Beyond the Red (38 page)

I don’t really sleep much, so when the door to my cell opens and six guards in black and gold step inside, I’m already awake. One of them comes forward and pulls me to my feet. I don’t bother fighting. They’re armed with phasers, whips, and knives, and I’d rather not give them an excuse to use them.

They move into formation around me and lead me through a series of tunnels I don’t recognize or waste energy trying to remember. As we move closer to the surface, the eerie silence of the underground is replaced with a distant rumbling, like thunder. The closer we get, the louder the sound, until the walls shake with the ever-present roar.

We stop before a black metal door. I’m not sure what we’re waiting for, but the door doesn’t open and I’m about to ask what the hold up is when the guard behind me speaks.

“If
Kala
shows you favor and interferes, you will be granted immunity,” the guard says. “May he have mercy on your afterdeath.”

I snort. I’ve heard of the Sepharon so-called system of justice. Supposedly, if you’re innocent of the accused crime, their god will save you. Evidently he’s not the saving type, because I’ve never heard of anyone surviving the Arena.

The door opens and bright hot light blinds me. Someone gives me a hard shove, and I stumble onto the coarse white sand, straining to regain my balance as we move steadily forward. The door slams shut behind us and the roar of the crowd surrounds me. They’re chanting one word, over and over again, and it takes me a mo to pull out what it is.

Then I get it and my stomach twists. They’re shouting
ikrat.
Death.

The Arena is enormous—at least half a league across—and the walls trapping me inside are fifteen feet of slick black rock. A curved screen as large as a hovercraft floats high above the wall, and I am on it, walking forward, my hands cuffed behind my back, staring at the screen with guards following me. They’ve got this whole thing recorded and blown up so everyone can see every last gritty detail. The surrounding stadium is packed, and hovering above the crowd is the dark glass viewing box where Roma undoubtedly sits. Although I can’t see the
Sira
hiding behind his tinted glass, I hope he’s watching and sees I won’t let him defeat me.

I straighten my shoulders and walk confidently forward, toward two large, dark men with arms as thick as my thighs, dressed in nothing but those long black skirts they have all the guards wearing here. The one on the left stands next to a long, crescent-shaped blade attached to a thick, wrapped hilt sticking up straight in the sand. Between the guards is a black stone block.

In a way, I’m relieved. Decapitation isn’t so bad—I was kinduv expecting something long and painful, like flesh-eating nanites or shooting out my joints, stabbing me repeatedly, and leaving me to hang by my wrists until I bleed out. But I guess Roma wanted something quick and efficient, so there wouldn’t be any chance of escaping.

Knowing how I’m going to die fills me with a surge of energy. I take careful breaths and steady steps and look up at Roma’s glass box and smile. I’m going to die today, but I’m not defeated. Not even the ruler of Safara can take that from me.

We step right up to the executioners. They have long black hair tied back into knots and unexpectedly warm orange and green eyes. They must be twins, because they look like copies of each other, but the weird part is they’re not glaring at me. They don’t even look angry. They just nod at me, and I nod back, then the guards holding my cuffs turn me around and I’m facing the block.

I’m on my knees. This white sand isn’t like the soft powder of the deserts I love—it’s hard and gritty and digs into my skin. I close my eyes. Inhale deeply. Tilt my face back to the sky and feel the warmth of the suns on my face. The clamor of the crowd fades away, and I imagine Esta and Nol and Day looking down at me, smiling softly, welcoming me home.

The only stars in the sky may be the suns right now, but I know they’re with me.

A hand grabs the back of my head and forces it down. The illusion shatters—the crowd is roaring—and I open my eyes in time to see the block and turn my head before they smash my face into it. The hand releases me, but I don’t move.

The stone is cool against my cheek. There are grooves in the otherwise smooth surface—scars from where the blade has hit it before. My whole body is shaking and I’m sure I have a couple breaths, maybe less, before the blade comes down on my neck and my blood stains the sand.

Despite the crazed crowd, I make out a hiss. The shift of sand. Someone has lifted the blade and I’m holding on to my last breath. This is it. This is what oxygen tastes like in my lungs, this is how the suns feel on my back.

This is the sweat on my brow, the slamming of my heart, the trickle of cold dread in my gut.

A thousand claps of thunder rock the stadium and the ground trembles beneath me. The shouts of the crowd morph to bloodcurdling screams as thick black smoke swirls into the air, dotting out the suns.

I’m standing. I don’t know when I got to my feet but the guards that cuffed me are on their faces, in the sand, and I don’t know if they’re dead or stunned, but I’m not about to wait around to find out. The smoke is curling closer, a blanket moving in from all sides, and the executioners—where are the executioners? Too late. The smoke overwhelms me and everything is gray.

My eyes burn and fill with tears, but my hands are still cuffed and I have no idea how to deactivate the blazing things, so I do the only thing I can—I run.

I run forward, choking on poison and following the sounds of agony, the endless screams and the chaos and crying and it’s all too real, it’s all too much—

It’s like I’m back at camp and everyone is dying and I can’t do a blazing thing to help. It’s like I’m racing through the smoke with a useless phaser and I’m not fast enough and Day jerks sideways and he’s dead.

It’s like I’ll trip over Nol and Esta any second, like my feet are moving forward and my lungs are choking on smoke, but my mind is trapped in that nightmare and it’s happening again and the screaming is making me sick.

A soft breeze clears a patch of smoke ahead of me and I stumble forward, gulping in the clearer air, spitting black from my lungs. Focus. I need to focus and get out while I can. The gray is closing in again, but just ahead is a pile of rubble where the wall used to be, and above that is a landing where the crowd is streaming out into the city, covered in tears and ash and blood.

That’s my exit. That’s how I escape.

I take one last breath of barely clean air and move forward—something heavy slams into my back. I’m falling—my head cracks against a slab of rubble and the world blacks out for just a breath. There are hands on my arms and someone shoves my face into the sand, but before I can try to fight back, the pressure releases.

I stagger to my feet. Spin around. Multicolored stars dot my vision and everything is smoke and whatever attacked me is gone. Something hits my toe and I jump, but it’s just a rounded piece of smooth metal.

Cuffs.

My hands are free.

I have no explanation for what the blazing suns just happened, but I can’t stay here. I turn until I can make out the broken bit of wall through the smoke and move quickly. I lean forward to keep my balance as I climb, digging my toes into the broken slabs of rock. It’s slow, tedious work—I slip three different times, cut my knees and palms on the sharp rubble, and nearly step on a bloody, fleshy mass that I think was once a hand. But I don’t stop until my feet have reached the smooth, cool landing before the first row of burnt, bloody stands, littered with purple-coated chunks of people and body parts.

I slip into the crowd. We run together. No one seems to notice or care that I’ve escaped—something horrible happened and it doesn’t matter if a few minutes ago they were cheering for my head. All everyone can think is to get out, all everyone can think is to find their loved ones.

All I’m thinking is run. Into the suns, into the sands, away from here and alone and run.

I run with the crowd into the tunnel between the stands. I bolt out of the exit and into the crowded city streets, breaking through the mass of panicked people and stopping for no one. I tear through the streets, past gaping merchants and swerving ports, panicked cries trailing behind me. Silver orbs zip over my head and toward the flaming stadium and I don’t look back—I zig-zag between people and run as straight as I can manage and pray I’m headed for the open desert.

And then I see it—endless oceans of white sand, just a quarter league away. My lungs are burning and my heart is careening out of control, but if I can just get to the desert, if I can just make it away from this place—

Pain rams into my side and a force like a cannon blast rips me off the ground. My shoulder slams into the polished stone street and I roll several times before sliding to a throbbing stop. Everything hurts like I’ve been hit by a phaser cannon, but I stumble to my feet.

Something strikes the side of my head and I drop to my knees. A soldier steps around me and shoves a red-ringed phaser in my face. My ear is ringing. My body pulses with pain.

“Don’t move,” the guard says, and I don’t. I gasp for air and spit up black gunk and I don’t move.

Then he jerks and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he crumples to the ground in front of me.

Serek yanks me to my feet, throws a black and gold helmet over my head, takes off his shirt and tosses it to me. “Put it on and don’t ask questions.” There’s a sand bike hovering behind him and he pushes me toward it. I stumble—I’m shaking uncontrollably—but I manage to throw on his shirt. I don’t bother with the seal on the front and I climb onto his bike.

“What was—” I start, but Serek cuts me off.

“Roma intends to use nanites to target and kill every untracked redblood on the surface of the planet. He will launch the attack at sunset—”

“What?” My heart punches my chest. “He wants to kill … everyone?”

“Anyone who shares the redblood genetic code and doesn’t have tracking nanites.”

A heat fills me, burning through the pain and terror shaking my limbs. “He can’t—”

“He can do whatever he wants—he’s
ken Sira
and we’re wasting time talking about what he can and can’t do. He’s already set things in motion, and now with this attack on the Arena, he’ll be determined more than ever to get it done. We need your help to stop him.”

Part of me wants to turn around and find Roma so I can rip him apart myself, but when Serek starts to turn away, I grab his arm. “I can’t go with you. I need to warn my people.”

He shakes his head. “Eros, warning them won’t help—”

“I don’t care. I need to be there, I need to—” My voice breaks and I close my eyes and take a breath. Ignore my stinging throat and look at him again. “Roma and his guards are looking for me anyway, so you’ll never get anywhere if you take me with you. They might even blame me for whatever voiding happened back there. If I leave the capital, Roma won’t have any reason to keep you under watch and you and Kora can do whatever you need to to stop this in secret.”

Serek hesitates. “We could disguise you so Roma doesn’t get to you.”

I snort. “What, with your shirt, bike, and a fancy helmet? Yeah, that’s going to be inconspicuous.”

He sighs and hands me an empty vial about the length and width of my pinky finger. “That vial is filled with nanites. When they are activated, they will glow, and from there you’ll have moments at most.”

I rev the engine and nod. “Thank you, Serek.”

He grimaces. “Don’t thank me until your people are safe.”

I slam down the accelerator and race into the desert with the suns bleeding over the sky above me.

“He’s out.” Serek closes the door behind him, sits at the desk, and rubs his soot-coated face with his palms. “He insisted on warning his people, like you said he would. If Roma hears that I attacked that guard and helped him escape, he’ll have my head.”

I want to be relieved at the news, but the explosions at the Arena have left my stomach churning and the echo of screams playing endlessly in my ears. My fingers are shaking as I sit next to him and take his hand. “Even if he hears something, he won’t have any proof.”

“He doesn’t need proof—you saw what happened in the Arena. He could very easily blame us for that atrocity and say we did it to save Eros.”

I take a shuddering breath. “Suspicions aren’t enough to merit the execution of
ken Sira-kaï
. And he won’t want to blame you, he’ll want to blame the rebels to bolster support for the nanite attack tonight.”

Serek sits back in his seat and nods. “He’d be right, you know. The rebels must have set off those explosives. I can’t imagine anyone else would be responsible.”

I close my eyes and try to block out the screams and the acrid odor of blood and smoke, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop seeing the burnt corpses, blood-splattered children, and disembodied limbs. The attack was almost an exact replica of the one that took my parents’ lives. But if Eros’s people weren’t responsible for these attacks, then who was?

I squeeze his hand and release his fingers. “Are you still willing to do this?”