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DEMITRI
“Mila! Oh, Mila, no.”
I crash to my knees at her side, my fingers trembling and outstretched for her face, but I can’t bring myself to touch her. What have I done? This can’t be. It isn’t supposed to be how it ends. Mila, get up, move, anything, please. You can’t die. It should have been me.
She lies there, unmoving, sprawled awkwardly. Blood runs freely from her nose and mouth, her skull indented from the devastating blow Vedmak bestowed. My insides feel liquified, my heart a heavy stone that threatens to tear its way through my body and slap against the cold hard floor.
Vedmak, you bastard. Where are you? Vedmak!
He doesn’t answer.
“Vedmak!” I scream, but my voice is lost to the rumbling concussions shaking the lillipad.
Metal squeals and electrical wires fizz and spark as the structure comes apart. In a fit of anger, I tear at the leather straps holding the killing device strapped to my arm. They break, the hateful thing knocking to the ground.
I grab Mila by the old leather jacket she’s always wearing. “You stupid Robust, you did that on purpose. You knew what would happen. You did it ... to save—” Tears cut a path through the grime on my cheeks and I choke on my words. I bury my head in her chest and cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my miserable life. My shoulders shake, the sobs uncontrollable, the tears soaking her shirt to the skin.
Can’t breathe. Can’t make it stop. My heart burns with a thousand things I need to say but will never get the chance to. “Mila ... Mila, no.”
She stirs under me, eyes fluttering.
“Mila?”
“D-Demitri, is it you?” she croaks.
My lungs falter and for a moment I have no breath to speak. “Yes, Mila it’s me, I’m here.”
Her face is ghostly white, her head lolling. “I can see Him now. He’s waiting for me.”
“What? Who?” I ask, stroking the hair from her face.
“The Lightbringer. He’s—” She slips into unconsciousness again.
Another quake rumbles through the lillipad and chunks of the ceiling fall away, exploding into clouds of dust all around. Faruq approaches, a terrible slack expression on his face. In his arms he cradles his sister.
“Stay with me, Mila, c’mon.” I sniff hard and remove the damn cloak Vedmak had me wear and lay it across her. My arms slip under her head and knees and I brace to lift.
“Demitri?” Oksana’s voice reaches out. My tear-filled eyes take in her beautiful face. “Is it you?”
I can only gasp, my body trembling. “What have I done?”
A moment passes and a hand touches my shoulder. “It worked,” she whispers. “I can’t believe it worked.”
“I couldn’t stop him before he ...” I mumble.
Oksana regards the headless form of the Creed, who looks so much like my brother Nikolaj, with a sad pursing of trembling lips. She turns back to Mila and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “She’s gone. We have to go, Demitri. This place is coming down.”
Mila sputters back to consciousness, blood oozing from her nose and ears.
I recoil and brace to take her weight. “No, I won’t let her die here alone.”
Mila’s gaze rests firmly centered with mine. “I’m not alone, Demitri,” she whispers, her words slurred. “Never was.” Her tongue moves to wet her lips, “You saved us all. You ... didn't know that, did you?”
“You’re concussed, Mila. It’s bad. You need help.”
Slowly, Faruq kneels beside us, lowering Husniya to the ground.
“No, Demitri.” Her cold fingertips rise to touch my face. “I got to see my friend one last time. I got to make a difference.” She swallows, her stare growing distant.
Faruq reaches out and grasps her fingers. “Mila?”
“Tell Faruq,” she mumbles, her eyes far away.
“Yes, Mila, I’m here,” Faruq says, tears running down his face. “I’m here.”
“Tell Faruq I loved ...” Mila’s body relaxes with a sigh, her pupils dilating as a whispered breath caresses my cheek.
Faruq’s head drops, his shoulders shaking.
“Mila?” My scream fills the room, long and loud, becoming hoarse until only a barely audible hiss escapes my throat. I clutch her as close to me as I can. Lungs burning and empty, I can’t even cry.
My gaze drifts from Faruq to Oksana, and to the battered monk and the broken Kahangan who have gathered around us in silent disbelief. Each one of them ignores their own injuries and the devastation all around, as if dying here with her were the only just thing to do.
“Demitri,” Oksana says as softly as she can, “Mila is right, you saved us all. I need you now, to help me. I’ll explain, I promise. Right now, you have to come. Don’t let her death be in vain.”
No one says anything.
“Up. Everybody up, c’mon.” Oksana stands and tugs at me and Faruq. The ceiling rumbles long and low.
Pressing Mila to my chest, I rise. My eyes burn with tears of hatred for Vedmak and guilt at my own impotence. “I’m not leaving her behind. If I die carrying her out, so be it.”
Faruq climbs to his feet, holding Husniya. Ghofaun shoulders a broken but mobile Mos. I’m sure they wish me in her place. For now, the vengeance in their eyes is replaced only with despair. Both men dip their brow. Oksana simply motions us forward and leads the way out of the crumbling lillipad.
I follow her out, Faruq, Ghofaun, and Mos at my heels. We stumble through the smoke and debris and out into the hostile Siberian cold. The battlefield before us is a wasteland of bodies and blood. Few are left standing and fewer have any fight left in them. They wander around, lost, probing the now cold bodies of friends and brothers in arms. At our approach, Baqirian, Kahangan, Zopatian, resistance fighter, all become still and silent, fixated on Mila’s lifeless body hanging in my arms.
A small group of Rippers, still furious with rage and led by a large Robust adorned with a necklace of skulls, approach. There’s a roar and I flinch. It’s the tiger. Anastasia is atop the beast, a notched arrow drawn. Together, they form a formidible shield against those who would do us harm. The Rippers stall, fear and doubt upon their blood-stained faces.
The tiger roars again.
The chieftain glares at Mila’s broken form long and hard but finally turns and, with a wave of his arm, his Rippers disband, dissappearing with him through the broken wall of ice. I am sure it will not be the last we see of him.
Anastasia lowers the pulled bowstring and takes note of Mila’s limp form hanging in my arms. She stares deep into me. “Demitri?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
She closes her eyes and exhales, her cheeks wet with tears.
A screech of twisting metal echoes from behind us and the broken lillipad finally collapses in on itself, sending a rush of ice and snow against our backs. We don’t even acknowledge it. Instead, we trudge out from the shadows of this hell and onward to, well, who knows where. Forward, I suppose. The only way for us now is forward.
