Black the Tides Read online

  I scrunch my eyes and shake my head. I must’ve hit it harder than I’d thought on one of those falls . . .

  “Not you, Gracie,” Steph growls. “Nightwitch squad only.”

  “If you don’t want me telling Auntie Rocky on you, you’ll let me do whatever and go wherever I want,” Grace says smugly, sounding more like Cadence than I’ve ever heard from her.

  I draw my knees up and ask, carefully, “Who’s doing what now?”

  The answer, as far as I can make it out between sisterly squabbling, and assorted references to people and things I’ve never heard of, seems to be that my city’s plight has stirred the hearts of the younger residents of Nine Peaks, despite their elders’ apathy.

  Steph will throw tomorrow’s fight in my favour—thus explaining her grumpy trouncing of my unsuspecting self this evening—to create chaos and give the other trainees time to steal bikes and supplies.

  “That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” I groan my way to a more-or-less upright position and make a half-hearted effort to dust myself off. “Remind me how witches fit into it again?”

  “Steph’s squad is Nightwitch,” Ravel says helpfully. “Or they will be, once they graduate. Assuming they graduate—apparently wandering off on unsanctioned missions is a no-no. She’d like you to refer to her as ‘Yaga, now, by the way.”

  Steph—who I am absolutely never going to call, uh, whatever that was he just said—shows her teeth. Grace rolls her eyes.

  “How do you even know that?” I ask, because, of the dozens of questions buzzing around inside my head, that might be the only one I actually have the capacity to process right now.

  Ravel shrugs modestly. “I listen.”

  I WAKE UP FLAILING, blind to everything except a semi-conscious but urgent demand for air. My mouth and nose are covered, shoulders pinned.

  “Shh,” Cadence hisses. “You’ll wake Grace.”

  Which isn’t the most helpful comment under the circumstances, but it does make me look for her. I can’t find her—because Ravel is in the way. When he catches my gaze, he lets up, just a little.

  “I’m going to let go. Don’t scream, okay?”

  I nod frantically and gasp as soon as he removes his hands.

  “Shh!” he and Cadence whisper at the same time.

  “Don’t wake Grace,” Cadence says. “And get up already. We don’t have much time.”

  I’m stiff, and clumsy, and every bruise from Steph’s trouncing throbs—but I manage to wallow my way off the bed with only a moderate amount of groaning. I shake off Ravel’s touch when he tries to help, but follow him to the main room all the same, and through it to the front garden. He eases the door shut behind us without a sound.

  Now what?

  “It’s time to go,” Cadence says.

  “We need to leave, right now.” Ravel picks up a pack from the side of the path and hands it to me.

  My brain must still be oxygen deprived, because I shrug it on and follow him obediently for a few steps before it clicks that something’s not right. “Why didn’t we wake Grace up? I thought she and Steph were coming with us? And we’re not leaving until tomorrow, or later today, whatever.”

  Ravel raises his eyebrows. “Weren’t you just playing along? You really want to be responsible for the deaths of a bunch of kids? I thought you had a whole thing about that.”

  I stare, openmouthed. That’s not—well, sure, Grace can’t defend herself and we’ll have to find a way to keep her out of danger, but Steph, she’s strong. Her squad mates are all dreamwalkers, maybe not fully trained ones yet, but—Oh.

  Oh no.

  I’ve been too caught up in my own powerlessness, at least relative to nearly everyone else here. I’ve forgotten what it’s like. What the Mara are like. Even Ash couldn’t stop them on his own, not completely and not for long, not after I lost my ability to fight them.

  I groan, letting my head slump back. The cold, distant stars laugh humourlessly at my foolishness. Though Steph and her friends can run circles around me, they’re, what, only fourteen, fifteen? At least a couple years away from Ash’s level of competency, and the elders had refused to send even a fully trained squad . . .

  And that’s what it comes down to. Am I willing to risk the lives of children to save my people? Am I going to lead back a bunch of half-trained teens younger than I am to sacrifice themselves to do what I can’t?

  I can’t stop the dying by bringing more to be slaughtered.

  I slump to my knees, dumping Ravel’s pack in the dirt.

  He scoops it up and dusts it off. “I worked hard to get that, you know. And the bike.”

  “There’s no point. We can’t—”

  “Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Cadence snaps. “Just because you didn’t think ahead doesn’t mean no one else did. Obviously we can’t just abandon everyone.”

  I shake my head. “I won’t let Grace and Steph and their friends die for us. Even to save Ange, and Lily, and—”

  “Uh, flame?” Ravel puts out a hand, which I ignore. “I think you’re misunderstanding something. Just because the kiddies’ plan is no good doesn’t mean we’re out of options.”

  And something he said earlier finally clicks. “. . . You said something about a bike?”

  He grins. “You and me are about to enjoy some quality time together. Roadtrip!”

  He singsongs the last word, and then looks around guiltily, as if afraid someone will overhear.

  “So he’s a moron,” Cadence sniffs, unfairly, considering her own penchant for silliness. “But we need to get back to the city, and I happen to know he stole a map along with the bike.”

  I take a deep breath and hold it. Back to plan A: cut and run all the way back home, Ravel in tow. We still have no way to fight the Mara. But if it’s just the two of us, maybe we can get in—and out—without needing to.

  Ravel crossed the barrier once. If he can do it again—and, more importantly, take people across with him, like Ash did—even if we can only rescue one person, it’ll be worth it.

  Chapter 25: Roadtrip

  We reach the side gate a few hours before dawn. If things back home are progressing as fast as Ravel said, there’s no time to waste.

  Plus, I just so happen to have one other excellent reason to get out of town early today. Fake-winning a fixed challenge would hardly have been much better than for-real-losing it. Now that I’m running away from it, I can admit that even if, by some miracle, I managed to win that challenge on my own, it was never going to help me get back what I’ve lost. Issuing it was one of the dumbest things I’ve done, and that’s saying a lot

  I’d have liked to steal one of the more stable and cargo-friendly four-wheelers, but it would never have fit through the side gate. Instead, we wheel a solar bike out the narrow door in the wall and take turns trying to toss the key back over after locking it. The bike is unwieldy and heavier than I expected. Forcing it down the straggling forest paths in the general direction of the main road is hard enough without the added (and futile) effort to be as quiet as possible.

  Grace had said the elders would send a squad after us as soon as they figured out we’d gone—thus the point of creating as much chaos as possible at the challenge and, ideally, making sure they didn’t want to see our faces for a good long while. Looking back, I’m not sure that would have worked. Now we’ll never have to find out.

  Hopefully Grace and Steph will just assume I’m off doing some last-minute panic training until it’s too late. But even if we’re careful, and lucky, we’re not likely to even manage as much as half a day’s head start. Not much margin for two city kids with a stolen map and only the barest idea of how to navigate. Just keeping the bike upright and pointed in the right direction is hard enough, even once we reach the relative smoothness of the main road.

  At which point I insist on driving. Or piloting. Or whatever you call it.

  It doesn’t go well at first, but neither we nor the bike break, and I figure it’s
important to start as I mean to finish. Plus, even if there’s no way around spending the next few days being jolted and jittered to pieces on the back of this awful two-wheeled torture device, I don’t intend to be the one stuck wearing the backpack this time.

  Ravel’s uncharacteristically compliant. I figure he’s happy to have gotten his way and be heading back to the city. Cadence sulks, unhappy we had to take her least favourite person in the world along for the ride, despite the fact that she’s the one who pointed out we needed him. If I can live with being stuck on a bike with him for the sake of our friends’ lives, she can suck it up. Apparently, she’s at least on board enough with the plan that she points out when our map’s upside down.

  The bike’s lights don’t illuminate far enough ahead for me to feel comfortable rolling along much faster than walking pace in the dark, but we’ve cleared the trees by the time the sky starts to brighten. It’s actually a little easier to steer once we get going faster, though the poor condition of the road slows us back down in the worst stretches. I’m worried about monsters approaching without me noticing—I can’t exactly afford to take in the scenery while driving—but it’s not like there’s much I can do even if we do get attacked, so I refuse to surrender the front seat.

  We’re weaving through crumbling switchbacks up a mountainside when the bike finally gives up.

  “Why’d you stop?” Ravel rocks forward as if to nudge the bike back into motion.

  “It needs to recharge.” I hop off and wait for him to realize I’m serious, then flip the charging panels out of the sides once he’s clear. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

  He shrugs the pack off and starts rummaging. I yank it away, do some rummaging of my own, and hand him a single apple.

  “That’s it?”

  I grab one for myself and close up the pack. I’m amazed at how far we’ve managed to come already, but even so, if he hasn’t figured out how woefully undersupplied for a rescue mission we are, I’m not about to break it down for him.

  Instead, I wander along the roadside, stretching my legs and examining the terrain: raw-edged rock, scrubby yellow-and-green bushes, wisps of long grass and dust, lots and lots of dust. A narrow thread of water weaves along the bottom of the canyon, too distant and shallow to be much of a threat.

  It reminds me a little of where Ash fought the great battle of the turtle “monster” on the way up. It’s a lot funnier in hindsight.

  I still keep to the middle of the road, wary of the rattlers Ash warned of. If only he were here, instead of—

  “So,” Ravel strolls up, munching his apple. “Excited to get home?”

  I take a big bite of mine and turn away.

  “Yeah, me too. Not that all this nature isn’t nice.” He circles, trying to get in front of me. I pivot again. “Scenic. Not my style, but some might find it appealing. Romantic, even.”

  Cadence snorts. I chomp my apple, the grit we kicked up on the bike squeaking between my teeth. Front seat comes with extra bug splatting and dirt eating. But when Ravel goes quiet, I peek over my shoulder. He’s just standing there, staring. Not at me, either. I squint along his line of sight, checking for signs of pursuit, but there’s nothing there. Just dusty plants, and rock, and sky.

  “What are we doing out here?” His voice is a rough whisper. His eyes seem faded, nearly colourless in the brilliant sunlight; a lamp that shines brightest in the dark. Then he shakes off the moment and pulls on his usual mask of arrogance. “I don’t think nature agrees with you, flame. You look a wreck.”

  I grunt, pivoting toward the bike to check its progress and hide the flush racing up my neck. We’re both dusty from the road—but that’s not what he means.

  I’d refused to discuss it with Susan, but Cadence was all too happy to hash it out with her within earshot. They figured the stuff I’d been fed in Refuge had messed with my body, and now I’d been off it for a while, I was catching up with all the normal changes but at ten times the speed.

  It almost makes me miss Noosh. It might’ve been bland, and frankly, disgusting, but it was better than greasy hair and angry-looking, painful skin and—and . . . other stuff.

  “You’re a normal size for your age,” Cadence says primly. “And even that sad excuse for training you were doing was bound to put some muscle on.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What was that?” Ravel pops up on the other side of the bike.

  I glare. “You don’t look so hot either, you know.”

  He gasps and clutches his oversized, loaned shirt in mock horror. “Now, I know that can’t be true. No need to get defensive.”

  I snap the charging panels back into the frame. “Pick up the pack. Time to go.”

  THE CHARGE LASTS WELL into the night, but the fourth time I jolt off the road and have to wrestle the bike back, Ravel puts his foot down.

  I’m too tired to argue. Too tired to peel myself off the bike, too. He more or less has to haul me down, at which point we realize we didn’t actually pack blankets or mats or anything useful for sleeping.

  I lose track of time—slumping against the bike that, in turn, is propped against a tree while Ravel rifles through woefully inadequate supplies and curses—and find it again when the sun is suddenly overhead.

  I’m sore, and stiff, and starving. Ravel’s curled around my feet with one arm slung across my calves and the other pillowed under his cheek.

  He looks younger, vulnerable, without the armour of his layered ornamentation. The dark curves and angles of his tattoos look faded in the sunlight where they disappear under his shirt. His hair flops low on his forehead, his lashes deepening the bruised hollows under his eyes. He doesn’t look strong enough, big enough, mean enough to have done as much damage as I know him to have.

  I scrunch my face and shake the sleep off, jerking my legs free. I stumble to my feet, dancing and stamping against the pins-and-needles. He moans and curls his arms over his face, snuggling into a ball.

  Whatever. Let him sleep. I could use a minute to myself, anyway. That way, I’ll be fresh, and fed, and ready to scornfully prod him onto his feet and then the back of the bike before he’s awake enough to be annoying.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t remembered to flip out the bike’s charging units to catch that early morning sun before passing out, so we coast to a stop again late in the morning.

  This time, we’re on the downslope, almost to a bridge when we run out of power. And I’m pretty sure that river isn’t empty.

  Chapter 26: Fishing

  Ravel saunters over to the edge of the bank, yelps, and backpedals. Cadence laughs.

  I drop into a defensive crouch, not that it will do much good if the monsters come after us, but the rearing necks and flicking tails subside when we show no further movement.

  Ravel scuttles back several steps, breathing fast. Then he dusts himself off. “So, about lunch.”

  “You could try fishing,” Cadence cackles. I snort.

  His affected nonchalance fades into a cautious grin. “I take it I wasn’t in any danger?”

  We laugh harder.

  He rolls his eyes and scuffs off to dig up something to eat from the pack. I let him forage for himself this time.

  He tosses me an apple. It bounces across the road and over the bank. The splashing that follows is louder and goes on longer than a single piece of fruit warrants.

  We hustle several feet back up the mountain, abandoning the bike to its fate. When nothing chases, I perch on a convenient rock to consider our next move. We’ll have to cross that river somehow.

  Ravel sidles over and squats on his heels. He offers me half his apple.

  “Gross.” I wave it off, but my stomach growls.

  He cocks an eyebrow and waves the apple under my nose. I give him a shove. He catches his balance and proceeds to munch away without comment while we both pointedly ignore the gurgling noises coming from my midsection.

  “I knew about Ange,” R
avel says, finally, chucking the core behind him.

  “Hmm?”

  “Her little underground empire. How she and Cass were spying and running rescue missions. I always knew. We were friends when we were younger, you know.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “No, really. It’s not like they were all that stealthy. You think I wouldn’t notice my own staff sneaking around behind my back?”

  I stretch my arms behind my back and listen to the joints pop. “You know I didn’t believe you the first time you brought it up. What’s with the repeat performance?”

  He shrugs.

  We sit and listen to the river and pretend it’s just the water roaring.

  “You think I’m the bad guy,” he says, finally. “Okay, yeah, I’ve done a lot of bad things, but—”

  I look at him sideways.

  His shoulders droop. “I know. I sucked. But you have to understand, it’s complicated. I did what I had to. I tried to make it better. I—”

  I walk back to the bike.

  “Flame?” He trails after. “I’m messing this up, aren’t I? I just wanted to . . .”

  It’s working. Without my attention, his protests weaken. He doesn’t have any power I don’t give him. At least, that’s what I’ve been hoping, but—

  “No.” His wheedling tone transforms, taking on sharp-edges. “You know what? I’m not doing it. I won’t apologize for all of it. I did what I had to. I swear some of it even made things better. For some people. Sometimes. I got you out, didn’t I?”

  I let my head fall back. Breathe through the rage his words stir. The insincere apologies are one thing. This show of honesty, manufactured in yet another attempt to trick me into believing in him.

  Once enough tension’s drained that I can trust my voice, I turn. I measure each word out, low and steady. “You almost got me killed. More than once. If anything good came out of it, you certainly don’t get the credit.”

  He opens his mouth, but I bring up a hand to stop him. “Oh, and let’s be clear. If anyone saved me, it was me. Not you. Not even Ash.”