Lightning (15 page)

The child's flailing arms beat at the surface to her left. She gurgled and slipped under the water again. Her body went limp and floated to the surface facedown. Selah's powerful strokes brought her in range in a matter of seconds. She grabbed the child, flipped her over. No time to start her breathing there.

Selah wasn't sure how long she could force herself to stay calm in the water as the fear closed in on her and tightened her throat. She struggled for air. Her fear was irrational—there were no creatures with large teeth waiting to rip her to shreds. She labored to breathe and pull the girl to shore by the back of her tunic.

Cleon reached for the child while Jaenen reached down, grabbed Selah's arm, and yanked her up. On hands and knees, she crawled along the grass, dry heaving once or twice and spitting out salt water. Falling to the ground and rolling on her back, Selah inhaled deeply. Still salty air, but she'd made it. Had she conquered the fear for good? Only time would tell.

Cleon pumped on the child's chest while Treva blew into her lungs. Finally she regurgitated a spray of water, gasped for air, and began to cry.

Mari punched a few buttons on her wristband, spoke, and then looked down at Selah.

Jaenen helped Selah to her feet. “You're shivering enough to break a tooth. I don't have a coat, but I've got arms. Let me warm you.” He wrapped his arms around her, trying to ward off the shivers wracking her body.

Selah was grateful. Her teeth clacked so hard it was mak
ing her ears hurt. Between tremors she leaned into Jaenen's warmth and watched Mari standing there, staring at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Selah asked through chattering teeth.

“I'm trying to figure out what and who you are.” Mari came closer and examined the tear from the arrow in Selah's shirt. Selah looked down at it. Blood had saturated the tear earlier, but the water had cleaned the material.

Selah's arms and legs felt as weak as dandelion stalks. She just didn't have enough extra energy to lie. She tried to wrap her hand over the spot, but Mari gently moved her hand away.

“You aren't bleeding anymore,” Mari said, fingering the material.

Selah gave a nervous half smile. “It was just a scratch. I'll be fine.”

“It bled, yet there's no torn skin, or even a mark that there was bleeding.” Mari looked from the sleeve into Selah's eyes. “Who are you?”

Selah pushed the wet hair back from her face. “I'm just a traveler trying to get to the Mountain.”

Colony people began to gather at the water's edge.

Mari let out a sigh. “I think we'd better forgo a community meal. I'm having my men bring dinner to my place. You need dry clothes, and I'd like to get you out of my colony before something else happens.”

Selah nodded with a teeth-chattering smile. “At least we broke that curse and no one died.”

Mari motioned for them to follow her back to her home. “You haven't left yet.”

Day 2

Selah disliked saying goodbye to Mari. They'd gotten along like sisters. It would have been nice if Mari lived closer or traveled more, but she didn't. So much for another friendship.

Now Selah had a new dilemma. Since they'd left WoodHaven, Treva had not been acting like her normal bubbly self.

Selah touched her shoulder. “Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?” She worried that maybe something about WoodHaven's security system could be having a latent effect on her.

“No, though I did have more of that crusty bread and apple slices dipped in honey before we left,” Treva said without turning. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem unusually quiet. We've been on the road for almost four hours and you haven't complained about anything.”

Treva had a penchant for an orderly world, but it just didn't
work that way outside the Mountain. So she dealt with a constant source of things that could be organized better if they were done her way.

“Do you think Mari will ever wind up being queen or whatever term they use for their ruler?” Treva wrinkled her nose when she spoke Mari's name, and Selah caught the subconscious action.

“I think Mari's happy being regent. She still expects her father to return someday. Why?”

“I was just wondering what kind of governing structure Uncle Charles is using in Stone Braide.”

Selah smiled. “Are you expecting to be crowned or something?”

“It never hurts to explore a girl's options. I could be great at—”

“Get to exploring those options, because we're here,” Cleon announced.

Selah and Treva turned to look ahead. Several buildings in the process of being plotted by a massive 3-D printing press swung into view as he made the turn, but all was idle. Stone Braide looked abandoned. Cleon cycled over a stone slab and brought the AirWagon down to rest.

Both girls stepped down. Jaenen and Cleon opened the side panels and retrieved their weapons.

“Where is everyone?” Cleon hopped down with his crossbow. “I don't like the looks of this. You girls stay near the AirWagon.”

Jaenen strapped on the sling for his crossbow and mounted it across his back. He gathered up his things, stowing gear in
his pack, seemingly uninterested in the lack of activity where there should have been a community. Selah started to say something about his indifference but figured he'd take it as additional hostility over his assessment of the Repository file. It had degraded further and erased the evidence she'd found, so he declared it insufficient to mount any kind of search.

“I'm sure it's fine. Uncle Charles must be here somewhere. Maybe they're on a break or something. Selah, will you help me look?” Treva asked as she walked away.

“No, I don't think so,” Cleon said. “There's dust all over those machines. They haven't cycled in quite some time. Treva, come back here and wait.” He nocked an arrow into his bow.

Treva waved him off and continued to walk, peeking in the empty shell of each partially constructed building.

Jaenen glanced at the barren countryside, then shrugged. “Looks like everybody got smart and went back inside the Mountain. I consider that a good call. It's pretty desolate out here.”

“It didn't look like this the last time we were here.” Selah, eyes wide with amazement, took in the desolate landscape. “There were a lot of trees and bushes, and the surrounding hillsides were like forests. And grass . . . all of this was covered in grass. What happened here?”

Cleon wandered over to what appeared to have once been a tree stump but now sat bleached and petrified. “If I didn't know better, I'd say this tree suffered an extended pulse blast. I remember trees looking like this when our Borough brought in that Mountain security team.”

Selah nodded. “They dealt with those bandits squatting
on the homestead outside Dominion. But why would all of this land be destroyed?”

Jaenen touched her arm. “It's been a very interesting trip, but I need to meet with my caravan up the road a piece. I'm already late and I don't want them to leave without me,” he said.

Selah's eyes narrowed. “But why? You can't leave—”

“I told you. That file you have is too corrupt to get more from it. I'm sorry, but it's not enough to derail the solid lead I have on your family. There must be a good explanation for your stepfather's and Everling's names being there. Or maybe the file was so corrupt that it just appeared to be their names. In any case, that's a lead for another day. You mind yourself and stay out of the Mountain.” Jaenen pulled on his leather gloves and wound the pack strap around his hand before hoisting it onto his shoulder.

Selah frowned. “I won't go in the Mountain . . .”

Jaenen nodded to Selah and waved to Cleon and Treva.

She watched him walk around the bend and out of view. “. . . Until you've gone on down the road to your caravan.” Something about the way he acted nagged at her. Not only had he exhibited no real interest in the file, but this scene of utter devastation aroused no curiosity in him. Should she worry that the seizure episode at WoodHaven had done some kind of brain waste on him?

“Hey you guys, come see this!” Cleon yelled. Selah and Treva trotted over.

He stood near a cream-and-tan-hued building that looked to be one of the few structures in the settlement made from
actual stone. The charred interior of the empty shell had scorched tendrils snaking out of empty holes that appeared to have been poly-laminate windowpanes but were now solidified blobs at the base of the openings.

Treva gasped. A strangled sob pushed from her chest. “What could have happened here? Where's Uncle Charles?”

“This building was occupied.” Selah slowed as she entered. The ash formations were consistent with furniture being instantly incinerated. A flashback to the cell where she thought Glade had died in the Mountain played in her mind. She instantly looked for telltale signs of bodies.

“This is what I wanted you to see.” Cleon motioned them outside. Off to the right of the building were several white charred sticks and a blackish residue splattered on the wall of the one-story structure.

“That's dried blood. Someone died here.” Selah squeezed her eyes shut.
Please don't let it be Treva'
s uncle.

“The bandit hideout,” Selah and Cleon said at the same time.

Treva looked between the two of them with tears running down her cheeks. “Are you saying bandits did this? That my uncle Charles may be dead?”

Selah shook her head, hands on hips. “No, we're saying this is the mark of the Mountain security private force that gets hired out to quell Borough problems. This is what their scene cleanup looks like. They don't carry away their victims.”

“They incinerate them.” Cleon bowed his head, as though paying respects to whoever died here.

“Why would they—” Treva stopped. A look of horror
crossed her face. “Do you think they made the connection to us and arrested him? Could he have tried to fight back?”

“Whoa, wait. We don't know anything yet. Stop making assumptions,” Cleon said.

Selah noticed a flash in her peripheral vision. She turned to the left. In the distance sat a now barren hillside with all the grass dried to crispy sticks. The dried pines reminded her of the bristle brushes Mother had made to clean her precious canning jars.

She pointed in the direction she wanted to go. Cleon nodded but Treva started to question. Selah raised a finger to her lips. Treva brushed away the tears and followed her.

Selah crept up to the opening. It appeared to be a cave carved into the hillside. At one time, the now dead trees had camouflaged the entrance. Now it was quite noticeable from a distance. As she approached, a figure peeked out, then ducked back inside. All she caught sight of was a multicolored, flowing fabric on an unkempt, white-haired old man.

“Stop! Wait!” Selah darted to the opening and grabbed the man's arm.

He rapidly slapped her hands away. She grabbed faster than he could slap.

“Let me go. Let me go. I'm no good to you. I don't know anything. I'm an old man.” He tried to squirm from her grasp.

Treva and Cleon caught up, but neither approached.

“Could I get some help here?” Selah inhaled his musty odor and wondered if the old guy could have some sickness because of how dirty he appeared.

Cleon grimaced. “I think you have it under control, Sissy.”

“I think I know him.” Treva moved closer. “Are you the man who used to take Wednesday evening meals with Charles Ganston and the Gilani family?”

The old man stopped struggling and displayed a toothless grin. “Yes, that would be me. And who might you be, young lady?”

“I'm Charles Ganston's niece, Treva Gilani.”

The old man gasped. Both hands went to his mouth and his fingers began to shake. He reached out and took Treva's hand in both of his. “My sweet princess.” He touched the back of her hand to his forehead.

Treva turned red and stared at Cleon and Selah with eyes wide, shaking her head slowly. Her mouth formed the words
I have
no idea.

Selah shrugged. She hadn't observed the old man enough to know if he had a full orchard or whether his fruit lay rotting on the ground. Only watching him would tell. Maybe he meant
princess
as a term of endearment.

“Why would you call me that?” Treva didn't pull completely away but discreetly removed her hand from the man's ratty-haired forehead.

The old man looked as though she had spoken gibberish. His eyes blinked rapidly. “Because you are the heir, of course. Your parents were the Keepers of the Stone. Your uncle took over when they died. Didn't he ever tell you any of this?”

Treva shook her head. “Keepers of what stone, and where did you hear such a silly story?”

“Are you talking about that Stone Braide symbol he was going to use for the main building?” Selah pointed toward
where she had watched her father trace his fingers over the object he called a remnant of a very sad time—a circle superimposed over the three entwined narrow pointed ovals.

“Yes, yes, that is the one.” The old man smiled his toothless grin at Treva. “Once it was unearthed we were sure it would be just a matter of time. I hear tell there's even a novarium.”

Selah's eyes darted from Treva to Cleon. Should she say something? Both shook their heads. She should keep it quiet for now. Still, if the little old man from nowhere knew there was a novarium, letting him know it was her didn't seem wrong or hazardous.

“Not that I don't believe you, but I need to talk to my uncle first. What would be ‘just a matter of time'?” Treva bit her lip.

“Finding the clues to unlocking the secret of the Third Protocol, which is necessary for completing a full cycle,” the old man said matter-of-factly.

Selah ran the words through her head. A shudder jerked her arms. If he knew of the Protocols . . . Who was this old man?

Treva stepped forward. “Completing a—”

Selah grabbed Treva's arm, then shook her head. She would tell her later about Glade's discussion, but not in front of a stranger, no matter how much he knew on his own.
Use what you are given, volunteer no
information
. Words of her mother. In what context had that been a lesson? Selah couldn't recall.

Treva's breathing grew shallow. Her brow pinched as she looked from the old man to Selah. “Those data packages I gave to Glade. They must have been the clues. Even so, my uncle never told me anything about my parents, except that they were murdered. Why am I learning about this from some old man?”

“Charles told me you knew the whole story of your parents, and that he gave you the clues when you left the Mountain with the novarium and her father, Glade.”

She turned back to the old man. “If this is true, why was Uncle Charles giving me stupid clues instead of just coming out and telling me?”

“He will have to tell the story of your parents. I only know pieces. But I do know Charles was trying to save you from the evil,” the old man said. “The clues had to be masked so only the worthy could unfold them.”

Selah looked closer at the old man. He was suddenly speaking a little strange, even for an old guy. His language choices sounded like ancient dialogue, not normal words.

“What are the clues for anyhow? I should have read all the pages in that packet before I gave it to Glade.” Treva wrung her hands.

“If I remember correctly, you didn't read
any
of them.” Cleon looked at the old man. “Maybe she's not the worthy one.”

“I've got to find my uncle.” Treva turned toward the buildings.

“They dragged him away,” the old man said.

“Away? Where did they take him?” Treva's legs seemed to go weak. She clutched Selah's arm for support. And Selah knew in the pit of her stomach right where Charles Ganston had been taken. All she could hope for was Mojica. She'd had an allegiance to Ganston—hopefully it had survived.