Panic blooms in my chest. “Run!” All I can think to do is get away—put as much distance between myself and the disintegrated remains of the Guardsmen as possible.
Before I’ve gone a single step, the hairs on my arms and neck rise. I drive my bare foot into the bracken of the forest floor and pump my arms. The air sparks. Crackle births into the clearing and expands outward to encompass all of us. It tastes like sour yogurt coating the inside of my mouth and nose.
My second stride leaves the earth behind. Blown upward and outward by the massive EM storm, I focus my attention on the tree branches whizzing past me. A large trunk blurs into vision, and I toss up my hands in desperation. Releasing a pulse on impact, I splinter the tree with both the force of the EM energy and my flying body.
Dripping with phloem and pulp, I careen sideways and crash into the underbrush. I try to cry out in pain, but the crackle swells my throat shut. All I manage is a croak. The wash presses my face into the ground. For a few seconds I consider not getting up. I could let the pain consume me. If I quit there would be no more fear. No more future to worry about. No more responsibility. No.
Nerves in my legs and arms twitch. I push upward and scramble to my feet. Impossibly, I’m still on the edge of the clearing. Then I realize the clearing has grown to encompass ten times the space. Ash settles around me like snow.
Olin, where are you? I hail my brother but hear nothing in response. I stride forward, dragging my left leg behind. The image of Chechen’s empty suit of amor pitching forward into Gronk—their ash now mingled with the rest of the forest—replays in my mind.
I drag myself forward another stride. Who could possibly wage such a powerful attack? The ometeotls’ armor did nothing to protect them. There is nowhere to hide. With effort I manage to swallow enough to loosen my tongue. “Olin. Neca.”
I reach the edge of the crater in the center of the clearing. On the other side of it, I spot movement. “Yetic?”
“It’s me.”
“Neca.” I limp around the rim of the crater until I reach the dark-skinned masazin. Simply knowing I’m not alone strengthens me.
“The sled. Have you seen the sled?” Neca’s voice is as raspy as my own.
I shake my head before glancing around. “There.”
Neca stumbles toward the overturned hover sled.
“Why?” I follow on his heels. “We need to find the others.”
He kneels beside the crate and smacks the red panic button with his palm. “We need to prepare for a fight.”
Something about the way he says ‘fight’ triggers an animalistic response in me. Finally, my mind switches gears. It shames me that it has taken so long. After a delay, the crate cracks open but then jams.
“Help me roll it over,” Neca croaks.
I scramble to his side. Together, we heave the box upright. As soon as it settles, the top flies open. Two probes launch a meter into the air and hover.
“There’s only two.” I bend over the open crate to confirm harnesses for four.
“Chechen released the other two in a staged attack,” Neca explains while rummaging in the crate.
“But why?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Ensure we had a good time?”
“But if the probe attack was phony—”
“Then who disintegrated our escort?” Neca stands, having found what he was looking for. “You know how to operate a probe?” He offers me a small headset.
“No,” I step back.
“Let me try,” Olin’s voice comes from nearby.
I turn to see my brother stumbling toward us through the dark. “Olintl, thank the gods.”
“T’zan and Cera landed near me. I think they’re okay, but I couldn’t rouse them.” He pauses to breathe. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Neca hands Olin the headset. “But I’m guessing we don’t have long to prepare for the second wave.”
Olin shakes his head and hands the headset back. “Let me try it without first.” He lowers his head. A second later one of the probes jumps.
I gasp. “How are you—”
“I’ve never come across one unpaired.” There is genuine awe in Olin’s voice. “It’s incredible.” The probe rises to the top of the trees and spins. “It’s like an extra pair of eyes, but more complex. I can only control one at a time.”
I turn toward Neca. “What about the rest—”
“Wait,” Olin cuts me off in a hushed tone, “we’ve got company.” He points toward the western side of the clearing.
It takes a few seconds before I spot a shadow creeping into the open. The moment I do, the stranger’s voice breaks the silence, “We’ve got some still awake!”
The second probe, still a meter above the crate, spins to life. I jump back as it scans me with its red eye. “Olin?”
“It’s not me!” he lunges in my direction.
I hear a high pitched whine as the probe powers up. Olin has come between me and the probe by the time my mind makes all the necessary connections. From that moment forward, there’s no hesitation.
My hands, arms, and chest burst into liquid fire. The green flames creep low across my skin as I wrap my brother in an embrace. More quickly than the probe can respond, I spin my brother to the ground and shelter him with my body. By the time the probe releases a torrent of EM energy, I’ve already thrown up a shield.
A blanket of swirling light and sparks flows harmlessly around us. I breathe. Olin.
On it. He responds in the same breath.
Each of us knows what the other is thinking. A split second later my brother’s probe disables the hostile one.
Not wanting to give my anger time to cool, I leave Olin were he lies and spring across the crater in three strides. While leaping up the other side, I funnel the rage into my fingers and watch it take luminescent form. Lashing my arms outward, I cast bolt after bolt of energy at every shifting shadow I find.
But the release can’t come fast enough. I feel it building—the anger, the bloodlust, the frustration of being manipulated and lied to. Screeching at the top of my lungs, I drop to my knees and slam my fists into the ground.
A rift opens beneath me. Crawling with veins of dark green light, the crack blasts outward in every direction. In a swirling maelstrom, my braid whips in front of my face. A cloud of dust and humus explodes outward. Branches snap and trees creak as they tug at their roots.
Then all falls silent except the heaving of my chest. In the settling dust and ash, I realize I’m hovering over a second crater—one of my own making. Without knowing why, I jerk my head up and focus on a patch of featureless dark several meters distant.
After seconds of silence, a voice forms from the blackness, “Ms. Bluehair.”
My mind blocks the memory of the person behind the voice. My hands leap up, and I focus the last of my angry heat into a blinding EM pulse. It never reaches its target. A burning human outline flares in the night and bends my anger back on me. Pain and falling are the last things I remember.
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