Tides of Maritinia (17 page)

“How did they know?”

“They test-­ed me.”

“How?”

“They ask-­ed me questions. For months and months, they ask-­ed me questions of life and meaning. Priestesses came from all over Maritinia to tell me stories and ask me to interpret them. They found the same wisdom in me that they remember-­ed in the previous Falali Mother.”

“What was your original name?”

“Emmina.”

“When was the last time somebody called you Emmina?”

“Since before I was ordain-­ed.”

“Would you mind if I called you Emmina?”

She grinned self-­consciously. “Friend that you are, you can call me whatever you like.”

“So, Emmina, you were nine years old, and suddenly you had to become a different person. What was that like?”

“I'm not a different person. I'm the same soul I always was. The same soul through countless lives.”

“But you were living a vastly different life until you became the Falali Mother.” I scooted up a few inches. “You said yourself, you were crabbing and sewing, then your entire life changed when you went to the city and became the Falali Mother.”

“It was what it was.”

“But you were a child? Wasn't it hard to become a totally different person?”

She put her feet down on the floor and straightened the robes on her lap. “Why do you ask? Do you want to become a different person?”

I thought before responding. “I already have.”

“No you haven't.” She shook her head like a disappointed schoolteacher. “You just keep trying on new skins. One of these days, you're going to realize who you are and stop dressing for everybody else.”

Her truth flooded over me and soaked into every pore.

“Falal knows who you are,” she said. “She bless-­ed you, your true self.”

I wanted to tell him to shut up. I needed to think. Needed to process.

But I had to keep dressing as the good spy. Time enough to reflect later. I could feel the press of the comm unit in my back pocket and knew I could write it all down. Every pent-­up thought and emotion. Tonight. I'd start journaling tonight.

“I met with the Council of Interpreters,” I said.

“And?”

“And it was like you said. They agreed to spread the truth of your incarceration, but they won't act beyond that.”

“Don't be disappointed, Colonel. Truth is a powerful thing. It just might bring enough pressure on the admiral to set me free and start negotiating with the Jebyl majority.”

I shook my head. “Negotiations won't happen.”

“Don't give up hope.”

“No, you don't understand.” I wrung my hands before breaking the news. “The Empire is coming back.”

“How do you know?”

“Their advance spies destroyed the missile-­defense system. They'll attack soon.”

She put her hand over her heart. “Can they be stopped?”

“No. The admiral will fall. He will be executed along with the other officers. Including me. But the good news is you shouldn't have trouble making peace with the new governor. You'll be free.”

“You're wrong,” she said. “None of us will be free.”

 

CHAPTER 22

“I can't see what Im typing. I don't even knoow if it's working, but I hpe it is. I have som much to say.”

–
J
AKOB
B
RYCE

W
ithout opening my eyes, I rested my hand on Sali's stomach, felt the rise and fall of her breathing. She was asleep.

The day was finally over. It seemed an eternity ago that I'd finished carving the bamboo cuda. But that had only been this morning.

I rolled over and, keeping my eyes sealed, I felt for my pants and dug the comm unit out from its pocket. Pol wouldn't approve. Too risky, he'd say. Somebody could find the comm and read my secrets, the Empire's secrets.

He couldn't ever know. To keep him from seeing, I'd have to write my story without looking at the comm screen. I'd probably make a mess of errors, but I didn't care. I doubted anybody would ever read it anyway.

Feeling a mischievous thrill, I pulled the tiny manual keypad from its slot and typed orders:
screen off . . . sound off . . . autosave every second.

Unsure if I'd typed correctly, I typed the orders again to make sure they were received.

A smile broke on my face, and I had to suppress a giggle. For the first time since I'd arrived on this world, I could be Jakob.

Blind, I started typing, and deliciously uncensored words spilled from my frenzied fingertips.

“W
hat happen-­ed to your feet?”

The voice oozed through the murk of sleep to nibble at the base of my brain.

“Your feet, Drake. Why are they all cut up?”

Nerves fired to life. I opened my eyes. It was daylight, golden sunlight beaming through the windows. Sali was standing above me, dressed in sky blue silks. She'd just come from a shower, her face framed by wet ringlets.

I'd overslept. Like Kell, I was supposed to rise at the sky's first whispers of color. But I'd stayed up so late. And now she could see my barnacle-­sliced feet in the light of day.

Looking down on me, she put her hands on her hips. “What happen-­ed, Drake?”

“The missile system,” I said, lies clicking into place. “I was in the shower when it blew. I should've put on my boots before I went outside, but I was in such a rush that I wound up cutting my feet on rubble and shards of metal.”

“Why would you be so careless?”

I sat up on the sleeping mat and shrugged. “I wasn't thinking.”

“You are such a fool.” Her tone was sharp as the shells that had cut my feet.

“Because I forgot my boots?”

“A fucking fool.” She hurried out the door to the balcony.

Okay, not about the boots. I put my hands on my face and rubbed the sleep away. I stood and slipped on my pants, remembering to reach for my back pocket to verify my purloined comm unit was present. Shirtless, I walked on sore feet out to the balcony. Sali was busy shooing crabs.

The last of them disappeared over the wall, and she turned around to face me. “It's all turn-­ed to shit, hasn't it?” Her eyes were made of glass ready to shatter.

“Yes. The Empire is coming back, and there's nothing anybody can do to stop them.”

“They'll kill you.”

“Yes, but they won't hurt
you.
You'll be safe. Things will go back to the way they were before.”

“They'll kill my father, too.” She turned away and pressed herself against the balcony wall.

I walked up next to her, the two of us leaning out over the sea. Vast patches of golden kelp stretched to the horizon like spills of yolk across a broth of liquid jade. The Ministry domes sparkled in the distance like diamonds on a ring, no sign of the damage they'd taken.

“You did a cruel thing,” she said.

“What was that?”

“You gave us hope. You defeat-­ed the mighty Empire. You told us we had meaning.”

I put a hand on her elbow and leaned in close. “You do have meaning.”

Sali pulled her elbow from under my hand. “All we are to them is a kelp factory. Isn't that what you told my father when the two of you first talk-­ed of revolution?”

Unsure where to put my abandoned hand, I buried it in my pocket.

She faced me. “You said we had no value to the Empire beyond kelp yields and cost-­benefit ratios. All we were was a source of vitamins to them. You said they'd leave us be. Retaking this world was more trouble than it was worth.”

I lowered my head.

“You suck-­ed my father into your little conspiracy. You told him to create a secret navy. You plann-­ed the coup. You ran the operation, and when it succeed-­ed, you gave control to my father. You said Maritinians wouldn't accept a foreigner as their leader. You urge-­ed him to become the face of the Free Maritinia. And now he's going to die. You kill-­ed him.”

“Yes,” I said. I'd killed him the instant I blew up the missile system.

“You made him believe, Drake. You made us all believe we could be free.”

I rubbed the scar on my cheek. “I did what I thought was right.”

“And thanks to your hubris, I'll lose you, too.” A tear broke from the corner of her eye. I pulled her close and pressed my face into her damp hair. Four more weeks. All we had was four more weeks.

A loud crackle pierced the moment. She twisted in my grasp to face the skyscreens. Admiral Mnai stood behind a podium, an impossibly tall cap riding on his head. He gripped the lectern on either side with thick mitts. Angling forward, his broad shoulders threatened to swallow the screen.

­People of Maritinia, I have grave news,
he said
. The Empire is returning.
He allowed a long pause to let the weight of his words sink in. I looked left and right. Rooftops and balconies filled with ­people. Kwuba families in silk robes. Jebyl workers in bright-­colored waistwraps.

I repeat. The Empire is returning.
Again, he paused.
They will attack soon, but we will resist with everything we have. I won't quit until they rip out my heart!
He pounded his chest with a fist.
Yes, good ­people, the usurpers will pay for invading our home. They will pay in blood.

But I need your help. We must overwhelm the enemy with our numbers. Join the black sashes and volunteer what you can. We must pull together as one ­people with a common goal.

I call on all of you. Patriots and ­people of honor. Young and old. Men and women and children. I call on all of you to contribute what you can. Contribute your machetes. Contribute your knives. Give anything that can be used as a weapon. Time is short. You must act now or forever feel the squeeze of the Sire's fist.

I looked at Sali. Her tears had evaporated—­her eyes now clear as an alpine lake, her head held high like a mountain peak lifting from the clouds.

Pol responded with total confidence.

 

CHAPTER 23

“Ask me bfore Maritinia wht is teh worst thing that could happen to me, and I'd have said I coould die. Askl me now, and death is last on my llist.”

–
J
AKOB
B
R
YCE

I
sat in my usual spot on the floor. Sali had taken the cabin's lone chair, while the Falali Mother paced. “Infuriating,” she said. She went back and forth from one side of her cell to the other, footsteps getting louder and louder as she wound herself into a silk maelstrom of pumping knees and elbows.

“Infuriating,” she repeated.

“I know, Emmina. I wish you wouldn't work yourself up like this.”

“It's been a week since the admiral announce-­ed the Empire was returning, and yet he keeps me lock-­ed up! This is a time of horrible uncertainty. The ­people need me.”

“I don't understand it either,” I said.

“I do,” Sali said with a straight face. “I understand it perfectly.”

The Falali Mother stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. “Enlighten us.”

“My father believes this isn't a time for coddling. He needs his ­people to fight.”

Emmina aimed a stern stare down her nose. “I don't plan on coddling, child. What the ­people need is an interpreter. They need guidance to find Falal in trying times.”

“They need to fight.”

“What good would that do? The Empire cannot be defeat-­ed by a million machetes. Telling them to fight is the same as telling them to die. Is that what you want? Is that what your father wants?”

“A million machetes might not stop the Empire,” Sali said. “But neither will a million cowards.”

Emmina slowly shook her head. “She thinks she knows better than I. What do you say, Colonel?”

I didn't want to say. I couldn't dash Sali's last shreds of hope. I'd seen the way she'd latched onto her father's rebellious optimism over the last seven days. Let her believe whatever she needed in order to think she had a chance of keeping him.

Of keeping me.

“Colonel,” said Emmina, “you must tell her what you told me so many times before. The Empire can't be defeat-­ed.”

They couldn't.

They wouldn't.

Pol had decrypted the Empire's last message. I knew exactly what was coming in only three weeks.

I could picture it in complete detail. How the screeching ship would plummet from the sky like an attacking hawk. How it would strike the water with enough force to start a tidal wave that would sweep any soldiers guarding the atoll to sea.

I could see the swirling cloud of remote-­controlled drones that would launch from the floating ship to barrage a quarter-­mile radius with purple strikes of deadly lightning. Protected by impenetrable cover fire, the Empire's troops would emerge from the ship, just fifty of them flying across the water on zip lines.

They'd split into two squads that would simultaneously charge into two of the domes to descend the pair of functioning staircases leading to the bottom of the sea. With methodical efficiency, they'd clear one compartment at a time, using a ruthless combination of gas grenades and target-­seekers.

In less than twenty minutes, all of the admiral's forces would either be captured or killed. And when the Ministry fell, Maritinia would follow.

The new contingent would seal themselves inside the underwater fortress and monitor the feeds from the cameras mounted on the skyscreens. They'd wait for crowds of protestors to form, and they'd relentlessly attack them with drones until complete surrender was achieved.

The instant that ship struck water, they would be unstoppable. Invincible.

Kell was no fool. He knew his only chance to stop an attack was to blast them from the sky before they could land their assault force. The missile system was this world's only play.

Emmina took a step in my direction. “We're waiting, Colonel. Tell her the Empire can't be beaten.”

“Leave it be,” I said.

“They can't be beaten in a fair fight. That was what you told me when you engineer-­ed the coup. You said they could only be defeat-­ed through treachery. That was why you put their contingent to sleep by fouling the Ministry's air supply.”

My eyebrows lifted at finally learning how Kell had seized control.

Emmina took another step toward me. “Tell her, Colonel. Tell her the admiral's bluster is nothing but toothless folly.”

I looked at Sali, her brow holding firm over steeled eyes and sealed lips. She exuded strength from that face, but I knew how fragile it was, how the steel in those eyes was propped up with feathers and frayed string.

“Colonel?”

“Emmina,” I said with a tone sharp enough to kill the disagreement. “We probably only have a few weeks left. I won't spend it arguing.”

The two women stared at me, their rigid faces less than satisfied.

The hatch wheel spun. We weren't expecting visitors. I stood and straightened my uniform. The latch clanged, and the door swung out into the corridor.

Captain Mmirehl leaned through, his head seeming too big for his ropy neck. He measured me with the cold eye of a vulture. “Ah, there you are, Colonel.”

Cold fingers grabbed hold of my spine. “Yes?”

He moved back and stepped aside. Black sashes rushed through the hatchway, six of them armed with firerods. In seconds, I was surrounded.

Sali's voice sounded behind me, her voice ringing with alarm. “What's going on?”

“Move,” ordered one of the men as he brandished a fist, his knuckles encircled by tattooed snakes.

“I don't take orders from you, soldier. I'm not going anywhere.”

The barrel of a firerod drove deep into my kidney, and I fell to my knees. Sharp pain shot through my back. I huffed at the air, my heart pounding furiously in my chest. Hands grabbed me by the arms and legs.

Operating on instinct, I tried to jerk myself free but took a kick in the ribs for my effort. My lungs emptied with a whoosh, and I sucked at the air.

I was dragged out and shoved through the hatch on the other side of the corridor. I reached for the bulkhead and tried to grab hold, but my fingers slipped free, and I tumbled through. Another jab with a firerod sent me scrambling across the floor, deeper into Mmirehl's mysterious torture chamber.

The hatch clanked shut behind me, and Sali's screams were instantly strangled off.

I rolled onto my back.

Mmirehl looked down at me and rubbed his palms together. “You, Colonel, are a liar.”

I
sat on a chair. Naked. My wrists tied to the armrests.

I kept my eyes on my feet, which rested on a stone floor. A broad and not so shallow pool of water sat a few inches from the tips of my toes and stretched to the room's far wall. I refused to look at the water, choosing to keep my head bowed so low my chin touched my chest. A cry came from the water, its timbre so lonesome and haunted I could feel the sound vibrate in my bones.

Don't look, I told myself as I mashed my chin into my breastbone.

Mmirehl stood on one side of me. Admiral Mnai on the other. “I'm disappoint-­ed in you, Colonel,” said Mnai.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the bulging buttons on the admiral's uniform jacket. “You haven't been honest with me,” he said.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't be coy, Colonel. The Empire is coming, and I have much to do before they arrive.”

“You're wasting your time. You can't beat them.”

“Of course not. Their victory will be as swift as it is decisive.”

Surprised, I looked up at him.

He towered over me with the shadowy stare of a thundercloud. “You thought I actually believe-­ed I could stop the Empire, didn't you?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Admit it, Colonel. You saw my speeches and thought I'd convince-­ed myself victory was possible.”

“Okay,” I said. “Yes. I thought exactly that.”

“You thought me an idiot.” He scowled. “You thought it would be just like us natives to be too stupid to see when they're beat. You don't think I'm a real admiral, do you? You think it is just my ego who dresses in this uniform every day, not the man. You think the man is an undeserving fool.”

“No,” I said, a defensive pitch infecting my voice.

“You must have. Who else but a blathering idiot could think he could defeat guns and bombs with harvesting implements?” He slapped me across the cheek. “I'm not an idiot!”

My head snapped to the side with a painful wrench, but I refused to look at the pool resting before me. Instead, I immediately swung my gaze back on the big man.

He slapped me again, this time on my cuda-­scarred cheek.

“There,” he said with a curled upper lip. “Now that cheek has my blessing, too.”

I blinked at the tears forming in my eyes.

“The Bless-­ed Hero of Maritinia!” shouted the admiral. “Look at you now, Hero. You're not so arrogant anymore, are you? You were always too full of yourself to see how capable I was. You came to me with your plots and plans, your brilliant strategies. When you told me how you were going to engineer the coup, you act-­ed like a magician revealing his precious secrets. You want-­ed me to drop on my knees and thank you. After all, you chose me. Of all the lowly, ignorant ­people on this world, you chose me.”

I listened intently while I used my shoulder to rub the cuda scars on my cheek.

“And now you have that chubby Dugu following your every step. What happen-­ed, Colonel? Did you miss having somebody to tell you your shit smells like a sunny day?”

I could hear Mmirehl's chuckles, but I didn't turn my head for fear of glimpsing the pool.

The admiral continued. “I couldn't believe my ears when you told me you want-­ed me to be your figurehead. You used that exact word. Figurehead. You actually thought I'd pretend to be in charge when we were in public but let you call the shots in private? You were wrong.”

“I was,” I said with a defeated tone that didn't need to be faked.

“You lent me the reins, and I kept them for myself.” He grasped the imaginary leather straps in his fist. “I'm no idiot. I wasn't then, and I'm not now.”

He bent down to me, close enough I could feel his breath on my cheek. “I know.” He jabbed his chest with a thumb. “I know the Empire will kill me. I know fighting is a lost cause.”

“Then why the pretense? Why are you on the skyscreens every day saying you can defeat them?”

He inched closer, hot breath wafting across my face and up my nose. “The days of including you in my plans are over. You were a useful tool for a time, but your time has pass-­ed.”

I put my eyes back on my feet. Not the pool. Never the pool.

The admiral stood up straight. “Now, Colonel, what do you say we get back to the question of your honesty? Tell him, Captain.”

Mmirehl cleared his throat. “I've identify-­ed the dead foreigner.”

Not good. But I'd become an accomplished liar. There was still a chance I could talk my way out of this mess. I could beat whatever accusations were about to assault me. I had to. I'd seen enough of the pool to know the alternative was not an option.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Look for yourself.” Mmirehl held out a comm unit.

I lifted my eyes just enough to look at the picture on the comm screen. A hole opened in my heart. It was me. Before I'd taken Kell's place. Before I'd punctured the implants under my face.

“Meet George Barnes,” said Mmirehl. “All of the other foreigners have been accounted for. A boatman name-­ed Beleaux told us how George set to sea in one of his boats and never return-­ed. I paid handsomely for this picture. It was taken at the last customs checkpoint before he cross-­ed into the Outermost Ring. I wouldn't call him your twin, but he sure looks like you, doesn't he?”

I stared at the picture of myself, at the face I'd worn for the last few months in transit to Maritinia. My hope disappeared, every drop of it sucked away by the grim lips of doom.

Mmirehl took away the screen. “Care to explain?”

The game was up. Eyes on my feet. Chin on my chest.

Mmirehl repeated his question.

I marshaled as much strength as I could to look him in the eye. “I don't know who that man is.”

“But he looks so much like you.”

“A lot of ­people from Korda look like me.”

Mmirehl's voice was thick with sarcasm. “Boy, that sure sounded reasonable. What do you think, Admiral? Should we let him go?”

“Maybe so,” said the admiral in a mocking tone.

They were toying with me now. Enjoying their power to make me squirm. I lifted my chin to look at the pool. The water was still. Quiet. Shapes swam under the surface. Hundreds of them, wriggling and writhing.

A net stretched across the pool, perhaps ten inches above the surface. Beleaux was in the water, his whole body submerged except for his head and one arm, which was hooked through a hole in the net over his head. He was almost unrecognizable. His usual smile had been twisted into a tortured grimace. His complexion had faded to a sallow gray, and his cheeks had sunken to fit like rotted leather over his skull.

The poor man's only crime was to rent me a boat.

Others were in the water, too, more than a dozen of them. The man to Beleaux's left lifted an arm and reached it through a hole in the net, water sheeting off the lampreys hanging from his withered biceps and forearm. With skin like oil, the lampreys squirmed and curled like dangling worms.

With his other hand, he ripped one off his wrist, a round red sore left in its place. The creature twisted about, a sucking mouth where there should be a head. The prisoner threw the lamprey over his shoulder, and it bounced across the net before falling through and dropping back into the water.