Firstlife (16 page)

“You should know me better by now.”

Do I detect...displeasure? And dang it, I
do
feel guilty about this and the whole ditching thing.

I grab the vial before I can talk myself out of it, pop the cork and drain the contents. The liquid is warm and sweet, like melted honey but not as thick, and as it washes through me, I feel hugged from the inside out. My veins begin to tingle, as if my blood is fizzing.

“What's happening to me?” I demand.

“I'm sure you noticed that I smelled good while living in the asylum. Manna not only nourishes, it cleanses.”

And addicts.
More! Gimme!

“This particular variety of manna is found
only
in Troika,” he adds, and I glare at him. Manipulated again. “Go. Do your thing.” He gives me a little push, and I end up outside the square.

The jellyair appears wet, and yet I emerge on the other side completely dry. And within seconds, I'm close to frostbite. I trudge behind a tree and take care of business. As I'm fastening my pants—my butt stinging from cold slaps of wind—a snap of twigs. My heart stops. I go still.

Danger!

A familiar scent wafts to my nose. Peat smoke and heather... Pure seduction.

Killian? Nearby?

My heart kicks back into gear, beating hard and fast. Did he watch me pee?

My cheeks burn.

To him, I'm nothing but a soul to be won, I remind myself. One soul in a long line of souls. A number.

Oh, the irony.

He hates defeat almost as much as he hates Archer. No matter how sweet he can sometimes be, my best interests will never be his main concern.

I sprint back to the square—only to realize I can't see the square. Zero! What am I supposed to—

Archer appears a few feet in front of me, my backpack slung over his shoulder. Sloan and Clay step forward, suddenly flanking his sides. The former inmates are dressed in winter gear, but Archer hasn't changed out of his T-shirt and jeans. His beautiful features are twisted in a scowl, the stars branded on the palms of his hands glowing bright blue.

“Killian,” we say in unison.

“Want me with you now? This way.” Archer launches into motion, and we do our best to remain close to his heels.

“Killian...the new kid?” Sloan asks, already wheezing. “Why are we running from
him
? He's hotter than Bocher! That's Bow plus Archer, in case your puny brain isn't hip to my hop.”

“He works for Myriad,” I explain. While I'm not yet wheezing, every step is more difficult than the last, my thighs burning and straining.

“Know what I just heard?” she asks. “He's young, hung and dumb. My type!”

“Your standards need work,” I say, and okay, yeah, I'm wheezing now.

“Can't improve on perfection but ow, ow, ow, blisters! I'm not sure how much farther I can make it.”

Archer grins at me over his shoulder. “Why don't you recite a poem and distract Sloan from her
total
lack of stamina? Something uplifting for once. And make sure it rhymes. The best poems
always
rhyme.”

Is he serious? “One poem, coming up.” I clear my burning throat, as if I'm about to say something profound. “You suck in so many ways, but at least our association pays. You kept us warm and away from the swarm, and you've got a really nice form. But you are a major pain in the ass, and that's not just sass—it's a bitch slap of truth from a sweet little lass.”

He chokes on his one tongue. “That was
not
uplifting.”

“Then you must not have been listening. I feel better already.” Sloan clutches at her heart as if she's having an attack. “Only problem is I think I'm dying.”

Archer glances at her then Clay, and he frowns. “Clay?”

“When we reach the town, or wherever it is we're going,” Clay announces with no hint of levity, “I'm going sign with Troika. No more waiting. You were right.”

I trip over my own foot, barely managing to remain upright. “Why the rush? Yesterday you said you had time and—”
No! Zip it!
His future is his own. I have no right to pressure him the way others have pressured me.

It's just...deep down I want him to wait until
I
make a decision, want him to pick the realm I pick.

I'm just as bad as my parents.

“I thought about it all night,” he continues, “and then
this
happened. We're on the run again. None of us know when the end will come. And no matter how many mistakes I've made, I want to be ready for mine.”

His assurance makes a mockery of my uncertainty.

“We do this now.” Archer leads us into a small cave. “There's no need to wait until we reach the town.”

For several heartbeats of time, no one says a word. We're too busy panting. And gagging. The canned chicken has challenged my stomach to a blood feud.

Archer types into his arm, a soft blue light radiating from his flesh. Jellyair falls from the top rocky ledge of the entrance, finally hitting the icy ground and sealing us inside. “You ready?”

Clay nods. “What do I need to do?”

“Offer a simple pledge of allegiance. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But remember,” I say as I clutch my side, “that simple pledge is permanent. There will be no going back.”

Pressuring him again. Stop!

“Don't be an idiot.” Mist wafts in front of Sloan's face as she continues to labor for every breath. “The realms only want worker bees and soldiers for their war.”

“Does that really matter? He has to pick a realm. His only other option is Many Ends.” I shudder, knowing I can deny its existence no longer. Something I'd done because I hadn't wanted to accept the possibility I'd end up there. “The realm is the Prynne Asylum of the Everlife, nothing but punishment and pain. I just... I don't want to end up as your enemy, Clay.”

He tugs at a lock of my hair. “You won't. Not ever.”

“You're both buying into the hype. Many Ends can't be as bad as Laborers claim,” Sloan says. “Eternal punishment simply for choosing not to sign with Myriad or Troika? Bullcorn!”

Archer looks at her with pity. “A pledge to Troika creates a bond to the realm. Same with Myriad. A bond that grants entrance into the realm. The Unsigned are bondless, so their spirits have only one place to go. Many Ends.”

I've heard this before, but for the first time I wonder... “Are the kids of the Unsigned sent to Many Ends?”

“No. Children are somehow bonded to both Troika and Myriad. I've often been assigned the task of sitting with a dying child so that I'm there at the moment of death, able to escort the spirit into Troika. At the Age of Accountability, the bonds are broken and the spirit is allowed to choose us or Myriad, just like a human.”

Sloan hunches over and waves her hand as if she has more to say, but she's too winded to care anymore.

I lean against the ice-cold rocky wall, happy for Clay, sad for me. “I'll support your decision,” I tell him. “Whatever it is.”

Archer pats him on the shoulder again. “All of Troika will become your family. When you need our help, you have only to ask for it. And when you enter the Everlife, you will be trained in the position most suited to you. Messenger, I think you said.”

Clay is all but salivating. And then he does it. He utters the vow all children are taught by at least one of the Laborers—the vow that will forever decide the course of his life. “With my heart, mind and body, I believe Troika is the realm for me. I pledge my Firstlife. I pledge my Everlife. All that I am is Troika's, and Troika is mine.”

“And so it's done,” Archer says with a big grin.

Just. Like. That. A future now forever charted.

I expect bright lights, or cheering to echo from some secret place. Something. Anything! But nothing happens.

Archer cups Clay by the nape and pulls him close for a bro-hug, the two patting each other on the back.

“Welcome to the family, my friend,” Archer says.

“Thank you.” There are tears in Clay's eyes as he smiles up at the Laborer, and I'm almost knocked over.

This. This is what I was waiting for. The moment is so...momentous. I hadn't known the heavy weight Clay used to carry on his shoulders until just this second—because it's gone, the weight is gone. His head is higher, his shoulders no longer hunched but squared and proud. Contentedness radiates from him, as if he's shed years of fatigue.

I want that. I want that so badly.

“In Troika,” Archer says, “you'll be rewarded for your deeds in this life. I'm not saying your deeds affect the benefits you receive while you're here, only that the sacrifices you make for us will never be forgotten.”

“What kind of rewards?” Sloan rubs her hands together, suddenly intrigued. “We talking jewels? Cash? Gold?”

The scent of heather drifts on the wind, and in unison Archer and I stiffen. Oh...zero! “I'm pushing the pause button on this conversation. We've got to go.”

“She's right.” Archer disables the wall of jellyair.

We follow him back into the frigid cold. We run and run and run, sunlight glistening off the ice at our feet. My wheezing returns, only it's a thousand times worse, the burn in my lungs soon competing with the one in my thighs.

“Changed my mind...need another break.”

A light erupts from Archer's wrist. He doesn't slow as his fingers dance through it, typing, typing. Up ahead, a blue beam shoots from the sky and slams into the ground, leaving something behind when it fades.

Archer grabs that something as he runs past it. “Here.” He tosses each of us a length of rope. “Knot them around your waist. You're going to need them.”

I don't ask questions. As I run, I do as commanded.

A new noise erupts behind us—a howl of rage. A war cry?

Something dark whizzes past me and slams into Archer. The Laborer is thrown into the side of the mountain with so much force there's a vibration at my feet. When he lands in a tangle of punching fists and kicking feet, I catch a glimpse of dark hair and an arm sleeved with intricate tattoos.

Killian found us.

I slide to a stop, grabbing hold of Clay and Sloan as they do the same. Together we stand or together we fall.

“I'm going to kill you.” Killian delivers a viscous jab, jab to Archer's nose. “You had no right—”

“I had every right!” Archer ducks, avoiding the next round of fury. He lands three punches to Killian's side. “She doesn't want you.”

“She doesn't know what she wants.”

She, meaning
me
. My stomach twists.

“I won't let you hurt her the way you hurt Dior,” Archer says through gritted teeth.

Dior?

“By the time I finished with your darling,” Killian says, his tone nothing but silk and heat, and yet I pick up the underlying note of his rage, “she was begging me for more.”

That rage...over a girl... Killian is doing his best to hide his feelings, but he's failing.

He loved Dior, didn't he?

Mind scramble!

The vicious fight rages on, the boys hitting rocks and razor-sharp ice as well as each other. I cringe as flesh is torn from both Shells, every tattered piece shimmering with diamond dust. Lifeblood, Archer called it.

“Let's not wait around to crown the winner.” Sloan pulls on my arm.

“I can't leave. I have to help Archer.” Clay is already moving forward. “He's family!”

I don't understand the bond he feels so quickly. “Clay—”

Boom!

The explosion echoes from the sky, and again, it sounds as if fireworks have been unleashed. A battle is happening up there at the same time one is happening down here. Maybe... Archer's friends are throwing down with Killian's? Is that how it works?

“Wait.” I tighten my grip on Clay's wrist to hold him in place. If we get in the middle of two savage animals intent on killing each other, we won't be walking away—we'll be crawling. And that's if we're lucky. And...and...

Are the vibrations at my feet getting stronger?

“How many times did we sit on the sidelines and do nothing when other inmates needed us?” Clay's eyes beseech me. “I can't sit on the sidelines anymore.” He pulls from my clasp as Sloan gives me another tug.

The counterforce sends me careening. I don't mean to, but I take her to the ground with me. The impact is jarring, and even maybe knocks a little sense into me. Clay is right. No more sitting on the sidelines. If I can help Archer and Killian, I have to help them—before they send each other into Second-death.

As I stand, another loud boom echoes from above. I look up and realize this one didn't come from the sky but the mountain, heralding the beginning of an avalanche. The sky is nothing but snow, ice and rock—and falling straight for us.

chapter eleven

“Without an end, you cannot have a new beginning.”

—Myriad

Life is all about the numbers.

Today those numbers are the seconds we have to reach safety. The tons about to crash down upon us. The feet/yards/miles we're about to fall, unable to stop ourselves.

“Come on.” I grab the end of Sloan's rope and run as fast as I can. She isn't prepared, and I have to drag her behind me. When I reach Clay, I grab his rope and drag him, too. We aren't yet connected, but I try to remedy that as I run; I'm shaking too badly. “Archer! Killian! Come on!”

Numbers never lie, and the center of a mass like this is always heaviest, so that's where the avalanche will move the fastest and hit the hardest. If we can get far enough to the side, we can maybe, hopefully, avoid being buried.

I glance up. Zero! We're not going to get far enough to the side.

There are no trees nearby to act as an anchor for our ropes. Not that we'd have time to tie ourselves to the trunks. What should we do next? Brace?

The rumble of snow grows louder until I'd swear a freight train is hidden beneath the flakes. Yes. Brace. I recall a book I read and shout, “If you're swept away, start swimming uphill as soon as you can.” The longer we're buried, the harder movement will be. “Don't stop until—”

Impact!

I'm thrown down, down, down by what seems to be ten thousand pounds of snow. I grip the ropes with all my strength as I tumble around like clothes in a dryer. Common sense tells me to keep a hand in front of my face—I might need to dig a tunnel to breathe—while keeping the other lifted above my head to help with disorientation. But I have a choice, always a choice. Help myself or help my friends by maintaining my grip on their ropes.

I maintain my grip.

When finally I stop, snow and debris are piled on top of me. I try to catch my breath but there's not enough oxygen. Desperate, trying not to panic, I thrash with my legs, propelling up...up...

Am I going the right way?

Does it matter? If I'm buried under a foot or more, I won't make it to the top on my own. That's just fact.

What seems an eternity later—yes!—I break the surface and suck back as much air as my lungs can handle. I'm frantic as I scan the sea of white, seeing no sign of the others. “Clay! Sloan!” No response. “Archer! Killian!” Again, no response.

I tug one rope, then the other, and realize the two are on top of the snow, both facing the same direction. I use the lengths to fight my way through the rest of the deluge...

“Ten!” Clay calls, beyond frantic. “Help me. You have to help me.”

I lumber to my feet and follow the sound of his voice...skidding to a halt when I reach the edge of a cliff. Hanks of snow and rock fall over...and just keep falling.

“Ten!” He's clinging to a tree that's been knocked over the edge, the roots the only thing keeping it in place.

“I've got you.” I dig in my heels and try to pull him up with the rope. “Don't worry.”

“Ten... Ten...”

A whimper at my right. I turn my head and see Sloan, and I almost lose my breakfast. She's hanging over the same cliff, and like Clay, she's white-knuckling a tree branch with every bit of strength she possesses.

“Pleeease. Help me.”

My panic returns with a vengeance. I won't be able to pull them up at the same time. They're simply too heavy. I have to pick one and pray the other holds on just a little longer.

Another hated choice. A sob lodges in my throat, constricting my airway.

I love Clay. We've laughed together, and we've cried together. He's kind, honest and, as he just proved today, willing to help when needed. I can picture him at my seaside home, surfing alongside me.

Sloan, on the other hand, has been a thorn in my side for a little over a year. She's a pain in every sense of the word. She's irritating and combative, and I can't imagine ever trusting her at my back.

But Clay now knows where he's going when he dies. Sloan will wind up in Many Ends.

“I'm so sorry, Clay. I'll pull you up next, okay? Just hang on. Hang on!” I release his rope, hating myself, and grip Sloan's with both hands. As my feet slip, I look around—everywhere but at Clay. There are no boulders or rooted trees within reach, which means I can't anchor myself. Okay. All right. Can't be helped.

“Ten,” she cries.

“Let go of the branch,” I shout at her. “Please.”

“No, no—”

“Do it! I can't pull you up if you're clasping the tree.” A tree that is teetering. “Sloan! I've got you, promise. Just let go!”

“I can't,” she says as she weeps.

“You must. Help me help you.”

She only weeps harder.

Rage joins my deluge of emotions. “At the count of three, I'm helping Clay. One. Two.”

She lets go, giving me the full brunt of her weight. My feet slip closer to the edge, leaving me unable to balance. I crash to my butt and slide faster. A terrified yelp escapes her.

Come on, come on.
I dig my boots as deep into the snow and ice as I can, managing to stop my momentum and pull with all my might. I gain an inch...then another...she can't weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds, but my shoulders burn and shake as if they're lugging a couple of tons. Muscles I didn't know I had spasm.

Survival instinct demands I release her and save myself, but I just keeping pulling...pulling...

Just a little farther...

So close to assisting Clay...

When the tops of her hands reached the edge of the cliff, I grit out, “Grab the side and climb up.”

As soon as her grip is steadyish, she kicks up a leg. A few seconds later—an eternity—the top of her body clears the side.

“Hurry! Please.” Mist dances in front of my face as I pant, and tears well in my eyes. I glance at Clay as snow topples over the cliff edge. He is desperately trying to inch his way along the tree trunk—a tree trunk that teeters a little more with his every action.

“Ten.” Clay's panic is worse than mine. “Please.”

“Sloan,” I plead. “Come on!”

Her arms shake and strain as she claws the rest of the way, finally safe. Thank the Firstking! I release her rope and reach for Clay's, the movement sending another mound of snow over the edge. He's close enough now that it hits him right in the face...and it's strong enough to knock him loose.

“No!” I dive down, my arm extended. I'll catch him, I have to catch him, but something latches on my ankles, keeping me from going over the edge as I encounter air, only air. “Clay!”

He shrieks as he falls...falls...and the sound rips me up inside, but it's better than the terrible silence that comes next.
No. No, no, no.
He's not—he can't be—but I see him. He landed on another plateau, and he's unmoving, a crimson pool growing around his oddly contorted body.

Horror overwhelms me. I just found him, and now he's gone?

Sloan pulls me up. “We can't stay here. It's not safe.” She bands her arm around me, forcing me to stand. “Move with me!”

Now
she's in a hurry? I fight to remain in place. I can't leave Clay. I just...can't.

From the time he lost his grip on the branch to the time he hit the bottom of the mountain—roughly eight seconds. If I'd had two more, if I'd let go of Sloan just a little sooner, I could have caught his hand.

Two. Seconds. That's all I needed.

She slaps me across the face. “Ten!”

I taste the copper tang of blood, but I don't care. He's down there. My friend is down there. He deserves so much better.

“You listen to me.” She grips my shoulders and shakes me. “I'll drag you kicking and screaming if I must, but we're leaving. You saved my life. Now I'm saving yours.”

I saved her, but I didn't save Clay. There's nothing I can do to bring him back. But her words have the desired effect. Finally I allow her to lead me away. Dead, I'm no good to Clay.

“We're going to be okay,” she says through chattering teeth. “After what you did for me, I'm basically your bitch for life. I'll get you out of here even if I have to sleep with a bunch of sexy guys to do it. I know, I know. I'm a giver.”

As I go numb, I lose track of time. I know we descend the mountain. I know Archer joins us when we stop to rest, but not Killian. Archer explains we're hidden from the ML, but I don't respond. I don't care. I know we stop a second time so Sloan and I can eat, but I don't know where we are or what I put in my stomach.

“—going to be okay?” Sloan asks.

“She's strong,” Archer replies.

Strong? Me? I'm not. I'm the weak link. I let my friend die—but I'm not the only one to blame.

Flames of wrath spark, melting some of the numbness.

“You didn't save Clay.” I shake my head, blink and meet Archer's copper gaze head-on. Melting... “You promised to be there for him, to be his family, his brother, to help him when he needed you. Well, he needed you!”

Archer flinches. His Shell is damaged, but nothing like before, the flesh—or whatever it is—once again in the process of weaving back together. “I can do a lot of things, Ten, but I can't be everywhere at once, and I can't override free will.”

Melting...gone! “Are you saying Clay chose to die? I assure you, he didn't. He
begged
me to save him.” He begged me, and I failed him. My tears return, my chin trembling.

“He begged you, but didn't ask me.”

I'm about to punch him when he adds, “I'm saying this is my fault, not the fault of my realm. I was told Killian neared, and I wasn't to engage. I disobeyed, and my new brother died because of it. I'm saying I chose to engage my enemy rather than call for reinforcements, a fact that will haunt me for the rest of my days. A mistake I'll never make again. I'm saying you had two options, and you did the right thing.”

“I let my friend die,” I say slowly, softly. “That will
never
be the right thing.”

“He's not in any pain. He's happy, preparing for his homecoming.”

I try to picture Clay smiling. I just see him lying in a pool of his own blood.

“I would have found myself in Many Ends,” Sloan says, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Have you ever...visited?”

We're seated inside another four-by-four square, but I take no comfort in the warmth. I deserve the cold.

“No. I've tried,” Archer tells her. “We hear the screams of the people inside, and we've even attempted to follow spirits through the veil, but we're always blocked.”

Sloan shudders, and maybe she even rethinks her no-realm stance.

“If there's a way for one to enter,” I say, my tone now hollowed out, “there's a way for others to enter.”

“You would think so, yes.” He stands, lifts his hand, the star in his palm glowing. He types inside the light, saying, “Come. We have four more miles to traverse.”

The walls around us fade, and the cold sweeps in.

We remain silent as we hike, and I'm glad. My mind is churning. Like Sloan, I'm one of the Unsigned. If I die right now, I'll end up in Many Ends, most likely exchanging one torturous existence for another. But...

Maybe that's better than the alternative.

Archer failed to rescue Clay. Strike one, Troika.

Killian's actions led to the avalanche that put Clay in danger in the first place. Strike one, Myriad.

My parents. Enough said. Strike two, Myriad.

Rules that prevent TLs from saving a human life without being asked. Strike two, Troika.

We make it to the little town Archer mentioned about two hours after sunset. Heaters mounted to the tops of silver poles line the streets and illuminate our path with a soft red glow. Golden light shines from a multitude of box-shaped buildings carved into the side of the mountain. Every building is connected through some type of tunnel. There are no windows, no real
personality
.

Archer stops as the light in his hand flares. He moves into a shadowed corner to type.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“Responding to a message from my leader.”

Jellyair creation...communication between Earth and a realm. What else can the device do?

“I have to make him understand...”

Archer's frustration is clear, and I'm suddenly glad the cell phone implanted behind my ear was deactivated the day I arrived at Prynne. Vans hoped to make me feel isolated. Trapped. His mistake. If I can't be reached, I can't be tracked or ordered around.

“While you're wasting our time,” Sloan says, batting her lashes at him, “would you be kind enough to tell us where we are?”

“The Urals.” His typing speed increases, his fingers jabbing at invisible keys.

The Urals. A mountain range that runs through western Russia. My mind whizzes back to one of my first history lessons. Almost a century ago, snow covered the mountains, but unlike every year before, the deluge didn't melt with the change of season. The climate worsened, becoming so harsh trees and wildlife soon died. The realms finally stepped in and planted sustainable foliage.

“This town is like any other. There's a mix of Troikan and Myriad loyalists as well as Unsigned. A few weeks ago, there was a riot among the three and tensions are still high.” The light fades, and Archer drops his arm to his side. His shoulders slump as he turns and shoves a bag of coins into my hand. “I'm sure the asylum has people living here, as well, to keep tabs on the citizens and in case inmates escape and live long enough to get here.”

Wonderful. “We need weapons. Good ones.”

“And you'll get them. At the end of the street is a bed-and-breakfast. I know the owner. He'll have everything you need... He'll get you wherever you want to go.”

“He's trustworthy?” Sloan asks.