Nil on Fire (3 page)

Part of me knows that's insane, like lock-me-up-in-a-padded-room crazy.

But the other part of me thinks it might work. Even better, I'll make my stand during the day. Confronting the darkness in daylight seems safer than a meeting held in the dark. The light will be
my
edge, my weapon. So today, when the sun rises, I'm going to face the dark. Maybe I'll even figure out what it wants. Because the darkness wants something; I just don't know what.

It wants
you, my subconscious hisses.

No.
I play my own devil's advocate.
But maybe it wants something
from
me.

The distinction seems critical, like the answers. Knowledge brought more than power; it offered freedom—at least it had on Nil.

The only thing holding me back is fear. And not just any fear, one in particular: I fear I created it, that the darkness actually comes from within me, born of the void created by Dex's death. That the darkness is a manifestation of guilt.
That it's all in my head.

I fear that if I look into the darkness, I'll see
me
.

But the calm, resilient part of my mind reassures me I'm sane, and the fierce part of my soul—the part that helped me survive Nil—agrees. Somehow I'm certain that the darkness of my dreams is real: that it's foreign and lethal and not to be ignored.
That it's a remnant of Nil.
One I brought back with me, a shadow of that last gate.

So maybe, in the end, I just need to acknowledge it and say good-bye. Because if I'm the one who brought it back, then I need to be the one to let it go.

I have a plan. It involves a nap. And it's happening today.

As soon as Rives leaves for Marseilles to see friends, I'll banish the darkness for good. End of story.

I feel better already.

My name is Skye Bracken, and this is the truth that will set me free.

*   *   *

Two hours later, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake.

The darkness poured in just as I knew it would, a greedy blackness writhing with life and invisible whispers, begging me to come closer. I crept to the edge, sensing the invisible line, taking the utmost care not to cross it with any shred of myself. All I could see was black. Endless, terrifying black.

Before I could look deeper, I felt the line bend.

The darkness surged with victory, reaching for me with sinewy claws, spilling across in roiling ribbons of sentient blackness—and the instant the darkness breached the line, the whispers turned deafening. I lurched away, too slow, too late. The darkness brushed my shoulder with icy fingers and the profound depth of it was shocking.

I
felt
it.

The whole of it. The essence of it. The
want
.

It wanted
me
.

The darkness held me in place, binding me with invisible ties. I screamed for Rives, but the darkness absorbed the sound; it devoured my desperation, my plea,
everything
—even the timbre of my voice, as though all were a preview of the full course of me.

A pinprick of light flared.

I was the bug under the microscope, caught between the light and the dark, a microscopic speck in time and space and something much greater than me. I could still feel the line, still feel the edge of me. I could almost see that crucial boundary, reflected in the wisp of light.

The light pulsed, once; the chorus of voices converged into a single clear tone: desperate, and unquestionably human.

I leaned closer, trying to see—and abruptly, the line thinned. The darkness snarled, the light faded, and I had a moment of complete clarity that if I fully crossed that line,
I would not come back.

Like I'd flipped a switch, I fought with all I had, lashing out with muscles and bone and blood and
will
. I broke free; I woke up. I lay alone on the bed in the sun-filled flat, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Still shaking, still wanting.

Now that I'm awake, why do I still feel it?

 

CHAPTER

7

RIVES

JUNE 2, MORNING

Each step away from Skye felt loaded, like a magnet fighting its pull.

Don't leave her alone.

The quiet thought made me pause. I almost turned back, retraced my steps.

But I didn't.

Skye had asked me for space, for time alone. I kept moving, kept walking. Kept going through the motions. I boarded the train, took my seat, but my worry weight was too great to shake.

She's fine
, I told myself. After all, this girl was the same one who'd taken down a ninety-kilo cat with nothing but a rock and piece of twine.

That clear truth made me relax.

But the moment the train left the station, the whisper exploded in my head like a scream:
DON'T LEAVE HER ALONE
.

Too late
, I thought, jumping to my feet.

I already had.

 

CHAPTER

8

NIL

AFTER NOON

That one did not listen well.

His mind less guarded than hers, he heard but did not listen, not even to himself. He had left his mate, leaving her vulnerable.

Power had shifted, like the seam itself. Like the focus of the island, reaching
there
and
here
. Perhaps the shift was meant to be, since she was the one who had caused it.

Indeed, she was
the one
.

The island saw it so clearly. The end was written; the future spilled like the light of a thousand suns, bursting with brilliance and flaring into the now.

Now, it would be up to her: his mate, the one called Skye. The one with the power to listen, and to hear, and above all, to survive.

In the meantime, the island must choose wisely, both
here
and
there
, with what little power it had left. Here, the island had developed an affinity for the one called Hafthor, a male who was potentially worthy of the Sight. Usually the island gifted the Sight to females, but there had been exceptions. It was too soon to judge.

For now, the island would see through Hafthor's eyes. Occasionally, human sight had proven useful, even insightful, and the island would utilize every advantage it could
.

Through Hafthor's eyes, the island watched.

*   *   *

From behind the largest thicket of palms, Hafthor studied the girl. Long black braid, sharp cheekbones.
She would be beautiful
, he thought,
except for her smile
. It hinted at cruelty.

And she was a thief.

As he'd watched, she'd strolled into the empty village, past the wooden wall packed with names—some of which looked recently added—and strode into a small thatched-roof hut as if it were hers. And yet, he knew that it wasn't, just as he knew that the rope she'd walked out with wasn't hers, or the cloth bag bulging with gourds.

The hidden people would not approve.

He'd met no one else here, but he knew they existed: he saw their fingerprints on the empty beds carefully made; he heard their voices in the wind and their whispers in the trees; he felt their dead lying still in the field of flowers.

He felt the hidden people everywhere, and they demanded respect.

Perhaps this girl felt them too, because she didn't linger in the village. After poking her head out and glancing around, she walked straight toward his hiding place, a look of satisfaction on her face. He shrank back, blending into the palms. She passed him without a glance, too intent on looking over her shoulder, her satisfaction shifting to caution, as if she sensed she was being followed.

Hafthor silently observed as she headed south.

Seconds passed, weighted and thick.

Then he followed, taking care to stay concealed, which was not an easy feat given his size. She, on the other hand, was lithe and nimble, and exceptionally stealthy. Hafthor lost her trail within minutes.

Now he stood alone on the black sand beach, south of the City, in the place he'd first begun.
Full circle
, he thought, taking in his surroundings,
a message to begin again
. To go a different way.

He pressed his fingers to the tattoo on his shoulder, then crossed his arms. Closing his eyes, he listened.

South
, the sea whispered.
Go south.

Without hesitation, Hafthor went south.

 

CHAPTER

9

NIL

MID-MORNING

Paulo stood inside the Arches, facing the mountain. It towered over the island like a silent giant. He knew in the deepest part of his soul that he was not alone on the island, even if he was the only human. But surely by now there must be other people.

So why hadn't he seen them?

Pawns
, he thought abruptly.
We're part of a game, pieces to be played.
Perhaps he
was
the only pawn in play, perhaps not. But it mattered little to him. He had no control over others, or the island. But he could control himself.

Or could he?

How long had he been staring at the mountain?

Frustrated, he ripped his gaze away, his thoughts drifting to that last day with Skye. To his failure. His eyes fell, and when they landed, he startled.

Etched into a small flat rock at the base of the smallest arch, Skye's initials stared at him.
S. B.
Above the two letters hung the words
Search
and
Look Inside
.

He read and reread the words, searching for meaning. Had Skye left this message for him? Had she known he would stay?

What had she known that he didn't?

He stared at her initials until his neck ached, then he turned away, the rising tide calling him down from the rocks. With ease, he worked his way down the jagged black cliff, not missing a foothold. At the bottom, he paused. The skin on his back prickled as an unseen hand dragged ice down his back.

Run
, whispered the sea.

A shimmering gate vaulted into the sky. A wild gate, the kind that still filled Paulo with unease.

He ran. Up the black beach, away from the gate, cutting and swerving as he stayed ahead of the leading edge until the glittering wall collapsed. Finally, it winked out. Gone.

Paulo dropped his hands to his knees, his chest heaving, but his eyes stayed alert as he began counting.

One.

Two.

The air thickened.

I said
run
.
The breaking waves rumbled like laughter. A second gate appeared meters from the demise of the first, shooting skyward, then rolling directly toward him.

No
, Paulo thought with force; he was already sprinting.
Not today. I'll go on my own time, of my own free will.

I
control
me
.

A black cat popped its small head out from the scrub brush, ears twitching. Without missing a step, Paulo cut right, grabbed the cat from the bushes, and spun around; he threw the cat directly into the shimmering gate. Rainbows of glittering light washed over the cat. Paulo staggered toward the sea, triumph warming his face as the cat vanished.
Let the cat take this wild gate
, he thought with pleasure,
a ticket to an unknown place
.
My time has yet to come.

Paulo had business to finish, and the will to see it through.

The gate winked out; the sea breeze kicked up without break.

Noon was over.

Paulo rested his hands on his hips as he tilted his face toward the mountain.
Nice try
, he thought, a smile pulling at his lips.
But I'm still here, still fighting. And I'm not done yet.

*   *   *

From his vantage point in the trees, Hafthor watched the dark-haired boy with interest. For the past few minutes, the boy had darted and dodged two separate walls of glistening air, walls identical to the one that had captured Hafthor back in Iceland. The boy's speed and agility were remarkable. Equally remarkable was the expression on the boy's face: determination, and peace. He had no intention of touching either of those walls, and he hadn't.

He knows something about this place.
Hafthor eyed the boy's clean white cotton shorts and the tribal tattoo on his bare shoulder.
Something important I don't.

This person was one he needed to meet.

As the boy turned away, Hafthor stepped from the trees.

“Hallo,” he said, lifting his hand in greeting.

The boy swiveled back. He didn't look the least bit surprised to see him, nor did he gape at Hafthor's bedraggled palm-frond skirt. Instead, the boy smiled. A kind smile, one that inspired trust.

“I'm Paulo.” The boy walked up and offered his hand.

“Hafthor.”

They clasped hands briefly and let go.

“Tell me of those walls.” Hafthor pointed back to where the shimmering walls had vanished. “They brought us here, yes? But they are dangerous?”

“Yes, and no.” Paulo glanced at the mountain. “Let's head to the City. I'll fill you in on the gates and everything else I know. And we'll get you something more comfortable to wear.” A wry smile twisted his mouth. “Welcome to Nil.”

*   *   *

The thrill of noon had passed, and the lack of conflict was utterly dull. As the pair turned north, the island turned away. It turned inward, toward the seam, the fissure between worlds, because
this
world needed more humans. It was time to search for another, one more like the female, Carmen. But until it found the right choice, the island would toy with the one that got away: the female, Skye.