The Daughter Of Lava (#3 Reclaimed Souls Series) (7 page)

“No,” I say. That’s it. Just that one word and everyone and everything around me becomes quiet. Hundreds of faces peer into mine. It would take me years—maybe a lifetime—to know them all individually. And yet each one of them is so precious to me, just like each drop of water is precious to the ocean. Otherwise, it is nothing but a bunch of drops of water.

“What do you mean, ma’am?” the boy asks. “You can’t fight by yourself.”

“I won’t let you fight
for
me,” I tell them. “You can fight
with
me. This is our home. Our families. Our kingdom. The devil knocking on our gates won’t play fair and he won’t show kindness. But we have an advantage over him. I’d like to introduce you to my weapons master, Mr. Underwood.”

Thirteen

M
R
. U
NDERWOOD
’
S
MAIN
WEAPONS
room is two floors below the basement floor of three abandoned warehouses that have been combined. I can see where Mr. Underwood—or perhaps his predecessor—cut into the mountain rock, extending the warehouse an additional one hundred feet. Around the perimeter of the space, smaller rooms house Mr. Underwood’s deadliest creations.

“Blueblood Tree roots?” I ask Roland as I stare into a perfectly squared chamber. Not just blueblood roots, but blueblood roots topped on metal spikes. Curved, shiny hooks, angled in every direction—to catch onto an opponent from any position—jutted out beautifully below the spikes.
 

“Leave it to Mr. Underwood to create a weapon everyone is virtually unable to recover from,” Roland states without conceit. “Everyone but you, of course,” he adds as an afterthought. “I wouldn’t recommend testing your chances, just in case.”

I smile grimly, remembering the intense pain from the blueblood spikes embedded in my leg earlier today. And the searing torture as Cat removed them.

“How many blueblood tree roots are there?” I mentally count the citizens invading Mr. Underwood’s private bunker, selecting their weapons of choice. I figure about five hundred citizens followed me down here, and, give the size of the bunker, they barely filled the space. Mr. Underwood has so many weapons that each person can take several pieces and still not make a dent in the arsenal.

“Two hundred, I think,” Roland says.

I spot Mr. Underwood assisting Tomoko and a small group of teenage boys.

 
“Okay,” I say absently as I take one of them. Roland, mostly watching me, also grabs one of the blueblood spikes. I notice a thick dagger at his waist. It matches mine, only it’s bigger.
 

“Alright, everyone,” I call out. “Make your choices. We head out in five minutes.” I turn to Roland. “What does Mr. Underwood say about the current situation?”

“Dire,” Roland confides, “but not completely hopeless. We’ll suffer casualties, but—”

“So will they,” I interject. “What’s the Grandfather’s plan?”

“You know him better than anyone else here. What do
you
think?”

“Personally, I don’t think he’ll get his hands dirty. If his army is from Hades Rocks, then he will count on us surrendering or dying quickly. However,” I pause, thinking, “if you knew about the attack in advance and if he knows you know, then surely he’s expecting something out of you.” I look at him expectantly. “So what is it?”

“Infiltration and strategic choke-points,” he says casually, as if it is no big deal.

“What was the bargain, Roland?”

“It’s time to go,” he says. “There’s an underground shortcut we can take. Mr. Underwood won’t be happy about that, but I feel confident the situation warrants its use.”

I sigh. “You know what I don’t like about you?”
 

“Everything?”

“You don’t trust me.”

“You’re wrong about that.” Roland grabs my free hand and urgently pulls it to his chest. “I trust you with my life, Rahda. I like what you said out there.” I stare blankly at him. “About them fighting with you and not
for
you. It’s an important distinction—one that I would have botched up completely—and why your citizens are down here with you. Even that elderly man who can barely walk. They want to make you proud of them. That’s all I want, too.”

“You confuse the hell out of me,” I say.

Alben Underwood limps up.
 

“Count me in dat statement, too, mizzy,” he says gruffly, his white whiskers barely moving an inch, but it’s his hands I watch as he stashes and pockets no less than eleven weapons on his person. “Is we gonna git goin’ or are we gonna rot to death down here? Got a bunch o’ younguns reddy ta be heros fer ya, mizzy.”

“Lead the way, Weapons Master Underwood,” I answer. He moves the shelves from a wall inside one of the chambers to reveal a hidden door. “Everyone with a free hand grab a blueblood root spike,” I announce to the forming line. No sense in letting such a great weapon go to waste when it’s desperately needed.
 

I turn to Roland, who stares at me as if he’s never seen me before, and we enter the dark underground passageway together. Alben lights torches ahead of us, illuminating the uneven floor, ceiling, and walls.
 

“How long did it take Mr. Underwood to collect all these roots and make the spikes?”

“A long time,” he says and pauses for a long while. Just when I think he won’t say any more, he says, “I knew this day would happen, Rahda. That’s why.” There’s a sad tone to his voice. You want to know about the bargain I made with him? My life for yours,” he says finally. “To save your life, I offered him mine. He’s come to collect.”

“I won’t let him.”
 

“It’s not that simple. I let him mark me. He owns my soul, Rahda. There’s nothing I can do.”

“He burned you, didn’t he? Is that how he marked you?”

Roland nods. The older burn scars. I
will
kill the Grandfather for this.

My throat constricts, my eyes sting, and everything turns red. Anger thrashes through me and all I can think about is ripping the heart out of the Grandfather’s chest. I want to destroy
everything
, just like I did when I ingested some of The Pale Waters. My body vibrates and then lurches forward.

At first, I think my anger’s getting the best of me, but then I realize the ground moves and shifts like an earthquake.

Fourteen

E
VERYONE
SCREAMS
AND
,
SOMEWHAT
humorously, Mr. Underwood falls backward, and I catch him easily.

Then, almost instantly, the earth groans and all movement ceases.
 

“She not be a happy continent,” Mr. Underwood states ominously, straightening himself and peering at me from behind his little glasses. “Hold dat anger until we be topside, mizzy.”

“You’re an odd creature, Mr. Underwood. Is everyone alright?” I yell down the tunnel. After everyone is placated and all issues resolved, we continue on.

The underground path reminds me of the tunnel I took when I left the Old City. Which reminds me of Dev Osta. I wonder if I have any new messages from him. Granted, Dev is on the Grandfather’s side, but he doesn’t know I’m not. Or, maybe he does… I’m not really sure about anything anymore.

I hand my blueblood root spike to Roland, who takes it without question, and I pull the communicator tablet from the back of my trousers. I can feel Roland’s interested stare. Not bothering to hide what I’m doing, I log in and he watches me but says nothing.

A red dot blinks. I click on it. It came in two hours ago.

22 June 2512, 10:44pm. \\Message sent from encrypted server X\\ Untraceable… Routing… Routing… Server found… Five hundred dispatched. En-route Palace Skyscraper. D.

“Who’s that from?” Roland asks. He glances over.

The path dips and I almost drop the tablet.

“A friend,” I say, knowing it won’t be enough of an explanation for him. Hopefully, he doesn’t see some of the heat from my face as I remember the details of my encounter with Dev yesterday. “From the Old City,” I add. “My friend says the Grandfather’s army is five hundred strong.”

“A friend, huh?” he asks. “Doesn’t seem like much of an army,” he says mostly under his breath. “I’d say this friend of yours is lying.”

I also considered this. “It’s possible. I don’t think he and I left on good terms yesterday.”
 

“He? You went to see this
friend
yesterday and yet he lies to you?”

“I don’t know if he realizes the Grandfather is against me now.”

Roland scoffs. “If he does know, then his aim is to mislead you. If he doesn’t know, then—”

“He wants to help,” I interrupt.
 

His eyes glitter at me. “I was going to say that if he doesn’t know, then he’s an idiot. Not exactly someone you’d want on your side.”

“I’m not exactly sure who’s on my side, Roland, or if there are even two distinct sides out there about to fight each other. It feels diluted, muddy. Friend against friend. Neighbor against neighbor. Whatever happens,” I add quietly, “I don’t think anyone wins.”

Roland doesn’t answer, and silence encapsulates us.

I start to hear snippets of conversation from the citizens behind me, their voices high, nervous, shaky.

“…Roberta still on the other continent…”

“…make it out alive?”

“Don’t be daft, Liono. Make peace wid da goddess. We’s all but dead tonight…”

“…thought the princess, I mean queen, would be taller…”

“…braver than the prince, that’s for sure…”

I look at Roland to see if he’s also listening, but I can’t tell. His face is stony again.

We stop.

The weapons master pauses to unlock a thick, metal door.

“Are we at the Palace Skyscraper already?” I ask him. I notice my hands shake and I feel out of breath.
Oh, Goddess, what have I gotten us into?

Mr. Underwood grunts over his shoulder, his hands busy with a large ring of keys.

“A basement level,” Roland answers instead. “East side of the palace. We’ll be able to cut off their access into the city.”

“And what, become trapped as they surround us?” I snap. “I doubt they’ll just turn around, call it a day, and give up.”

“Me, too,” Roland says. “I told you that we’ve been preparing for this day for a long time. It won’t be easy for them.”

I hear Mr. Underwood’s key hit home. The lock clicks and the door groans loudly as he pushes it open into a dark room. A cold blast of air hits me in the face. Then I realize it’s freezing droplets of water hitting my skin.

The roar of rushing water drowns all other noise, so asking questions would be useless. But what the hell kind of room is this?

The weapons master leads the way, his torch’s light gently illuminating items in the room. It’s a vast chamber with gleaming metal pipes, but I don’t see a floor. I quickly pocket my tablet, its light shuts off, and I retake my blueblood root spike back from Roland as he yells something to me.

“A bridge!”

A feeling of vertigo spins my head, and the feeling doesn’t subside.

Stone stairs turn to solid, slippery wood planks that dip with my steps. My fingers reach out to grasp a thick, cold, wet, braided hand rope. My mouth is suddenly dry and I can’t seem to swallow the lump in the back of my throat.

Water splashes loudly below, gushing in from the right side of the room, and, as I walk slowly over the bridge, the others trailing behind me, staring at the glossy liquid shooting out of large, round silver tubes, I realize it isn’t black water. It’s clear, clean, and it smells delicious.
 

It’s a water purification chamber.
 

I could stay here forever, much like how I wanted to linger at the glorious waterfall yesterday, and I allow everyone to pass me. I don’t know why I stop to stare into the faded watery reflections, but the world swirls as someone bumps into me. I slip on the icy planks. I shove the blueblood root spike away before I fall on it as my right side smacks hard on the bridge.

Dammit, how many times am I going to hurt this shoulder?

A rough groan escapes my lips.

A pair of boots block my vision before they kick my weapon away; it slides off the wooden planks and into the water below.

“I’ll help you,” the boots’ owner says in my ear as firm hands grip me in my armpits and lift me up. I expect to see Roland, but he’s up ahead, having kept moving. He probably never knew I fell.

The face in front of me is hideous, bloody, scabbed up, and filled with contempt.

I knew I hadn’t seen the last of White Rose.

Fifteen

“I
FIGURED
YOU
’
D
BE
dead by now,” I say. “What a shame. Your face looks like shit.”

I might sound confident. Cocky, even, but in actuality, for some reason, my vision is blurry. I can barely see a few feet in front of me. Either it’s the water getting into my eyes or my body’s just about to shut down due to exhaustion.

“Shut up!” she screams.

Why hasn’t she attacked me yet? Then a searing pain explodes in my shoulder. White Rose’s fingernails dig in relentlessly before she pulls away from me. I’m instantly awake.

We are alone on the bridge.

“It’s worse than you know,” she says cryptically. Only one side of her face works. The blueblood spikes I embedded in her face yesterday made the entire right side slack. Then I notice she’s holding onto the bridge’s hand rope like it’s the only thing she’s capable of doing.

“What are you talking about?”

“Outside. It’s an ambush no one is expecting. If you go out there, you will be slaughtered.”

“Why should I listen to you? You tried to kill me earlier.”

“That’s before I understood everything. Before I realized the Grandfather was using me for his own purposes. But it’s bigger than that. It always has been, but I’ve been too stupid to see it before now. When you spoke about your brother, I knew I could never kill you because of him.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “What does my brother have to do with any of this?”

White Rose starts laughing hysterically. “Everything, Rahda. Do you remember the apple orchard?”