Reaping (36 page)

My heart starts pounding in my ears. 
Here? Now? In front of Remy?
 And yet, even as the fear thuds through my veins, it’s exciting, too. I miss music more than anything else about my old life, and now’s my chance to play something, anything.

“Come on, Vale!” Miah roars.

Remy nudges me and gives me a small smile. “Play nice, Vale,” she says. “We’re diplomats, remember?”

I stare into her amber eyes, my mind flashing through every moment that’s brought us here. How could I forget?

I stand and cross the rough, uneven floor of the cave to where a torch—a real torch, of tar and wood, not like the biolights we use in the Resistance—silhouettes a guitar resting against the rock wall. I pick it up and sling the leather strap over my shoulder, remembering and reveling in how comfortable it feels against my body. My favorite thing about the guitar, unlike the piano, is how you feel every note vibrate, both in your chest and in your hands, your fingers. You feel the music in a whole different way.

I look out at the group and think maybe I could warm up with an old drinking song since we’re half sloshed. I strum a few chords and try to remember the tune and lyrics I’d found in an ancient yellowed songbook in the library at the Academy. I clear my throat and close my eyes to count out the beat and get the rhythm right, and then I launch into what the book said was a song that had been sung in bars for hundreds of years.

I've been a wild rover for many's the year

I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer

But now I'm returning with gold in great store

And I never will play the wild rover no more

And it's No, Nay, never,

No, nay never no more

Will I play the wild rover,

No never no more

“One more verse is all I remember,” I say. But this time, I’ll call out the lyrics and you sing along.”

I went in to an alehouse I used to frequent

And I told the landlady me money was spent

I asked her for credit, she answered me nay

Such a customer as you I can have any day

And it's No, Nay, never,

No, nay never no more

Will I play the wild rover,

No never no more

“One more time on the chorus,” Squall hollers. He, his partner, and Miah, sing and sway as others join in, some barely staying on their feet. We end up doing the chorus again and then the group claps and slaps each other on the back. Someone yells, “Give us another!”

I run through a few stanzas from the embarrassingly short list of songs I know how to play, and when I start to pull the guitar strap off my shoulder, someone calls out, “You can’t end a night like this without a love song, now can ya?”

A love song?
 I rack my brain, but I have no idea what to play. I glance up at Remy and it hits me. The perfect song.

“Okay,” I say to the group, “I’m going to end on another very old song. It’s not a sing along and it doesn’t even have a happy ending, but I’ve always thought it was pretty. So, here goes.”

The crowd is seated now, quiet. Waiting. I clear my throat again. This is a song Remy will know. Her grandfather loved it, and, in a round-about way, he was the one who introduced it to me. I play the first few chords and her eyes light up, a smile spreading across her face.

The water is wide, I cannot cross o’er, and neither have I wings to fly.

Build me a boat that can carry two and both shall row, my love and I.

I was never much of a singer, and with a few months of rust on my vocal chords, I’m pretty stunned I don’t sound horrible. Remy’s grandfather, a great traveler and collector of stuff from the Old World, had found many of the old recordings and songbooks and had donated them to the Academy library. Remy played an old recording of this tune for me one afternoon when we were first becoming friends—or something more. It was so pretty that after Tai was killed, I taught myself to play it on the guitar, thinking maybe one day I’d be able to play it for Remy and remind her of happier times. Little did I know my chance wouldn’t come until three and a half years later—in a cave in the middle of the Wilds, surrounded by Outsiders, as far away from the Sector, from our old life, as we’d ever been.

There is a ship and she sails the sea. She’s loaded deep, as deep can be.

But not so deep as the love I’m in, I know not how I sink or swim.

I meet Remy’s eyes, she smiles, and I don’t know how I get through the rest of the song.

“Drink this,” Osprey places a cup in front of Miah. It’s barely daybreak, and we’re all bleary-eyed—especially him. He stares up at her as she pours another cup and sets it in front of me. There’s a whole spread laid out on the table before us and people are coming and going, eating their breakfasts, laughing and talking before going off to do who knows what. Miah drains his cup, shudders, and holds it up for more.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Water, potassium and ginger root. It’ll help. That mead is probably stronger stuff than what you’re used to.” Miah looks up at her and squints.

“This will cure my hangover?”

“That and some good old grease. Eat some sausage, too.”

“You sure?”

“Worked for Skaarsgard. We’ve been up for a while now.”

Miah rubs his temple and cocks an eyebrow at her.

She looms over him, a challenging stance set in her hips. “You got a problem with that?”

“No,” he holds his hands up. “No problem. No problem at all.”

I manage a laugh even though there’s a steady thrum at the base of my neck and the morning light seems altogether too bright.

“Problems with what?” A tall woman with wide, prominent cheekbones and hair so black it looks like curtains of silk on her shoulders sits down across the table from us. With her is a woman who looks like a more beautiful and softer version of Chan-Yu.

“No matter.” Osprey waves the subject away. “This is Idris and Soo-Sun,” Osprey introduces us and, with a mischievous grin adds, “Make sure you stay on Idris’s good side. She bites.”

“Only when necessary,” Idris says, and I catch a flash of a smile. Osprey laughs and then takes off as quickly as if she really were a bird, launching herself after some faraway prey.

I study Soo-Sun without trying to be obvious, but finally ask, “You look a lot like Chan-Yu. Are you related?” She holds my gaze, her face expressionless. I go on, a bit awkwardly. “We were hoping he would be here. I want to thank him for saving Soren and Remy.” 
For saving me.

“He is not here,” she says finally, but then falls silent again without answering my question. I take a swig from the cup in front of me and pick at the plate of fruit, sausage, and bread in the middle of the table. The silence is heavy and unwieldy, but I don’t want to be the one to break it. Even Miah can sense it and he picks his head up off the table and watches Soo-Sun.

“We’re all anxious to talk to him,” I finally say.

“We’ve had only one communication from him since that day,” she says, her voice neutral.

“The day he left the Sector?” I ask.

She takes a drink without answering and glances at Idris, who gives her a slight nod. “Yes. Osprey was the last to hear from him. We are almost certain he is not being held by Sector forces.” I sigh with relief, but then catch myself as she continues. “We fear, then, he is dead. Otherwise, he would have returned to us.” Her gaze drifts out toward the horizon. “We are bound to the same goal, and if he has failed, it falls on me to complete it.”

I start to open my mouth, curious and surprised, wondering what she’s talking about. 
Bound to the same goal? 
But Soo-Sun’s eyes shift above and behind me, and I turn to see Remy approaching. The openness I saw on her face last night has faded, replaced by the same familiar determination I’ve gotten so used to. But her expression is somehow softer. More open. Maybe.

“Squall says to be in the clearing in the center of camp in fifteen minutes,” she says. “We’ll have a chance to make our case then.” She glances at Soo-Sun and pauses. “Are you related to—”

“Yes,” she cuts her off. “Chan-Yu is my brother.”

“Where—” she starts, but again Soo-Sun interrupts.

“We will talk more of this later. Now it is time to prepare for the gathering.” She stands, touches Idris’s shoulder lightly and leaves the table. Miah and I finish eating, down a few more glasses of ginger water, and follow Remy back to the center of camp. We pass through the maze of small buildings, the bedrolls of people who appear to have slept outside, and families in different phases of food preparation or packing and unpacking traveling gear. The whole encampment seems transitory, like no one actually lives here, but instead it is a giant staging area for people who are constantly in various stages of coming and going.

When we get to the clearing, we meet Squall, Soren, and Osprey and another woman, older, with silvery hair. She’s as tall and lithe as Osprey, for all that she looks to be at several decades older. Woven mats have been placed in a circle around a fire pit in which glowing embers flicker and spark, radiating a comforting warmth. Soo-Sun emerges from the trees on the far side and lowers herself to sit on the mat beside Squall, and Remy, Miah and I do the same, arranging ourselves across the pit from the Outsiders. Squall waits until we are settled to begin.

“I trust you enjoyed your dinner. You are the first guests we’ve welcomed from either the Resistance or the Sector.” I wonder if they’ve had any 
unwelcome
 guests, prisoners or captives, and what happened to them. “As you may have already ascertained, we are a transitory lot and we come and go as we please. Right now, I’m afraid we”—he indicates the woman next to him—“are the only Elders here. Although we were reluctant to bring you here, the make-up of your group intrigues us—the son of a former chancellor and a current one, an Alexander, and, of course, Jeremiah Sayyid, whose presence among you is particularly interesting given his family’s history.”

“Me?” Miah and I exchange confused glances. “Are you talking about my dad’s work with the Resistance?”

Squall’s brows knit in confusion. “It is your mother that interests us.”

“My mother?”

Squall looks back and forth between me and Soren. “We thought … does he not know?”

“Does he not know what?” I demand, now as confused as Miah.

Squall turns to Soren. “Do none of you know?”

“Is this about his mother’s death?” Soren asks, his voice low, cautious.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Miah demands. My blood pressure is rising as well. Miah and I weren’t friends when his mother died, but I know it was a traumatic time simply because he’s only mentioned it once to me, and only to tell me that she had, in fact, died. When I tried to press the matter, he politely—but tersely—asked me not to inquire further.

Squall holds his hand up to calm him. “We assumed you left the Sector with Valerian when you discovered the truth. Is this not the case?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Miah’s on his feet now, looming over Squall, the angriest I think I’ve ever seen him. He still hasn’t put back on all the weight he lost from his illness, and with his thick mop of hair and bristling beard, he looks rangy—and not a little dangerous. “I left because Vale told me about 
his
 mother, about the SRI attack, and that she had directed Chan-Yu to kill Soren and Remy. Since I’d never been one of her favorite people, I figured she’d come after me if she found out I knew about her crimes and, especially, if she knew my dad was working with the Resistance. But most importantly, I left because my best friend needed me and that’s what best friends do.”

A surge of affection and respect flushes through me. I’ve never been more proud to call someone a friend—
a brother. 
And it doesn’t escape me that Soren must know something about Miah’s mother—something he’s obviously never shared. “Somebody better tell me what my mother has to do with any of this.”

“Why don’t you take a seat and—” Squall starts.

“I’ll take a seat when I fucking want to!” Miah shouts. Soren and I are both on our feet beside him, and Squall’s leapt up as well, his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, even as his eyes narrow dangerously. Miah turns on Soren. “What do you know about this?”

“I’m not sure what I know,” Soren says, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Miah. I should have told you a long time ago, but I never had any proof. When I left, I knew it would be too dangerous to try to contact you. And when you showed up with Vale, I didn’t know 
how
 to tell you.”

“Tell me what, goddamnit?”

“Your mother didn’t die of influenza. I don’t know what she died of, but I think she was in a clinical study run by—” Soren casts a venom-filled glance at me—“the OAC. I think she was used as a lab rat to test … something. I don’t even know what.”

“And just how do you know this?” Miah’s voice is shaking.

“I don’t really 
know
 anything. After the lab massacre when…” Soren pauses for a moment, looks down. He blinks a few times and I lean in a little closer—is Soren Skaarsgard crying? His strangely blue eyes shine in the morning light when he looks back up at us. “When Hanna died … I couldn’t let it go.”

Memories once buried rise and flash through my mind: Hanna Lyon, the girl Soren and I used to compete with at piano competitions, a friend of mine until she disappeared into her studies at the SRI and we lost touch. She always had a thing for Soren, but I never knew there was anything going on between them. She was in Tai’s class at the SRI when the gunman came in and blew them all to pieces.

“I didn’t understand what happened or why. So I started looking into the massacre, into your mother’s death, into my parents’ fall from power. It’s all connected, Miah, I’m just not positive how,” Soren breathes, as though the air is being pressed from his lungs. “Your mother died a week before Philip Orleán came to power, of a disease that never existed. Influenza was a cover-up. I think she was the result of a lab study gone wrong. It was part of Philip and Corine’s research, their contingency plan to stop the famine devastating the Farms at the time.”