Nyx (NINE Series, Book #4) Read online

  Finally on the ground, the Arazura hissed into silence, the engines pinging as they cooled. CaLarca packed her few items into one of Phaira's satchels, plus the handgun, and the supplies from the clinic. If needed, she could abandon the Arazura and travel on foot. She could sell the medical equipment and medicine if she needed any rana; if there were remote settlements, they were probably lacking in basic supplies, and could use what she had to offer. Whatever was out there, she could manage.

  CaLarca pulled her hood over her head, checked her leg braces, and made her way to the exit. She didn't look into any of the cabins as she passed them. She didn't look back at any part of the Arazura, not until her feet hit the ground. Then she couldn't help but glance at it, looking for any signs of scratches or damage. It was still perfect. Just like Renzo would have wanted.

  Through the rising winds of sand (how had it risen so fast?) a shadow was approaching.

  Squinting, CaLarca ground her feet down, and let the heat pool into her free hand, the other gripping the satchel over her shoulder.

  A man, she soon realized, a man with a flapping tunic and trousers, head and face wrapped with a scarf.

  "Sandstorm," the man was yelling at her, gesturing at her to follow. "Take shelter."

  “Who are you?” she hollered back. Her mouth was full of sand, and she coughed, covering her own nose with the collar of her shirt.

  "No time!” she heard his reply, over the roar of the wind.

  “No! I'll go back to my ship!" Though now, with the rising storm, she could hardly see in front of her.

  Suddenly, a hard hand grabbed her wrist. She gasped, inhaling more sand, and doubled over coughing. The hand pulled. She bent her head into the wind, and let herself be dragged forward, past the light, into a swallowing darkness.

  The sudden drop of wind and pressure. The metal clang of a door. Her core was burning. Danger. She was a woman, alone in a strange place. Nadi was only too eager to pool into her hand. That pearl-handled knife manifested behind her back.

  A flicker of light. She was in an empty room.

  "Cyrah."

  CaLarca lunged.

  Then she was stumbling backwards, her feet tripping over each other. Her back hit the wall.

  Then her arm lifted, as if pulled by a rope, and she couldn't control it, nor the speed of which the knife turned and plunged into her chest.

  She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see.

  Finally, the black spots in her vision cleared.

  The hilt of the knife was wedged under her armpit, the blade lodged in the wall, cold metal against the inside of her bicep. Her body shook as she lifted her arms (she could move them again!) and slid down to her knees.

  Across the room, the man unwrapped the scarf from his face. It was a man in his sixties, with brown, lined skin, and grey-streaked hair pulled back from his face. "I don't want to do that again," he told her. "But I will if you can't control yourself."

  "Who-who are you?" she demanded, trying not to pant.

  The man gave a faint smile. "You don't recognize me. I suppose you wouldn't. I lost the beard some time ago."

  Beard?

  Voss. VOSS. Zarek Voss.

  Her mind raced with panic. The one who looked like a professor. The one who rallied us to break free. The one who stabbed Joran to death, who made me run across the desert until I passed out.

  It all made sense. First Kuri, then Shantou; Voss was the last one left of the original NINE, so of course he was the final villain to overcome. The one behind it all; sending Kuri and Shantou after Sydel; burning her farm to the ground; tricking her into thinking her family was alive - her family - her family, it was all a lie...

  "No, Cyrah."

  She stiffened at the sound of his voice, and glanced up.

  Voss was watching her with a weary sadness. "That's not it at all."

  She could barely get the words out. "Which - what parts?"

  "All of it."

  His hand swung. Something glimmered, heading in her direction.

  She caught it; a Lissome, a scratched, older model.

  Above her fist, a video screen unzipped, startling her.

  A recording started: black visual projection, she couldn’t make out anything.

  Then she gasped as Ganasan came into the frame.

  He was heavily bearded, and pacing a stone floor back and forth, holding a large bundle against his shoulder, patting it with one hand. Then Ganasan's other hand flipped to face the camera. Something was written on his palm.

  Letters. G-B-A-S-C.

  Their code, she realized, before the screen was sucked back into the Lissome.

  "They're alive," she choked.

  "Yes," Voss confirmed. "They're with Joran."

  She must have misheard him. "They're - what?"

  "Joran has them," he repeated.

  "Joran Asanto is dead," she sputtered. "You stabbed him in Kings."

  "It's a ruse," Voss said. "All of it."

  "You're lying!"

  But even as she shouted the words, CaLarca knew he wasn't lying. Not unless he was able to control the energy that radiated off him; he shimmered with pale yellow, and there wasn't a trace of grey, that telltale sign of deception that CaLarca could see.

  But how could it be true? How was that possible?

  Voss's voice broke through her racing thoughts. "Let me help you up. Take a drink. I know it's a lot to process."

  She let herself be hauled to her feet and guided to a stone bench. A copper mug was in her hand. Water, clean and cold, shocked her throat.

  "You sent me the coordinates," she finally said.

  "I did."

  "Why to this place?"

  "Because no one knows about it," Voss said. "It's a border checkpoint established during the civil war, long since abandoned. I only discovered it by accident, years ago. Thought it would be a good place to disappear someday."

  "But Ganasan gave you our code," CaLarca said. “Why would he do that? Did you… force him?"

  "No, it was his idea. I think he knew that you wouldn’t come without it. Or believe me without video proof." He smiled then, a crooked, sad smile. "It's funny how you two are together after all this time. Can't say that I predicted that."

  The wind howled outside. CaLarca tried to equate the man in front of her with the terrifying man from Kings Canyon. Her memories flashed in sequence: their introduction, his fascination with her Nadi abilities, his outburst to Joran, accusing him of ulterior motives, then Voss's persuasion to make CaLarca confess where the hidden door to the outside was, how his body was hunched over Joran's, in the sandy canyon, the hand on her head as she retched, his voice telling her to run.

  She should run now. Even with the sandstorm, she should find her way back to the Arazura. But what then?

  A shadow passed over her.

  The top of Voss's head was in front of her, as he knelt on one knee, as if she were a queen.

  "Go ahead," he prodded. "Search my memory. Whatever, and wherever you choose to look. Learn the truth."

  CaLarca stared at the crown of his head. She could generate a knife and stab him through the throat; she could still feel the haze of Nadi in her palm. How easy it would be to make another. She could bash him over the neck; she had gained much strength over the last few months. She could torture out the truth. What if she dove into his memories via Eko and he trapped her there?

  Slowly, she peered into the edges of his mind, piercing the veil, and seeing the first glimmers of memory, how they danced along the curves of his brain, waving as though in water. There were no burnt areas, no charred memories.

  It was all there, begging to be accessed.

  She would remain on the outskirts, she determined.

  And the truth. Finally, maybe, the truth.

  III.

  Zarek Voss laid his head against Joran Asanto's shoulder, studying all the diagrams. Sheets of paper flooded the two desks, with such small writing that Voss had to squint to read.

 
"Construction is underway," Joran told him. "I'll need your help to remove the contractors' memories at the end of the project, of course," he added, tapping Voss on the forehead.

  "Estimated start date?"

  "Two weeks, ideally. I just need one more Eko," Joran said. "Then we have a perfect group of participants. Nine test subjects, to experiment with NINE. Poetic, really."

  Voss lifted his head, suddenly in doubt. "Wait - have you included Tehmi in this?"

  "We need one of each skillset," Joran explained. "And I need a second Insynn to compare notes. I've only found the boy, Ganasan Reed, so far. I thought it would be easier to find another Insynn."

  Voss scowled, jealousy coursing through him. "Being underground is probably bad for the baby. What if something happens?"

  Joran shrugged, pointing at a profile. "This one, Yann Qin, he's a physician, and he's agreed to help as needed with medical emergencies, for an added bonus, of course. Happy coincidence, isn't it? I'll make sure he has everything he needs. And if she has the baby underground, look at it this way: it's a tenth test subject to work with!" He sounded almost giddy.

  This was the part of Joran Asanto that Voss sometimes found hard to love, that focus and drive that bulldozed over everything else. Maybe it was because Joran came from money and was used to the world adjusting to accommodate. Then again, it was because of the money that they could even do this experiment, what they'd longed to do since they first met, twenty years ago. Voss was the newest intern in the paranormal research department at a tiny university. Joran Asanto was the head researcher, the lead funder, young and handsome. Voss felt the jolt of attraction as he walked through the door.

  Confessions quickly followed: they each had strange, unexplainable gifts, which fueled their desire to learn about the supernatural. Voss could hear thoughts, and see energy waves, sometimes, while Joran had some power of persuasion; he could get anyone to do what he wanted, whether it was a smile returned, permission for his experiments, a table at a restaurant. Even better, his income was unlimited, from Voss could see, and Voss was thrilled to be taken care of, to be able to do whatever he wanted, scientifically, or personally, in Osha.

  Even when Joran picked up Tehmi Shovann from a corner and installed her as his public partner (to appease his family, Joran reasoned, so they would leave them alone to work), it was still Voss that Joran came to in his need. They were on the brink of something amazing, and they would discover it together, make their names known throughout Osha. Take power by name or money or both. Their nights were filled with theories on NINE abilities from decades before, myths that could be truths, experimental theories on psychic abilities and kinetic visions, into studies of the brain and energy paths in the body, how it was all connected, and how it had been clear to them both for some time that they were not the only ones in Osha with abilities.

  There were others, hidden somewhere. Joran was passionate about finding them, and soon so was Voss. They grew hungry with the potential for evolution. During their relationship, Joran and Voss performed experiments on each other, testing their limits. The more they worked, the more isolated they became, only speaking with each other. Over the years, Voss gained the ability to manipulate the energy he saw, and Joran grew more persuasive with less effort; he could get what he wanted with just a look now. They learned that, when injected into those with NINE abilities, a specific chemical compound caused severe blistering on the lower back that later scarred in a swirl pattern.

  They needed more test subjects. Joran and Voss approached people in the community, trying to see if they could prompt a NINE reaction. Complaints were made. The university had grumbled for years about the lack of published work, professional respect and behavior, and now the noises grew louder. Eventually, they refused Joran's rana and shut down the paranormal research program for good, citing the need for more relevant studies. It didn't matter to Voss and Joran; it was better to continue without the old ghouls and their restraints.

  Soon after, Joran had an idea: a closed study, intensive retreat over three months, using a variety of different methods to test the boundaries of these abilities. Controlled environment, various test subjects, substantial payout. They just needed to find the candidates.

  He'd gotten the idea, strangely enough, from Tehmi's pregnancy. The woman had been around for years with rare interaction, other than public appearances as Joran's wife, but there was growing pressure for him to provide an heir to his fortune, so they went the artificial route. Voss shouldn't have been jealous, but he was, even though he was in the same room as Joran and Tehmi, watching the insemination process, trying not to grind his teeth.

  In the moment she was announced to be pregnant, Tehmi was much more present than she ever was. She would now be a mother, and forever connected to Joran in a way Voss wasn't. Now they were forming a unit, and Voss would never be a part of it.

  Thank goodness the procedure took the first time.

  And Joran was more energized than ever, not with the anticipation of his offspring, but how they should be studying the influence of puberty and environment.

  Not only that, Joran told Voss, but the effect of pregnancy on NINE. Because Tehmi, to Voss's great surprise, turned out to be an Insynn, with a gift for precognition. Only a recent development, triggered by the pregnancy, it seemed, but perfect timing.

  Tehmi agreed to participate. Her eyes were unfocused when she said yes, Voss noticed, and, for the first time, he wondered what she was thinking.

  Finding other participants, however, took far longer than either Voss or Joran anticipated. They scanned news reports, and gossip in towns across Osha, searching for any signs of NINE activity. They found potentials again and again, but every time they confronted someone, pleaded with them, tried to show them they were the same, they fled. Everyone was terrified to confirm any NINE within them, whether child or adult.

  Eventually, it took Joran's persuasion and threats of exposure to get anywhere. And payment, of course. When they told the people that there was rana at the end of it, faces changed, and deals were struck: come to Kings Canyon for three months, live there, and leave rich. When Voss stopped begging, and Joran flashed rana, they all said yes.

  And now they were here, with plans drawn, construction underway, two weeks away from the start date, and Voss couldn't shake the queasiness in his stomach. He reached into one of the petri dishes, taking the shard of metal between thumb and forefinger. It looked like nothing, like a silver grain of rice. "I still don't know about this," he muttered.

  "It'll be fine," Joran soothed. "They won't know it's in there. We'll put them under, and then inject it. I've been training Tehmi on it."

  "I still don't understand its purpose, though."

  "It's simple," Joran said. "The implant is a tracker, and it's got enough of an electrical pulse to disrupt the brain and shut down the nervous system, in case there's any trouble."

  "But it's a potential kill-switch," Voss pointed out. "Its position, so close to the brain stem, will be instant death, if the right reaction is triggered."

  "Yes, that's true."

  "I just don't know -"

  "This is such an unknown operation, Voss. Who knows what will happen after these three months?" Joran countered, his voice hushed and serious. "We need to know where these people go afterwards, what they are compelled to do after the time is up. If we give them growth, and they become too dangerous, there needs to be a failsafe to protect the public."

  "And if someone with Nadi knows it's in there, and makes it move on its own?" Voss shot back. "You don't need to flick the switch to kill someone, if you can make it tear through their brain."

  Joran quirked an eyebrow. "Is that what you're threatening to do?"

  "No, but it's a valid question."

  "It's an interesting one, to be sure. And you're right. I suppose you could, if you were strong enough, and had enough ability to physically move things, not just the energy around them."

  Which isn't me, Voss thought,
a sting in his chest. He felt insulted, though he didn't quite know why.

  Instead, Voss turned away from the table, and fingered the beads around his wrist: the bracelet that Voss had given to him only a month ago, for their twenty-year anniversary. Beads forged in the West with strange sand that, when heated and cooled into glass, provided a black reflection, eerie and utterly fascinating.

  He jumped at the sudden squeeze of his hand.

  "I need you to be okay with this," Joran whispered. "I can't do this without your support. Just think of what we'll witness, what we'll create when this is finished. This is a bigger leap forward in evolution than any in recent history."

  A rush of warmth filled Voss. "Who's the last Eko?"

  "I'm looking at a girl from the south-east. Fourteen years old. Funny enough, I know her parents, the CaLarcas. I went to university with the wife ages ago. They've been secretly trying to find some treatment options for their daughter's 'disability.' I'm going to reintroduce myself and offer a solution."

  "Just like that?" Voss couldn't help but ask.

  Joran smiled. "I can be persuasive."

  * * *

  The easiest appearance to take on was that of the amiable elder, and Voss had the look secured, having grown out his beard, and letting a comfortable belly grow over his belt. Friendly. Non-threatening. And attached to no one, not even Joran. To maintain objectivity, Voss and Joran were acquaintances, nothing more, until things were more certain about the NINE recruits.

  Voss watched from a corner as the selected seven wandered throughout the underground base, asking questions and scratching their skin, as if already feeling suffocated. Truth be told, Voss felt the same urge to escape to the outside.

  It will pass, he told himself. Patience. Take stock of the participants, before they notice you watching. Follow the plan. It will be worth it.