Maia and the Xifarian Conspiracy (The Lightbound Saga Book 1) (14 page)

23: The Missing Duo

The Design Studios almost became their home as the first challenge progressed. Thankfully, these rooms were huge, airy, well lit, and quite welcoming. The area was divided neatly into individual workspaces with equipment to build, measure, and weigh the crafts. In place of the tiny machine parts of the basics sessions, huge tumblers of bigger sized parts lined the walls of the room. While it was undoubtedly thrilling to graduate to creating real-life crafts, Maia soon realized how hard it was to actually build something functional out of a gazillion things that were piled in the troughs.

Frustrated as she was, Maia knew it would have been far more aggravating if she had not seen that grim vision of Ti. Without that, it would have been just another chore to bear, one more hurdle to cross. But now, she had a lofty dream—to make things better for the illfated workers on Ti—and that made her strive to work as diligently as she could. Keeping her patience, however, was another matter. Since Maia had little or no exposure to machine parts during all these years on Tansi, it was almost an insurmountable battle to build a realistic craft.

To her relief, she was not alone. There were moans and groans and sighs and shouts of disappointment coming from all around her. And to top it all off, there was a silent and brooding Nafi. The youngest member of the team was having a particularly hard time with the assignment, and she remained unusually quiet, her face glum as never before.

Ren was a natural at building. Within a few sessions, not only had he made a sleek vehicle that he named Sliver, but he also added a myriad of irksome and flashy accessories to it, including a thruster emitting silver smoke to spell out “Sliver for the win.” Dani, good as she was with everything, made strides as well. Her white-and-blue craft, homage to the Jjordic colors, looked beautiful and maneuvered exquisitely. Kusha was right behind Ren and Dani, his red-and-gold Sol was quite close to completion.

Dani and Ren usually left the design sessions early, having already finished the assignment; visiting was only a formality or for additional practice at the miniature driving courses. Ren had offered to assist Karhann per Master Kehorkjin’s directives, but Karhann refused to accept any help.

“Says he’s capable of handling his own work,” Ren informed the rest of the group. “He also says that it’ll be an unfair advantage over the competition and he doesn’t want his victory to be tainted.”

“That’s quite noble of him,” Maia commented.

“We’ll see how long he stays so noble with Loriine by his side,” Nafi said with a noisy grunt. “And he really thinks he’ll win?”

Having been released of his obligation, Ren stopped by to help Maia and Nafi during his free time. Maia was grateful, but eager to learn on her own, so she politely declined. With Nafi, the gesture did not sit well at all. She cast such a murderous glare at Ren that he slinked away from the room and carefully avoided looking in her direction for the entire week that followed.

A couple of weeks later, Maia started her test drives with a bare skeleton of a three-wheeled craft. It ran well at minimum configuration, but as soon as she added more to the body, various balancing issues started showing up. It was a tiresome run after that. Every little change, even the addition of a fender or a spoiler, needed extensive assessments before it could be finalized. Maia gradually accepted her slow pace of progress, knowing her lack of knowledge in mechanics put her at a disadvantage.

Kusha spent his time perfecting the maneuverability of his craft at the driving courses, so Maia and Nafi were mostly left alone at the design desks. Maia was eager to finish their projects; she missed the regular schedule, and she missed spending time with her friends. Sometimes, if Maia and Nafi decided to stay on longer at the Design Studios, the team did not meet at all for days at a stretch.

After about four weeks of hard work, Maia’s craft was finally finished enough to successfully complete the beginners’ driving course. While she had not been overly skillful at designing the craft, steering came effortlessly to her. Maia’s little
Piro
was quite a looker too, with its gleaming silver wheels and charcoal-black spoilers that rose like angel wings over the rear wheels. It had a long, aquiline nose, the tip of which Maia had painted a bright crimson. That, together with the rotund headlamps, gave
Piro
an oddly human-like façade. Maia reveled in maneuvering the gleaming red, black, and gray vehicle, tackling the sharp bends, drops, and inclines of miniature driving course.

Around the same time, Nafi also had some success with her work. When Maia came back to the desk after her first successful try at the driving courses, Nafi was already waiting for her, packed and ready to leave. A sweet smile adorned her face, and Maia loved seeing Nafi sans her usual air of cynicism.

“It finally works, Maia,” her voice brimmed with happiness.

“Yes, mine too,” Maia replied with a smile.

“And it’s about time.” Nafi broke into gleeful laughter.

It was fun seeing Nafi so happy, Maia realized. With the worries lifted from her shoulders, Nafi had finally let down the barrier that she had carefully built around herself. The two girls chatted incessantly on their way back from the studios. Kusha was alone at the dining bay when they walked in.

“Where are the others?” Nafi asked as she sat down with her food.

Kusha shrugged. He looked slightly miffed.

Nafi stared at Kusha for a while, and then concentrated on the plate of goodies in front of her. Maia felt too tired to ask questions about the missing duo, and as long as there was nothing to worry about, she decided to enjoy her food.

***

The same sight met them the next evening—Kusha alone at the pod, making unenthusiastic jabs at a plateful of food, looking disinterested as the two girls marched in.

“Are they missing again?” Maia asked.

Kusha shrugged just like he did the night before.

Nafi sat down next to him and peered at his face. “What’s with the shrugging? Where are the others?”

“I don’t know,” Kusha replied.

Nafi frowned, threw a questioning look at Maia, and turned back to Kusha. “How long have they been missing dinner like this?”

“Haven’t seen them in the last two weeks,” Kusha said simply.

“Didn’t they tell you where they were going?” Nafi asked.

“And did you ask what they were up to all this while?” Maia inquired.

Kusha nodded, but did not say a word. Maia presumed that Dani and Ren had not offered any explanation for their absence. Seeing how glum Kusha looked, Maia did not dare ask any more questions; she did not want to provoke an outburst. But Nafi could not contain her curiosity.

“This is really strange, Kusha,” she said. “You really don’t have a clue about this?”

“Why would you say that?” Kusha asked irritably, fiddling with a piece of fruit.

“Because you always know what everyone in the group is doing,” Nafi replied.

“You think I’m nosey?” Kusha scowled.

“No . . . not . . . not that,” Nafi stuttered, shooting a silent plea for help at Maia.

“It’s just that you care enough to check that we’re all okay,” Maia picked her words guardedly. “Look, I’m the team leader and I should be the one checking. But you do it so well that I hardly need to.”

Maia meant every word she said. Kusha had emerged as the caring figure, always aware of everyone’s whereabouts, always up to date with news. If someone was cut out to be a leader, it was undoubtedly Kusha. In his rather quiet way, he was virtually the head of the pack—wise, calm, and always in control. But not tonight; now he looked flustered and ready to snap.

“So . . . did they refuse to tell you?” Nafi asked before Maia could reach out and clamp the girl’s mouth shut.

Kusha dropped the fruit and turned to face Nafi, who shrunk back at his unexpected glare.

“Yes!” Kusha yelled. “Yes, they refused to tell me. And why do I have to know where everyone is all the time? Why do I have to be the self-appointed guardian of this group?”

Kusha rose and stormed off. Maia rushed after him, dragging Nafi by the arm, their food trays forgotten at the table. Kusha was not in the mood to talk or even look back at them as he strode toward their compartment.

“Kusha, come on, she didn’t mean anything bad by it,” Maia pleaded, still trying to fathom what had angered the boy so much.

“Yes, I just meant—” Nafi started.

“Be quiet, Nafi,” Maia whispered, and for once the girl fell silent immediately.

A few steps ahead, Kusha opened the door to their study and came to an abrupt stop. The girls caught up with him and peered inside. Crouched in front of the settee behind the large table were Dani and Ren, laughing, blissfully oblivious to all the commotion at the door.

Kusha spoke first; his speech came in broken spurts. “What . . . what are you two . . . doing?”

Dani jumped at the intrusion, her eyes wide and startled. “Just . . . just talking,” she stammered, throwing a quick sidelong glance at Ren.

Ren grinned and casually walked over to meet the trio at the door. “How is your craft building coming along?” He cocked his head at Maia and Nafi, ignoring Kusha completely.

“We’re done,” Maia answered quickly, moving on to the more pressing matter instead. “Where have you two been lately?”

“Where should we be?” Ren shrugged. “Right here of course, catching up on our reading assignments.”

Kusha snorted. Maia held her breath, hoping that Kusha would not get into an argument with Ren. Kusha did not utter a word; he simply walked away.

“What’s with him?” Ren raised an inquiring eyebrow as Kusha stomped into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Maia sighed. While she was not looking, a strange wall of secrets had grown between her teammates. Maia had often felt dejected since arriving at the XDA, and her only happiness was in this semblance of a family she had found among her friends. Now that her one hope seemed to be slipping away, Maia felt utterly spent and miserable like she never had before.

24: Shimugien

Maia’s L’miere crystal refused to grow. Ren’s was the best of them all, nice and plump, almost happy looking. Nafi complained, whining around the clock about how Ren had charmed his crystal into a magical thing that took everyone else’s growing powers away.

But nothing compared to the pure misery that Maia went through every morning. Each day it was the same story—she rushed breathlessly to the row of growing pods on the windowsill only to find that while the other four had expanded a tad, not only did hers not grow, but sometimes it seemed to dim as well. She checked on the calibration of her pod regularly, the temperature, the pressure, the humidity. Even when she maintained the exact same state as any of her teammates’, her tiny sliver of hope barely managed to cling to life.

One evening, Dani and Nafi went off to explore the Archival Center to dig up some information on the geopolitical balance between Xif and Ara, and the boys decided to head to the Snoso for some sparring practice. Maia, not tempted by either prospect, chose to spend some more miserable hours with her crystal.

As Maia peeked into her bubble pod, she had a blinding urge to break down and cry, followed by an intense desire to crush the pod to a pulp. Struggling to resist both impulses, she leaned forward to look closer into the little transparent box. The unavoidable truth stared her in the face; the tiny crystal that refused to grow had fallen off its perch and lay half-buried under the rapidly growing moss surrounding the lava rock.

“Make sure that your crystal is securely placed on the rock and not lolling around elsewhere,” Master Kehorkjin had warned. “The rock is where its roots are; sever the roots and it will die. And believe me when I say this, you shall not get a replacement crystal from me. You lose your crystal and
you are out.
”

Maia could visualize the scene clearly; a grim-looking Kinetics Master gloating as she mumbled and explained and begged for a replacement. And after all that humiliation, she would simply be thrown out of the contest. Maia did not care much about her own chances, but her elimination would surely devastate her team, and she could not let her friends down. She shook her head vigorously to drive the melancholy thoughts away.
There is only one way to solve this—open the pod and put the crystal back in place.
She had seen Ren reposition his when it had grown too large for the small niche, and the task did not seem too complex.

Carefully, she opened the small lid, slipped her hand cautiously inside, and reached for the crystal. A flash of light followed by a searing pain that shot through her arm stunned Maia for a moment. Blinking rapidly, she focused her eyes and screamed. The L’miere crystal had vanished. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the moss where the crystal had lain just moments ago. Maia pulled out her hand and shook the pod, hoping that she had maybe . . . somehow . . . just maybe . . . pushed it into a crevice or something. But the pod remained empty; only the lava rock sat on its mossy bed, in blissful ignorance.

Ren would know.

She ran out of the room, up the staircase toward the Snoso, and smack dab into the middle of a portly frame. Maia would have gone flying and crashed into the wall had it not been for the hands that gripped her firmly by the shoulders.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old friend Maia,” the voice of Principal Pomewege bellowed. “And what is the rush, child?”

Maia started to murmur an apology. She must have not made much sense, because the principal interrupted her midway.

“Is something wrong?” His eyes shone with concern.

Everything is wrong.

“Nothing, sir,” she lied.

“Well, you seem to be in a hurry, so I won’t keep you.” Pomewege smiled. “But if there is anything I can help you with, just let me know.”

He turned away, and Maia took a few steps before she whirled around and rushed back toward the principal. “Principal Pomewege, I think . . . I . . . I destroyed something,” she stammered.

“Oh, I’m sure it can be replaced,” he said with a warm, comforting smile.

“A crystal . . . a L’miere crystal,” Maia barely managed a whisper.

The principal’s face clouded, and Maia realized that losing a light crystal was not just Master Kehorkjin’s customary warning of doom; it was indeed a serious matter.

“And how did this happen?”

Maia did not dare to look up at the principal. Her eyes stayed glued to the shiny white stone floor as she slowly recounted the events that led up to the loss.

“Show me your hand,” he said after Maia finished.

Her hands looked perfectly normal; only a faint red mark had appeared on the tips of her index and middle fingers. She wondered if the explosion of light had singed her fingertips, but she did not feel any pain. Maia stole a furtive look at the principal; his face was pallid, his brows furrowed.

She felt a sudden grimness in the atmosphere. Pomewege had not smiled in encouragement like he always did. She knew she was in trouble, and as hard as she tried, she could not stop her heart from thumping wildly in her chest.

“Follow me please,” Principal Pomewege said as he marched off abruptly toward the wind tunnel.

He strode toward the left of the wind tunnel, down a small flight of stairs that led to a small door, similar to the one leading to the Hall of Spires. He opened the door and walked inside. Maia followed, expecting another gigantic hall on the other side of the small corridor. The shadowy room she had walked into was sizable but not enormous. A large round table stood at the center, its dark surface engraved with intricate markings. Surrounding the table were about twenty chairs, their backs high and stiff.

“Wait here, Maia.” Pomewege pulled out a chair for her. “I will be back soon.”

Maia clambered up the chair as the man left. It was too tall for her, and her feet dangled uncomfortably above the floor. It was also hard and cold and Maia fidgeted as she waited.

Time passed. Maia twirled the ends of her pigtails, tapped the table in a nervous rhythm until her knuckles hurt, then fiddled with her hair some more. She managed to curl her feet up on the chair in the quest of making herself comfortable, if such a thing were possible given her situation and surroundings. Maia tried not to think of the lecture she might have brought upon herself because of the lost crystal, her heart filling with dread at the thought of the Master Kehorkjin’s stern face. Added to that was the possibility that Miir might get a report of this as well. She closed her eyes and braced herself at the mere notion.

A murmur of low voices seeped through the entrance, and she turned around to look. Shadows moved in the corridor outside. There were voices of two men arguing, one of them Pomewege’s. They were whispering, but Maia could still hear most of what they said.

“There is no need for such agitation,” the principal said.

“How can you say that? You of all people should know what this means,” the other person replied.

“It does not mean much.”

“Not much? She is a Shimugien . . . a cursed one.”

Maia flinched. She did not understand what Shimugien meant, but she definitely knew the meaning of the word “cursed.”

“She is just a child, and a very frightened one at the moment.”

The other voice fell silent for a while.

“So you want to keep it a secret?” the voice now had a feigned softness to it.

“Of course . . . you know what it will be like if they know,” Pomewege replied.

“But
they
will know . . .
they
will detect the loss.”

“Of course they will, but not soon enough. Now please, do what I ask of you.”

The voices ceased. Footfalls outside the door meant that one of the two had walked away. Maia sat quietly, hugging her knees and worrying.

It was a long while before the door fell open, and Maia sat up to look at the people who walked in. It was Principal Pomewege, and with him was a very tall woman. They stopped at the threshold for a moment before the woman strolled over to Maia and smiled.

In the dimness of the room, Maia could discern the rumpled brown hair that flowed down her back. She wore a long gown in muted tones, and there was a grace in her walk that made her seem to float on air. Her luminous eyes cast a soothing spell as they gazed into Maia’s.

“Somehow, I had expected you to be older.” Her voice was as gentle as her eyes.

“I’ll be fourteen soon enough,” Maia blurted.

“Oh yes, of course,” she replied with a chuckle.

Maia tried to stop her displeasure from showing. Now was neither the time nor the place to be cheeky with people who were trying their best to help, but it was frustrating to be treated like a baby. And then she realized that one good thing came out of the overwhelming annoyance surging through her—she had suddenly stopped being afraid.

“So, I’m a Shimugien, right? And cursed as well?” Maia said in the most casual tone she could muster. She had to show them that she knew more than they thought she knew. The effect was immediate; the coddling smile on the woman’s face vanished. She looked up at the principal, who stood to Maia’s right, and his eyes wavered.

“I heard you,” Maia said to Pomewege.

“We were outside,” Pomewege said in haste, as if trying to justify his actions. At a curt nod from the woman, he bowed and walked out of the room.

“Yes, you are a Shimugien,” the woman said as the door closed behind them. “It is an ancient Xifarian word meaning ‘Possessor of the Light.’ But you are not cursed.

“Our nation, as you might already know, has evolved around the L’miere crystals. Without them, we would not have been and we will cease to exist if they die. So understandably, if we come across anyone who has the power to impair the normal functioning of these crystals, we feel threatened. And out of our fear, we call them ‘cursed.’”

“Did I harm the crystal?” Maia whispered.

“The crystal dissipated at your touch,” the woman replied, her gaze stern and distant.

Maia hung her head and scanned the floorboards, trying to assess the enormity of the situation. “But how?” she asked.

“We do not clearly understand how. Sometimes, if your body’s energy grows an affinity to these crystals, the energy fields collide, and the one that is more powerful assimilates or destroys the other. This phenomenon is extremely rare, but it happens. There is nothing you could have done to stop this, Maia. You certainly should not blame yourself for this.” The brown-haired woman placed a reassuring arm on Maia’s shoulder, her voice soft with compassion.

“There have been Shimugien before me, right?” Maia whispered. She had made these all-powerful Xifarians feel threatened in the gravest possible way. She shuddered to think what could happen to her now that they knew.

The woman hesitated, and then nodded.

“And what has happened to them? Were they imprisoned and killed?” She made herself ask the question that was drowning every other thought in her mind. “What will happen to me?”

“No one is going to imprison you or kill you, Maia. No one needs to know. We will keep it a secret, if you keep it a secret.”

The woman had not answered her questions, but simply evaded them, Maia realized. She did not feel like prodding in that direction anymore; the answer was easy to guess. All she wanted now was to be home with Dada and Herc and Emmy, safe and away from it all.

“And how do I have this—” she stopped mid-sentence, not knowing what to say.

“It’s just a matter of how our internal elements are arranged. That is how some of us have special abilities. Some of us are born with terraforming skills, while someone else becomes an expert in the arts of telekinetics.”

“So you mean I might be able to terraform? Or have TEK skills?” Even in the dismal condition she was in, Maia’s heart felt a tad lighter, only if for a moment.

The woman laughed softly. “Terraforming you might not, those require a very different alignment. But you very well might be TEK. Now, that is exciting, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t. Maia grimaced. It would be exciting if she could freely talk about it, but this came at a price—the price of keeping her friends in the dark, of being vigilant at every step, of worrying that anything could go wrong at any time. She wondered what other strange secrets were hidden inside her. The woman seemed to sense her fears as she gently patted Maia on the back.

“You will be fine, Maia. You just have to be careful to not touch the crystals ever again,” she said. “Principal Pomewege will arrange everything for you.”

As if on cue, the door opened and Pomewege strode in. In his hands, he held a brand-new growing pod, and a new crystal shimmered brilliantly inside it.

“You will need to hand over your old pod to me,” Principal Pomewege explained. “And the night before your submissions, bring me your craft and pod and I will fit them together for you.”

Maia scrambled off the chair and took the pod. “Thank you, Principal Pomewege, and—”

“Call me Mahswa Tabrin.”

“Thank you, Mahswa Tabrin.”

As Maia walked away, she felt their sympathetic gaze follow her. In the stillness of the dark room she had left behind, nervousness lingered. And somewhere deep inside Maia’s mind, a small voice of concern stirred.