Green Jack (30 page)

She sighed. “I
go where you go.”

Saffron stood
up. “Good, let’s go now.”

“Wait.” Shanti
said. “We’ll need a demonstration first. If we’re to send warriors
to fight with yours, then we need to know that yours can even fight
in the first place.”

Caradoc stood
up. “A fair request.”

Shanti looked
at his scars and muscles and the way he stood. “Not you,” she said.
“I’ll fight your weakest, not your strongest.” She turned to look
at Jane. “Her.”

Jane stared
back at her, stomach suddenly filled with sparks. Saffron opened
her mouth to protest, then shut it again consideringly. Caradoc
just smiled slowly. “Deal.”

“Are you
crazy?” Jane asked under her breath as they left the yurt. She
blinked at the too-bright sun. “You said it yourself, I’m not a
fighter.”

“Not like us,”
he agreed. He turned her to face him. “So don’t fight like us,” he
said. “Fight like you.”

There was no
time to prepare, she was suddenly pushed onto a long platform.
There were swords and knives and spears stuck into the barriers,
lining the platform with weapons. Tiny bells rang softly, tied to
the ropes and the barbed wire railing. Feral music was iron and
spear and hard red clay. It wasn’t her song. She tried to do as
Caradoc suggested. She was anise seeds, the fire at the top of her
skull, the way the light dappled through the cedars back at camp.
She would make her own music.

As Shanti’s
spear caught the light, Jane took a moment for a long deep breath.
I am the earth where seeds of wisdom grow.

The first blow
sent Jane into the barbed wire. Her arms stung, pinpricked and
torn. Her ribs ached. She thought one of them might have popped
out, stabbing her from within.

The second blow
was harder, faster.

The third blow
didn’t land.

Numen coursed
up her spine, winding like fiery roots and digging into her brain.
It was uncomfortable, painful, invigorating. Hers.

Jane rolled out
of the way. The spear scraped against the barbed wire and caught.
She took advantage of the distraction to roll to her feet, behind
Shanti. She could see Caradoc below them, fierce and patient, and
Saffron hollering something unintelligible and no doubt profoundly
rude. Jane turned away. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. She
was alone on this platform. It was her song, her dance.

Shanti swung
around, but she didn’t use her spear this time. She aimed a savage
kick at the outside of Jane’s knee. She missed, but only barely.
Jane followed the pattern of the light, the shape of Shanti’s
shadow. She leapt over the spear, dipped low under a dagger.

Shanti smiled
for the first time. “You can’t fly forever, little hawk.”

Jane wanted to
say something pithy, something witty like Kiri or Saffron would
have, but there were only shadows and light and the tingle in her
legs, urging her to move. She imagined she was back in the Castle
ballroom, dancing an uncomplicated dance. Shanti slipped on a
spatter of sweat on the boards. She was panting, her muscles
gleaming. Jane was equally sweaty, but didn’t feel any particular
gleam. She was tired and bedraggled.

But she was
winning.

She twirled out
of the way again and then shot her hand out, seizing the spear
shaft. Instead of stopping it, she pulled it closer in a sudden
move that had the other end stuttering when Shanti compensated.
Jane followed through, smashing it into Shanti’s legs and knocking
her down. Jane tossed the spear over the side of the platform,
scuttling back out of reach. She’d lost the connection, her numen
sputtering out like a candle.

But it had
burned long enough, just long enough.

The drum
stopped. Shanti flipped into a crouch.

“You’ll have
your warriors.”

Chapter
51

Saffron

While Saffron
was glad to have four Feral warriors and three coyotes committed to
their plan, she was less thrilled that she’d have to spend time in
the village. By the time they reached the suburbs, she mostly just
wished they’d stop staring at her like she was a salad to be eaten.
She was half afraid she’d wake up with bite marks.

The abandoned
houses of the suburbs watched them with dead glass eyes dusted with
red. “What about the Dust?” Saffron asked, exchanging a glance with
Jane.

“Set for
tomorrow,” Caradoc replied. “I checked my sources before we left.
We’re good if the schedule holds.”

“And if it
doesn’t?”

“Not so
good.”

As they cut
through a backyard with a damaged fence folded like a paper fan,
Caradoc paused, glancing up. The air thrummed. Saffron tried to
remember where she’d head that sound before. The coyotes darted
instantly under the deck, ears flat.

“Take cover!”
Caradoc shouted just as the sky filled with black metal and
gunfire. Saffron leapt into a rosebush which thickened around her
so quickly she was pierced with thorns. Roarke rolled under a
garage door hanging off rusty hinges. Jane flattened herself on the
ground and wriggled under a van on the driveway. Caradoc was the
last to hide himself as he tried to shove the Ferals to safety.
Livia and Augusta dragged Shanti and Anya into the garage with
Roarke, just as the helicopters crested the roof.

Saffron pushed
at the glossy sharp leaves, trying to see what was happening. The
air pushed down on them, slashing at the treetops and flinging dead
leaves and litter into the road. One of the feral warriors, Beryl,
was too exposed, frozen in shock as she squinted up at the
helicopter. Saffron imagined they must look like enormous birds of
prey to a people who rarely even used solar batteries.

“Move, idiot!”
Saffron yelled at her. Beryl didn’t hear anything except the slash
and whir of the blades.

When she
finally moved, it was because a bullet slammed through her chest.
Two more followed, in her shoulders and her stomach. She crumpled,
blood blooming all over her body like deadly flowers. More gunfire
followed, but it was broad and basic, without clear direction.
Bullets pockmarked the flagstones and the glass left in the house
windows shattered. Saffron burrowed deeper into the thorns and
petals, wishing she’d hidden somewhere sturdier. The ground
exploded at her feet, dirt stinging as it pelted her legs.

The helicopters
drifted slowly away, the sounds of the blades fading slowly. It was
several minutes before anyone moved. “Saffron,” Roarke barked. “Are
you hit?”

“I’m fine,” she
said, as the roses spat her out covered in bloody scratches.

“They’ll send
foot soldiers in to search the area next.” Caradoc cut her off. “We
have to move.”

Shanti and Anya
crouched next to Beryl. The feathers in her hair were pale and
broken spines. One of the coyotes whined, licking at her foot.

“Did they see
the rest of us?” Saffron asked.

“No, that was a
routine sweep,” Caradoc said grimly. “They saw her by accident and
probably assumed she was a squatter. If they’d seen the rest of us,
we’d all be dead. Which will happen if we hang around here much
longer. We got lucky. Let’s not push it.”

“Tell that to
Beryl,” Shanti said darkly.

“I’m sorry,” he
said. “But we have to go. Now.”

“We can’t just
leave her here,” Anya said through clenched teeth. “She has to be
set high for the birds to carry her soul to the Underworld. There
are rituals.”

“There’s no
time,” Caradoc said. “If you stay to do your rituals, you’ll be
joining her. We can’t stay here.”

The Ferals
stood together, tension rumbling through them. The coyotes growled,
scenting the sharpness between them. Jane stepped forward, glancing
at Saffron. “If we get her up into a tree, can you grow it around
her so the soldiers don’t see her body?

“Probably.”

“I know it’s
not the same,” Jane said to Anya. “But the bonebirds will find her,
and there must be hawks and other birds around here.”

They looked at
each other, muttering words in their own language. Finally, Shanti
stepped forward. “Will you also make the marks?” she asked Saffron.
“As the Green Jill?”

“I don’t know
what that means, but yes,” she replied. As long as it got them out
of here.

“Quickly,”
Caradoc barked, already hoisting Beryl off the ground. The warriors
closed in, helping to carry her to a tree across the street.
Saffron leaned against the tree, flattening her palms.

“Hi, tree,” she
said. “Grow. And fast, please. Like really fast.”

“The birds eat
her bones clean so she can travel swiftly,” Anya said as they
lifted Beryl’s body up to the lowering branches. “We paint the
wings on her face so they can find her.”

“I didn’t
exactly pack my paintbrushes,” Saffron said.

“Use her
blood.”

As Saffron
climbed up onto a branch, the leaves were already covering Beryl,
rolling her into a green cocoon. She dipped her finger into the wet
bullet hole in Beryl’s shoulder, stomach roiling. It was hot and
raw to the touch and no amount of imaging could make her pretend it
was just red paint. She made the two diagonal lines above the
eyebrows and the slashes down the length of her cheekbones as Anya
described them to her.

Caradoc waited
for her to shimmy back down to the ground. “Move out.”

Chapter
52

Jane

“I don’t like
it,” Saffron said when they’d finally crossed through the
suburbs.

Nobody looked
surprised.

“Seriously,”
she insisted, staring up at the immense castle-like parapet around
the Enclave. “Jane, maybe you should just come with us.”

“You know I
can’t,” Jane said. It was surreal to be back at the Enclave. To see
the parapet, the shadows of people she knew on patrol and the
rubble of abandoned houses so near the boundary. She had never
wanted to run so much in her life, to feel the connection of her
own feet on the ground, taking her away. “I hate that we can’t do
this together but you have to save the other Jacks and I have to
save my family.”

“I know,”
Saffron said. “I know. And you’ll kick ass in there.”

She
half-smiled. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.
They won’t know what hit them.” She crossed her arms. “And when you
hear that the Amphitheatre is burning to the ground, you’ll know we
kicked ass too. You fix this and then you meet us back in the
forest, Highgate. I mean it.”

Jane turned to
hug her. Saffron only protested a little, huffing and rolling her
eyes. But she hugged back, fierce and protective. She pulled a
clump of purple thistle off her mask. “For good luck,” she claimed,
looking faintly embarrassed. “Shut up,” she said to Roarke who
didn’t look brave, or stupid enough, to have said anything in the
first place.

Jane’s fingers
tightened over the leaves. “Wait.” Something prickled through her,
but it was vague. “Something about strawberries.”

Saffron raised
an eyebrow. “Your omens need work.”

Jane tried
harder, but it was like using your palms to catch enough raindrops
to drink. “Don’t drink pink champagne.”

“I’m not going
to the Enclave. Believe me, there’s no champagne in the City.”

Jane nodded
unconvinced as they ducked into the shadows between the houses to
change into their Protectorate uniforms. Caradoc came to stand in
front of her, hidden from the others by cedar bough and lilac bush.
They could almost be back in the forest. She stared at her feet,
incongruous in their scuffed boots under the linen hem of her
chiton. She felt the warmth of his body so near to hers that she
couldn’t think of a single thing to say except: “Thank you.”

It was only a
fraction of what she felt, but why embarrass them both? “Thank
you,” she said again, her voice stronger. “You didn’t have to take
me in, whatever Saffron thinks.”

“Jane,” he said
hoarsely. “Look at me.”

She lifted her
eyes, ready for patience but instead, she saw something raw,
something gentle. He was unshielded, his lake-blue eyes clear as
water. She caught her breath, taken by surprise. His callused hands
slid up her arms, leaving a trail of shivers even though his touch
was fire and kindling. She was already melting. His fingers closed
over the back of her neck, brushing her numina mark. They
tightened, strong, almost rough, but when his mouth closed over
hers, it was achingly gentle. He kissed her as though there was no
danger, no conspiracy, no rifles above them; and as if there was no
doubt they would find each other again. She leaned into it, her
lips parting. Their tongues touched briefly, hot and intoxicating.
Breaths tangled, turned ragged.

Too soon, he
rested his forehead against her. “Be careful,” he whispered. When
he walked away, he didn’t look back.

With her lips
still tingling, she approached the main gate, feeling both ember
and ash. There was movement on the walkways above and she knew
exactly which weapons were trained on her and from where. She
lifted her chin, making sure her many bruises were visible.

“State your
business,” a voice called out. She knew her rumpled chiton was her
only shield. If she’d been wearing anything else, they’d have shot
her by now. She turned slowly, showing her Oracle mark. “I’m a
Numina,” she answered, words wobbling.

There was a
flurry of hushed conversation, the glint of guns. Fear boiled
inside of her. The familiar walls that had once felt so safe and
comforting, loomed over her like a jail cell. The captain of the
guard stepped out, gun lifted. “It took me a long time to get find
my way home,” Jane said. And it wasn’t home anymore. That didn’t
matter. Protecting her friends and family mattered.