* * *
Gripping shoulders and ankles, Sydel and Renzo were able to drag the blonde woman through the Volante and down the stairs. They stumbled several times in the process; neither was used to the physical exertion, it seemed, but the woman never woke. Finally, they swung her onto the ground, panting as they let go. The wind cut into Sydel’s skin, even with the mountains surrounding them. She was afraid to shield herself, though. If they were still being watched, it might be seen as weakness.
Instead, Sydel slowed her pace so she remained beside Renzo, who limped heavily as they made their way through the brush. He still intimidated her, but Sydel was so numb with fear that she felt desperate for any kind of companionship.
Inside Renzo’s coat pocket was the firearm; he insisted on it, despite her protests that it would only cause trouble. Sydel carried no weapons; what could she possibly bear? But the more they walked, the woozier she felt.
Then the pain hit her. White-hot pain, jumbling snapshots of a life, racing together, overlaid with a scream that seemed to reverberate off the mountains. Sydel stumbled and grabbed Renzo’s arm.
“What’s wrong?” Renzo said sharply, his hand moving to his inner coat pocket.
Her mind consumed with blood, anguish, and exhilaration, Sydel could barely speak: “They are torturing -”
Renzo broke into an unbalanced run. Sydel could barely see his retreating body, so overwhelmed by waves of agony. She shook her head once, twice, then in rapid succession.
Stop, she screamed inside her head. STOP.
And it did. Her head cleared instantly. Her skin grew cold with its fresh sheen of sweat.
Frightened, she rushed to catch up to Renzo, pushing through the spindly trees and long grass.
When she broke through, the freighter from the video loomed before her.
A groan of metal on metal. Above, a door broke open. Stairs began to unfold. Renzo brought his firearm to his eyeline.
A woman emerged from the carrier ship. Her gaze was that of a sovereign surveying her lands: regal posture, short silver hair, golden skin, white cape swept over her chest and rippling with the wind. She noted the line of fire of Renzo’s pistol. Then she shifted her gaze to Sydel. Her eyes softened, and she spread her hands apart, smiling.
“Sydel,” the woman called with a thrilled, triumphant voice. “I can’t believe you’re here. It’s an honor, truly.”
She knows my name. And she’s happy to see me.
“I’m called Huma,” the woman continued, her name pronounced with a soft, bird-like hoo. “Please, come inside. We have so much to talk about.”
Sydel looked to Renzo. He didn’t move.
“And Renzo Byrne, once again, I have requested no violence,” Huma said. “My final warning.”
“Warning?” Renzo exploded. His finger tightened on the trigger.
From within the folds of her winter’s cloak, the woman’s hand emerged, pale and elegant. Her index finger flicked. Renzo’s pistol was wrenched from his grip, skittering across the dirt path.
Gasping, Sydel forged a barrier around her mind, her terror mixed with genuine wonder: was telekinesis a part of Eko development, too?
“Sydel,” came the woman’s voice again, softer this time. “Please, come and speak with us.”
Despite her gentle words, this woman had Phaira and Cohen somewhere inside that old freighter, Sydel knew. And Huma was likely the one who tortured Phaira only a few minutes prior. But what choice was there? She put her hand on Renzo’s arm. “We need to go.”
“No,” Renzo shot back. “If we go inside, we might not come out.”
He raised his voice, addressing Huma. “I just want my brother and my sister. Then we will leave and never speak a word of this. You have my word.”
Long seconds passed. The wind intensified, yanking threads of Sydel’s hair from her braids.
Then another figure emerged from above, stumbling down the staircase, arms bound behind her back. Phaira had been stripped of her armor and weapons, and wore only a shapeless grey dress. They had even taken her boots. Her bare toes gripped the stairs. When she reached the ground, Phaira lost her balance and fell to her knees. The wind whipped at her hair and exposed her face for a few seconds: pale and sweaty, her eyes rimmed in pink.
A second silhouette emerged: Cohen! Sydel’s heart leapt into her throat. But something was wrong. His head was slumped forward, his feet barely supporting his weight. Something was propelling him down the stairs. When Cohen reached the earth; he promptly fell into a heap in the ground. Renzo darted to his brother’s side. No response, though Cohen still breathed.
Huma made her way down the stairs. She had a cold, classic beauty to her face: fine eyebrows, high cheekbones, and elegant wisps of lines around her eyes and mouth. Those eyes, an intense green, remained on Sydel. A gangly teenager with shorn strips of black hair followed Huma, carrying a metal case. As Huma moved next to Phaira, the youth withdrew a thin syringe from the case. Taking it, Huma bowed her head in gratitude, and the boy flushed with pleasure.
Huma studied the needle tip for a few moments. It glinted wickedly in her hands, a pinprick of light travelling along its length.
“Renzo,” Huma finally said. “Please understand that I have been forced to take drastic steps to secure our safety.”
The youth clapped his hands onto Phaira’s shoulders, shoving his knee into her back. Phaira thrashed, but with her hands tethered, she could barely move. With a viciousness that surprised Sydel, the young man yanked Phaira’s hair to expose the right side of her throat.
“Get off her!” Renzo yelled, fumbling to his feet.
But it was too late. With one smooth motion, Huma injected the contents of the needle into Phaira’s neck.
The man let go of Phaira and stepped back. No one moved.
A rumble of thunder sounded overhead. Huma looked up at the clouds. She was waiting for something.
A shuddering inhale made them all look to Phaira. The woman’s face was ashen. Sydel could hear her heartbeat, skittering and uneven. She wavered on her knees, as if caught in a whirlpool.
“She may not last long,” Huma mused. “It’s very hard to say who can tolerate the Zephyr mixture and who cannot. You’re now the second-in-command, aren’t you, Renzo? The decision is now yours. The counteragent in exchange for Sydel.”
“Sydel?” Renzo gasped. “No!”
“Then your sister might die,” Huma said. “I regret this route, but you and your siblings set the tone for violence - ”
“You’ve been setting off bombs, you crazy - !”
“And Sydel,” Huma continued. “You’ve known her for, what, a week? What loss is it to you? She frightens you; I can see it. She should be with those who understand her.”
Huma’s green eyes travelled back to Sydel’s. “Truly extraordinary,” she murmured. “You cannot even comprehend, Renzo. To discover someone like her in a common Vendor Mill - ”
The whisper I heard, Sydel realized. That was someone from this group. And when the bomb went off, when I panicked and called out to Phaira and Renzo, I confirmed my Eko to them. That’s what they do. They use explosions and fear to root out other Ekos. And they have been pursuing me ever since. Testing me. Studying my reactions. All those poor victims. Meroy. Cohen.
Sickened, Sydel looked to Phaira. The woman had keeled over in the grass, gasping for air.
Then Sydel glanced up at the carrier ship. Faces pressed against the rusted windows: hopeful, curious, enthralled. A ripple of voices descended to ground level, soft and excited: Sydel. Sydel. Sydel.
“I have a few conditions,” she finally said.
“Yes, I know,” Huma said kindly.
“Sydel, no,” Renzo pleaded, limping to her side. “This is not an option; we’ll figure something out.” His eyes kept darting back to Phaira. She was deteriorating with every ragged breath, Sydel could see it. Cohen had not awakened either.
Poor Cohen, Sydel thought.
He will be upset that I’m gone. But so it is.
“I will go with you,” Sydel said to Huma. “But there will be no more explosions. Nor will anyone use that narcotic; it’s dangerous and an affront to the gifts we carry.”
Huma shrugged one shoulder. “Merely two methods to experiment with. With you here, they are not needed.”
Sydel nodded. “Give Phaira the counteragent.”
“Sydel, no,” Renzo said weakly.
But the youth was already grasping Phaira’s arm. Another syringe emptied into the crook of her elbow.
Within seconds, Phaira’s breathing began to slow. Soft moans emerged as she buried her face in the dirt.
As Sydel moved to Huma’s side, the woman drew her hands back under her cape. “I have your quarters prepared, Sydel,” she said pleasantly. “We are so honored to work with you.”
Sydel looked over at the siblings, one last time.
“Goodbye,” she murmured.
Then she followed Huma up the stairs.