Banished (The Ravenmaster Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Angel Fire presses his index finger to his temple and smiles. “They’ve got those damned Converter women of theirs. Bunch of fast-talking spin-doctors. When they couldn’t get into my head, they figured they’d try the old-fashioned way. But they found out…it takes more than a bunch of brainwashing, gun-lugging ass-sacks to get me to break.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” I tell him. And I really mean it. He saved the lives of several of our students when they were attacked in the desert. In the process, he opened our eyes to the reality behind the myth of the Unsettled, transforming them from an enigmatic enemy into a potential ally. “But how did you wind up here?”

  “The Devoted were going to kill me.” Angel Fire flaps the panels of his blazer back and forth like wings. “Someday I’ll show you what those pistol-happy gun-nuts did to my legs, chest, and back. Pretty much used me for target practice. I’m lucky there’s any of me left. But then I guess they figured they could use me to help them keep the rest of the Unsettled under control while they turned us all into slave labor. I played along. I’m good at that, eh? The second they dropped their guard, I took off. Me and a bunch of the Unsettled they hadn’t gotten to yet—we grabbed the closest vehicles we could find and hightailed it through the desert until we got here. They killed a bunch of us first, but they couldn’t catch us all. It’s what we do, right? We move.”

  Everything he’s saying sounds dreadful, but he’s such a bouncy, bright, and sprightly kid that I can’t help but smile at his weird, misplaced cheerfulness.

  “And this place? Who are they?” Brohn casts his eyes around at the dark outlines of the huddled people, who haven’t taken their own eyes off us the entire time we’ve been standing here.

  “Scroungers. They don’t like getting help, but we give it to them anyway. There’s not much around, you know, food and water-wise, that is. But the Unsettled who escaped with me, we’ve managed to gather a few provisions. We set up a home base outside the city—”

  “Outside?” Brohn’s mouth hangs open. “How the frack do you get past the city walls and the perimeter fences and the guards?”

  I was about to ask the same thing. It took all the skill and stealth at our command plus a ton of luck just to sneak into the city without getting caught by the Devoted, who only recently added Denver to their list of big-city conquests.

  Angel Fire taps his finger to the side of his nose and winks from behind the scratched lens of his wire-framed glasses. “We have ways of moving around that the Devoted don’t know about.”

  “I’m just glad…,” Brohn starts to say but stops. When Angel Fire and I both lean in, he finishes, “I’m glad there are Unsettled left. We’ve had our battles in the past, but what you did for Branwynne and our other students…”

  “It was a true act of friendship,” I finish.

  “And true acts of friendship are the real acts of heroism,” Brohn adds and then offers up a pleasant laughter of surprise. “You and the Unsettled…you’re not the roving band of ruthless killers we thought you were.”

  “It’s hard to pin down a nomadic army of construction vehicles cruising around the desert,” Angel Fire chuckles in agreement. “We developed a bit of a reputation. Some of it deserved. Some not. Having a distorted reputation can work in your favor, and not every myth needs to be debunked.”

  The girl we saw outside sidles up to Angel Fire and stands right in front of him. She can’t be more than eight or nine years old, but she’s tall for her age, and Angel Fire is short for his, so they’re standing nearly nose to nose. Despite this, he kneels in front of her and, with the delicate care one might use when picking up a baby bunny, he takes both of her small, blistered hands in one of his. “Is it the anti-radiation spray?”

  The girl nods from behind her hanging scraggles of dirt-crusted hair, and Angel Fire promises he’ll bring more next time. “And some more water purifiers, too,” he adds. “You tell your folks to hang on just a little longer.” He points down at the floor while giving the girl a secret smile. “You heard the rumor about there being a tunnel down there, haven’t you?” The girl nods and giggles when Angel Fire boops her nose. “That tunnel…I promise you this: It’s real, and there’s a light at the end of it.”

  The girl’s delicate frame swells up at this, and she runs toward the far side of the room, skipping and clapping her hands as she goes. The three of us watch as she hurls herself into the arms of the bare-chested man sitting cross-legged on a canvas tarp on the floor. He catches her, and the two of them fall backward, laughing in a giddy, leg-splayed hug.

  Angel Fire grins with fatherly or at least big-brotherly pride before he turns back to us, his turned-up lips melting into a quivering frown. “I have a confession. We’re not really the Unsettled anymore.”

  “What are you?” I ask.

  “We’re divided.”

  “Divided?”

  “The Devoted saw to it. They stopped our caravan, killed most of us, and enslaved, brainwashed, or banished the rest.” Angel Fire stops and stares at us, adjusts his glasses on his nose, and breaks back into a beaming, rosy-cheeked grin. “Hey! Did you ever wonder why people like the Devoted can’t just leave everyone alone?”

  Brohn sighs like he’s just been handed a margarita on a sunbaked, Caribbean beach. “Ahhh…Being left alone, living in peace. That would be nice.”

  “One thing I’ve never been able to figure out,” Angel Fire confesses. “I understand the human need for security. I get the need for safety and access to resources. But what makes people like the Devoted think they deserve to have all the good stuff while depriving the rest of us? Isn’t there enough of everything to go around?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer with a humorless laugh. “But that’s a good question. Maybe they think sharing leaves them vulnerable?”

  Angel Fire’s face goes tense, and he points one at a time to me and Brohn. “The two of you and your Academy, you’re dedicated to changing things, right?”

  “As best we can,” Brohn answers with a modest shrug.

  “Then do me and the world a favor, won’t you?”

  “What is it?”

  “Teach the world that sharing isn’t a vulnerability. It’s a strength.”

  “We’ll add that to our mission statement,” I promise, my hand on Angel Fire’s padded shoulder.

  A bulging, army-green rucksack sits on the floor nearby. Angel Fire steps over to it and nudges it with the toe of his boot. “I’ve got more provisions to hand out.”

  “We’ll help,” Brohn volunteers.

  “The Unsettled move,” Angel Fire chuckles half to himself. “The Emergents help. It’s refreshing to know there’s more than one room in the house of survival.”

  With robust energy, he plunges a hand into the bag and withdraws a bunch of small first-aid packs sealed up in clear plastic bags with a picture of a white airplane stamped on the side. “It’s not much,” he admits. “Anti-radiation spray, stale protein tablets, water purifiers, bandages, antiseptic cream, and some antiviral pills that won’t stop the Cyst Plague, but they’ll slow it down enough to give anyone who’s got it a few extra, mostly pain-free weeks.” When Brohn and I pause, Angel Fire gives a brisk, double hand-waggle and laughs. “Don’t worry. You won’t catch it here. It’s already killed everyone it could and has mostly mutated and moved on. The pills are for some of the genetically immunodeficient folks who just couldn’t shake it.” He rattles the aid packets and asks if we’re willing to help pass them out.

  Joining Angel Fire, Brohn and I start to work our way around the room, distributing the small care-packages to the Scroungers. They do their best to nod their thanks, although most of them are too weak to manage even that much. Only a few of them can even stand up. I sniff back tears at the in-our-faces reminder of the horrors of war and the brutality of greed.

  Is humanity the worst thing that’s ever happened to the world? Will there come a time when we’re just not worth saving?

  At one point in our rounds
, I wind up shoulder to shoulder with Angel Fire. I wait until he’s handed out two more of the emergency-rations packs before I put my hand on the crook of his elbow. I have to clear my throat twice before I manage to tell him, “We, um…we saw Zephora.”

  “You did?” His grin returns but then, when I tell him what happened next—about how she helped sneak me and Brohn into the city before getting caught and killed by the Devoted—the smile disappears again. In fact, it vanishes so completely, I’m afraid he might never get it back. It’s like his jubilant face has dissolved and then frozen in a state of permanent sorrow right before my eyes.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened to her. If it hadn’t been for her, we wouldn’t be alive. But if it hadn’t been for us—”

  “She was my lieutenant,” he interrupts before I can finish my apology. “She was my friend.”

  “She got us into the city,” Brohn explains from my other side.

  Dragging one finger under each eye, Angel Fire seems suddenly sunken, like someone swiped his bones and melted his muscles. As I’ve gotten more connected with Render, I’ve been able to pick up on little things in people: their tiniest hand movements, the faintest flutter of their eyelids, even the earliest onset of perspiration. Right now, under the gaze of my superpowered sight, Angel Fire looks like he’s been bled dry and has had every bit of energy that makes up his soul drained completely away.

  Barely breathing, he collects himself as best he can, his hand to his heart as his chest heaves in uneven, choppy pulses. Finally, he tells us the loss of Zephora is more than just the loss of a good friend. I ask what he means, and he tell us, “She was possibly the one person who could prevent a mass murder.”

  “Mass murder?” Brohn repeats.

  Angel Fire nods without looking up. “And the all-out war that is now probably going to happen.”

  Although we both open our mouths, Brohn and I are too stunned by this information and by Angel Fire’s reaction to ask any questions. We don’t need to, though. Our confusion must be written all over our faces because he holds up three trembling fingers on one hand. “What was the united Army of the Unsettled has been split into three: the ones enslaved by the Devoted and two factions who want to stop the Devoted and free our brothers and sisters. Those two factions are called the Unsettled Reformers and the Unsettled Renegades. Two groups. Two ideas about the future. Two parallel paths that will never meet.” He scoffs a feeble laugh. “It’s what war is meant to do, eh? Break the connections between people.”

  “Connections,” I repeat. “We were just talking about that.”

  Angel Fire shakes his head. “Without Zephora…for the Unsettled, our decades of connectedness might really be over.”

  “You said two groups,” Brohn mutters, and I can sense the wheels turning in his mind. “Which one are you?”

  “You’re looking at the Governor of the Unsettled Reformers. We think…thought we could communicate with the Devoted, negotiate, get them to free the enslaved and maybe even leave us all alone for a change.”

  I think that’s crazy, especially after the torture Angel Fire said they’ve already put him through. He’s got to know better than anyone: The Devoted might start out as a sort of friendly bunch. But in the end, they are killers on a mission, and they don’t negotiate. But I don’t tell Angel Fire that. And I don’t question his motives or his apparent lack of interest in all-out revenge. Instead, I ask, “And the other group…the Unsettled Renegades?”

  “They have a plan in place. A terrible plan. One that will mean the end of this city. Zephora…she was going to stop them. She was the only one who could.”

  Brohn gives Angel Fire a skeptical squint. “She was driving a rig the last time we saw her.”

  “That is…was her cover. She was with us, and she was doing her best to talk some sense into the leader of the Renegades. She was his older sister and the only person in the world he’d ever listen to. Without her, the Renegades are sure to carry out their plan.”

  “What are they planning to do that could be so bad?” I ask, dreading the answer even before the question is past my lips.

  Angel Fire summons us back to the open doorway of the dark, musty building and points out toward the Goldsmith Arcology, which remains an oppressive, sky-piercing sight from any angle. “Without Zephora to talk them down, the Renegades are going to blow up the arcology.” He pauses like he’s waiting to reveal the important part, although I can’t imagine what could be scarier than the thought of that enormous assembly of hideous, cloud-splitting towers coming down in the middle of the city. Until Angel Fire adds one final word:

  “Tomorrow.”

  4

  MOVING

  “Tomorrow?” Brohn and I repeat at the same time.

  Angel Fire dips his head in a feeble half-nod. “Zephora was going to meet with him tonight. We all knew she was the one person who could talk him down. She’s done it before. He gets these ideas in his head, and she’s always been able to get him to change his mind. And now…” He presses out a strained smile. “She was our best, last, and only hope.”

  “She got killed because of us.” Tears well up in my eyes at the realization. Next to me, Brohn also seems to be struggling with the enormity of what’s happened and the part—no matter how inadvertent or accidental—we may have just played in condemning everyone in the arcology and the last survivors of this city, including us, to death.

  Clenching and unclenching his fists, Brohn swings away from the doorway and paces to a slamming stop in the middle of the room. Shielding his eyes, he gazes up through the open roof and into the blinding sun as if he’s hoping the intensity of the heat will magically melt our worries, incinerate our guilt, and burn off all our problems. When none of that happens, he lets out a long, low growl of frustration.

  From the deep shadows around the perimeter of the room, the eyes of the Scroungers grow large and curious as Brohn grumbles to himself. I can’t tell whether he’s feeling frustrated, guilty, helpless, or downright furious, but I risk walking up behind him and sliding my hand onto his shoulder. He glances at my hand like it’s a venomous spider that just dropped down onto him from a jungle tree. But then the tension in his face softens, and he shakes his head. “One selfless act of courage on Zephora’s part, and now we’re going to die along with the Wealthies, the Devoted, the Unsettled, and these poor Scroungers.”

  The presence of the arcology is bad enough. Its goliath size, the fact of its existence, everything it represents…it’s mind-bending. The thought of the towering structure coming down—and the pure, apocalyptic devastation that will certainly ensue—is mind-breaking.

  Having collected himself, Brohn swings back around and pins his eyes to Angel Fire’s “Look, we’re all in favor of bringing down the system…”

  “But bringing down the entire arcology?” I finish. “That’s crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy at all,” Angel Fire objects. “I don’t agree with the Renegades, but can you really blame someone for wanting to bite the ankle of the person who’s stepping on their neck?”

  “No,” Brohn snaps back. “But biting their ankle is a reasonable retaliation. Blowing up their entire family and everyone in a five-mile radius—including us and all the people still living in the city—might be a bit much.”

  Before I can decide whether I agree with Brohn or not, Angel Fire is joined by a new girl, not much older than him but several inches taller. She’s brown-skinned and green-eyed with long, silver hair streaked through with alternating bands of pink and purple. Wiping the worry from his face and straightening himself up from his dispirited slouch, Angel Fire introduces her as “Anya.”

  “Anya is our nutritionist.”

  “And botanist,” Anya corrects him with finger-wag and a scowl of pretend offense.

  Sniffling but forcing a smile as he tries to hide his anguish over the news about Zephora, Angel Fire pushes his glasses higher up on his nose and plants a hand to his chest. “My apologies.” Turn
ing back to us, he assures us she’s the best at what she does. “If you need to know how to get more vitamin D or which of the weeds around here will heal you and which will kill you, Anya’s your girl.”

  “It’s really not that hard,” Anya blushes. “The truth is that anything around here’ll kill you. If you let it.”

  “We have a running debate,” Angel Fire explains. He’s trying to sound normal, casual. But he’s not a great actor. I can see the tension in his face and the worry in his eyes. But I have to give him credit. He does his best to protect this girl from what could turn out to be a deadly reality. “I say death is inevitable,” he tells us through a pretend grin. “Anya says it’s optional.”

  “And what do the two of you say?” Anya asks as she ties her tricolored hair back into a tight ponytail, twists it around in a bunch of coils, and then piles it all on top of her head like an ice cream swirl.

  “I say we’ve seen too much of it,” Brohn answers with grim finality.

  “Us, too,” Angel Fire mutters through a somber scowl. “We’ve been coming into the city every few days and helping who we can. The Scroungers are good at keeping themselves alive, but resources are running low, even for them. So we’re doing what we can to help.”

  “And that’s not dangerous?” I ask. “I mean the coming and going with all the Devoted around.”

  “It’s plenty dangerous,” Angel Fire assures us. “Anya is the second specialist I’ve brought into the city with me in the last few days. The other one didn’t make it, and I only got away thanks to one of the Scroungers, who died getting me out of one of their settlements not more than four or five blocks from here, by the way.”

  Brohn offers his sympathy for Angel Fire’s lost colleague and asks if we’re safe now.

  “You’re never safe with the Devoted around,” Angel Fire reminds us. “And the other specialist…he didn’t die.”