Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series) (9 page)

Ravan didn’t hate the Freebooter. She kind of liked her, really. The two of them had had their share of tension, but Mira had moxie and a brain, one of the few. It was sad that it usually worked out that way. Why was it that the people who actually had something to contribute to the universe always seemed to be put in its crosshairs?

Ravan sighed. The real question was, what kind of mode Holt would be operating in now, if at all. She had never seen him as distraught as when that ship exploded. One thing she’d learned in life: getting dragged back into a darkness you’d crawled out of before didn’t make it any easier the second time. Usually, it made it permanent. Most people didn’t have the energy to do it all over again.

Holt wasn’t most people, though … and he had
her.

Angrily, Ravan shook the thought away as quickly as it formed.

Thoughts like that were weak. They made
her
weak. She’d never loved Holt, Ravan told herself. She’d just been stung by his betrayal, that was all. It cut deep because she let him inside. Chalk it up to a life lesson. It was like Tiberius said, “Trust is no path to power.”

But, still, the feelings stirred within her, and her insistence that she felt nothing only seemed to make them stronger.

The landscape had dramatically shifted overnight. Where before it had been primarily lush, rolling green hills, now there was nothing but dust and cactus and scraggly weed along the few rocky outcrops that rested here and there. The sun beat down hard, and the Landship crew sweated underneath it, but Ravan smiled. She missed the heat, the dried air, she was tired of lush places. It took less to survive there, it didn’t make you any harder.

The crew stared at her distrustfully as she moved past them. The farther they’d traveled south and away from the rest of the fleet, the darker their moods grew, and well they should. Where they were going, no Wind Trader had ever come back alive. It was a cliché, both in Faust and Currency, that the Wind Traders and the Menagerie were natural enemies. The reality, however, was much more complicated.

The Wind Traders provided the only real source of trade and commerce in North America, transporting and bartering their goods from one outpost or major city to the next, and they were good at it. The Menagerie, on the other hand, produced some of what they needed to survive, but not enough. The rest they had to steal, which meant they targeted the plumpest, richest targets they could. Invariably, that meant Landships.

The reality was, neither could exist without the other. The Menagerie depended on the goods and supplies being transported in those ships, and the Wind Traders depended on the infamy and hostility of the Menagerie to make their trade services through dangerous places like the Barren necessary.

It was a sick relationship, and one reason Ravan could never work up much sympathy for the Wind Traders. They needed the Menagerie as much as the Menagerie needed them. They had all made their choices.

As she moved, Ravan noticed something peculiar. Near the rear of the ship, the two White Helix were noodling about. What was odd was that the girl, the deceptively small blonde, was fully geared. The rings glowed on her fingers, her Lancet was strapped to her back for traveling, along with a pack of supplies.

The two talked a moment, the girl winked, and then leapt and disappeared overboard in a flash of cyan. The boy watched after her a moment, then hurried away.

Ravan had an idea what they were up to. It wasn’t a bad play, something she might have done herself, but, in the end, it wouldn’t make much difference. Whatever was going to happen at Faust would happen regardless of any little schemes they might be running.

Ravan thought of Avril a moment. Like Holt, she hadn’t come above deck since the escape, but unlike him, she had no real reason for moping. The girl was the adopted daughter of one of the most powerful men in the world. You could say she had a lot to look forward to, but it was clear she didn’t see it that way. In the end, Ravan didn’t really care, as long as she arrived back to her father in one piece. Tiberius had told Ravan to bring his daughter home, not to bring her home happy. What happened after that was his problem.

Ravan kicked open the door to the lower decks and descended the stairs. The insides of a Landship were tight, only room for one person in the halls at a time, and as she moved every Wind Trader there got out of her way. It made her smile, how easy they scared. When the ship reached Faust, they were in for a rude awakening …

She stopped in front of one particular door, a faded red one jammed into the frame, staring at it hesitantly.

What was wrong with her? There wasn’t a tiger behind it, just one heart-crushed fool. What bothered her was the idea of what she would see on the other side. Holt had always been just as strong as her, just as self-reliant, which was no mean feat, and the thought of seeing him fragmented and weak, emotional even, was unsettling.

Still, she’d given him enough time. The world required you to move on quickly, and she would see that he did.

Ravan opened the door. The small room had rounded walls made of sanded, knotted pine and a little, antique, stained-glass window that cast strange shapes along the floor. It wasn’t the mess she expected. No broken mirrors or shattered furniture. In fact, it was all neat and tidy. The bed was freshly made, nothing out of place. Holt’s gear was stacked near a chair by the door, ready to go. His main pack sat on the edge of the bed, the flap open. Holt stood at the front, collecting some things from a tiny nightstand.

He didn’t look up as she entered.

“Packing?” Ravan asked.

“Almost there, aren’t we?”

Ravan studied him curiously. She hadn’t expected Holt to be catatonic, but every time she imagined coming down here, it involved kicking his ass and getting him back on his feet. Apparently … that wasn’t necessary.

“How long until we’re there?” Holt asked.

“Three, four hours, I guess.” Ravan studied Holt’s things. His guns were there, all of them: the Ithaca, the Beretta, the Sig rifle, even the backup .38 he carried in his boot and his knives.

“Figured you’d want those,” Holt said as he started closing his pack. He still hadn’t looked at her. “Ammo’s in the side pouch.”

In all the time she’d known him, Ravan had never seen Holt voluntarily give up his guns. She knew how much he’d put into them, both finding and restoring them. They had always been lifelines, necessities.

“You can’t take the others, but the backup you could probably get in,” she said. Holt likely wouldn’t be searched, not if she handed over his main weapons. Her word was golden in Faust, especially now. “I was gonna suggest it.”

“Why?” His voice was near monotone.

She looked back at him. “It’s
Faust,
Holt. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re not particularly popular there. I’d feel better if you weren’t walking around defenseless.”

“I meant, why do you
care
?”

The question was like a slap. Not because it was delivered with malice, but because there was no emotion discernible in it at all. She had been with Holt during the dark times, the times after Emily, the times he had done things he regretted, times he had almost died even, but there had never been this lack of life in his voice. Ravan felt a chill.

“Because … I want to help you, Holt,” she said. “I know you’re hurting, and I know—”

“I don’t want your help.” He cut her off with the same emotionless tone. “I just want to get this over with.”

“And after that?” Ravan asked.

“There isn’t going to be any after that.”

There was a knock on the door. One of Olive’s crew opened it, stood there studying them both warily.

“
What?
” Ravan demanded.

“Captain wants you on deck,” the kid said. “Something’s coming.” Then he was gone.

Ravan frowned. “Thanks for the amazingly cryptic update.”

Holt shouldered his pack and moved for the door. He still hadn’t glanced at her. “I’ll leave the guns, take ’em or don’t, it’s up to you. I assume this whole ship is gonna be stripped down to the nails anyway.” He stepped out the door and was gone, without so much as a look back.

The exchange was so abrupt and the opposite of anything Ravan anticipated, she just stared after him, stunned. Above, she heard shouts, could hear the sounds of feet running along the deck to their positions.

Something was happening.

When Ravan made it back up, she saw what it was. It looked like a sandstorm at first, a huge churning cloud of dust bearing down on them from the south. There was a strange rumbling in the air, almost like a growl, and it was getting louder the closer they got.

Ravan smiled. She looked toward the front of the ship where Olive stood next to the helm. The tiny, pink-haired girl’s eyes were already on her. She knew it was no sandstorm.

“What do we do?” Olive asked.

They only had a few seconds. Ravan looked to her men, standing near the edge of the deck. “Get the flag down, switch it with ours,” she ordered.

Her men moved instantly, one of them pulling a large red flag from his pack, another ran to the flagpole and began lowering the
Wind Rift
’s banner. It was the same flag all Landships flew, blue with a black symbol in the center, a rod with two circles at the top, one incomplete. In all her time chasing Landships, Ravan had never learned what the flag meant, and she had no desire to learn now; it had to come down. Quick.

“Wait one damn second!” Olive took a step forward. Her crew stirred as they watched, some in anger, some in fear.

“You want your ship burned to the ground or not?” Ravan asked, holding the Captain’s gaze. The rumbling in the air deepened and grew. “It’s really just that simple.”

Olive stared at Ravan in frustration … then nodded. Her crew hung their heads, moved back to their positions tensely. This hurt them, Ravan knew, but sometimes there was nothing to do but take your licks.

Her men finished with the Wind Trader flag, took it off, then threaded the red one onto the cables and hoisted it into the air. When it caught the wind at the top it unfurled in a flash of crimson: a white, eight-pointed star in the middle. The Menagerie star.

The rumbling became a furious roar as shapes burst out of the dust cloud with the sound of growling engines. Dune buggies, a dozen of them, all armed with guns on the back frames, trained on the huge Landship. Above, three gyrocopters screamed over and banked hard as they surveyed the vessel.

Ravan grabbed the Wind Trader flag from one of her men. As the buggies reached them, surrounding the ship and circling it like sharks, she let the wind catch it in her hands, holding it out for them to see.

The drivers of those buggies knew what it meant. They raised their fists in elation. Ravan could hear their cries of victory even from the deck, and she smiled, holding the giant flag for them to see, letting the feeling of victory flow through her like a drug.

It was a hunting group. The Menagerie had found them.

“Keep your course, Captain,” Ravan said, watching the gyrocopters roar back over ahead and the dune buggies on the desert floor flank the ship on either side. “We just got ourselves an escort.”

Olive didn’t say anything back, just started issuing orders, keeping her men moving, but the air of tension was as thick as it had ever been. It was very real now, for the crew of the
Wind Rift.
Their ship was captured by a mortal enemy, it was all but over.

Ravan turned back around and when she did, her smile faded. Holt leaned against one of the masts, hands casually in his pockets, the wind blowing through his unkempt hair as the ship sailed south under the Menagerie flag. He was staring off nowhere in particular, dispassionate and uncaring.

The sight chilled her more than his words earlier. He should be more nervous than anyone on this ship about where they were heading, but it didn’t seem to even register. And, still, he hadn’t once looked at her.

Some of her men clapped her on the back, congratulating her and themselves. The shouts from the dune buggies below continued. The gyrocopters tipped their small wings back and forth in acknowledgement. She had done everything she had set out to do: a journey from Faust all the way to the Strange Lands, where no Menagerie had ever been, to bring back an impossible quarry, and she had
done
it. All of it.

But, right then … it felt empty.

8.
HOMECOMINGS

OLIVE STARED OUT OVER THE BOW
of the
Wind Rift
with more dread than she had ever felt. She could hear the rumbling growls following them, the dirty, harsh sounds of gas and combustion, so different from the focused air swooshing above. One was the sound of life. The other of death.

She peered over the deck at the dune buggies, leaving trails of dust behind them. About a quarter mile away, a rabbit leapt from one sand-baked stone to another, stirred by all the noise. The Menagerie saw it, the guns on their buggies exploded to life, spraying shrapnel that decimated everything where the rabbit had been. They were gone too fast to see if they’d hit anything, but judging by their laughter that wasn’t really the point.

“This is really happening, isn’t it, Captain?” a boy’s voice asked next to her. It was Casper, the ship’s helmsman, the best and youngest one she’d ever had. The youth had been destined to run his own ship someday, at least before he got this assignment. Now … who knew?

Olive looked back ahead, watching the growing menace on the horizon.

“It really is,” said a voice Olive had come to loathe. Ravan joined her at the helm, staring ahead with her. “Sooner you accept it, the better.”

“Must be thrilling, eh, Menagerie?” Olive asked bitterly. “Bringing in a captured Landship, all on your own?”

It took a moment for Ravan to respond, and when she did, it wasn’t with her usual sarcasm. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

The pirate wore a perplexed, frustrated look, and Olive saw Holt leaning against a railing, his gear at his feet, unarmed. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d gone below. He stared away into the distance, no emotion on his face at all.