TWO WEEKS AGO
Everything burned—Kochin’s lungs, his legs, the tears behind his eyes—but he ignored it all for the small miracle he held in his arms. Even Trin collapsed at his side, discarding the crutch and sweeping back Nhika’s hair to place a finger on her pulse.
“Heaven and earth, Kochin,” he breathed, his earlier reservation all but gone. “You’ve done it. How?”
“I … I don’t know,” Kochin admitted, because he truly didn’t. He couldn’t say how he restored tissue or cardiac impulse or cranial activity. All he knew is that he had given, using the same paths of influence that she had already threaded.
Something rumbled overhead; rivulets of dust rained down on their hair. Trin picked himself up from the floor and offered a hand. “We’ve got to go.”
With a nod, Kochin squeezed Nhika close to him, a bid of luck before he lifted himself off the floor. His legs stumbled in their weakness, but the steady drum of Nhika’s heartbeat against his chest urged him on, and he trudged forward with renewed vitality.
They were a clumsy trio, Trin with his crutch and Kochin with his sugar-starved legs and Nhika in his arms, breathing softly. But never before had Kochin felt so much hope—Nhika’s form in his arms was the very embodiment of it.
“This way,” Trin said, guiding them back toward the stairs. He skidded to a stop when they heard a collective of marching footsteps from above. Their party turned down a different corner just as a troop of soldiers stomped through.
Trin took them forward. Kochin followed blindly. At some point, they rerouted, avoiding the marching footsteps of another troop—then, a cramped stairwell later, they were opening a door into the humid Yarongese air.
Darkness soaked the night. The lights of the village didn’t fully reach the sky as Theumas’s lights did; Kochin could still make out the stars. Familiar constellations lit their path as he and Trin evaded sentry beams to skirt across the prison yard. The fence was lacking—Trin hacked down a post with three hits of his crutch.
At the noise, a beam of light swiveled toward them. They ducked out into the thicket of the Yarongese jungle, but too late. There came shouting, a voice hollering, “There he is!”
Trin and Kochin continued toward the beach. The jungle was unforgiving terrain, but Kochin held Nhika close to his chest and pressed through, no matter the branches that snapped at his cheeks and the ground that dropped out beneath his step. He kept pace with Trin, who was fighting his own battle through the foliage.
At last, they reached the beach—a breath of fresh air. Trin still pressed on; Kochin followed, only hoping there was a plan beyond this. Behind them, distantly, soldiers had mobilized. Lights roamed the dark. The jungle swayed.
“There’s a ship waiting for us,” Trin said, urging him on. Kochin wondered if he regretted it now, with the weight of consequences nipping at their heels. All to save a heartsooth.
The ship made itself apparent. It was like the one Kochin had come to Yarong on, only smaller—beached at the moment, its bay open like a wide throat.
Kochin quickened his pace, feet slipping against the loose sand of the dune as he slid his way down to the ship. He reached it before Trin and set still-unconscious Nhika down on the bench, brushed back her hair. In the night, she was starlight.
A cry from Trin drew Kochin’s attention out of the vessel; the soldier had tumbled down the dune, his crutch snapped in two beneath him. He clutched his leg, wincing.
Kochin hurried out to help him. Already, those lights were approaching, roving the hill above them. Hurrying, Kochin scooped Trin up over a shoulder, dragging him more than walking with him.
“We have to go,” he said, voice urgent. “You have to go. They’re only looking for me.”
“I’m not one to see things halfway through,” was Trin’s stoic response.
Acid rose in Kochin’s lungs as they staggered through sand. His arms burned; his shoulders stiffened. But he lurched on until he’d dragged Trin into the ship, trailing sand and surf behind them. Trin collapsed against a bench. Kochin sent a look over his shoulder. Already, soldiers were cresting the hill—they’d spot him and Trin both. There wasn’t enough time to start the ship. Not enough time to get away.
A plan formed. Half desperation, half acceptance—that they wouldn’t be able to get through this night without casualty. That Commissioner Nem only wanted him, and he didn’t need to take Trin and Nhika down with him. That he’d gotten his happy ending already, bringing Nhika back, reclaiming his heartsoothing. And that had to be enough. Even if he wanted to see her open her eyes, even if he yearned to take her home to Chengton, even if he wanted his freedom, his peace, his love … This had to be enough.
Kochin’s hand wrapped around his necklace. A ring; an ID tag. Her life given for his; the favor returned. A bid to be remembered; a reminder of what was gone.
Kochin yanked the necklace from around his neck and wove it around Nhika’s curled fingers. Then he stooped at Trin’s side. “Bring her to the Congmis and keep her safe, okay? Promise me.”
Already, Trin looked diaphoretic, but he nodded through his pain. “Promise. What are you—”
That’s all Kochin let him say before leaving his side. He spent a moment at Nhika’s, crouched beside her sleeping form, bending his head low over hers. More than anything, he wished she would wake, if only so he could have a final moment with her. And she’d always had an easy answer, a quick solution, hadn’t she? He wondered, if she were awake, would she see some future where they lasted? Or could that only be found in another life?
The moment was brief—it had to be, for Commissioner Nem’s soldiers were coming over the hill. Still, Kochin took the time to whisper one last farewell.
“Remember me when you wake, Nhika,” he said. “Remember me as a heartsooth. Remember me as Ven Kochin. And remember that I … that I love you.”
I love you. A quiet confession meant for no one but her, him, the sand and the sea and the stars. Kochin hoped she could hear it. His hand brushed her cheek, and he imagined pouring the confession into her skin the way his influence did—just so that when she woke, she knew she was loved.
All he could do was hope. Kochin tore himself from her side, feeling something crush around his heart.
“What are you doing?” Trin asked again.
“Buying you time.”
Kochin stepped out onto the beach. Behind him, with a hiss of steam and a whir of gears, the bay doors lifted. He threw a glance over his shoulder just in time to see Nhika disappear from view.
Then it was just him, this beach, his fate over the hill.
Kochin started forward, climbed the dune. When he came up on the top, he threw up his hands. Lights assailed his eyes and rifles clicked; Kochin squinted, hands above his head, just as a broad-shouldered silhouette cut toward the front of the group.
“Mr. Ven, I’m very disappointed in you,” Commissioner Nem said. He peered beyond Kochin’s shoulder. “And who is your accomplice?”
“I’m turning myself in,” Kochin replied staunchly, yielding nothing.
Commissioner Nem scrutinized him. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Congmi vessel. One manufactured under my purview. So, there are few who could have acquired one, Private Dep being one of them.”
A stone settled in Kochin’s stomach. “He wasn’t involved. All I did was send him home with Nhika.”
“Doesn’t seem that way to me,” the commissioner said. “Seems like I’ve caught him aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
Behind Kochin, water burbled. The ship was finally pushing itself off the beach, disappearing into the surf. His chest should’ve felt lighter for it, but Commissioner Nem said, “It’s in my right to have the unknown vessel torpedoed out of the water.”
“You … you wouldn’t.”
“Give me one reason why not.”
Kochin swallowed. This was a bluff. Trin’s proximity to Andao made him untouchable, yet … Andao would never know the truth of what happened on this side of the water. Here, Commissioner Nem could torpedo the ship with no consequence—just as he’d shot the fleeing Daltan prisoner dead. And Kochin couldn’t have that, not while Nhika was alive on board that ship.
“I did it,” Kochin announced. “I brought her back. Nhika. She’s alive.”
Commissioner Nem’s eyes narrowed with doubt. “How? With whose life?”
“None but my own.” Kochin didn’t let his hands fall. “If you want proof, she’s on that vessel.”
“Are you lying to me, Kochin?”
Kochin didn’t drop his gaze. “No.”
“This is a surprise,” Commissioner Nem thought aloud. His tone turned lauding. “Kochin, do you understand what this means? This is a wonderful thing you’ve done—you’ve rewritten the meaning of life and death and … war. Has it occurred to you the implications?”
Kochin wanted to deny it, to tell Commissioner Nem that he misunderstood this small act—Kochin had not rewritten anything, he’d just healed along lines already inscribed—but he knew that Commissioner Nem was already cemented in his perspective. To him, Kochin had brought back the dead from nothing. To him, Kochin was the answer to an infinite army.
“If you let Trin and Nhika go without consequence, I’ll do it for you,” Kochin offered. “I brought her back without using a life in exchange. I don’t know how, but I did it. If you can guarantee Mr. Dep’s and Nhika’s safety, I’ll go with you willingly. We can figure out how exactly a bloodcarver revives the dead.”
Commissioner Nem grinned at the offer with something between pride and greed, as though thrilled that Kochin was finally speaking his language. In the moment, Kochin felt small and meaningless, grasping for any scrap that Commissioner Nem had to offer—just like when he’d first come to Theumas, so prepared to lower himself to any job just to get a place on the ladder.
“I’m glad that you’re coming around to reason,” Commissioner Nem said. “And I find it very suitable. I can forget that Dep Trin was ever here—after all, he should be back in Theumas by now. And you’re right. The only crime you’ve committed is saving one life and bringing another back from the dead. I don’t see why that can’t be forgiven on the island.”
Kochin didn’t relax, knowing a stipulation was coming.
“However,” Commissioner Nem began, and Kochin steeled himself, “I will find Suon Ko Nhika. I will verify whether you’ve truly brought her back. If you can’t find out how you performed your miracle, then its only evidence resides in her body. We can’t just have something that important scampering off to an unknown corner of Theumas.”
Kochin gritted his teeth. Was Nem threatening to … experiment on her? After he had so decried the experiments of Daltanny? “Don’t you dare hurt her,” he growled, and the threat in his tone was enough to coax a couple raised rifles.
Commissioner Nem waved them away. “Every businessperson knows an employee needs incentive to work. That’s my one condition. Take it, or chance your fates before a tribunal.”
Perhaps Kochin was not so adept at this game as he’d thought; Commissioner Nem had seen right through his ploy. Now, the commissioner expected results for a task Kochin could not reproduce, and Nhika’s life was on the line if he failed. Chains, so many chains—out of Santo’s binds just to fall into another’s. Nhika would’ve had choice words for him, but Kochin saw no other option.
“Okay,” he told Commissioner Nem, holding his head high. “I’ll take it.”