Idols Read online

  How rare these smiles are now.

  How long it has been since I have had one all to myself.

  “Of course you are, Dolly. You’ve been fighting since you were born. Every day is a fight with you. And you’re more than a soldier. The way you live, the things you feel—you’re more alive than any of us. More human. I’d give ten of my best Belters for one Doloria de la Cruz.” He reaches across the table, clasping my hand.

  I don’t want to let go. To me, this man really is the Padre. As I listen to him, the face of the Bishop fades, and the face of the Padre looks over at me across the wooden table. I feel like I am sitting, once again, on a wooden bench at a long wooden table with my Padre. All I care is that this wooden bench feels like home.

  That is how I will push on, I tell myself. This man. This Bishop who is not a bishop—a Padre who is not the Padre—a Fortis who is not a Fortis—but who keeps them all alive to me.

  He fills me with hope. Hope and feathers.

  I guess you could say he’s my silver bird, the only one I have, and the only one I’ve ever seen.

  Except in my dreams.

  I sit forward in my chair. “Bishop, I need your help.”

  “Anything.”

  “It’s not just me.” I look at him. “It’s all of us.”

  “The Icon Children?”

  I nod.

  “The five of us.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Five?”

  Once again I find myself in the position of telling the Bishop my story, the story of my dreams. As I speak, I reach into my chestpack for the jade figurines. My hand finds the Icon shard first, and I pause for a moment, feeling its calming yet unsettling warmth. For the thousandth time I imagine getting rid of it, but I don’t. I can’t. It has somehow become as much a part of me as the marking on my wrist. I leave it in my pack.

  The jades I can share.

  Not everything else. Not yet.

  When I finish, he picks up one of the jade figurines from his desk. I see that I have placed them between us in a meticulous line, without even realizing it.

  Without moving his eyes from the figurine, he slides open his desk drawer.

  In his hand I see a carved piece of chipped green stone. Another figurine. Part of the same set, carved by the same hand. The Bishop places it next to mine.

  “That can’t be a coincidence.” He looks at me. “More like a sign.”

  The Emerald Buddha.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  The chess piece from my dreams, the one the little jade girl gave me.

  “Believe it,” he says. “It used to belong to my brother.”

  “Where did he get it? And why?” I ask, wonderingly.

  “The Hole, I thought. He was quite a scavenger, my brother. He found you, didn’t he?”

  I nod, wordlessly.

  “Aside from that, I never knew why he’d sent me this—at least, not until now. I suspect,” he says, smiling, “he sent it for you. Maybe he had a dream, like one of yours. Take it.”

  He pushes the carved piece toward me.

  “Eastasia,” he says, slowly. “That’s probably what you were dreaming about. That’s what it sounds like, anyway, from how you describe it.”

  “It does?”

  “Watery fields? You plant rice in water. Those are the fields you’re describing. I think you’re dreaming about rice paddies.”

  “Go on,” I say, trying as hard as I can not to let myself believe him. Not to get my hopes up.

  “The trees with no tops, that’s the jungle, beneath the canopy. The golden temple on the hill, that probably means it’s not the Americas, but Asia. Eastasia, maybe. Or south of there.”

  “And the green on green? The green everything?”

  “The more green, the more south. Like I said, my guess would be Eastasia, maybe the SEA Colonies. From the South East Asian land reclamation project.”

  On the other side of the sea. Farther away than anything I’ve ever imagined.

  The Bishop picks up the jade monkey, turning it over and over in his hands. Then he frowns.

  “In fact, did Fortis ever tell you he used to work over in the SEA Colonies, Doloria?”

  “He did?”

  The Bishop nods. “There’s a lot you don’t know about the Merk, I’m guessing.” He frowns. “Didn’t. As I said, I’m sorry for your loss. All of them.”

  I nod, swallowing.

  “Do you think you can help me?” I look to the Bishop.

  He nods, slowly. “We might be able to determine the number of gold temples built on mountaintops in view of rice fields. We could at least try.”

  For the first time, it actually sounds logical. Possible. Terrifyingly so.

  I swallow. He pulls out a map, tracing routes between us and the Californias—between the Californias and Eastasia.

  “It’s pretty hot out there right about now. Sympa activity is off the charts. And not just on our mountain; from here to the Hole, it’s swarming.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Bishop.”

  He nods, tapping the map. “Well, then. If you’re looking at anywhere in Eastasia, I know a ship headed there out of the Porthole, not three days from now. There’s a routine passage. We’ve got a line into one, a good group of bribable Brass. Could probably get you on, if you were sure about this.”

  Three days.

  I can almost feel the little bird fluttering its wings as I hear the words.

  “But, Dol. Even if you make it across the New Pacific—it’s a different game over there. You might be in trouble, from the first moment you set foot on land. And where you’re going, there wouldn’t be anyone to help you. No one you can trust.”

  I stand. “Nothing new about that. I’ll talk to the others.”

  That’s what I say, but I know the answer already. There’s no one left to help us, anywhere. Not anymore. No matter how much they want to.

  We’ll take our chances.

  We don’t have many of those left, either.

  I lie in the darkness listening to the sounds of Tima breathing. For a few moments, it is comforting to watch another person’s oblivion.

  Until it isn’t.

  It’s a strange feeling for a Grassgirl to have a rare, comfortable bed and still not be able to find anything close to comfort.

  Tonight my bed feels like a grave.

  I toss and turn and torment myself with thinking. It’s like picking at a scab, only worse, because the scab never comes off. I just keep picking.

  Three days.

  A ship is leaving in just three days.

  Am I really this brave?

  Can I really do what Fortis wanted and leave him behind—face Eastasia or the Wash or the SEA Colonies without him? Even the memory of him?

  All because of my dreams?

  I roll over, trying another position, burying my face in the pillow.

  It’s too much. I don’t know the answers. The questions are getting too big.

  Maybe I want to be small.

  Maybe I want to be small and shallow and superficial. Maybe I want my life to be made up of small problems and smaller decisions.

  What to eat for breakfast. Where to go, or not. What to do, or not. What to like, or not.

  Who to love.

  Could that be small as well? Would it matter?

  If my life really were that little, would it be different? Would I know?

  Small feelings? What would that feel like?

  I would wake up without my heart pounding.

  I would see a face lined with birthdays and not see my own death.

  I would be calm in the sunshine, not waiting for the clouds to roll in.

  I’d be gentle with myself. Measured.

  Would I be happy? Is happy a small feeling too? Can it be?

  I close my eyes and wonder but sleep does not come back for me.

  So I do what I always do. I stop trying to be comfortable. Instead, I get up and keep going.

  I have to. It’
s all I know how to do.

  So I pull on my clothes and my chestpack. Shove my feet into my old army boots. Familiar. And perfectly uncomfortable.

  Then I notice that the bed begins to rattle beneath my folded sweater. I pick up my sweater, looking up to the ceiling, where the light begins to sway.

  I gasp, clutching my temples. My head roils, as if it will explode. A thousand screaming voices accost me, all at once, and I can’t make out a single word they are saying.

  Stop.

  Slow down.

  I can’t understand.

  I wonder if it is an earthquake. It sounds and feels like the Tracks when a train is close.

  “Tima,” I say. “Something’s happening.”

  “I know.”

  I am turning to look for her when she pulls me roughly, and we squeeze under the small table in the room.

  The now-familiar blue glow begins to grow around us, sheltering us.

  Tima, taking care of me—like she always does.

  That’s when the walls cave in.

  That’s when the screaming comes from outside me.

  That’s when the sirens begin to wail.

  GENERAL EMBASSY DISPATCH: EASTASIA SUBSTATION

  MARKED URGENT

  MARKED EYES ONLY

  Internal Investigative Subcommittee IIS211B

  RE: The Incident at SEA Colonies

  Note: Contact Jasmine3k, Virt. Hybrid Human 39261.SEA, Laboratory Assistant to Dr. E. Yang, for future commentary, as necessary.

  HAL2040==> FORTIS

  07/06/2046

  PERSES Scans/Cargo ctd.

  //comlog begin;

  HAL: A brief update on my research and analysis—please read following notes at your leisure:;

  As the asteroid PERSES approaches, more detailed analysis has revealed what appears to be additional cargo. Nonmilitary, it would seem. Possibly biological.;

  Unfortunately, cargo containers are shielded (similar to NULL), preventing all attempts to discern contents.;

  One may infer, however, that shielding may indicate biological materials, or highly sensitive electronics?;

  No additional data in my scans of PERSES’s exposed systems sheds light on the cargo. But perhaps what little NULL has revealed about his objectives can point us in the right direction?;

  As for NULL, who must know more than he is willing to tell, I assume any direct reference and instructions regarding delicate cargo to be part of his protected core, and therefore inaccessible by any means available at my disposal.;

  //comlog end;

  12

  IDYLLS’ END

  “Head down. Keep moving. Stay to the side, by the wall.” Tima barks out orders and I do as she says, automatically. Tima doesn’t fall apart. She’s been preparing for a moment like this—for moments like these—all her life.

  Still, she clutches Brutus to her chest like a stuffed animal.

  An earthquake? Is that what this is?

  We thread our way through the mad crush of Belters filling the halls, heading instinctively toward the barracks, where the boys have been sleeping. By the time we push through the doorway to the room, I see that the long rows of beds are empty. So are the weapons lockers.

  That’s the first time we realize it might not be a disaster that is bringing down the walls, but a battle. You don’t need weapons in an earthquake.

  The guns are gone because people have taken them.

  The soldiers are gone because somebody is attacking.

  Sympas, I think. Sympas, I hope. Terrible, but still human. The other possibility is too horrific to think about.

  Then I feel Ro’s hand on my arm, heaving, as if he has been running every corridor of the Idylls to find me, which he probably has. “Dol,” he says, panting. “And T. There you are.”

  Lucas is just steps behind him. His arm encircles my waist and he pulls me so quickly and so firmly that my feet almost don’t have time to touch the ground.

  He is past talking, but I see the grim set of his eyes, and I can feel his pulse where my hand wraps around his neck. I can read every hammering beat of his heart.

  Nothing is going to happen to you, Dol. Not ever. I promise.

  Then I realize it may be Lucas I’m feeling, but those words are coming from somewhere else.

  Someone.

  It’s Ro. I hear him reaching out to me, desperately, unconsciously, in what feels like our last moments together. Because that’s what we do.

  Did.

  Even now, my heart races.

  By the time my boots scrape the ground again, I know better than to believe my heart—or anyone else’s around me.

  Because just like that, we are pulled into the crush of soldiers who are surging the halls of Belter Mountain, and just like that, we are under attack from an unseen enemy.

  In the main hangar, we make our way through soldiers prying open crates of munitions and strapping themselves with ammo. Ro grabs an ammo belt, and I copy him, slinging it over my shoulder. As if I know the first thing about what to do with an ammo belt.

  Lucas and Tima do the same, wordlessly. All around us is noise, I think, yet no one seems to be speaking. The sirens are louder than any words.

  The Bishop appears in front of us. “Are you all right? All of you?” He looks us over, counting. Grassgirl, Hothead, Buttons, the Freak. More or less. I don’t have to see into his mind to know that.

  There’s no time, though, and the rest of his words come tumbling out. “The tunnels have been breached. Somehow. The scouts didn’t see anything coming, so I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but we’re not taking any chances. The main passages are caving in. If this keeps up, we’ll be cut off from the outside world in minutes.”

  The room rattles around me as chunks fall from the ceiling. I shake off the panic and shout over the noise. “They can do all this? A bunch of Sympas?”

  “No. Nothing from this Earth can.” The Bishop bends his face to mine, lowering his voice. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Doloria?”

  No. I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. I want everything to be the way it was back when our only enemies were human.

  “The No Face,” says Lucas. “The Icons. They’re growing. We’ve seen it happening—it’s not just here.”

  “No. Not here.” Ro holds his shotgun, furious. There is no one to shoot, nothing to shoot at. “I won’t let it.”

  “Look at that.” The Bishop points to the cavernous roof over our heads, where I can see something black and sharp jutting out from the rock. Showers of rubble fall every time one of these new, angular roots juts out of the cavern ceiling. Lucas looks sick.

  Tima stares up at it. “Definitely the Icons. We thought they were connected underground. Now we know.”

  The Bishop nods. “Looks like they’re expanding. Like they’re looking for something.” He doesn’t have to say it, but he does. “Like roots searching for water. Or you. Maybe that thing followed you here.”

  “That’s impossible,” Tima says.

  “No. No, no, no,” says Ro. He yanks up his shotgun and takes aim at the black protrusion closest to him and fires, and we all duck. The blast ricochets and dust flies.

  He walks toward it, but it isn’t damaged. Of course not, I think, remembering the kind of explosive firepower it took to damage the first Icon.

  “It’s no use. And it’s everywhere. Coming from the ground,” the Bishop says. “And the walls around us. The earth itself. It’s like the thing is growing, reaching for something, and the mountain is collapsing.”

  Lucas turns to me. “Dol, you have to figure this out for us. Why is it—why are they—following us? What are you getting?” Lucas holds out his hand to me. I look at him, then at Ro, who nods, reluctantly.

  Ro knows me, better than anyone, even Lucas. Me, and what I can do.

  “Buttons is right. You just have to let it in. I know you can feel it, whatever it’s doing. We have to know.”

  Ro’s words are quiet,
his voice almost reassuring. Unless you consider what he’s asking me to do. Lucas shoots him a look, and even Tima looks frightened.

  “I don’t want to, Ro. I’m scared.” My power doesn’t usually frighten me, but this time it does. Whatever that thing is out there, I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to touch it. Not even with my mind.

  I look from Ro to Lucas. I see the hurt expression on Lucas’s face. He hates seeing that Ro still has the hold on me that he does, at this moment.

  In the way that he does.

  I can’t change history. I can’t change the truth. And I can’t keep Ro from mattering to me.

  Especially now.

  They’re depending on me. Me, against a growing, expanding Icon. Not again. I can’t do this again. But I’m all they have.

  So when Ro holds out his hand I take it. Warmth surges into my body, flowing up my arm.

  Then I reach for Lucas with my other hand.

  He hesitates. I don’t. “Please, Lucas. I need—I need you both. I don’t have enough power on my own. Not with the world collapsing around me.”

  I feel him soften and he takes my hand and kisses it. The second his lips touch my fingers, I feel him. He’s there, every bit as much as Ro, with a fire as steady as Ro’s is wild, a fire that warms while Ro’s burns.

  I need them both, I think. And I will always love them both.

  And so I stretch until I can feel my way through the chaos inside the mountain to the chaos beneath it. I leave the human hearts behind, and reach for whatever is left in the darkness. I push farther and farther, deeper and deeper, because I can.

  Because I’m not in this alone.

  Then it’s clear—perfectly, painfully clear—and as much as I don’t want to say it or believe it, I do.

  I can feel you, the voice says.

  Null. That’s the name the voice in my dream gave itself—and that’s the same voice I hear now.

  The same word that Fortis was thinking when the Lords took him away.

  “What do you want?” I say aloud.

  I can see the others looking at me, confused. I don’t have time to explain. Instead, I close my eyes and focus on the voice.