Lifeblood
Archer wasn’t just a Laborer, sent to the Land of the Harvest to protect his human charges. He wasn’t just a negotiator of covenant terms or a guide for those who had signed with Troika. He was a man of great integrity, honor and kindness. A rarity. A hero in a time when villains are the norm.
Archer loved me when I was unlovable. Time and time again he could have disrespected me with a lie. It would have been easier for us both. Instead he told the truth, no matter how painful. He abandoned a centuries-old feud with his greatest enemy to help me. In the end, he died taking a blow meant for me.
The hunch in my shoulders deepens. “Yes,” I say softly. “Let’s go.”
Deacon slings an arm around my waist. We dematerialize in a blaze of Light and reappear—
I inhale sharply. We’re standing in the center of a crystal bridge. Before us is a crimson-colored waterfall framed by a wall of glistening ruby geodes. The layered sediment resembles feathers; those feathers stretch out on both sides, creating the illusion of wings. Framing those wings are stones of topaz, jasper and beryl.
The architecture is stunning, far too perfect to be man-made or even nature-made. Intelligent creation.
Firstking-made, then?
There are no Troikans or Myriadians here. No battles. Just me and Deacon and the cool kiss of mist on my cheeks. A scent sweeter than manna—sweeter even than Killian—permeates the air.
“Now that we’re alone...” Deacon gets in my face, snapping, “Your first day in the Everlife, you aided Myriad. You protected the guy who was killing my soldiers. Soldiers who risked their lives to save you.”
I look away from him, unable to meet his gaze. Shame is a deluge inside me, and my confidence crumbles like a condemned building. “Killian killed his own soldiers, too. He—”
“You’re still protecting him!” Deacon bellows.
I bow my head. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. If you could go back, you’d do it all over again.” His tone flattened, but even worse, his words were dead-on. “I told you there’s a chance Archer will come back to us, and there is. A very small chance. Every year, the names of the people who die are placed in the Book of New Life. Troikan citizens vote for a slain spirit to exit the Rest. It’s called the Resurrection. But we lost a Conduit this year, too. Conduits always win.”
My hopes lift...and crash. “Maybe we can convince everyone to vote for Archer instead?” I love the big goof with all my heart. I want more seconds, days, weeks with him. I want years! Decades! “We can do anything if we—”
“Put our heads together? Work hard enough? Have faith?” He sneers at me. “Unsuccessful people work themselves into the grave every day. And have faith in what, Ten? Ourselves? Last time I checked, neither one of us had the ability to perform a miracle.”
I wither, part of me wishing I could blame Fate for our predicament. If everything happened for a reason and our actions couldn’t change what’s coming, I wouldn’t have to carry the blame. But every decision matters, leading down a specific road, and I know it.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“Don’t bother.” Still he shows me no mercy. “What you do tomorrow doesn’t change what you did today.”
Sorrow floods me, drowns me, and I wrap trembling arms around my middle.
At both the best and worst of times, my mind does one of two things: obsesses over numbers or drafts a poem.
Guess what I do now?
I am Ten, the completion of a cycle. Composed of two numbers. One and zero. One: solitary. Without companionship. Zero: neither a negative nor a positive, just a whole lot of nothing...like my status right now.
Ten out of ten people hate me right now.
Ten out of ten people will die during their lifetime.
The two most popular numbers in the world are three and seven. 3 + 7 = 10. Three is known as the trinity...or troika. Spirit, soul and body. Seven is often called the perfect number. Seven continents, seven layers of skin—three main layers, with four others in between—and seven colors in a rainbow. Seven notes of sound. Seven dimensions and directions—two opposite directions for each dimension, plus the center...the static...the one that never changes.
Everything has changed for me.
Deacon scrubs a hand down his face. “At least the battle in the Land of the Harvest ended the moment you cleared the guard tower.”
“I’m glad.” There would be no more deaths because of decisions I made. Not today, at least.
He stares at me for a long while. “Here’s what is going to happen. I’m taking you into Troika, where your family and friends are waiting to greet you. You’ll spend a week exploring the realm, getting to know the land and the people, and you’ll attend a welcome party for those who recently experienced Firstdeath. Then you’ll begin your training.”
I’m to become a General. Actually a Conduit, the highest type of General. I’m supposed to save my realm from the horrors of Myriad’s darkness.
There are six main positions in Troika—General, Leader, Headhunter, Laborer, Messenger and Healer—with hundreds of sub-positions under each.
Six positions, just as there are six fundamental virtues: love, wisdom, truth, goodness, mercy and justice.
“Through it all,” he adds, “you’ll stay away from me. I can’t stand the sight of you.”
Sandpaper rubs my throat raw. “Very well.” I owe him. I’ll respect his wishes—even if I’m currently losing respect for him. Troikans praise the merits of forgiveness and lament the hazards of retaliation. Two reasons I picked the realm. Two reasons I forsook Killian.
Am I a fool?
And did I really just think the word Troikans rather than we? I sigh. I’m part of the family, even if I feel alone.
Not that feelings are reliable. Feelings rarely provide a realistic picture, and often lead to destruction. I have to act on my heart-knowledge: what the heart understands, even if the mind—or logic—doesn’t.
Hello, spiritual law. With Sloan, I acted on my feelings. What I dished, I’m now eating. Today’s chef is Deacon.
Ann-nn-nd my shoulders roll in a little more. If left unchecked, my feelings can be a weapon more dangerous than a gun or a knife. They can send me sprinting down the wrong path and put me in the wrong place at the wrong time. They can hold me in darkness, blinding me to Light. They can make me soar one moment, and send me crashing the next. I must rise above. Must do what’s right even when everything around me is wrong.
I won’t forget again.
Deacon waves at the waterfall. “This is the Veil of Wings. The only way into Troika. Troikans can pass through without worry. If a Myriadian tries, he will burn to ash.”
Tremors shake me. Message received. If I attempt to bring Killian inside, I’ll kill him.
The weight of my decision to stand with one realm and rise against the other...to put everything I have, everything I am, into a single cause...to abandon the boy willing to kill for me, even willing to die for me...suddenly assails me. Panic crawls from the ashes of my despair, and slays my calm.
I try to distract myself with a poem.
Happiness is not obtainable
And I will never believe that
Love and Light will lead the way
Again and again, I’ve been shown that
Pain and darkness always win
It is a lie that
Happiness and joy are a choice
The truth is
There’s no way out of the abyss.
I will never be convinced that
“Something better this way comes.”
“You just have to fight the good fight.”
Actually
I will say—
“Even worse is on the way.”
Because there’s no way that
We can escape the abyss.
So depressing! I flip the script and repeat the poem, starting at the bottom and working my way up. A new ray of hope dawns.
I cling to it. Right now, it’s all I have.
“See the mist billowing from the waterfall?” Deacon asks. “It’s part of the Veil and wraps around the entire realm. There’s nowhere a Myriadian can safely enter.” He marches across the bridge, never once glancing back to ensure I follow.
Resigned, I trail after him. Time to see my eternal home. Time to meet the people I’ll be sharing an Everlife with. My new family. The ones I’ll be fighting to protect.
But a single question haunts me as I step underneath the spray of water.
I picked them...but what if they don’t pick me?
MYRIAD
From: K_F_5/23.53.6
To: R_O_3/2.17.12
Subject: I’ll go ahead and pat myself on the back
Consider Tenley Lockwood bagged and tagged. She trusts me implicitly, and she wants to be with me. Maybe she already regrets her covenant with Troika. The problem is, she’s going to spend the next year holed up inside Troika, training. That is twelve months—or fifty-two weeks—before she’s sent to the Land of the Harvest on assignment. Twelve months I won’t get to see her or talk to her. Fifty-two weeks I won’t get to “work my magic,” as you like to say.
How am I supposed to convince her to spy for us? Unless…can you trick Troika into sending her on assignment sooner?
Never mind. My apologies for suggesting the impossible. I’ll work my magic in a year, as promised.
Might Equals Right!
ML, Killian Flynn
MYRIAD
From: R_O_3/2.17.12
To: K_F_5/23.53.6
Subject: Never doubt me
I’m a General, Mr. Flynn. The best of the best. I can do anything. Mark my words: you will see Miss Lockwood sooner rather than later. I’ll make sure of it.
In the meantime, you’ll be training our newest recruit. Miss Aubuchon strikes me as resourceful young woman, willing to go the extra mile to get a job done.
Also, you’ve been assigned to a new Leader. Report your progress with Miss Aubuchon to Sir Zhi Chen. Report your progress with Miss Lockwood to us both.
Might Equals Right!
General Rosalind Oriana
MYRIAD
From: K_F_5/23.53.6
To: R_O_3/2.17.12
Subject: Is that a tear in my eye?
Thank you for gifting me with such an honor. I foresee zero problems training Sloan, the girl I just murdered. (Let me know if I need to explain sarcasm to you.) Elena and Charles are my Flankers/trainees. Adding a third is overkill, don’t you think?
Considering my recent successes, I have a favor to ask you. Before Madame Pearl Bennett died, she visited the Hall of Records to discover who is Fused with my mother, and where the girl is living in the Land of the Harvest. Will you look into Madame Bennett’s notes? I’d be grateful.
I’m sure I’ll do a better job with Miss Lockwood if I’m focused on her, and only her.
Might Equals Right!
ML, Killian Flynn
MYRIAD
From: R_O_3/2.17.12
To: K_F_5/23.53.6
Subject: Aren’t you adorable?
Next time you threaten me—however overtly—I’ll have you returned to the Kennels.
Elena and Charles have been reassigned. As for your mother, I’ll be happy to share her name with you…as soon as you do what you promised with Tenley Lockwood. That is our way. You help me, I help you.
Might Equals Right!
General Rosalind Oriana
chapter three
“Humility is your protection from self-deception. Pride is your defeat.”
—Troika
I’m bathed in liquid sunshine and bliss. The water doesn’t soak me or even dampen my clothing; it goes through me, somehow cleansing me from the inside out and, for one sublime moment, washing away my problems. Peace settles over me. There’s no room for fear or melancholy.
I breathe in deeply...exhale slowly...and savor every second.
I’m certain Killian will overcome whatever obstacles are thrown into his path. He’s smart. Brilliant, actually. And I’m ecstatic for Archer. He’s entered into the Rest. Who wouldn’t enjoy a permanent vacation from war? I’m confident I’ll overcome my own obstacles and quickly acclimate to my new circumstances...new structures, studies, traditions and people.
I’m not worried about my parents, who are Myriad loyalists, living in the other realm...hating me?
Maybe, maybe not. Before taking her final breath, my mother reconciled with me. My father cursed me before his. No matter. My peace endures. My worth isn’t measured by his feelings for me. I am who I am, and my worth is my worth. Life is that simple and that complicated.
I’m not even worried about the frigid cold I experience whenever Killian touches me. We’ve become two halves of a whole, and we’ll find a way to be together.
A hard weight slams into me from behind and knocks me forward. I stumble, coming out the other side of the waterfall, my precious peace instantly replaced by worries and concerns, my warmth by cold and my hope by despair. Tremors ignite in my belly and quickly spread through the rest of me.
Deacon, despite his dislike of me, helps steady me as a guy who looks to be my age emerges from the Veil.
“Sorry, sorry,” the guy says with a slight British accent. “Absolutely my fault, yeah. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
He has dark blond hair and amber eyes—one of which is ringed with black. He’s been in a fight. The battle we just left?
Guilt pricks at me.
There’s something familiar about him, but I’m too jumbled by my wayward emotions to solve the puzzle. Despite the bruising, he’s pretty enough to make a storybook princess weep with envy. At roughly five foot ten, he’s not much taller than me. However, the breadth of his shoulders allows him to engulf me.
His gaze slides to Deacon, and I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence. “New recruit?” he asks, amused, and my cheeks heat.
“Yes,” Deacon replies, his voice tight. He pats the guy on the shoulder and seems to fortify himself for an uncomfortable conversation. “There’s something you need to know, Victor. Archer is...he’s been...”
Victor holds up his hand and releases a heavy breath. “I’ve been told, but I refuse to mourn. I’ll be too busy fighting for his return.”
Victor winks at me. “Welcome home, newbie. You’re going to love it here. Come by my apartment later, and I’ll personally make sure of it.”
Deacon gives the guy’s chest a light punch. “The sexual harassment seminar is going well, I see.”
A grinning Victor salutes him before focusing on me. “I’m late for a debriefing or I’d stay and get to know you better. I know, I know. You’re devastated. When you come by—you did agree to visit me, right?—I’ll dry your tears.” He rushes off.
“Is everyone I meet going to make me feel like I fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch?” I ask.
“Spirits are flawless. There isn’t a can of dog food in the bunch.”
Good to know. “So who was that?”
“Victor Prince. Archer’s younger brother. They shared a special bond.”
Archer’s brother? Guilt slashes me, until I’m nothing but confetti.
Why didn’t he curse at me? Or rail? Why didn’t he demand I leave the realm forever? Something! Instead, he invited me over for, I’m guessing, a little light flirting.
Oh...zero. He must not know about my involvement in Archer’s death.
I wish the ground would open up and swallow me.
“Behold.” Deacon waves his arm to indicate the path Victor just took. “Troika.”
My gaze follows the line of his finger, a drumroll going off in my head to herald the moment of truth. Is Troika as lovely as Archer promised, or the scorched apocalyptic wasteland Killian disdained?
I can’t... I don’t... I wasn’t prepared for this. The beauty before me is far lovelier than Archer described. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. A gold brick wall frames an arched entrance created from pearl; the exquisite design is broken only by the Troikan symbol, which is carved into three separate locations.
Past the open archway is a thriving metropolis both fantastic and futuristic, with buildings of every shape and design, some made with a chrome-like substance, some with crystals. Interspersed throughout are castles and other buildings straight from the pages of a storybook. Cinderella would so approve; with the dewy foliage ascending many of the ramparts, Snow White wouldn’t miss her woodland cottage and the prince wouldn’t need Rapunzel’s hair to climb to the top.
I marvel as flowers bloom in a sky of clear, dappled water. We’re under an ocean? No. Realization: we’re under the Veil of Wings! Rose petals fall, twirling lazily through the air.
A ray of sunlight dances from a sun I cannot see. I reach out...only to still. The Troikan symbol in the center of my palm sparkles. Awed, I turn my arm. The numbers sparkle, as well.
“So many changes,” I mutter.
“You were living in an imperfect and tainted world,” Deacon says. “Physical bodies reflect that. Spirits do not.”
He ushers me past the pearl archway. A wall of mist parts in the center, revealing seven smaller archways, each made with a different precious gem and attached to a different—massive—tube.
“These are Gates,” he explains. “There are seven major cities within the realm, and every Gate leads to a different one. You’ll want to learn the transport system as soon as possible.”
He takes my hand and leads me into a tube made of diamonds.
Those diamonds vanish in a blink, replaced by a searing display of fireworks. I’m cognizant of the fact that I’m still standing, still walking, and yet I feel as if I’ve been sucked into a vacuum. The array of lights blurs, whizzing past me, and a wave of dizziness causes me to sway.
With Deacon’s help, I remain upright. The lights begin to fade, the diamond tube reappears. We step onto a gold brick street, surrounded by chrome-and-crystal buildings, no longer on the edge of the realm but in the middle of it. Thousands of people surround us. Male, female. Young, old. Well, not too old. No one tops thirty-five, I’d guess. There’s a beautiful mix of colors and races, and yet they are one people. Different, but exactly the same: priceless.
Due to virtual reality tours I’ve taken through Myriad, I know their citizens wear clothing compatible with the era they lived in as a human. I’ve seen everything from Victorian ball gowns to loincloths. The same is not true for Troikans.
“Everyone is wearing a catsuit or robe,” I say. “Why?”
“The robes are ceremonial. Needed for certain jobs,” Deacon replies. “The suits are lightweight armor. The material protects us against certain weapons. We must always be ready for attack.”
How...sad for us.
A clatter of voices hits my awareness, each light and cheerful. Smiles and laughter abound. No one seems to mind the threat Deacon described.
Envy cuts through me. Have I ever been so carefree?
First I was a girl sheltered by her parents, protected from any outside influence. Then I was a girl tortured at Prynne. Then I was a girl meant to save one realm and destroy the other. Always I was a means to an end. Until Killian and Archer transitioned from Laborers to friends.
Speaking past the lump in my throat, I ask, “How did we move from one location to another in mere seconds?”
“We’re spirits, no longer bound by physical laws. The Gates allow us to travel at the speed of Light.”
I struggle to process such an impossible revelation. The precise value of the speed of Light is 299,792,458 meters per second.
2 + 9 + 9 + 7 + 9 +2 + 4 + 5 + 8 = 55
5 + 5 = 10
Stop counting! Deacon has moved on. I rush after him, trailing him through the crowd. Despite a seeming preoccupation with each other, the couples and families remain highly aware of those around them, and no one bumps into anyone else. Everyone is courteous, offering a genuine “Please” and “Thank you” whenever warranted.
Various perfumes scent the air, blending harmoniously with the fragrance of roses. Multicolored petals continue to rain from the sky.
Deacon enters a crystal building, whisking through a door of mist. The decor is breathtaking, the ceiling like a midnight sky filled with vibrant stars. The walls are aglow with hues plucked straight from a rainbow, and every piece of furniture—from dinner tables and chairs to sofas and coffee tables—extends from massive trees that have grown through the floor, as if carved from branches still attached to the trunks.
A woodland forest inside a building. This is where impossible meets miracle.
When the identity of the occupants registers, I come to an abrupt stop. People I knew and loved in Firstlife, and even family I never actually met.
There is my grandmother Meredith; since my parents disowned her before I was born, I’ve only ever seen her in pictures. She is so beautiful. Though she experienced Firstdeath in her forties, she now appears twenty-five, her skin unlined, her pale hair without a single strand of gray.
Mom once told me about the adventures she and her mother had. How they’d spent every weekend at homeless shelters to care for the less fortunate.
My palms sweat. Am I a disappointment to her?
Meredith is speaking with Clayton “Clay” Anders. Clay and I met and bonded at Prynne. During our escape, we trekked through ice-covered mountains and got caught in an avalanche.
I shudder. Clay and Sloan were swept to the edge of a cliff, terrified out of their minds, and I had to make a split second decision. Who to save first. At the time, Sloan was Unsigned, while Clay had a secure future with Troika.
I picked Sloan, pouring what little energy I’d had into pulling her to solid ground first. I hadn’t wanted her sent to Many Ends, a realm of horrors and pain, to be tortured for eternity.
In the end, I hadn’t had enough time to save Clay, too, and I regret—
No. Absolutely not. I don’t regret. Yes, Sloan later betrayed me. Yes, Clay died too young. Considering the circumstances, I made the right call. I gave an Unsigned girl a chance Clay didn’t need. She made the wrong choice afterward, and the fault is hers alone.
And look at Clay now. My hand flutters over my heart to contain a starburst of joy. He’s thriving!
I spot General Levi Nanne, as handsome as ever in an immaculate pin-striped suit—no armor for him?—his dark hair brushed back from his chiseled features. He’s holding Jeremy, my infant brother, and I squeal.
Jeremy is my little miracle. To protect the Everlife from overcrowding, the Land of the Harvest is strict about population control. Women are sterilized after giving birth to their first child. If someone heals and a second pregnancy occurs, the child is given to a childless family. If no family is found, the child is placed in an orphanage. If the orphanages are overcrowded, the child faces elimination.
My mother had Jeremy in secret. She died soon afterward, poisoned by Madame Pearl Bennett, and Jeremy died only minutes later; Mom had unwittingly shared the poison with him when she fed him.
Some of my happiness deflates.
Let go of the past, march into the future.
I don’t recognize anyone else in the group, but I sense they are my blood relatives, ancestors who fought for me from behind the scenes during all the years of my Firstlife.
“Ten!” Clay catches sight of me and rushes over. I meet him halfway and throw my arms around him, clinging to him. With a laugh, he swings me around. “What did Zero say to Eight?”