted black, except for the mirrored one. Several frames hang throughout. Empty frames. Once they contained holographic images of Killian and Archer, but Killian deleted them after Archer defected, then saved the frames as a reminder. You can count only on yourself.

  The dresser is hand-carved in the shape of a dragon, wings extending from the sides to act as bookshelves.

  “Let me get this straight,” Erica says as she tattoos his calf. “You want a map of Myriad to cover your entire body—just because. Isn’t that taking realm loyalty a little too far?”

  “There is no such thing as too far, baby. Besides, the tattoos will cover my scars,” Killian replies, accent-less.

  Doesn’t feel comfortable enough to be his true self with Erica? And baby? Gross!

  I have a direct line to his thoughts, but he isn’t thinking about the accent. Only about using the map to keep track of all the things he plans to hide inside the realm, how Erica will never know. No one will know, no matter how hard or often they study the images inked into his skin. Can’t read a map without a key.

  His mind is the key.

  He’ll hide weapons, money used in Myriad, Troika and even the Land of the Harvest, and extra supplies of ambrosia, just to name a few. That way, if ever he loses his home or earns a punishment that strips him of his possessions, he won’t have to start over. Not again.

  My heart clenches in my chest, seeming to bump against broken ribs. The other tattoos he’s asked Erica to add… He’s lo
st so much, and wants to honor what he loves and misses with the whole of his being. His mother, his friendship with Archer. The car he’d kept in the Land of the Harvest because he’d never gotten to drive in Firstlife, until some punk kids had stolen it from him. Ashley, the foster sister who died. Even Madame Pearl Bennett, Ashley’s mother.

  Pearl adopted him, offering him a family, only to return him mere days after Ashley’s death.

  What he mourned most of all, however, was his chance to become a General. When he failed to develop the proper gifts, he received a demotion and the Secondking’s disappointment.

  “Scars are sexy,” Erica says. “And unique. So few of us have them.”

  “Most children are protected, their vulnerability carefully shielded.”

  I hear bitterness in his tone and realize he received his scars the day the General caught him stealing ambrosia. The whip…

  Acid fills the pit of my stomach.

  I’ve always speculated about Killian’s scars and tattoos. While I’m grateful I now have answers, I would have preferred to learn the truth from present-day Killian. To know he trusted me with his secrets and pain.

  But even if his memories were intact, why should he trust me? When I sided with Archer, choosing to live in Troika, I abandoned Killian, just like everyone else. At least, that’s how he must have felt. Yes, he pushed me to let my heart lead the way, knowing I would never be happy in Myriad, but it cost him more than I ever realized.

  Maybe he forgot me because he wanted to forget.

  Sadness overwhelms me. Between one blink and the next, my link to Killian’s past is disrupted, and the scorched manna field whisks back into focus. The rain has stopped falling, the sun shining brightly. I remained in the memory all night long?

  Zero! The vote!

  I jackknife to a sitting position, my thoughts whirling. Once I had a choice to make: Troika or Killian. I chose the realm over the boy. Today, with the vote, the same choice is set before me.

  I’d already decided to put Killian first; now my determination solidifies. Today, I pick the boy. There is nothing more important than a life. A single life is priceless.