Meridian. Josin L McQuein
Sure he will. The mighty Fade Charming can fix anything.
I pull my gloves off my shaking hands, searching them for lines on my palms and knuckles. I check between my fingers in case they’re hiding, but it’s just skin. A fading tan from wearing the gloves so long, and fingernails that are clean, except for the one I tore trying to bite off a hangnail.
“You don’t have lines,” she says. “Neither do I. The silver was only a flash, but it was there.”
“Maybe it was trick of the light.”
“That’s what I thought. I thought it was Cherish, and her mind games, but now—”
“You said you couldn’t hear them anymore.” I take a step back. I want to throw up, but my stomach’s got a giant knot in it that hits my throat every time I try.
“Not them,” she says. “Her . She messes with my head sometimes.”
“But she’s you, isn’t she?” And since when is there a distinction? The shadow crawlers are an all-for-one deal. If you hear one, you hear the rest.
“I thought so, too, but I’m not sure about anything tonight,” she says. “Something must have gone wrong when Bolt and Rue healed you and Trey.”
I’m more concerned with the idea that something went right, and this is stage two. She might be convinced that the Fade mean no harm, but their definition of help isn’t the same as ours—that’s why they’ve stuck with Dad. We don’t always speak the same language. This could be their idea of “better.”
“You should have told me,” I say.
“I just did.”
Marina stands on the Arc with her foot hovering above the ground, but she can’t manage to take the first step.
“What if she’s stronger than me?” she says, but more to herself than me. She flinches, slapping at her ears. Did one of them say something back?
“If you’re crossing, I’m going with you, and it has to be now. Leaving after the Arc goes hot will set off an alarm.”
“This is a bad idea,” she says. “But I don’t have a better one.” She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and steps over the boundary into the Grey.
The short side used to be most dangerous place I knew; it’s where we were most vulnerable. Anytime the Fade tried to break in, they did it here, because it’s the only place you can cross and get back in a few hours. Now it’s simply the most convenient. A couple of other people are already out here, barely within sight of the Arclight, but none of them are the kids from Honoria’s speech.
“Tell me your dream again,” Marina says after we’re past them.
“I’m standing on the Arc, when it comes on and fries me where I stand.”
“Now tell me the real one.”
I don’t want to. If I recount it, then I have to think about it, and if I’m thinking about it, then I might as well be living it.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because maybe I’m wrong,” she says. “Maybe mine wasn’t the same and I only convinced myself it was.”
“That’s probably it. I doubt your brain is as twisted as mine.”
“I saw the Dark, Tobin,” she says. “But it wasn’t the place we went before, with the houses and families. It was like Trey’s drawings. The whole thing was one writhing monster, ready to devour the world.”
“I call that variation two,” I say. Number one is worse.
We’ve reached the point where the terrain begins to change. Murky water appears in puddles and then turns the ground to mush that sucks against the bottoms of my boots. That’s the only sound here beyond the wind and the occasional movement of the water.
This is part of the dream, too.
A creature I first mistake for a log makes a whipping motion with its long snout and tail before sliding into the water with barely a ripple. Its eyes shine red beneath the surface, where it lurks, watching.
“So, once we’re in . . . there . . . how do we find the nanobot?” I ask. “Do we call its—”
“His!” Marina snaps.
“Fine. Do we call his name or try to find our way back to the settlement on our own?”
“I think Cherish can call him, but I’m not sure I want—”
“Stop.”
I throw my arm up so she can’t walk any farther. Finding the Fade won’t be a problem; they’re here. She should have heard them before me.
The terrain shimmers and then splits, forming two solid bodies with ash-pale skin marked with nanites. They head straight for us.
One’s female, bigger than Marina, but not by much. She has a broad nose and wide eyes framed by spirals. The male’s a head taller than me, but it’s his hands that stand out. Most of these things come pretty evenly marked, unless they’re hurt and the nanites go to the wound, but this guy’s got nano-doodles all over his hands. He’s scarred, too. A jagged ridge cuts through his scalp, leaving him with a bald spot.
I don’t know about the female, but he was definitely human before he was Fade. They’re both dressed in fatigues similar to the ones our security personnel are assigned.
“What do they want?” I ask Marina as they fall into step on either side of us.
“They didn’t say,” Marina says, cocking her head like she’s listening to something. “I think they’re escorting us in.”
“What’s with the silent treatment?” Maybe the ones born out here have trouble with words, but someone who started off human should be able to speak. Honoria’s brother can.
“They didn’t say that, either.”
They urge us onward and set the pace. If I fall off cadence, one pushes me so I’ll keep up.
Once we’re at the Dark, they show us where to enter through the trees and vines, cringing away from a burst of light that ignites the sky behind us.
The Arc’s back on full power, burning across the short side. A moment later, there’s a siren wailing in the distance, calling everyone to safety while the alarm on my wrist and Marina’s flash red.
She looks at me, and I nod.
Honoria knows .
MARINA
We’ve moved fully into the Dark, walking shoulder to shoulder with the unnamed Fade on either side.
Are they a good thing or a bad thing? I ask Cherish.
Guard, she says, but is that a warning, or does she mean they’re a guard detail?
Why would we need guards? I ask, but she doesn’t have an answer for that.
Instead she says, Home .
That’s all she cares about—getting home.
She wants to be here. She wants to stay.
The moment I pressed my toes into the Arc, Cherish was pushing me to leave so hard, I could feel hands at my back. Other hands were reaching out for me the way they do in my dreams of belonging, promising to pull me home.
Home, Cherish says again.
Not for me, I say back.
It’s chilly here. The Dark’s always cool because of the shade,