Black the Tides Page 3

  “What happened to ‘we’?”

  “Wasn’t my powers that failed to show up for the fight.”

  My head spins. I think I’m going to be sick.

  The floor beside Ash looks cool and inviting. I don’t know what just happened, and I’m not sure I want to know.

  Except I do. The old me would have given up and waited for someone else to solve her problems. The new me is here to fight and win. I can’t let a little near-death trauma stop me now.

  “Look, just tell me what happened. Why didn’t it work?” I sweep my hands through the air to illustrate its emptiness. “No threads. I can’t see theirs, or mine. What changed? Cadence? Hey!”

  “I don’t know, okay? It’s not my fault.”

  “Well, it’s not like I did anything differently.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  Sam crawls over, his face tight with pain. I’d forgotten about him. He shakes Ash’s shoulder, then looks at me reproachfully. “You said it was safe here.”

  I stare past him at Ravel, standing on the edge of the crowd. Why are they all still here? They should have run when it became clear I was losing.

  “Go away.” My voice is stronger than I expected. Yay me.

  Ravel’s lips part, ashen and haggard under layers of streaked paint and glitter. He spreads his hands in helpless appeal, nails chipped and ragged.

  I close my eyes and wait for him to leave. When I open them, he has.

  Good. At least one of us is learning.

  I stare numbly out across the crowd. I’m still sitting, so the view is mostly ripped stockings and short skirts and navel piercings. Some of the dancers are doing what they do best: ignoring the rest of the world. Sinking into self-absorbed fantasies. But more than a few pause at the spectacle we present.

  I don’t need to know what their expressions look like, rigid with shock, horror, or numb disbelief under those bright, lying masks. Which is why my first sight of her is a pair of sturdy boots striding purposefully in our direction.

  “I can’t carry both of you, you know,” Ange yells over the music, hands on her hips. “I can’t even carry one of you. What were you thinking? And what did you do to your hands?”

  Ravel stands beside her, shifting his weight and twitching in his attempts to avoid my glare. I close my eyes. Open them. Think about closing them again.

  “Did you at least win?” Ange demands.

  Ravel winces.

  Cadence snorts. “One of us did. I mean, do you see any bodies?”

  I jut my chin at Ash’s prone form.

  “He’ll be fine,” Cadence says, still trying for matter-of-fact. But a softer note creeps in.

  I shake my head. No. We did not win.

  “Great,” Ange huffs. “Well, come on, get up. You’ll have to help me haul him. Again.”

  She has to pull me to my feet, grasping my forearm when she sees what’s become of my hands. Sam scrambles up to join us.

  Ange eyes him suspiciously. “Who’s this?”

  I look at him. Open my mouth. Think better of it. Shrug, and then wince as my latest wounds shriek louder than the lingering aches of the last crop. At least I actually won the battle I earned those in. “He’s coming with us.”

  Ange’s lips thin.

  “I’m Sam.” He peers at her. “You—you must be Amy’s sister?”

  Ange gives me one piercing look before turning her back on the both of us. She pries Ash up off the floor, batting away Sam and my efforts to help, but lets Ravel direct two strangers to her side to help with the burden.

  By the time we’re near the end of his territory and what I’ve come to think of as the beginning of Ange’s, Ash is semiconscious and can more or less keep himself upright with just Ange’s help. The strangers from Freedom peel off at a nod from Ravel. He seems to think he can follow us all the way back to Ange’s headquarters. That is, until she turns the full force of her formidable glare on him.

  “Ange,” he whines. Then he turns to me, foolishly hopeful. “Flame . . .”

  But I slump against the wall, hang my head, and ignore him until she sends him away.

  Ange steers all of us back to her infirmary and our beds, grumbling all the way. She makes Amy take Lily out of the room first.

  I won’t get to see their grand reunion with Sam. Kind of unfair, since I’m the reason he’s here—but since I nearly got him killed, it’s not like I’m in any position to complain.

  This is not how I saw tonight ending.

  The last thing I do before I pass out is promise myself I’ll do whatever it takes to get my magic back.

  Chapter 5: Rejection

  It takes seven days to fall from saviour of the city to exile:

  Day one: Ange’s fury won’t appeased, despite a stomach-churningly adorable reunion between Sam, Lily, and a perpetually overwhelmed Amy that takes place in the infirmary after all, Sam’s injuries sentencing him to cot alongside Ash and I.

  My eyes are only damp from the pain that shrieks at me every time I move. Nothing more. Cute family, though.

  Day two: Ash overexerted himself coming to our rescue, but since he didn’t acquire any new wounds, when he finally wakes up, his condition is surprisingly good. Of course, that’s aside from the way he appears to be torn between anger, concern, and disappointment in me from any one minute to the next . . .

  Oh, and Cadence isn’t talking to me for some reason. She makes Ash relay anything she wants to say, which isn’t much—or, at least, isn’t anything I want to hear. I don’t know why she thinks she can blame me for everything all the time. I don’t remember her arguing we should stay safe in bed. Unfair how she acts all helpless whenever it’s convenient, even though most of the time she’s the one getting me in trouble in the first place.

  Day three: Lily, now that she’s coming down from the excitement of Sam’s arrival, bounces around pestering us all day. She seems aware that something is wrong—and irate no one will tell her what it is.

  I feel her pain. And also my own—my hands are wrecked worse than my feet ever were. I don’t even want to think about how long they’re going to take to heal.

  But it gets worse, because—

  Day four: Ash and Ange finally decide we need to talk.

  I don’t know when they got around to scheming without me, seeing as how we basically spend all our time in exactly the same place, but they’ve clearly come to an agreement. All that’s left is to break the news: since I’ve lost my powers, the only way they can think of to get them back is for me to leave the city and return to Nine Peaks with Ash.

  Obviously, it’s a stupid plan.

  I don’t even remember that place—it’s certainly no home of mine. And apparently it’s far away. Really far. It could take us days, maybe even weeks of travel through monster-infested wastelands to get there. Plus, there’s no guarantee anyone there can even help me if (Ash says when) we reach it.

  Besides, I can’t just leave. First of all, it’s not like we can just walk out of the city on a whim. If it were that easy, why would any of us still be here? The barrier surrounding us is supposed to be impenetrable—though that does raise some interesting questions about how Ash arrived.

  But more importantly, I’m the only one who can keep the Mara from killing everyone.

  Day five: Except, of course, I’m not. Ash can—and obviously has—fought the nightmares and won. Given the sudden and inexplicable loss of my abilities, I don’t think it’s wrong to rely on him a little. It’s not like I want to run away from the responsibility or anything. Even if I can’t stay and fight, he should. We can’t just abandon everyone.

  Why can’t they see that?

  I’ll wear them down eventually. I have to. I fall asleep scheming—

  Day six: —and wake with new arguments to try each morning. Anything to move us forward. Anything to feel like I can still make a difference. To feel like we have a chance.

  Until this morning, day seven: I wake up in a new world.

 
; It’s like something out of Cadence’s memories, all green and blue and open. Very, very open. Can’t-find-the-ceiling open.

  “W—where . . . ?” My tongue is thick, my head fuzzy.

  “Deer Lake.”

  Ash stands between some huge brown things, green stuff up to his knees. When I scramble to my feet, there’s a winking gray-green surface just behind him.

  “Trees,” says Cadence with a sigh. “Bushes, grasses, I don’t know, assorted plants? And maybe a pond? I definitely wouldn’t call that a lake. Come on. I’ve shown you this stuff before. Don’t act stupid.”

  The memories Cadence shared hadn’t prepared me for how overwhelming nature would be. It’s everywhere; huge, and kind of damp, and surprisingly smelly. I sneeze.

  “What—how—this—?” I’m babbling. I know I’m babbling, but the last thing I remember is the dingy ceiling in Ange’s makeshift infirmary. In the tunnels under Refuge. In a flooded, monster-overrun city sealed by an impenetrable barrier.

  And now I’m . . . somewhere else. “Deer . . . ?”

  “Deer Lake,” Ash says.” It’s one of the safer places to camp near the city, and my bike needed to charge up before we could go much further anyway.”

  I just stare.

  He shifts his weight. “Um, so—wow. This conversation seemed a lot easier in my head . . .”

  “She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.” Cadence makes it clear she thinks that’s somehow my fault.

  Ash spreads his arms and waves at the general green-and-blue-and-brownness surrounding us. “Ta-da. We made it.”

  I keep staring.

  “Uh . . . you should maybe sit down.”

  I take another look at the lake-pond-thing and sink down onto a damp bit of trampled, weed-covered earth. It’s wet, and kind of smelly, and I’d stand up again except I’m not sure my knees will hold me.

  Ash settles a few feet away. “So, uh, where should I start?”

  He’s found a change of clothes somewhere along the way, and the dark, tough, close-fitting outfit reminds me of the first time I saw him in the dreamscape. His magic has built back to something like its former strength, too. It’s a continuous shimmering over the surface of his skin and hair, a silver-bright glimmering in his eyes not unlike the sun rippling on the wind-stirred surface of the water behind him.

  Awe wars with anger. Anger wins. He’s no longer a mysterious stranger, or the longed-for hero I first made him out to be, when he walked only at the edges of nightmares. He’s just Ash. And he’s been keeping secrets from me.

  “We decided to get you out of the city,” Cadence says. “There were too many things you didn’t want to hear. Your fixation on fighting the Mara was only going to get us all killed. So Ange slipped you something to keep you unconscious long enough for Ash to get us out. We’re going home, where they can help us get back normal. Or, at least, you know. Back to being, uh . . . us.”

  I glare at Ash. “You had no right to do that.”

  His jaw tightens. “It was the best we could do. Letting you get someone killed wasn’t an option. Neither was leaving you behind. Cadence agrees.”

  “Cadence doesn’t get to make decisions for me.” I roll to my knees and shove him.

  He barely sways. I shriek, partly in frustration, partly because whatever Ange gave me to knock me out had been holding the pain in my hands at bay—until I messed that up for myself, too.

  I stalk off into the plants. Except the stupid things are so tall it’s more like wading. Less than ten steps in, my feet snag on something and I go sprawling, plunging both wrecked hands wrist-deep in mud.

  Ash hauls me back to my feet. “Better not go near the water.”

  I turn a wordless growl of pain and fury on him that he’s meant to interpret as something along the lines of: “Why not? Why should I listen to anything you say? In fact, I’m done. I’m out of here.”

  He backs up, eyes widening. I turn and quick-wade in the opposite direction, pretending I’m holding my arms out to wipe the mud off on the tall grasses instead of for balance.

  “Cole? Cole, that’s not a good idea . . . ”

  The grasses swish behind me. I slog faster toward an opening where it looks like the ground might be drier.

  “Let her blow off some steam. It’s not like she’ll make it far anyway,” Cadence says.

  Mud squelches between my fingers as they ball into fists. Fire under my skin reminds me why that’s not a good idea, and I wish yet again for the ability to take a swing at her. Between my most recent batch of injuries and her incorporeal existence, it’s not a wish that’s likely ever to be granted.

  But Cadence and Ash have seen to it that I’m no longer trapped within Refuge’s walls. For the moment, I’ve left everything I know behind—and that includes both the immediate threat of the Mara, and the repressive regulations drilled into me by the tower-state. I can wish for whatever I want, including the ability to punch a ghost.

  The thought lifts my spirits—and my gaze. It’s not only astonishingly bright, but also uncomfortably warm here. Wherever here is. My feet stay cooler than my head, well sheltered by the high ground cover and a liberal coating of mud over my shoes, but the ground underfoot rolls and dips. I skid on loose stones and snag on roots and twigs as I wallow my way through the unfamiliar landscape.

  Everywhere I look, there’s something new. The detail is astonishing—and it’s all moving all the time. Grasses bend and leaves flutter moments before the breeze brushes my cheek. A gentle rustling rises and falls with the wind. Layers of shadows and patches of sunlight shift and sway in a constantly turning kaleidoscope that tricks the eye.

  It’s beautiful—and terrifying.

  I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what’s out here. And I don’t have any way of fighting it off when it sneaks up on me.

  I find a fallen branch and sling it over my shoulder for protection, balancing it in the crook of my arm. Nasty little bits of bark or something worse skitter down my back but, as I’ve so recently learned, it’s better not to head into unfamiliar terrain unarmed.

  The ground levels out and the wall of green to either side grows even more solid. It’s not just made of trees—bushes and vines and other assorted and unidentifiable growing things have nearly swallowed bulky heaps that look decidedly man-made under their organic coverings—a tumble of bricks, a splinter of boards, a slide of shingles. It must once have been a relatively straight row of buildings, but on a much smaller scale than the Towers of Refuge and the other structures I’m familiar with back home in the city. The trees loom high over what remains of these walls.

  I keep to the clearest part of the path, scuffing through musty-smelling heaps of decaying leaves under a near tunnel of green, branches tangling overhead in many places.

  But the way ahead is barred. I could turn right or left, though there’s only more of the same everywhere I look. Instead, I grip my branch more firmly and edge up to the barrier.

  It comes up past my shoulders, but not by much. Bushes bristle against rotted wood, all of it propped against something that rattles when I nudge it, making leaves tremble in a wave out to either side.

  Metal. There’s metal under all the plants. I elbow my way through the greenery, exposing thick, interlaced wire. It’s a chain-link fence.

  Metal means people. I can’t stay out in all this green forever, and I’m certainly not going back to Ash. Maybe whoever built this fence can help me?

  I let my stick fall and hook my arms over the top of the sagging obstruction. It’s easy to kick the rotted wood aside and wedge a foot in the open links, but precarious when I put my weight on it. The fence sways and rattles. I heave and kick and somehow manage to haul myself up high enough to swing one leg over the top. But, disappointingly, even from this higher vantage point there seems to be little more ahead than yet more trees, all linked by endless undergrowth over the sad remains of small—most likely wood—buildings. A breeze ruffles the outer layer of leaves, carrying with
it a low noise—and not the kind, I suspect, that comes from trees and bushes.

  Someone’s out there. I shake off the instinct to hide. Strangers are by definition an unknown. They could be dangerous—but somehow, despite how alien this landscape looks, it feels—not familiar, not safe, exactly, but . . .

  I can’t quite put it into words. There’s—there’s a sort of rightness about this place, or—no, that’s not it, either. It’s as if I’m spying on a place where I’m not welcome—but neither am I in danger of attack. The air isn’t thick, it’s full—occupied, but not hostile.

  And though I feel like an intruder, I don’t leave. I need to know more—need to pry my way into this place’s secrets and understand—

  “Death wish, much?” Cadence interrupts, shattering the alien atmosphere that very nearly had hooked its claws into me. “What did you think was out here? Bunny rabbits and bluebirds?”

  That low noise swells again from just up ahead, still calling to me. A chill ices down my spine. The trees are closer here, and seem nearly as tall as Refuge itself, rustling skyscrapers blocking out the sun. It’s cool and shadowy, and it would be peaceful—except there’s that low, trailing sound again.

  The breeze makes the shadows under the trees bob and creep in a way that looks almost . . .

  I lean, peer into the undergrowth, try to piece together the edges and curves of half-seen shapes that seem alive. Almost, but not quite, human.

  The fence bounces and swoops beneath me, first groaning, and then shrieking as my weight taxes the ancient metal. My foot slips at the same moment a thorn pricks my finger. I scrabble for handholds and remember too late the state of my hands. I start to slide—and a pair of hands grabs ahold of my waist.

  “You don’t want to go in there,” Ash says.

  “You don’t get to decide what I want.” I kick at him, then scramble for balance on the unsteady fence. He pulls harder. The links dig in painfully.

  I will not let go. He can’t make me.

  “Oh, stop pouting already,” Cadence says. As if she’s one to talk. “He’s just trying to warn you. Refuge isn’t the only place you have to worry about monsters.”