Ascend (The Cure Chronicles Book 3), page 8
“Playing games?” Rys spits, glaring over his shoulder. “You want to talk about games, Davenport? How about what you did to Ash in the Arenum? How about breaking her heart? How was that for a fun little game?”
Finn goes silent then, and I can feel the heavy wall of angry tension forming between the two of them, hanging toxic in the air around us.
“I’m not sure this is the time for this particular conversation!” I shout as more blast shells slam against the car. “Get rid of the drones, Rys, or nothing else will matter.”
“Fine.” He pushes his left sleeve up and, after tapping a number of symbols on the white panel wrapped around his forearm, he sits back in his seat and hums a tune to himself as several more drones join the first five and an all-out assault begins, pelting the car in an unrelenting stream of small but terrifying explosions.
I slam my hands over my ears, crying out as the deafening noise doubles me over.
“The thing is,” Rys yells when the round of blasts dies down, “the Directorate loves to automate everything. They love drones, because drones can, in a pinch, kill for them. But it never occurred to them to worry that maybe someone would figure out how to kill the drones.”
I spin around in my seat, realizing the sound of exploding ammunition hasn’t started up again. Instead, I’m hearing another sound—one far more distant.
The cry of a bird of prey.
In the sky above the drones is a golden eagle, its wings spread. In its talons are what look like small metal orbs, which it hurls at one drone then another, exploding on contact. Each time the eagle unleashes one, another appears in its place, replicating as fast as the eagle can hurl them.
“The eagle used to symbolize freedom,” Rys says. “I thought it was fitting for a bomber-drone. His name is Sam, by the way.”
“The Directorate never anticipated this,” I laugh as I watch shrapnel-like shards of metal tumble like rain to the ground behind us.
“No one ever does.”
When all the Directorate’s drones have been dispatched, the eagle banks away, soaring off over the woods. Rys accelerates and drives another several minutes before finally slowing and steering the car into a deep ditch at the side of the road.
“It’s time,” he says. “We need to abandon the vehicle—they’ll send more drones soon enough, and this time, they’ll be smarter about it. We’re going to have to hike the rest of the way.”
When we climb out, I look up warily, but all I see is empty blue sky.
“Is it safe?”
“Yes. For now.”
I glance over at Finn, who’s gone silent.
You’re still here. Still real.
Rys is right.
Finn did break my heart. For a time, he destroyed me. But emotions, like people, exist within a hierarchy. Some are more powerful than others, and as it turns out, joy is stronger than sorrow. Bliss outweighs pain—and the human mind, as I know all too well, has an incredible capacity for forgetting how acute our pain can be.
It’s how we survive. It’s how we manage to walk away from trauma yet go on living. Without relief, we would wallow in misery all day, every day.
And Finn’s presence here is the greatest relief imaginable.
He and I will talk. He’ll explain himself.
And there’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll forgive him. Because he’s given me the greatest gift in the world:
He’s brought himself back to life, and for now, it’s enough.
11
The Oak
With the Batts weighing us down, we begin our long hike through the woods.
Though I’m eager to see Kel again, I’m almost grateful for the time spent pushing our way through the wilderness, for the distance we’re putting between us and the sleek silver car that will surely act as a beacon for anyone hunting for the three fugitives who escaped the Arc.
No, not three.
Two fugitives.
As far as the Directorate knows, Finn is still dead. He’s still a ghost to the Duchess and to all the others. And he’ll remain a ghost until the time comes to reveal the truth.
We hike in silence, all too aware of how easy it would be to alert any watchers in the woods of our presence. I watch Finn as he strides ahead of me, powerful, confident, and focused. I admire his determination to get to our destination, but as time passes, I begin to wonder why he hasn’t so much as acknowledged me since we began our hike. Why each time he turns to look back, he seems to stare straight through me. It’s like the most intimate, familiar part of him has been numbed or, worse, stolen entirely away.
I want to ask if he’s all right, but I’m too cowardly. Too afraid that he really has altered in some insidious way, and that the Finn I’ve known all this time is somehow gone.
Did I do this to you in the Arenum? Did I somehow break our bond?
But instead of asking the questions out loud, I simply say, “Your parents.”
He stops, turns my way, and focuses his eyes on me.
“What about them?” he asks. His expression is still cold, emotionless, as though every spark of life has deserted his eyes.
“Are you going to tell them you’re alive?”
His brows knit together as if I’ve said something both idiotic and cruel. “Why would I? They forced me to fight you in hopes that I’d kill you—or get killed myself. Either way, what they did is unconscionable. I don’t care if I never speak to either of them again.”
“What about Merit?”
Finn’s younger brother is Kel’s age. He’s sweet and innocent, not to mention that he worships Finn. I can only imagine what he’s going through right now, thinking his older brother is gone forever.
“I’ll find a way to tell Merit, of course. But as for my parents, they don’t deserve the pleasure it would bring them. I want them to suffer a little longer. They can wallow in it, for all I care.”
“That’s…harsh.”
Though I have to admit that the thought of their suffering brings me a little bliss.
“Not after what they did—to you, to me, to so many others.” He shoots a look at Rys, who is hiking some distance ahead, before adding, “You blame him for your mother’s death. But you know whose fault it really is.”
I clench my jaw for a moment before relaxing it again. He’s right. I’ve always blamed Rys for what happened. But the only sin he actually committed was telling the Directorate about a painting in my mother’s bedroom. Although it was a betrayal, I will admit—albeit reluctantly—that he had no way of knowing it would lead to so much sorrow and pain.
After all, Rys didn’t wrestle my mother to the ground or murder her in front of her only son.
“He didn’t pull any triggers,” Finn continues. “He didn’t have the intent to kill. The Directorate is another story, though. We both know my mother’s mind. We know how cruel she is. I’ve given up hoping she’ll change, that somehow, love will turn her into a better person. She’s a monster with no capacity for love, and it’s high time I admitted that to myself.”
“You sound like you despise her.”
“She deserves nothing more…and nothing less.”
Without another word, he turns and continues the hike, his knuckles white as he grasps the Batts in both hands. I’ve never seen him like this. Never thought he had it in him to feel such hatred for anyone, least of all his parents.
Still, some part of me is proud of him for it. Proud that he’s finally putting distance between himself and the devil that is the Duchess, not to mention the spineless coward that is the Duke.
I only wish we could have found our way to Merit and somehow brought him with us.
Taking him from his parents—a crime the Directorate inflicts on so many—would have been the ultimate act of revenge.
We’ve nearly arrived at the entrance to the Pit when a familiar Hoooo works its way to our ears from somewhere in the branches overhead.
I glance up to see Atticus’s glowing eyes peering down at me. If he had lips instead of a beak, I’d swear he was grinning with some sort of intense pleasure.
“Nice to see you, too,” I tell him before calling out to Rys. “Has he told the Pitters we’re coming?”
He nods. “They know.”
Sure enough, as we step close to the oak tree’s trunk, the bark splits open to reveal a narrow doorway. Out from the darkness beyond, a small figure emerges and charges at me, clamping his arms around my waist.
“Ash!” Kel cries. “I thought you’d never come!”
I set down the Batts that I’m carrying and hug my brother back as Illian—the Pit’s leader—emerges to greet us.
“Atticus has informed us that all is clear,” he says, “or we might not have dared to come out. But we should get inside quickly—”
He stops when his eyes land on the dark objects on the ground, then move to Finn, who is still holding the other Batts.
“Are those…” he begins, and it’s hard to tell if he’s on the verge of tears or laughter. “But of course they are. You’ve really done it. You’ve brought Quantum Sources to us. I have no idea how you managed it, but please know you have my gratitude, and that of every resident of the Pit. What you’ve done will change our lives.”
“Happy to help,” Rys says with a grin. “Illian, right?”
“You two haven’t met in person,” I say, astonished to realize it. “This is…my friend Rystan. Rys, Illian.”
“You’re the one who created Atticus,” Illian says, reaching a hand out to shake Rys’s. “I know all about you. A miracle worker, from the sounds of it. I’m eager to hear all that you’ve worked on in the Arc—though I suspect you won’t be headed back there anytime soon.”
“No. Probably not,” Rys chuckles. “I’ve sort of shot myself in the foot this time, and I can’t say I’m sorry for it.”
“Well, you’re most welcome here for as long as you’d like to stay. Come in, come in, you three—and Atticus, if he likes. We’ll have our people working on getting the power restored straight away. Though I’m surprised to see you carrying the Quantum Sources in your hands. I didn’t think it could be done.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I say, throwing a look toward Finn, whose face is pale, his forehead beaded with traces of perspiration. But something tells me it’s not from the exertion of transporting the Batts. “But we managed.”
Illian eyes Finn for a moment, and I can tell he’s concerned, though he says nothing about it. Instead, he scratches his chin and smiles. “You young people never cease to amaze me. Perhaps one day you can explain how these things are possible—the silver suits, the owl, all of it. It gives me hope that we could actually win this futile war against the Directorate. But for now, I just want you inside where it’s safe.”
I pick up the Batts, assuring Kel I’m right behind him as he guides us through the doorway and down the narrow winding staircase into the underground network of tunnels and chambers know as the Pit.
Downstairs in the Central Chamber, we find Illian’s partner, Kurt, who offers to fetch steel carts to gather the Quantum Sources.
Despite its darkness, the chamber feels warm and welcoming, as always. A cozy hovel, it’s a shelter from the perpetually tumultuous storm that is the outside world.
“One Quantum Source should be enough to power the entire Pit,” Illian tells us. “Though I’m a little worried that those with the Gloaming won’t know what’s hit them. We’ll have to warn them of the potential shock to their eyes.”
“Gloaming?” Rys asks.
“The word we use for those who’ve lived in darkness for years. Their eyes aren’t what they once were. They’re remarkable people, each and every one. Masha—the little girl who spends much of her time sprinting through the tunnels in the darkness—can work her way around the Pit without a second thought. She’s far better than the rest of us at navigating the tunnel system down here. It’s as if she’s developed a whole new sense—something far more advanced than vision or hearing.”
Illian stops speaking and glances at Finn, who’s sitting silently on one of the armchairs by the fireplace. “Mr. Davenport,” he says. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. I feel like there’s a story in all this, but I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“There were some…developments while we were in the Arc,” Finn says quietly. “Things happened that made it necessary for me to leave my family and my home for good.”
He looks at me, then Kel, and I can tell he’s torn. The same question snakes its way through my mind: Should we tell the whole story and risk horrifying my brother when he learns how close I came to death, or keep our mouths shut?
“It’s all right,” I tell Finn. “Kel should know what happened—why it took so long for me to get back here, and why you and Rys are with us. He has a right to the truth.”
“I thought you’d be back days ago,” my brother moans in plaintive agreement. “What happened?”
“Finn will tell you.”
After all, it is his mother who orchestrated our fate. Better that the words should come from him than me.
“The Directorate…more specifically, my mother, learned Ash and I were working together,” Finn says. “And in typical fashion, they decided to punish us by making us fight to the death.”
“To the death,” Illian repeats. “The Directorate does enjoy their drama.”
“What?” Kel shoots out, amazed and terrified. “You were supposed to kill each other? Cool!”
“You did not just say ‘Cool’ to the idea that Finn and I should both be dead right now, did you?” I ask with a laugh, charmed by his perpetual innocence. He’s lost both his parents, yet a fight to the death, to him, is still sort of…fun.
Despite the morbidity of it, I’m grateful to know he’s kept his sense of wonder.
“And yet here you both are,” Illian adds.
As he’s speaking, Kurt steps back into the room.
“What did I miss?” he asks.
“Simply Mr. Davenport telling us how he and Miss Spencer killed one another.”
“I killed him, actually,” I correct, looking sideways at Finn with a wince. “But in my defense, it was the last thing I wanted to do.”
“She didn’t kill me.” Finn smiles, the softening of his features easing my mind. “But I’m very sorry to say I let her believe she had. It was cruel of me, and heartless.”
With that, he throws me a quick look as if to say, “See? I still have empathy after all.”
“Why would you do such a thing?” Illian asks, his tone defensive and protective at once.
“I felt the need to protect Ash—and, admittedly, to wreak a little havoc. I needed the Directorate to think I was gone, to think they had one less enemy to worry about. But most of all, and maybe most selfishly of all, I wanted my mother to know how it felt to watch someone she loved die. She’s inflicted the same pain on so many people over the years, it was time she got a taste of it.”
The room falls into a heavy silence, like the weight of what Finn’s just admitted hits us all.
To anyone who knows the Duchess, it’s not surprising to hear that anyone—even her own son—should want to hurt her.
To those who don’t know her, like Illian, it’s probably shocking.
Kurt, on the other hand, is all too aware of the Duchess’s nature. A former member of the Directorate Guard, he’s seen the psychopaths who run the Arc up close.
“I’m sorry for what your mother is, Finn,” he says. “I’m afraid I’ve seen her leadership skills. I hope you can forgive me when I say I’m not sure she has a heart, so I’m not entirely sure it can be broken.”
Finn narrows his eyes for a moment in reflexive defense before letting out a chuckle. “Fair enough. Now, we’re not here to talk about my messed-up family, are we?”
As he says the words, the room’s walls flare to incredible life, light hitting Finn’s features from every angle. The walls themselves begin to glow bright despite layers of dust and grime that have built up over time.
“They’ve succeeded,” Illian says, reaching for Kurt’s hand. “We have power!”
Seeing the room like this—the space around us bright, warm and even more welcoming than it was before—I understand for the first time how the Pit must have looked in its early days. Its ceilings are high, criss-crossed by long wooden beams. All along one wall on the far side of the room, a series of screens flares to life, projecting vivid scenes of mountains and forests like huge canvases on display.
Intrigued, I ask, “Those are your camera feeds from the outside?”
“Yes. Distant ones, from vantage points we haven’t been able to access in years. It will take us some time to work our way through all of them. But the most important thing to look into right now is the train to Santa Fe.”
“We’ll check on its status,” Kurt agrees. “But I’m expecting full functionality. The system is intact—it just needs to be activated. Who wants to come have a look?”
I’m about to tell him I’d love to join him when Illian says, “Kurt, take Finn and Rys with you.”
“Not me?” I ask, eyeing Kel, who’s grown bored with our adult conversation and, along with another young boy, is pointing and staring in wonder at the outdoor scenes projected onto the walls.
“If it’s all the same,” Illian replies, “I think you and I should take a walk. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about in private.”
12
News
While the others are off checking on the train that will lead the Consortium members to possible freedom—and could lead others to us—Illian walks me down one of the Pit’s quieter hallways. Its walls are newly lit with pretty little round sconces that reveal in stark detail how long it’s been since the place last received a thorough cleaning.
Still, there’s something beautiful about the years of handprints on the walls, the trampled earth beneath our feet as Pitters made their way tentatively through the darkness.
“I would have thought you’d want to be with Kurt for this,” I tell Illian, my eyebrows raised. “To see the train in motion for the first time in years.”
