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 possible 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.

With difficulty they crested the first escarpment: Cohen holding onto Sydel’s hand and helping her through the rocks, Phaira picking her way through like she had done it a million times before, Renzo stumbling and swearing every few seconds. Finally, they reached the top, and peered over the edge on the other side. All four gasped at the sight below.

Nestled in the shadow and protection of the valley were thousands of tiny red wooden huts, spread across the land, like a vast carpet over the vibrant kelly green. In the center of the spread, there were a few larger buildings, also in red brick, and there were the shapes of temples to the west, on the outskirt of one corner of the sprawl. It was startlingly beautiful, and utterly quiet.

"What is this place?" Renzo asked, panting from the effort of climbing.

Suddenly, Sydel knew. "It's a Jala settlement. Yann told me about this arm. It's the largest Jala settlement in Osha. People travel from all over to study here." What was it called? She wracked her brain but couldn't come up with the name.

Phaira’s voice was faint. "We can't go down there.”

"We don't have a choice," Cohen said gruffly.

"Cohen's right," Renzo coughed. "Just keep quiet and let me do the talking."

Surprisingly, Phaira didn't argue with her older brother. So Sydel tucked the sword into her waist sash, and slid her arms through Cohen and Phaira's elbows, both so similar in a way. Together, with Renzo in the lead, they made their way down the steep ridge.

The huts drew into focus. Different shades of red, she realized, some were crimson, or fire-orange, or faded pink. And the structures weren’t next to each other, like she thought from above, but staggered, creating great, broken waves up and down the valley walls.

Movement at the entrance, the mouth of a dirt path, leading into the center of the town. People were gathering, men and women, both young and old, and of every skin color. They all wore faded trousers and tunics, but some bore sticks, and bos, and blades, while others were barehanded, with visible veins in their strong forearms. Sydel felt the muscles in Cohen’s arm tense.

Renzo raised his hands in the air. "Please," he called out. "We mean no harm. We just need shelter."

The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Weapons were held tighter in fists.

Renzo looked over his shoulder at Phaira, his expression pleading for her to step forward, to show some intimidation, or authority.

But Phaira’s eyes were unfocused, and her shoulders curved forward, her muscles slack.

Sydel was dumbfounded. What had CaLarca done to the woman?

Sydel gathered her strength and called out: "I'm one of you. A Jala, from Midland. My master was Yann Qin. Do you have a leader here?”

The crowd just looked at her.

“We beg of you, give us sanctuary," Sydel tried. “In the name of the faith - ”

“They need to fight.”

A voice hovered above the crowd.

Heads nodded in response. A few shouted to be chosen as opponents.

“Fight? We’re not here to fight," Renzo burst out. "Didn’t you hear what she said?”

“Show us what you know!” a woman called out.

Sydel searched for the source of both outbursts, but the crowd was pressing forward, and Sydel could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

Then her memory hit: this place was Soares Valley, where every resident was a martial artist, and a teacher within the community. Their Jala path was pursuing ultimate perfection in physical and mental expression. They lived here, they practiced with each other, they fought each other in the open, and practiced their faith. And just like any other Jala community, outsiders were not to be trusted, but to be initiated into the flock.

“Wait!” she cried. “We accept! We will fight!”

The crowd stopped. Renzo and Cohen stared at her, both with hands in the air, ready to defend against the mob. Phaira’s eyes were on the ground, like she hadn’t even noticed the situation.

Sydel couldn’t fight, of course. But the Soares people didn’t know that, and they had to play along with what they wanted.

“We will fight,” she repeated, her voice trembling, “in seven days.”

“Seven days?” Renzo squawked, but Sydel ignored him and kept talking. “My group – my family - we ask for seven days before we engage in combat and attempt to gain entrance into your communia.”

“What are you doing?” Cohen hissed under his breath.

“And in the meantime, you give us sanctuary," Sydel continued. "Until a decision is rendered.”

A faint grumbling came from the crowd, but Sydel knew there was no counterargument. Jala rules were the same everywhere, regardless of specialization. And the restrictions were the same, too, she knew: within the initiation period, there was to be no outside contact, and no leaving the borders, not without severe repercussions. That rule, they would end up breaking, Sydel knew, but the prospect of warmth, shelter and food overtook any future plans.

“Syd, we’re not joining anything,” Cohen was muttering, looking panicked. “What are you doing?”

A woman stepped forward, gesturing at the tower of houses. "Shelter east of the path is for women,” she announced. “West is for men. Sexes only mingle at the academy, or at worship, or on this path for training.”

Cohen snorted to himself. Sydel shot him a look.

Two men broke through the crowd, gesturing for Cohen and Renzo to follow.

Then strong, calloused hands landed on Sydel's arms, guiding her in the other direction, and more hands were prodding Phaira, propelling the women to the east side of the dirt path. No one spoke. As a group, they passed hut after hut, and finally one of the huts, orange-red in color, had an open teal door.

Inside, it was a simple shack; four walls, a firepit surrounded with a metal shield of some kind, and two beds on the ground, flat futons with heavy quilts, with neatly-folded bundles of clothing on each. Two women went to start a fire, and the others helped Sydel and Phaira to remove their dirty, damp clothing. Sydel clung to her body, embarrassed by the nudity, but Phaira had no response. Their old clothes were tossed out the door, and the new ones unwrapped: trousers and tunic bundles in some kind of soft, jewel-blue material. Another body ducked through the door, into the hut, bearing a metal platter piled with rice, vegetables, some unknown form of meat, and a jug of water. It was placed on the mattress on the right, nearest to Sydel.

Then the women left, as silent as they came.

Phaira and Sydel were alone. The fire crackled. Sydel realized that she’d forgotten to take a breath during this whole process, and sucked in the smell of the hut: ashes, and wet earth, and smoke.

"Come eat, Phaira," she said, sitting next the heavy platter, and resisting the impulse to lift and tip the contents into her mouth. "Come and sit. It will be okay."

Phaira sank onto the other bed. Slowly, she pulled her legs underneath the quilt. Then she turned to the wall, so all Sydel could see was matted blue hair.

Night fell, but Sydel couldn't sleep. Her thoughts went in circles, tighter and tighter until she couldn't resist; she closed her eyes, and let her Eko go, let it soar in all directions, searching for that presence. Nothing, nothing, just other bodies, hands, deaths, skins, desert and rock and sand and urban waste, and pressure, mounting pressure, so hard that it made it hard to breathe, and....

And there.

There she was, flickering in the forefront of Sydel's mind.

CaLarca.

No, she could hear the whisper of CaLarca's thoughts. It's not possible. Sydel.

It's possible, Sydel sent down the chain. You're faint, but I can hear you. You betrayed us.

It was not personal, came CaLarca's response, higher pitched than normal. If I could have, I would have never incapacitated you....

Sydel grit her teeth. You hurt the people I care for. They thought you to be their friend. As did I.

Are you coming for me?

Sydel didn't know what to say. Her emotions were swirling so hard, she felt like she might burn a hole in the mattress and fall through to the floor.

CaLarca's words came down the Eko channel like waves. I have no regrets, Sydel. Everything I've done, it's been for my family. You wouldn't understand.

Tears formed in Sydel's eyes, angry, frustrated tears, and something else under her nose.

She touched her nostril. It came back dark.

She had to disconnect. It was all too much.

She sent her final message to CaLarca, before the darkness overcame her. I won't forget this. None of us ever will.