My Move Suit gets warm fast. We race through the tubes like a blur, but the bearings rolling against the tunnel hardly make a whisper. It's a no-brainer why we're supposed to be quiet. I can't see through the tunnel walls, but I can hear things going on outside of them. The tunnel walls are thin and I'm thinking that even one good cough will send The Fury hacking up the walls to get at us. We hang onto the binding cable to stop it from making noise too.
On one stretch, it sounds like heavy things are being moved around. Another, there are people laughing about how they want to see if it takes a Veritas, shoved off the top of a trailer, longer to hit the ground than a full grown man. We hit the first bowl and I see what Nok means about understanding once we get there.
We spill into the bowl and it's a huge ball. I flip onto my back, totally by accident, as I zoom up the opposite lip of the bowl. Garrett's flipped too, his feet still on my shoulders. As we roll down, I feel the pressure of him above me and then we break apart in the bottom of the bowl. He shoots off beside me and the cable zips out, jerking us back together after we stretch it to its ends. I zoom back toward Garrett, over the lower part of the bowl, and Garrett's headed right at me too, a collision course. I try to change the direction, but all I do is something like a pig roll, tangling myself in the cable until--
Womph!
I slam into Garrett, face to face, and it knocks the wind right out of me. He throws his head back like he's trying to catch his breath too. Our momentum keeps us rolling back and forth in the bottom of the bowl, like we're caught in the lazy sway of a hammock, until we finally come to a stop. We lay there, gasping for breath together.
Garrett, I project. I'm staring at his Adam's Apple until his chin lowers and he looks me in the face.
Which bowl is this? I ask. He points straight up, to the top of the bowl. My gaze follows his finger to the very top. Three sticks are engraved in the dome.
Do you see any arrows? I project, looking around. The bowl is actually a ball, with openings to tunnels peppered all over it.
Garrett peers around the bowl, his eyes searching for direction. I search too, but the bowl is made of milky blue sections, like an albino citrus fruit. The grooves aren't deep, but they could be the bodies of arrows. Except that there are no points on them. A round light is embedded in the side of the bowl, flush with the side and covered with clear material so the bearings can run right over the top of the bright light. I'd expect the light to be in the top of the bowl, but it's off to the side. After several minutes of puzzling on it, Garrett suddenly raises his hand straight up at the ceiling. I follow his arm, but he's not pointing.
What? I ask.
He turns his head to the side, his eyes running down his arm to the shadow it makes on the floor. The dark line of his arm spreads away into a faded point that looks just like an arrow. The point aims straight at the mouth of the tunnel up high and to the left of our feet.
It's the best thing we have to go on, but as I untangle from the cable and I try to get on my feet, I slip on the bearings and fall down flat on my back with a wmmph. I bite my lip instead of saying Oww. Garrett's pouts his bottom lip in sympathy.
I don't try to get to my feet this time. Instead, I get on my knees and push off with my rubber-covered knuckles. The rubber grips the floor beautifully and when I give myself an orangutan-shove forward, I take off so quick that I drag Garrett with me. Out of impulse, I dig my toes in and the rubber on the tips of them grip too, jerking me to a halt. I glance over my shoulder as Garrett slams right into me. I give him a sly smile.
C'mon.
He gets on his knees and does the same. He rolls up the edge of the ball. I tug on the binding cable. One small tug brings him close. A good yank and we collide like brick walls, knocking our heads together. We don't groan with the impact, but hold our heads and our breath bounces off the walls of the bowl.
Sorry.
He gives me a wry little smile, still holding his head, that pretty much says: don't do that again, okay?
Sorry. He rubs his head and then reaches for the cable. He considers it, rubbing his upper lip a moment before he pushes me away. Once I've rolled to the end of the binding box's allowance, he snaps the cable like it's a whip. The wave of energy surges up the cable and as the wave rolls out straight at my end, I'm shot forward, dragging Garrett along behind me.
Huh.
I reach back and grab the cable. I think I get what we're supposed to do. I project the thought, sling shot! as I snap the cable just like he did. Sure enough, Garrett shoots on ahead of me. We lap the bowl twice like a roller derby team, except that as we go, we try out the Move Suits all the way. I fall forward on hands and knees, slide along on my side like a plank, and even curl up, with my stomach in the air, gliding along on my hands and feet in a backward arch. Garrett rolls on his back, onto his knees and then, resting his forearms on the ground, rises up in a handstand, so he's rolling only on his arms and the top of his head.
On hands and knees, I spin, twisting the binding cord around me once and then let Garrett crack the cable so I spin back out like a top. We turn our bodies and the cable into a life-sized and reckless, spinning bolas. I figure out how to duck the cable, avoid the cable, and how to untangle myself from it while moving. Once we get the hang of it, it's like fighting and dancing, except that we glide.
The only problem is that we don't know how to get up the sides of the bowl to the tunnel we want to try. Once we get our balance standing, we try to slingshot each other upward, but we can't make it high enough. We both end up falling back and sliding down into the bottom again.
The zillionth time we try, I leap for the tunnel edge. I get a little air, enough to flail in the air, but not enough to make the opening. I splat and slide down into the bottom, dragging Garrett along with me. Both of us are breathing hard.
We can't get up there this way, I project to him with a frown. He shakes his head and gets to his feet. He puts out a hand and when I don't take it right away, he shakes it, palm open and up. It's as much as shouting, we aren't giving up. I finally slap my hand into his palm and his fingers curl around mine, just as a Veritas comes shooting into the bowl.
It's a tiny female. She shoots out of the mouth of a high tunnel, landing in a squat. She gets a look at us, does a double take, but then kicks out her legs to gather speed as she sails around the edge of the bowl. Garrett and I watch her as she rolls faster and faster, spiraling up the edge of the bowl in her low squat. She streams along gracefully, like a ribbon on a wand, until she gets up to one of the openings near the top. Gaining even more speed, I think she's planning on jumping the tunnel in the direct line of her path, but at the last second she jumps and kicks out sideways, landing flat inside the tunnel and zipping away on her back.
I look at Garrett. When our eyes meet, we close our mouths at the same time.
She made that look easy.
He nods.
You think she's going to sound an alarm?
He shakes his head, flattening his mouth like a duck bill. That expression reminds me of what he'd told me before: Veritas are Switzerland. They don't get involved. I wonder if The Fury even know she's zooming around in the tunnels at all.
Ready to try it?
He taps his nose, bobbing a finger at me.
Yes. Yes, he is.
The little Veritas did make it look easy.
We wipe out hard, we fall, we miss. But on the seventh try, Garrett zooms past the opening and I don't clear it. Instead, I hit the edge of the tunnel we want and sink in like a banked eight ball. Lucky or not, it knocks the wind out of me, but I'm getting used to that.
I grab the cable and give it a hard snap and yank. Garrett's momentum reverses and he sails backward. Somehow, he sees it coming. He lifts his hands straight over his head and arches his back, flipping backward in a perfect reverse swan dive, straight into the tunnel. He hits me and the force sends us racing down the circular hole, this time spinning around each other. I catch glimpses of his handsome face and it makes me dizzy for other reasons.
We run through the tunnels and maneuver the bowls until we finally hit the sixth one. We've got more of a grasp on how to do it now, squatting as we glide around the outer edge. The shadows we cast throw fat arrows indicating the next tunnel.
Nok said the next one, the top bowl is dangerous.
Garrett flips his hand palm up, then palm down. I figure that's a maybe and I guess it really doesn't matter anyway. We're still going.
We skate into the seventh bowl like prowlers. Bruised and sore, but prowlers.
Our inexperience has been brutal, and even though we've learned fast, it still isn't all easy peasy. We found out the hard way that some tunnels go straight down and some go straight up. Even with Garrett and I so in tune with each other, we still crash into walls we don't expect, or that seem to crop up out of nowhere. More than a dozen times we've been reminded of just how much smaller the Veritas are than us.
But it's go time now. Whispering into the seventh bowl, we hit it in a silent crouch, careful to keep a grip on the binding cable. But this seventh bowl is a whole different deal. It's not a huge sphere like the others.
The seventh bowl is a rectangle with a low ceiling. There is only two tunnels leading out of the bowl and when we spot the arrow and glide into the tunnel it indicated, we realize we're on a rectangular track. It loops the cave, with an arch that crests over the gaping mountain mouth, which opens out to the air. We have reached the top cave.
Our suits whisper a second lap around and voices spring up. We slow to a crawl. The first voice belongs to Van. I recognize his voice perfectly- it sounds as clear as it did when it poured through the PA system at Simon Valley High. The only difference now is that his voice isn't the cool, calm and collected tone of a principal. It's the totally-flipped-out, insanely-desperate voice of a man who can't find a solution to his urgent problem.
"Why isn't she here yet?" he moans. No one answers, because he continues his rant immediately. "I can't trust her. She was never trustworthy, I knew that! She's holding back the last stone. She's stolen it, I know she has!"
"Duane." This voice is beautiful, Mrs. Reese's tone deep and comforting, "you've got to stop rubbing the Manga oil on your skin. It's poisoning you."
"What should I do, Miranda? Let the Veritas have every thought I think? They're little spies, I've told you that!"
Van begins to grumble and Mrs. Reese sighs.
"I suppose you have. But stop pacing. You know Charlotte's coming. You just spoke to her. She's at the foot of the mountain. If she's come all this way, she's not leaving with the stone now..."
"What if she's not down there? What if she just said she was? She hates that we're together. She might be stealing it just to spite me."
"Now," Mrs. Reese soothes him. It makes me a little sick to think of her being nice to him. Comforting her husband's murderer. "We just need to be patient and give her a minute to get up here. There's no elevator, remember?"
"What if you're lying to me?"
"Why would I lie to the man I'm bound to?"
"It was your idea to bring your entire Cura here. What are you plotting?" Van says. The tension in my binding cable dissolves as Garrett relaxes on his end. Relaxing so he'll be ready to pound through the tunnel wall if Van makes a move on his mom. And I'll be right behind him.
"Don't be silly. I would never plot against my Vieo." Her laugh is gentle, but dismissive. "Actually, it was your idea, sweetheart. Don't you remember? Who's giving you that Manga oil? I think they're trying to poison your mind."
His voice takes on a creepy whine. "You'll kill anyone who tries to hurt me, won't you?"
"You know I would. You know our Cura is the one that belongs on the Capstone. We just don't know who will need to hold the stone, so we need them all. But think of what power you have, as their Cura leader, to bring our entire Cura here to witness what you are about to do." I'm grateful for Mrs. Reese's enthusiasm because it's just a little too much and her words a little too enchanting for it to be believable at all. I almost hear her plan in her speech; she encouraged our Cura's attendance. It may be the last chance we have to overpower The Fury and we've got even better chances if we are called as witnesses and have the majority vote when we decide to pig-pile on Van and his buddies. Mrs. Reese doesn't do much to hide it all in her tone. The more I listen, the more I hear how completely unbelievable it is.
"But you're their Cura leader," he says. "Technically."
"We're bound, my love. We are as good as one."
"They have to do as I say," Van's voice is whispery-low and hot. Gross. "They need to listen to me."
"They will."
"Men are always the true leaders, aren't they? Basil must not have been man enough, since you were still the Lead Procella, not him."
Her voice is tight. "Yes, I was the Lead Procella."
"But you agree, it's not the natural way of things."
"Of course," Mrs. Reese says. "Men are usually smarter, and don't forget, you're smarter than the rest."
"I am. I am smarter."
There is a scuffle of feet entering the room and the voice that replies to Van does not belong to Mrs. Reese.
"I've always thought so," the other woman's voice says.
"Fisk!" Van says. His tone isn't gooey anymore. "Where have you been? I've been waiting!"
"I've been tending our Cache," Ms. Fisk's voice is like squeezing a pin cushion. Soft, then stabby. "But I see why you haven't been tending to business. You've been too involved in other things."
"You will watch the way you speak to me, Fisk."
"Fisk?" she grunts. "You mean it's not Charlotte any more? It wasn't so hard to say my name just a few weeks ago, when you told me how much I meant to you."
I almost groan an eww. Our principal and our librarian. And Garrett's mom. I'm sure the only one that wishes, more than I do, that we were anywhere else in the world but in this tunnel, is Garrett.
"I'm sorry, Charlotte," Mrs. Reese says. "Duane and I were meant to be together."
She means shackled, chained, required to keep an eye on him. It's a relief to hear it in her voice and understand it and it should be more of a relief that Ms. Fisk doesn't, but the tension that rolls off Ms. Fisk's words tighten up my spine.
"You were meant. That's your excuse for me, Miranda? Did you know that I was meant, too? Didn't you tell her what you told me, Duane? That I was the one meant to rule beside you? That I was to help you control The Fury, to make this world the one it should be? That we had a vision!"
"We did," Van says. "But what I can envision now is much better."
"You can stop all of this right now," Ms. Fisk snaps. "We've got business at hand and whatever silly fling you've had can be finished. I forgive you. Now get me something to cut loose that binding from our enemy!"
There is a scuffle, a zip of a binding box. Ms. Fisk grunts.
"What are you doing, Miranda?"
"You aren't cutting this binding," Mrs. Reese says. "I've been waiting to be with him too long and you aren't going to be the one that cuts me loose. I'll fight for him. I will."
"Duane," Ms. Fisk whines. "Duane!"
"Did you bring me the Cornerstone?" Van asks.
"Of course I did." She's still whining. "But if you think I'm giving it to you while you're bound to another woman, you must be insane."
"What did you call me?"
Footsteps thunder over the floor. Ms. Fisk shrieks.
"I didn't mean it that way! I didn't. I meant that--this isn't fair! I got the stone, I brought it to you, and you promised me we would be together!"
"You can see I can't do that," Van says. "I'm with Miranda now. Just be a good girl and give me the stone."
Ewww.
"I know you still love me," Ms. Fisk insists. "This is for us. Not her."
"Give it to me, Charlotte."
"Yes, give him the stone." Mrs. Reese urges. She's so close. The sweet pressure in her voice packs a punch. I think she's trying to make Ms. Fisk crack, so she'll run away, or throw the stone, or anything besides give it to Van. She must be thinking too that if one stone is missing the whole plan is a bust.
I hope.
"Give it to me now!" Van shouts.
"I'd rather die than give you another thing," Ms. Fisk hisses. The sounds rush up. Feet moving. Binding box snarling. Ms. Fisk howling, grunting, pleading.
Mrs. Reese shouts, "No, Van, no!"
And then Ms. Fisk's scream. Louder, more frightened than anything I've ever heard or any fright I've ever felt, her sound tumbles away. It rushes down the mountain, away from the opening. It is the sound of pure fear.
I gasp.
"Did you hear that? There's something up there!" Van growls from below us. Oh crap.
Garrett yanks the cable to get us gone. The cable zizzles, slicing through what should be silence.
"It's in the walls!" Van shouts. We sail over the arched opening of the mountain's mouth, but from our stand-still, Garrett still can't move us fast enough. We spill onto the track that will get us back into the seventh bowl as Mrs. Reese shrieks.
Something bashes into the wall. The impact kinks the tunnel right between Garrett and I. We're stuck, the cable the only thing that can slide through. The beatings on the wall continue, slam after slam, until the tunnel walls crush my ribs. I shriek as the tunnel cracks open. Garrett and I drop like dead weight, right at Van's feet.