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I’m stuck in a loop, trying not to look at the ghost of a girl with golden curls and hazel eyes.
I’ve been here before. I know what’s coming next.
Shadows skitter across her face, darken and split the skin. Her childish features contort in a scream. Darkness wells in the corners of her milky eyes and spills down her cheeks in a continuous inky stream.
She smiles, slow and empty.
“We’re coming.”
Then the nightmare repeats.
***
I’VE SPENT MOST OF my life (at least the parts of it I remember) believing I was haunted.
It turns out I was—by my past self. Cadence is the remnant of everything I once was, before the loss of our parents and reprogramming by the not-so-benevolent Towers of Refuge stripped me of knowledge, identity, and purpose.
But as far as disembodied spirits go, she’s pretty tame. At least her pestering ways never gave me screaming nightmares.
“Again, Cole?” Ange stands beside my cot, knuckling sleep out of her eyes. I’m still not used to seeing her face so bare—down here, there’s no need for extravagant makeup nor the shielding illusion of protection provided by masks.
Her long-lost twin peeks around her shoulder, terrified the dream-eating Mara are going to descend at any moment. Amy still hasn’t gotten used to the idea they can’t venture this far below the surface. The depths belong to other monsters. And good old-fashioned nightmares, evidently.
I summon up my best “protector-of-the-people” smile. She doesn’t look reassured.
My hair is matted with sweat, my sheets twisted too tight here, trailing off the cot there. Blood darkens the bandages where I’ve reopened at least one of far too many gashes. They’re not healing well. Wading through viscera after being torn by jagged bone and crumbled tile turns out to be less than ideal, but no one said I had to look heroic.
Ange sighs and heads for her supply shelf, Amy scurrying in her wake. They were separated for like a decade, or so I’ve heard, and I’m sure there’s a story there, but Ash and Cadence have been so busy catching up it’s hard for anyone else to get a word in edgewise.
Speaking of which—“Did you see it that time?”
“Nope,” Cadence says. “Yet again, nightmareless. What a shame. Feeling so left out. Boo.”
Pest. “Shouldn’t you have?”
“Dunno. Probably. Ask Ash when he wakes up.”
I consider reaching over to the next cot to thump him with a pillow. He’d be fine with it—to him, I’m an old childhood friend—and Cadence would only laugh. But, despite their best efforts, I just can’t let myself give in and fall into their pace.
Besides, he needs his sleep. He seems to be healing faster than I am, but he was pretty beat up to begin with. Getting tortured by a monster will do that. The sooner he recovers, the sooner we can make sure nothing like that ever happens again, to anyone.
The three of us—if you count Cadence and me separately—are all that stands between humanity and the bottomless hunger of the Mara. There are thousands of people living in Refuge alone, and Ange says there are hundreds more hidden in the tunnels down here, too. Not to mention who knows how many outcasts who somehow cling to survival outside, despite flooding, toxic fog, Refuge raids, and, of course, the dream-eating Mara.
Ash groans and rolls over. He blinks. A slow smile takes over his face.
I hate it. He’s always so happy to see me.
Except when he looks at me, he sees her. Cadence. His Cady.
They were kids together. He came to save her. Instead, he found me.
Whatever. It’s fine. He and Cadence can chat in the dreamscape all they want. The important thing is we all get back in fighting shape and save the city before it’s too late.
The memory of the nightmare’s whispered warning—We’re coming—sends a chill up my spine.
Ash stifles a yawn to peer up at me. “What’s wrong?”
“She had another nightmare,” Cadence says. “She wants to know if you saw it, too. I didn’t. I had a lovely dream about marshmallows. When was the last time you roasted marshmallows?”
“Man, it’s been ages! First thing when we get back, we’ll have to get everyone together for a roast. Rei started this challenge where we see how many we can stack in one bite, not that he needs the sugar, and then Hatif—”
And they’re off. Again. I roll my eyes and swing my legs out over the cold concrete floor. They keep darting off on tangents about things I don’t understand and people I don’t remember. To be fair, Cadence did try to share the memories once they started coming back to her. They just didn’t take, I guess. They’re like stories someone has told me, faint shadows in comparison to the vividness and depth of real things. Or, at least real-to-me things, I guess.
Like that nightmare . . .
Anyway, I’m more interested in the here and now. I’ve got better things to do than reminisce. There’s another whole layer of civilization down here in Under, people building and creating and, well, perhaps not thriving, but doing so much more than just clinging to life in these dark tunnels.
Ange has been bringing in her artisans to show us their creations. They craft wonders from repurposed materials scavenged from the ruins above ground and destined for Refuge’s secretive upper echelon of Superiors or the pleasure of Freedom’s hedonistic denizens.
Engineers bring hand sized models of machines they claim to have built to harness the waves and create light and warmth, not only for the comfort of those living down in these tunnels, but to fuel subterranean growing rooms and produce the odd, colourless food they seem to prefer to nutrient fluid. Considering Refuge has been drugging their own people’s food supply, I can’t fault Under’s people for avoiding anything that even bears a passing resemblance to Noosh.
At first, I watch this parade of odd performances without comment, not sure what to do with all the information these strangers offer up so eagerly. Is this Under’s version of Refuge’s training floor? Do they expect me to pick a new job or something?
Not much use for a surveillance technician down here, sure, but now that I can fight the Mara, shouldn’t protecting them keep me busy enough for the foreseeable future? Just how much does Ange expect of me?
While I stew in resentful silence, Ash comes up with seemingly endless thoughtful questions and insightful observations. Apparently, Nine Peaks—where he and Cadence are from—is a hotbed of agricultural, artisanal, and engineering innovation, based on the reactions of Ange’s people. Though he keeps them talking longer than I’d like, I find much of it interesting despite myself. So many things I’d never considered or imagined.
When I can manage to sit up for more than five minutes without my head spinning, Ange even has some of her people help take me on tours of the workshops and growing rooms and dwellings tucked into small offshoots of the main tunnels. But it takes Cadence’s “they’re trying to impress you, stupid,” to figure out why she’s going to the trouble of educating me.
She’s putting me on display, and at the earliest opportunity, sending me out on parade.
Everywhere I go Ange’s people drop what they’re doing to follow and stare openly. But it’s a good kind of staring, even if it is uncomfortable. They’re warm, friendly, interested and interesting. They believe I’m going to usher in a new era, destroying their enemies and lifting these people out of hiding to rejoin a transformed, united Refuge.
They’re absolutely right. I’ve got to get back to fighting form. I finally know what I’m meant to do and who I’m meant to be. There’s no time for hanging around feeling sorry for myself.
I wallow my way off the bed, ignoring the sharp protests of too many cuts and bruises. I manage a couple of staggering steps before the room goes wavy. I snatch at the curtain dividing the cots from Ange’s workspace, tipping dangerously before I snag enough fabric to keep me upright.
“I don’t think so.” Ange snakes an arm around my waist. She hauls me back to bed and plants her forearm across me, pinning me down when I protest. “Did I say you could get up?”
“‘You’re not the boss of me, lady.’ C’mon, say it.” Cadence laughs.
Ash just looks worried. He’s up on one elbow as if to come after me, but he’s gone pasty under the silvery sheen that constantly swirls over his skin, and his lips are set against the pain. The light of his magic gutters in his eyes, a bare flicker of what it should be.
I ought to apologize—to him, to Ange, to all the people waiting for me to get back on my feet and save them. I settle for staring at a stain on the ragged curtain cordoning off our cots while Ange roughly changes the dressings I’ve gone and made a mess of.
“There’s someone here to meet you. Behave yourself.” She gives the bandages a thwack to signal she’s finished. Or maybe as punishment—I never really know with her.
She has good reason to be angry, even to hate me. It’s my fault her partner, Cass, got killed. And, it turns out it was also my fault her sister was nearly tortured like Ash. I first encountered Amy as Morristu in Refuge, when I hid like a coward and let her take the fall for me.
It seemed like the only thing to do at the time, but I can pretty much say that about everything that’s happened over the last few months. Doesn’t make any of it right. So whatever Ange wants from me, whatever she needs me to do here, it’s hers to ask.
Amy sidles into the makeshift infirmary.
“We’ve met,” Cadence says drily.
Ash nods. Ange glances at him, caught off guard. She can’t hear Cadence. Neither can Amy, who seems to take his gesture as encouragement. She beckons to someone on the far side of the curtain.
A small girl darts into the room and lunges at Ash. I cry out at the sight of my nightmare come to life. He catches the child, groaning a little at the pain.
“You’re hurt,” she says in a piping, unfamiliar voice.
Her curls are wilder and several shades darker than the girl in my nightmares, her irises the same hazel, but set in a delicate face with light brown skin. Amy rushes forward, but the child just twitches free of her pawing and nuzzles Ash before peeking over his shoulder at me.
“Auntie Ange said you saved my Ash and I should say thank you but I won’t—it was your fault he came here in the first place—so instead I’ll say ‘nice to meet you’ because daddy says you should greet people like that for the first time, and I’ve never met you before and it all cancels out so I won’t say thank you.” She pauses for a dramatically ragged gasp before continuing, “So, nice to meet you, Cady.”
“Daddy?” Amy says.
“Lily!” Ange says.
“Um,” I say.
Cadence just laughs.
“Oh, right. I’m Lily,” the child says, reaching over Ash to extend a tiny hand in my direction. “Ash’s partner.”
“Lily, get down!” Ange clamps a hand around the child’s neck and tugs.
Lily fastens herself tighter to Ash. He looks decidedly gray under the onslaught of careless knees and elbows.
“Just shake the kid’s hand already!” Cadence sputters.
I grab Lily’s outstretched hand and yank her off Ash. He slumps back onto the pillows, his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain, or maybe suppressed laughter. It’s hard to tell. I focus on the child instead.
“Call me Cole. And maybe go easy on Ash, he’s still recovering.”
Lily shakes my hand with great concentration. Then she grins. “He’ll be fine. He’s magic! He said you’re magic, too. Real strong magic.”
“I like her,” Cadence says. “Reminds me of me.”
I glance at Ash over Lily’s head. Tears roll down his cheeks; his shoulders shake, lips pinched to hold back the laughter. Ange has one hand over her eyes. Amy stares longingly at the child, oblivious to all else.
“So, can you save daddy now, too?” Lily asks.
The room goes silent, the air heavy, pressing down on me with the welcome weight of purpose.
I slide out of bed, still holding Lily’s hand, ignoring Ange’s sound of protest. “That’s what I’m here for.”