Authors: Tabitha Vale
The ramp wasn't far ahead. Once she'd reached it, Braya began running again, but she found the slightest resistance with the rigs when trying to lug them up a hill.
When the ramp ended, she reached even ground again. She felt around for a door. It took her longer than she would have liked, and was forced to place the box down on the ground after minutes of fruitless searching.
“Did they even add an effing door?” Braya grumbled to herself, sweat trickling over her brow.
She found it a few minutes later. She burst through it, panting and out of breath. She stood there for a couple moments, hands on her knees, bent over, to catch her breath.
A low rumble far in the distance caught her attention. It was behind her, in the direction where the horizon stretched beyond the field and where she assumed the Petti ended somewhere. Braya turned as the sound grew. She hadn't heard anything like it—a cross between a dog's guttural growl and a car's engine, all magnified to a larger level. And it kept growing—it literally seemed to be mounting higher—so much that Braya imagined if it had a physical trace of color, it might be like the scene of a sun rising in the morning, casting the sky in vibrant pastels.
The sound was tapering off, but Braya sensed it wasn't the end.
As if on cue, an explosion of red and orange bloomed across the horizon and shook the ground. Braya stumbled against the small doorway she'd come from—the other abandoned shack she'd spotted just earlier—and watched in glamored terror as the sky cracked. Tiny spider lines like the ones that had sunk into the objects she'd implanted with the boosters scuttled across the blue sky, as if it were a surface of fine china. A horrible, gut-wrenching whine followed the explosion, and then a line of black—like a march of ants—was streaming from the smoke.... the smoke that furled away from a gaping hole in the horizon.
It was exactly as Latham had said. The Petti was breached, and those ants—no, those weren't ants, they were Channing's men—were flooding into Venus City.
With a little cry, Braya dashed back through the door and collected the box and the cord. With one more glance toward the shattered sky, she saw that it was already mending itself. The cracks were disappearing, as if sewn up like new, and the hole was shrinking.
It didn't matter. The damage had been done.
Braya ran to the manor in record time. At the door in the hedge, she glanced behind her to see if the flood of men were anywhere near yet. It seemed they hadn't even reached the shacks, which meant they were not enhanced with any sort of seedlings. Were they meant to go down and meet Latham to get the Moon Tamer gear? But Latham had already said they were fully armed...
Shaking those useless questions away, Braya tugged the rigs through the door—it was lucky the door was so wide, but Braya figured the Locers had planned all these things down to the smallest detail—and continued across the estate; dashing through shorter hedges, skirting around gazebos, nearly tripping into ponds, and crisscrossing around the other two manors before she reached Heartland. Those Locers sure knew how to create a bothersome path, but she figured the white metal in the ground had to be placed in the most discreet places. She hadn't even noticed them on her way out of the manor before.
Upon reaching the back stairwell she'd escaped through, Braya was surprised to see a long line of Brides and Grooms evacuating from the sixth floor landing. Some seemed frantic—mostly the Brides—while the others were merely baffled.
Spotting her, the process immediately halted and all eyes locked onto her and the mysterious floating rigs that she was pulling.
“What's going on?” Braya asked the Grooms at the foot of the stairs.
“Mother Ophelia told us to evacuate,” one of them responded while glancing around her to peak a glimpse at what she might be hiding under the tarps.
“Mother Ophelia?” Braya asked in surprise. “Did she say why?”
Another of the Grooms shrugged. “We heard a loud commotion, lots of shouting and screaming. Then she came into our lesson room and told us to come down these stairs.”
“Oh my gosh, look at her dress,” she heard one of the Brides murmur.
“Do you think she's the Runaway Bride?”
“Seems so. I keep reading so many posts about it on my tech feed.”
“Should I take a pic and upload it?”
“I can't
believe
she would runaway from her wedding.”
Forcing herself to block those comments out, Braya directed her next question at the Grooms, who probably weren't tuned to receive emotions like panic or distress. “Did you see anything on your way out? Was anyone hurt?” She could only imagine what might of become of Asher in her absence.
One of them shrugged. “Didn't really have a chance to see anything.”
“Hey,” another interrupted. “What are you hauling there?”
“Oh, that's not your—” She was about to brush them off, but an idea struck her. Where else would she be able to find a crowd of a hundred people of whom could make use of all the Moon Tamer gear she had? And if she propositioned them correctly, they might turn out to be just what she needed...
She knew the males would not be quick to agree to anything that had to do with violence, and the Brides equally so, but not because of any impairment on their part. So Braya had to come up with something else.
“How many of you know how to play Moon Tamer?” She asked, raising her voice slightly so that more of the group could hear her. She didn't want to be too loud, though, just in case Channing was still up on the sixth floor.
Nearly all of them raised their hands in response. Her heart started thudding excitedly. This was turning out better than she expected.
“Great,” she said, maneuvering around the rigs so that she could throw aside the tarps. “Because we're going to play a game of it.”
A thrill passed over the entire group like a tidal wave, and then a hush overcame them as Braya finished uncovering each of the five rigs.
“Aren't there too many people?” A Bride asked.
“And is this really the time to be doing this?”
“Mother Ophelia said we had to evacuate, not play a game...”
“Okay, okay,” Braya shushed them. “Just stop asking questions, okay? We don't have a lot of time. No, we might not even have enough players.”
“Maybe we should set up a few different games—there's an awful lot of gear and—”
Braya was rapidly losing patience. “NO,” she insisted, startling them into silence. “Just
listen
to me for a second.”
When no one objected any further, she continued. “This is a different kind of game. We're improvising with what we have. All of you get a suit and all of you get the batons and orbs and rings, all right? All the builders, healers, and such are irrelevant in this game.”
“How is this Moon Tamer, then?” One of the Brides dared to ask.
Braya shot her a deathly glare. “I told you it's a spin-off. Now, do you see this trail of white metal in the ground? If you hover over those you can float in the suits. You'll need to get high enough in the air so that you can see over the hedges. The other team is on the other side. The goal of this game is to prevent them from getting through the hedge.”
“And who is the other team, exactly?”
“That's not important,” Braya said hurriedly. She was wasting too much time explaining the game when she should already be up the stairs and seeking out Asher. “Just get geared up as fast as possible, they'll be here any minute.”
“What if we lose?” One of the Grooms asked as the group resumed their descent down the stairs and started surrounding the rigs of gear.
“Don't lose,” Braya said gravely. “That's not an option.”
She figured it might not be such a good idea to be so cryptic with them. She had told them it was a game, so they might not understand the gravity of it—but dammit she didn't have the time to explain the nuances of why exactly it would result in something bad if they did not win!
As an afterthought, Braya snatched up a few rings from the gears and hooked them onto the lace twist over her stomach. Just in case.
Braya found herself fighting the current as she dashed up the stairs. The Brides and Grooms were hurrying down and she was going up. She didn't dare yell at them for it, either—Channing might hear her. She didn't know why she was hoping she would retain the element of surprise—he was probably expecting her to return otherwise he would have followed her—but she didn't like the idea of him waiting around the corner, ready to snatch her as soon as she appeared.
When Braya reached the sixth floor landing, she spared a glance down to see how the Brides and Grooms were doing. Most of them had strapped themselves into the floating suits and were experimenting with levitating heights. Some were still on the ground, apparently electing themselves to supply the ones in the air with a constant flow of rings and orbs. Braya scowled at that—didn't they know how to make them float through the air, like in a real game? They needed all the shooters they could get...
A sound from inside drew Braya's attention. With her back against the wall, she slowly peaked around a pillar so that she could see across the landing on the inside.
Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Asher crumpled on the ground. He was up against the rail, strewn awkwardly about like a pile of garbage that had been swept out of the way. She couldn't see his face from her vantage point. Only a mop of mussed dark hair, the hard contours of his neck and jaw, and his shredded tie peaking out from a rumpled blazer. Any injuries he might have had were also out of her line of sight, but she knew that if he'd been hit by one of the orbs or rings the damage would not have been inflicted on the outside, but on the inside.
Channing was still there, the batons clutched tightly in his hands, though they were at his sides, resting. She could only see the side of him as he conversed angrily with Mother Ophelia, who looked to be on the verge of tears. Her ruby red gown was disheveled and dirtied on the bottom, as if she had stepped on the hem one too many times in her hurry to join them.
Page was there, too, as well as the officiant. They stood off to the side, quivering. Braya assumed Channing was forcing the officiant to be there, and the way the two of them cowered against the wall was almost comical.
Braya's eyes slid back over to where Asher was lying. If she could just sneak along the edge of the rail—falling in the outer edge of his peripheral—she figured she might have a chance at reaching Asher without Channing noticing. That was all if his conversation with Mother Ophelia was as engaging as it appeared.
Taking a deep breath, Braya scuttled inside. There was no more time for her to waste. Those men who had came through the blast in the Petti were bearing down on them, Asher was clearly unconscious, and she was nowhere closer to figuring out how she stood a chance against Channing. But she had to act on something, and that was what motivated her to tip toe over to Asher.
Omitting the sigh of relief that rose to her lips, Braya sunk to the floor beside Asher, set the jewelry box down beside him, and pulled out the pack of health boosters—she had to store it in her bust this time, since she'd chopped off most of her skirts. She gently pulled back the torn collar of his shirt and began a ring of boosters just beneath his collar bone, from one side to the other. Expending seven in that fashion, she was dismayed to see that it was not enough to revive Asher.
She frantically felt for a pulse with one hand as the other continued to unstick the boosters from its paper. His pulse—she found to her overwhelming relief—was faint under her touch, so she applied another row of three boosters along the front of his neck, and then another on his right temple, just at the edge of his hairline. They were glowing a glossy lavender color, their small coin-shaped designs sinking deep beneath his skin.
Asher began to stir, groaning. Braya ran her fingers through his hair, and watched eagerly as his pearly blue eyes were uncovered when his lids fluttered open. She felt her heart do somersaults in response.
“Braya,” he sighed.
Channing and Ophelia's background conversation abruptly ceased after Asher uttered her name. Braya's heart seemed to cease as well. She regretfully dragged her gaze up to see a different scene than before. Channing, now completely turned so that he was facing her, stared at her impassively, and Ophelia, with a tear-streaked face, was observing Braya like she were a precious jewel uncovered from a year-long excavation. So much pride, so much reverence evident in that expression that Braya didn't know how to regard the woman.
“Braya,” Asher continued, as if oblivious to the audience they now had. “Why—what are you...doing here?”
She carefully let her eyes drop back down so that she could inspect his recovery process. The color was returning to his cheeks, and the gleam to his jewel toned gaze was as bright as ever. The boosters were working fast.
“Shh,” she whispered, placing her finger over his lips. Braya cast another wayward glance up to Channing and Ophelia. What were they doing, watching on like that? Their unwavering interest in the way she dealt with Asher was making her uneasy.
“Does it hurt very much?” Braya asked softly, brushing stray strands of his hair out of his eyes.