Beyond the Red (30 page)

I drink from the bottle in my pack, wrap a scarf around my head to protect me from the suns, and start running.

It feels good to be moving again. My muscles ache as I run—I guess I’m not entirely recovered despite whatever serum they gave me—but they loosen over time and I’m soon moving like I did months ago in training. The suns are hot against my skin, sweat drips over my nose and runs between my shoulder blades, and hot air fills my lungs and makes me feel clean. Alive.

I could run like this forever.

I stop only to take water breaks and stretch out my sore limbs. My toes dig into the sand and the endless waves of desert have never looked so incredible. Something bubbles inside me—a latent excitement, the sense of being home—and I resist the urge to throw myself in the sand and bake in the suns’ rays.

When the setting suns have painted the sky red and orange, I slow to a walk. The camp is about a league away—I know because the wind carries whispers now. Day could never hear the chatter in the air—he was convinced I was making it up until the blind test before my official promotion to soldier. Before being initiated into the army, every would-be soldier is blindfolded, taken to a random location within two leagues of camp, and left to find his way back. Those who returned were initiated. Those who didn’t were buried in waves of red, their bones picked clean by scavengers.

I returned in less than an hour—the fastest any soldier had passed. I may not be fully Sepharon, but I guess I inherited enough of their enhanced senses anyway.

But being a league away from camp means more than a short journey—it means I’ve passed into the surveillance border, where the soldiers lay hidden in the sand for hours, ready to shoot anyone who enters unauthorized.

I may be one of them, but with the markings of a royal servant on my arms and the uniform of a slave, they won’t know it.

I scoop sand into my palm and mix it with water until it forms a cold, muddy substance and paint a long vertical line on my chest, with two short horizontal lines near the top—the symbol of surrender. I draw it the best I can on my back, using my spine as a guide, though it probably looks terrible. With any luck, I won’t get shot from behind.

I walk another half-league without interruption, which is unusual. I would’ve expected a visit from several soldiers by now, or at the very least a warning shot. The sands slide around me in silence until, finally, the hiss of sand slipping off shoulders and gear whistles through the air behind me. I spin around and meet the barrel of a phaser. But something’s wrong. The soldier looks barely older than Mal—and definitely not old enough to be carrying a phaser and patrolling the border alone.

And he looks terrified.

“Hello,” I say carefully. “My name is Eros. I used to live in camp with the Kit family.”

“I remember you.” The phaser shivers in his grip and he holds it with both hands and sinks into a wide stance. The poor kid wouldn’t stand a chance against an actual intruder.

“Great. I need to speak to Gray.”

He hesitates. Looks at the markings on my arms. “You can’t if you’re tracked.”

“I’m not tracked.”

“All slaves are tracked.” I crouch to meet him at eye level. He jumps back, shaking from head to toe. “Don’t move!”

“It’s okay,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “I just want to talk to Gray. I promise you, if I was tracked I wouldn’t have come here. I’m clean.”

He hesitates. Squints at me. Bites his lip. “How do I know you’re not lying? Gray says all the slaves are tracked.”

“They usually are, but the tracker didn’t work with me. Don’t worry about it. Do you have a com? I need to see Gray.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re allowed in.”

I take a deep breath. Try not to get impatient. “I’m part of the camp. Of course I’m allowed in—take me at phaserpoint if you want to, but I have to talk to Gray. Or give me your com, if you have one.”

The boy hesitates, then takes a hand off the phaser and touches his ear. “Perimeter zone, sir. Eros is here and wants to talk to Gray.” Long pause. I rub my gritty fingers on my pants and hold my breath. “He says he’s not tracked.” A nod. Then he reaches into his pack and tosses me a black hood. “Put it on.”

I catch it and arch an eyebrow at him. “I know where camp is.”

“They said put it on or I can’t take you.”

I roll my eyes and put the thing on. I don’t have the time to waste arguing with some kid who can’t even grow facefuzz. He shifts behind me and nudges me with the phaser. And so we walk.

They bring me to the center of camp, to Gray’s tent. It’s too quiet, here. Wrong. There was always noise before, constant talking and laughing, grunting hodges and chittering fetchers in the livestock pen, shouting from the training grounds and the pop and crackle of people cooking over fires—but today all I hear are footsteps and muted conversations. The emptiness roils through my stomach like spoiled hodge milk.

Supposedly I don’t know where I am, but the whole hood-over-my-head thing is for show because I was taught by the man in charge of security. I helped enforce the rules and train other soldiers. And considering who I am and what I’ve demanded, they’d take me straight to Gray.

So I’m not the least bit surprised when he pulls off my hood and takes two steps back. Two soldiers who are actually of age stand at his side, which is still less than half of what his guard used to consist of.

And then I realize. The raid that killed my family did more than burn a couple tents and take prisoners.

“Have to say, I didn’t expect to see your face again after the raid,” Gray says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nice tats.”

It’s not a compliment. I scowl and pull my shoulders back. “I’m looking for someone.”

“I know.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“As the old ones would say, doesn’t take a rocking scientist to guess why you’re here, not after our guest the other day.”

I close my eyes. Sigh a breath of relief. She managed to survive. “So you have her.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“You just said—”

“She stopped by, but she sure as the shining suns couldn’t stay.”

I frown. Did they let her stay at all before kicking her out? My people aren’t exactly fond of the Sepharon—especially Sepharon royalty—but I would have thought they’d at least help her along so she didn’t die out there.

Then again, maybe not. We let our own trainee soldiers die in the desert—why not exiled alien royalty?

“Did she have a cat with her, by chance?” I ask.

Gray arches an eyebrow. “A cat?”

“Yeah, like a …” He stares at me and I sigh. He would’ve known what I was talking about if Iro had made it to camp, which means she’s wandering out there, somewhere, alone. “Forget it.”

Gray shakes his head. “You can’t stay either. As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of them.”

His words are a kick to the gut. They shouldn’t be—I’ve always known everyone felt that way, that nothing I could do would ever convince them to trust me—and yet I can’t help the angry heat that rises inside me.

I scowl. “I grew up here. I’m just as much a Nomad as you are.”

But he doesn’t back down. “We tolerated you because the Kits are good people. Nol, Esta, and Day were my friends, but they’re gone and so is your immunity.” He steps toward me and shoves a small pouch into my hand. “Nol asked me to give that to you if anything happened to him, so I’ve let you into camp one last time because I promised the old man I’d keep it safe. Now my promise is fulfilled, and you have to leave.” He steps away and the guards move toward me.

He’s kicking me out. He’s actually kicking me out of the only place I’ve ever called home, like some fucken traitor. Like I don’t belong.

Fire races across my chest and into my skull. I bled for these people—I would
still
bleed for these people, and he’s banishing me from ever returning to the last bit of family I have left. I’ll never see Jessa or Mal or Nia or Aren, I’ll never know if Day’s youngest kid is a son or a daughter, I’ll never live in the desert with my people again.

But I knew that, didn’t I? I’ve known that ever since Kora’s people marked me a slave. So why does this hurt so fucken bad?

I shove the pouch into my bag and take a calming breath. Exiled or not, I still need to find Kora. That’s why I came, after all—not for some fantasy reunion. “Gray, hold on. I’ll leave, but I just need to know what happened to—”

“We knocked her out and dropped her off four leagues southwest from here last night. If she’s still alive, you’ll find her near Devil’s Eye.” He faces me again, and this time his eyes are cold and hard. “I’m letting you go, so consider this your last free pass. If I ever see you again—or I hear that you gave away our location to someone else—I’ll stop your heart, and I don’t mean that figuratively. Clear?”

I grit my teeth. Swallow fire. Clench my fists. “As glass.”

“Good. Get him out of here.”

They threw me out of the back of a van, like a sack of rotten vegetables. I hit the sand and rolled several times before skidding to a stop. Powder stung my eyes and became cold mud on my tongue. I spit sand, rubbed the dirt from my eyes, and turned in a small circle. Identical waves of the purest red sand surrounded me with only two landmarks—a tall cluster of rocks towering over every dune, with a plateau in the front and a wall of weathered, spike-like rocks behind it, and at its base, a grouping of dark shapes, scattered half a league across.

Kala’s Throne and the abandoned city of Enjos.

I’d never seen the formation or the ruins myself, but it was once a sight of pilgrimage for the more devotionally inclined. Enjos was a rich city then—full of merchants selling religious trinkets to those passing through—and the grandest temples in all of Elja, save for Vejla. The histories say the city became so popular that some sought to make it the new capital.

That is, until the Great War began and the pagan armies of Sekka’l swept through Ona and into Elja, razing many of our cities, including the once-great Enjos. The darkness that followed lasted sixteen cycles—a time of bloodshed and child sacrifices to the gods of Sekka’l, until the golden-eyed Jol d’Asheron united the armies across Safara for the first time in history to crush the darkness and begin a new rule. One in which we are all united under a single crown—a line made up of Jol’s descendants.

But Enjos was never rebuilt, and as a way to respect the dead, it never will be. And now Kala’s Throne is a cluster of rocks deep in the desert, forgotten by most.

I walked toward them. At least with Enjos and Kala’s Throne on the horizon, I knew I was headed in a straight line rather than wandering in large, aimless circles. At least I had a destination, even if it was likely I would die once I reached it.

My mind wanders. Alone, at the mercy of the twin suns, I have far too much time to think. To ask questions I’m terrified to answer—like whether Serek survived the attack, or Anja knew what she was doing when she gave me the poisoned lipgloss, or if Dima’s happiness was caused by something other than
azuka
and
zeïli
. An ache blossoms deep inside me at the thought of it, and I push the questions away.

There must be another answer. An explanation that doesn’t involve a betrayal from those closest to me.

At least I don’t have Dima and his guard breathing down my back, demanding war with the rebels. I’m free of the whispers trailing me like a spirit, the uncomfortable silences when I address the people, and the mutterings of my council advisors about my weaknesses.

Because as much as I fought it, they were right—all of them. I failed as
Avra
, and although this realization should be a crushing weight, I’ve never been so free. Granted, that freedom will only last until I die in this cursed desert, but from here until my final breath, every decision will be my own. And no one will ever take that from me again.

Focusing on that, rather than the failed legacy I’ve left behind, is how I choose to spend my final thoughts.

The suns travel through the sky, changing the shape of my shadow doubles. The arid, unending heat bakes the sweat from my pores and saps my energy. Small, round lizards skitter past my feet, burrowing into the sand. But I keep moving. I must keep moving.