The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (8 page)

Aris ~ I can tell how much you miss flying. It’s making you miserable, isn’t it? Have you gone home to visit your parents yet? Maybe you need a break. Or, I don’t know, maybe Panthea isn’t the place for you. You should go back to your family. Your wingjet. I’m sure she—they all—miss you. You sound so tired. It makes me worry for you.

Adjusting to the new stationpoint has taken some time, but I did something today. I saved someone. There’s a soldier here who’s alive because of me. It’s a consolation, knowing I’m really helping, when I miss you so much I can barely breathe. I hope you’ll find it a consolation, too. I love you. ~ Calix

Aris sighed as she powered down her digitab. It was a comfort knowing Calix missed her as much as she missed him, but his worry over her was less welcome. She didn’t want to cause him added stress.

After washing her face and pulling on her exercise uniform, she strode into the main room, where Dianthe was waiting.

They began with yet another sparring session. “Get your left arm up!” Dianthe yelled as she drew one impossibly long leg into a kick.

Aris ducked, too slowly, and collected another bruise on her shoulder. Her breath hissed through clenched teeth at the pain.

She had a pounding headache from the diatous veil’s constant hum and a building knot of frustration in her chest. As she lurched to the side, trying to avoid Dianthe’s fists, she panted, “I don’t . . . know why . . . this is necessary. I’m a
flyer,
by Gods!” This couldn’t be what Calix was going through in his field mender training. It had to be some kind of special torture, just for her. To make her a
man
.

“What do you think this is, the peace brigade? Block!” Dianthe sprang forward, lithe and precise as a striking snake. “What happens if you crash in enemy territory? How will you defend yourself?”

Aris grunted as another blow connected with her shoulder. She threw a weak jab. “If I crash, I’ll be dead.”

“That’s all you’ve got?” Dianthe taunted. “My ninety-year-old uncle could throw a better punch than that.”

Aris jabbed again and, tripping, went down hard on one knee. Her legs barely held her as she staggered to her feet. Why couldn’t Dianthe let the insults
rest
? Wasn’t the pain and lack of sleep and endless training enough?

“Come on, you weakling, attack!” The woman lunged at Aris, holding nothing back.

And just like that, Aris could take no more. “
I am not a weakling
!” she screamed, the words pushing her anger through the pain with a burst of desperate strength. She blocked Dianthe’s blow and threw her fist as hard as she could into the woman’s belly. And, for the first time, she connected.

With a thud, Dianthe went down, sucking at the air like a dying fish.

Shocked, Aris’s knees buckled. “Holy hell,” she gasped, “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Dianthe coughed, the grating noise sliding into a gruff laugh. With a little groan, she scooted up against the glass wall, suspended over the silent city. For a minute she sat there, catching her breath. Then, “Haan, let me ask you something,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Aris looked down at her bruised, swollen hands, bracing for another insult. “Yeah?”

“Didn’t
anyone
in Lux treat you like a normal person?”

Surprised, Aris glanced up and met her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Dianthe raised an eyebrow. “I
mean
 . . . after this fever of yours, did anyone in your village ever treat you like a capable human being? Someone they didn’t constantly need to take care of?”

Aris leaned back on her hands and frowned. “But I’m not capable, am I,” she said bitterly. “Look at me.” She gestured to her bruises and shaking legs.

Dianthe laughed again and stood, holding out a hand to help her up. “You’re doing just fine. Worse than some, better than others.” She smiled. “Better than I expected.”

“Really?” Aris stood, frozen, as Dianthe left the room. Surely she’d heard wrong. There was no way, after all of her falling and weakness and, yes, tears, that she was doing “just fine.” It wasn’t possible—

“Come on, Haan,” Dianthe called over her shoulder. “I want to see you fly.”

•••

Dianthe gave Aris a pair of men’s pants and a gray tunic but let her wear her own flying boots. After Aris washed up and changed, spurred on by her excitement to
finally
fly, she headed back to the main room, only to find a tall, thin man in Dianthe’s place. The woman’s disguise was uncanny; her tattoo still blazed crimson and black, but her facial features had changed: a subtle widening of her chin, heavier brow bones, less pronounced lips.

“Wow.” Aris stared.

“While we’re out, watch the men around you, the way they stand. How they interact with one another. Pay attention to how they assert themselves in a crowd.” As they walked down the hall to the lift, Dianthe added, “It’s important that you blend in. Do not draw attention to yourself.”

Without thinking, Aris pointed to Dianthe’s snake tattoo. “And that doesn’t draw attention?”

“It does. That’s exactly the point. My tattoo is a distraction, drawing the eye so no one questions anything else. You don’t have that luxury.” Dianthe stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the lobby, staring straight ahead. Quieter, almost as if to herself, she added, “The tattoo is something that’s mine, whether I’m wearing the veil or not. It’s the part of me I always get to show the world.”

Clenching her hands tight at her sides, Aris considered this as the lift plummeted downward.

When they reached the ground, they disembarked without a word. Their boots thudded across the shining lobby floor, and her head pounded in time to the diatous veil’s constant hum. Aris watched Dianthe from the corner of her eye; the woman didn’t change her gait or posture much, but little adjustments—the thrust of her chin, the minimal movement of her hips—made a big difference. If Aris hadn’t known the truth, she never would have guessed Dianthe’s secret.

As they emerged onto the street, Aris squinted in the bright sun. Already the city shimmered with early summer heat. The air swirled with the scent of cooking meat from a cart a few yards away, and the enticing smell of fresh bread wafted from the open doors of a bakery across the street.

Aris tried to take long, confident strides, but she still struggled to keep up with the taller woman. Her limp wasn’t as obvious now, after weeks of physical training, but she could still feel a fine tremor in her weak leg.

Sleek black and silver terrans zipped past them, like a school of shining, well-organized fish. The sidewalks slowly filled as well-dressed men and women emerged from the tall buildings in search of their midday meal. Aris caught herself staring at her boots, just as a husky man in a white mender’s tunic jostled her. He gave her a hard look. She blanched, frozen. Could he tell? What if he—

The man kept walking, the moment of panic over in an instant.

“Keep up,” Dianthe growled. She paused when they reached a steep latticework of stairs leading up to a metroline platform. “You’re too stiff,” she murmured. “Relax.”

If only it were that easy, Aris thought, her nervous gaze flitting from man to man among the crowd. She watched the way they moved, really studied them for the first time in her life. Unfortunately, noticing their differences was one thing, putting them into practice was quite another. She followed Dianthe up the stairs to the platform, biting back a groan as her sore muscles protested.

The metroline ride to Panthea’s main airfield, just outside the city, required one transfer from the River line to the Watershed line. Most of the seats were full, but the trains weren’t packed as tightly as they would be at the end of the workday.

At one point, Dianthe dug her sharp elbow into Aris’s side. Glancing up, Aris saw a young woman standing in the middle of the aisle, gripping a loop of silver chain that hung from the ceiling. Her body swayed gently, her head drooping from her long neck like a flower nodding on its stem. Much of her dark brown hair had pulled free from its braid. Dianthe elbowed Aris again.

Aris shot to her feet. “Would, uh, would you like to sit down?” Her voice came out low and gruff. She’d almost gotten used to it. Almost. At least the sound didn’t make her flinch anymore.

The girl looked up. “Oh, thank you.” She sank into Aris’s seat with a sigh. “I’m just coming off a night shift at the central emergency clinic. It was a busy night. I’m about ready to collapse.”

She tilted her chin up with a sleepy smile, waiting for Aris—Aristos—to reply. The words stuck in Aris’s throat. What would a man say? Would he be sympathetic? Understanding? Try to cheer her with a dinner invitation or something? When Aris didn’t reply, the open, cheerful expression on the girl’s face faded. Heat blazed along Aris’s cheeks.

At last, Aris mumbled, “Yeah. Sounds like a rough night.”

The girl’s gaze fell to her lap, her head dropping forward again like that delicate, bobbing flower she resembled. “Yes, it was.”

Next to her, Dianthe sighed. Aris stared out the glass panel along the side of the train. She actually felt
bad
that she hadn’t made conversation. But what could she have said? Done? Awkwardness clogged her throat. Outside, gleaming buildings alternated with a bright blue sky as the train zipped toward the outskirts of the city. In the distance, to the west, green-swathed mountains rose, disappearing in a haze of wispy clouds. In the space of one deep, cleansing breath, Aris’s discomfort melted away.

It was a beautiful day to fly.

“So,” Dianthe said later that night.

Aris sat on a bench, leaning back against the glass wall, eyes half-closed. It didn’t matter what Dianthe said, or how much her muscles burned at even that small movement. In her mind, she was still soaring above the lush forest outside of Panthea. She was still enclosed in the familiar, comforting cabin of a wingjet, and the whole bright sky was glowing all around her.

“You were right. You can fly.” Dianthe didn’t quite sound impressed, but she wasn’t yelling either.

“I passed your test, then.” Aris settled her hands in her lap; in the dim light, she couldn’t even see the bruises. It was the happiest she’d been in days, maybe even since Calix left. Flying did that to her. Made the rest of the world—the pain—fall away.

“You aren’t going to be able to disappear into the ranks, with flying like that,” Dianthe said, almost to herself.

“Is that a problem?” Aris asked. But she wasn’t really worried. Dianthe wouldn’t send her home now, not after everything. Not after seeing what she could do.

The woman tapped at the digitablet in her hands. “Not a problem, exactly. . . .” she murmured. For a while neither of them spoke, the only sound the quiet
tap tap
of Dianthe’s finger against the tablet’s screen.

Aris closed her eyes and tried to imagine Calix’s face when he saw her for the first time. He’d be surprised, of course. Maybe even shocked. A Military stationpoint would be the last place he’d expect to see her. His eyes would narrow in confusion, the way they did in school when something didn’t make sense to him. But then, when she explained everything—that she’d been recruited, that they’d be working together—he’d smile wide, dimples appearing as if by magic.

It would be exciting, the way they’d have to sneak moments together, share secret looks. She’d be in disguise, of course. They wouldn’t be able to Promise, except unofficially, secretly. And when the war was over, or their tours ended . . . there’d be no more questions. No more obstacles. They would be together for the rest of their lives.

“Where will we be?” she asked, still half in her daydream.

Dianthe didn’t look up from the digitablet. “What do you mean?”

“Calix and me. Where will we be stationed?” To the west, along the Safaran border where the fighting was the worst? Or by the shores of the Fex River, where large numbers of soldiers were massing to protect Atalanta’s resources?

At this, Dianthe paused, finger frozen above the digitablet. The snake on her forehead kinked. “There’s a new search and rescue unit forming,” she said, finally, with a strange little sigh. “Report date is next week. You’ll join this unit as a flyer.”

“Search and rescue?”

“S and R is responsible for finding and retrieving stranded or injured soldiers.”

“That’s where Calix is? In this unit?” There was something in Dianthe’s face, the way her lips twisted slightly at the corners . . . Aris’s stomach tightened, and the peace she’d been feeling leached away. She sat up straight. Seconds marched on in slow, agonizing silence.

“Not exactly,” Dianthe said at last. “Field menders aren’t embedded with S and R.”

“Then why . . .” Aris couldn’t continue. Her heart pounded as if trying to tear its way from her chest. “You said you’d put us together. I told you—I’m doing this to find him. You can’t . . .” Every sore muscle and bruise pulled painfully beneath her skin. All of this and it was for nothing?

“Relax,” Dianthe said forcefully, setting the digitablet on the bench beside her. “Aris!” She reached out and grabbed Aris’s arms. “
Relax
.”

Aris tried to yank herself away but Dianthe’s grip was too strong.

“You’re too good, Aris. Your flying is
too good.
I can’t just tuck you away in some mender stationpoint. It
has
to be this unit. But—
but
—you’ll still see Calix. Do you hear me?” Dianthe gave her a little shake. “Stop acting like a child. I told you that all I could do was
try
to put you with Calix. You chose to stay anyway. Now just listen to me.”

The words were starting to penetrate. With a gasp, Aris heaved air into her lungs, and some of the tension in her shoulders ebbed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m listening.”

Dianthe released her arms and sat back. She looked more frustrated than annoyed . . . and maybe even a little apologetic. “S and R units bring the wounded they rescue to field mender stationpoints. You’ll have many opportunities to see him. I promise. Each and every mission, you’ll deliver your injured soldiers to his unit. Every time you fly, you’ll see him. It’s the best I can do.”

Aris leaned back against the wall. Disappointment still pounded in her temples with the strength of a hammer, but her breathing had evened out.
It’s okay. You’ll still get to see him. You’ll rescue injured soldiers and bring them to him to save.

There was something romantic about the prospect. They’d both be working to their strengths, and he’d be proud of her, doing so much to be with him. Doing so much for Atalanta.

“This is really the only way?” she asked one more time, just to be sure.

Dianthe sighed. “Theo was right about you, Haan. You
do
have a gift. I can’t let it go to waste. This isn’t about your mender friend, it’s about saving lives. Don’t you understand that?”

Aris nodded, because that’s what Dianthe expected. Dianthe wanted her to be the hero, the hardened flyer doing her part to win the war. But she wasn’t a hero. She was a romantic. A foolish one, probably, giving up everything for the boy she loved.

But you’re a flyer too
, a voice whispered deep inside.

“Now it’s your turn,” Dianthe said. “Are you still in? If this isn’t enough for you, now is your time to leave. After you join your unit, it will be much harder to walk away.”

Aris turned to look out over the silent, sparkling city. When her father had taught her to fly, he hadn’t expected her to take to it so strongly. She knew this because he’d told her as much. He wanted her to be serious and concentrate on her schooling. Focus on being a duster for his groves. The fancy flying, the dips and twists and turns . . . it had never been important to anyone but her. And maybe Calix, who knew how much she loved being in the sky.

But now . . . Theo had called it a gift. And Dianthe, the most intimidating person Aris had ever met, was telling her she was good. She made it sound like Aris wasn’t just a silly girl but a person with power. Someone who was really
needed
. Aris had always been the one needing someone else. All her life, her friends, her family, and Calix had taken care of her. And now, Dianthe was asking
Aris
to be the strong one. Those injured soldiers the S and R unit rescued . . . they’d be counting on her.

Even if she didn’t see Calix everyday, how could she walk away now?

“I’m in,” Aris said, the decisiveness in her own voice surprising her.

“Good. Then it’s time.” Dianthe led her to the secret room. She stood Aris before the mirror, removed her veil, and pushed a cold metal bar against the back of her neck.

“What was that?” Aris asked, staring at the woman’s reflection.

“Your Military brand.” Dianthe set the branding tech on a nearby counter and returned the veil to its place on Aris’s neck, on top of the black rectangle. “The last piece of the Aristos puzzle. Now your disguise is complete.”