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  SUMMER RUINS

  The Last Year, Book Four

  By Trisha Leigh

  Copyright 2013 by Trisha Leigh

  Cover art and design by Nathalia Suellen

  Developmental Editing: Danielle Poiesz

  Copy Editing: Lauren Hougen

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Trisha Leigh

  For my readers, who have made every step of this process not only bearable, but exciting. I have loved sharing this journey with you - thank you for coming along.

  Chapter 1

  It’s my destiny to be alone. It’s time I accept it.

  Besides the last six or so months, when I’ve had Lucas and Pax, solitude has been the single most constant aspect of my life. That should make it easier; I should be used to it, but now that I’ve felt friendship and companionship and love this isolation threatens to unhinge me.

  I’m not sure how many days have passed since Deshi left me in the darkness of this underground prison. My stomach went from rumbling to cramping to hollow a long time ago. My face no longer hurts from smacking into the dirt wall, though it’s still sensitive to the touch. The back of my throat is raw—from screaming, originally, but now because I’m thirsty. No amount of swallowing will wet it, and my tongue feels swollen.

  Deshi left a pitcher of water when he brought the salve, but I finished it a few days ago.

  I’ve gotten good at controlling little balls of fire in my hands, which gave me something else to focus on for a while. The light gave the illusion of company, even though it revealed my new quarters are less than five feet deep and five feet wide, made of dirt and marble. I threw a few flickering spheres of flame in each direction down the corridors outside the bars, but there was nothing to see.

  Dirt-packed tunnels of endless cells. Silence. Darkness.

  My parched eyes constantly blur, and I blink rapidly at the sound of shuffling footsteps but don’t get up or creep over to the bars to try to see who’s coming. It’s too far, my limbs too weak. The figure stops outside the cell, arms laden with a pitcher and some sort of package.

  “You alive?”

  It’s Deshi again, his voice a rough whisper as though he’s afraid of disturbing the total quiet of the dungeon. Despite the fatigue brought on by days of no food or water, my mind wants to snap at him. Unfortunately, my tongue is three sizes too big and there isn’t enough spit in my mouth to swallow, so I don’t say anything.

  “Althea, I’ve got some water and crackers for you.” He sounds more annoyed than anything, but the small stream of worry trickling through his impatience seizes my heart with the kind of hope I had no idea was still possible. He doesn’t want me to be dead.

  Some instinct tells me to sit still. All I have is the element of surprise, and I’m going to need more than that. Maybe I can coax Deshi into saying or doing something that will at least give me some information. Or even just get him to come closer.

  The decision pays off a minute later when he tucks the package under his arm and waves a hand in front of the bars, making them disappear the same way they did on his cage upstairs when we tried to rescue him, then replaces them once he’s entered. Had he trapped us himself or merely allowed Zakej and his sister to do it? The specifics don’t matter much now, seeing as how I’m locked in here and he’s not on my side.

  He stands over me, so close I can distinguish his scent of freshly turned earth over the dry packed dirt of the floor. The scent of rain on grass, of lilacs in bloom, rolls over me until I can’t help but breathe deep and enjoy it. When he sticks out a tentative toe to nudge my foot, I slide it out of his way, giving up my ruse.

  “I’m awake. Alive. Whatever,” I croak, my own voice unrecognizable.

  Deshi doesn’t respond, just sets the box of crackers and pitcher of water on the ground, then fishes a plastic cup out of his pocket and sets it down, too. I whip up a small flame, raising it with shaking arms until it reveals his face.

  He’s so like I remember from the autumn in Danbury, even though it wasn’t him then at all. He’s shorter than either Pax or Lucas, who are a similar height and at least six inches taller than me. If memory serves and Zakej’s mimicry is as good as I believe, Deshi stands only an inch or so taller than my five foot six. The flickering firelight bounces off his skin, which I originally described as yellow but is more the brownish-tan color of a bottle of honey.

  Those eyes, slanted up at the outer edges and bright blue—save the black veins cracking the white—train on the fire floating just above the soft skin of my palm. The black threads in his eyes seem wider than the last time I saw him, as though they’re trying to consume the whites, leaving his eyes as black as the Others’.

  For the first time, curiosity lights his face instead of the blank mask he’s favored, and I take advantage of his distraction. “Why do your eyes have black veins and mine don’t?”

  The question peels his eyes from the fire in my control. In them I glimpse hesitation and fear, maybe even contempt. “You’ve only accessed your Elemental power, but we possess a full spectrum of Other abilities, too. The veins are the result of tapping those.”

  I don’t know what to say, or what potential Other power he might have called upon that blackened his eyes. They have abilities. Of course they do. But the ones I’ve seen are pretty horrible.

  “How do you do that?” he asks, backing a few steps away and to the edges of the light.

  I get the feeling he doesn’t want me looking at him.

  I shrug, unwilling to let it flicker out and plunge us back into darkness. Even if he is a traitor, I don’t want him to go. It’s better than being alone, for one thing. For another, I need him to talk to me, about anything at all, so I can convince him to change his mind about choosing the Others over us. Somehow remind him that we’re not Other. We’re Dissidents, the only four on the planet, and we need to stick together. “Tell me how you make the bars disappear and I’ll tell you how I make fire.”

  “I’m not stupid, you know. No matter what Pax told you.”

  “He never said that.” I want to say more, like how Pax never said anything bad at all and how we spent weeks and months trying to find him because he’s one of us, but instinct says not to push.

  Deshi spent those weeks and months being told something completely different. That we left him, that we don’t care, that we’re the ones who’ve turned against our families.

  He’s not going to believe me right away, even if maybe he wants to. The best I can do is let him get to know me enough to plant seeds of doubt. I gulp down a cupful of water while I try to figure out how to accomplish such a thing.

  The cool liquid coats my mouth and throat, and it’s refreshing until a slightly tangy aftertaste stays behind on my tongue. It’s familiar but I’m not sure why. I look down into the cup and realize it was stupid of me not to think that it could be poisoned.

  Before my panic grows out of control, Deshi backs up toward the bars that will allow him to escape the hole he’s cast me into, and desperation seizes my chest.

  “It’s like putting your power into a pocket instead of letting it fly around everywhere,” I say quickly.

  He pauses, raising a wary gaze to meet mine. “What?”

  “Making a little bit of fire. When I first started to realize I could use it, the only way it would work was to let all of my emotions build inside until they burst out through my hands or wherever. This is different. Like…” My sluggish mind searches for t
he right comparison, or at least for one that he’ll understand. “Like pinching off one berry instead of ripping the whole bush out of the ground.”

  His eyes grow wide. “You’ve picked berries off a bush?”

  Despite my worry over the liquid being some kind of poison, I can’t resist another couple of swallows. The damage is done either way, and my throat begs for more moisture. “Yes. In the Wilds. Not berries we didn’t recognize, but we found a couple of blueberry bushes and a blackberry patch.”

  “They didn’t kill you.”

  “Obviously.” I try a smile.

  He looks slightly startled, as though he doesn’t comprehend the joke.

  This time when he waves a hand, steps into the corridor, and replaces the bars, I don’t stop him. We’ve started an information swap of some kind, and perhaps the subtle discussion will lead him to naturally question the Others the way Lucas and I did last autumn.

  The sound of Deshi’s feet disappears into the blackness, and I let the sphere of light go out so I can use my hands to swallow the rest of the slightly metallic water and stuff crackers into my face. An hour or so later I feel almost 100 percent better—better than I have any right to, really. I feel strong.

  Then I remember where I’ve tasted that water before, and the last time strength filled me with such unexpected force. It was that autumn day the Wardens brought the offering to the Terminal class. When they crushed up the pink blocks and mixed them into punch.

  The first day my human classmates began to disappear.

  Chapter 2.

  I’m not dead, so they didn’t poison me.

  Also, there hasn’t been a power surge like I experienced last autumn after ingesting the pink drink, the one that demanded to be released before I melted from the inside out. Either my ability to control the fire inside me has grown more stable, or the laced water Deshi brought me is a lower concentration. Perhaps some combination of both.

  If the pink stuff is the substance the Others are mining from Earth, Lucas, Pax, and I figure that even if it has a detrimental effect on humans, it could have a positive one on us. The Others must at least realize that possibility since they gave it to the Terminal students, so why would they give it to me now? The Prime has made it pretty clear he plans to wring my neck as soon as possible; my being dehydrated and half-dead from acid burns would make that easier. Which means he may not know Deshi gave me the substance, since it made me stronger.

  Footsteps return before I’m hungry again, and Deshi lets himself in without me going through the whole quiet ploy to lure him closer. He tosses me a bag with a sandwich this time and swaps my empty pitcher for a fresh one. My first gulp of water tells me this offering is clean of pink dust, which vexes me.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly after swallowing a bite of bread and turkey.

  Deshi nods. He’s quiet for a moment but not like he’s going to leave. More like he wants to say something but can’t quite figure out what.

  “Will you stay and talk to me for a while?”

  His slender black eyebrows knit above the bridge of his nose. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

  “Why not?”

  No response to that, but I can figure it out even if he can’t. They’ve been lying to him, and the Others are smart enough to realize I’ll tell a different story about what’s happening on Earth and our potential role in it. Except I can’t say that. He thinks of the Others as his family now, so insulting them will get me nowhere. I feel my forehead wrinkle in thought. If Deshi tried to tell me Pax and Lucas were liars, I’d tune him out immediately.

  Instead my thoughts turn to the one thing that changed my mind about Earth more than anything else. “I have a dog. Did you know that?”

  Deshi squats down until our eyes are at the same level, but he doesn’t relax enough to sit, even though I think he might want to. “I heard a rumor after what happened in Utah, but I thought Zak was messing with me.”

  “Does he like to mess with you?”

  Deshi shrugs. “Sometimes. Not in a mean way, more like friends. Or brothers.”

  Brothers. Two boys born to the same Partners. If Deshi has brothers, they’re Lucas and Pax, not a cruel, calculating Other like Zakej. A guy who kills with a flick of his wrist if it suits his cause. I swallow the protests on the tip of my tongue and bite back the urge to extol my friends’ virtues. “Anyway, it’s true. At first I thought he was a wolf, but when Pax showed up he told me it was a dog.”

  “But it looks like a wolf? Gray and big?”

  “Yeah. His name is Wolf, actually.” I’m starting to regret bringing this up. Talking about my dog brings tears to my eyes. I wonder if he’s okay, if Brittany is taking care of him like she promised, if he misses me or wonders why we left him. “He saved our lives—mine and Pax’s, a couple of times. He’s sweet.”

  Deshi snorts. “Sweet. Yeah, right.”

  He stands up and brushes off his pants, then holds out his hands for my empty plate. I hand it over, thinking hard about the best way to breach his defenses. “I wish you could meet Wolf. He’d like you, I think.”

  “Maybe I would have if Pax hadn’t left me to rot.”

  It feels like all of the air sucks out of my stinking pen. The smell of last night’s urine in the corner, combined with mildew and earth, hardly registers as Deshi and I both wait for me to say something. Anything.

  I have to try. “Deshi, Pax feels badly about that. He did what he thought was best, but then… things got out of hand and he traveled. But I promise, he tried—”

  “Save it, Althea. You don’t need to make excuses for him. And you’re just as much to blame as he is. Zak told me you’re the reason Pax didn’t come back. Because he has some sort of weak human thing for you and follows you around like he’s attached to your ass.”

  “What’s an ass?”

  Deshi bursts into unexpected laughter. “It’s another word for butt. Rear end.” He slaps his own backside.

  “Oh.” We stare at each other for a minute. I don’t know if the right thing is to protest or to let it go, for now. My nerves wring my stomach like a wet rag, reminding me that time is running out. “What’s the pink stuff you put in my drink? I mean, I know it’s what the Others are mining, but what’s it called? And why’d you give it to me?”

  He lets his arms fall to his sides; the plate he took back from me bangs rhythmically against his knee. “You can’t tell them I gave it to you. Or that I came down here at all.”

  “Why? What’s going to happen?”

  There’s a long pause filled with the sound of our breathing and the thud of the plastic tray against his jeans. “Do you feel better today? How’s your leg?”

  At first, the question seems so disconnected it’s hard to force my mind to catch up. Then I realize maybe his train of thought is logical after all. “Does it… is the pink stuff supposed to fix me?”

  “I can’t tell you what it is, but yeah, it gives us a boost of strength and healing, if we need it.”

  “You can’t tell me what it is, or you won’t?” It’s not really a question. The Others can’t control our ability to blab their secrets the way they can with their minions and Wardens. I want Deshi to admit he’s more like us, but instead he does the opposite.

  “I won’t. Zak and his family have been there for me while you and Pax weren’t.”

  “And what about Lucas? You don’t even know him but you’re condemning him, too.”

  Deshi turns and leaves my cell, replacing the marble bars in his wake. “He’s one of you. That’s all I need to know.”

  With renewed determination, I scuttle off the floor and over to the bars, staring for a second at Deshi’s retreating back. Finally, my hands wrapped around the cool marble, I tell him what I’ve been wanting to say. “You’re one of us, too, Deshi. A Dissident.” He pauses, and I know he’s listening. “You know it’s true. No matter what they tell you or what you’ve had to believe to survive. There’s no changing who you are.”

&
nbsp; Deshi’s shoulders slump, uncharacteristic for his rigid posture, and he disappears into the blackness without a word.

  Chapter 3.

  Deshi returns the next day in a surprisingly good mood. I expect him to be angry that I confronted him, more determined to prove he’s one of them—simply an Other, not a Dissident, not Something Else—but if anything he’s more willing to chat. I wish I were the kind of girl who could simply accept my good fortune, but my life has embedded a sad overflow of suspicion into the fiber of my nature.

  I take a bite of another dry turkey sandwich, wishing for mustard or even a tomato to soften the paste clinging to the back of my tongue. The water is clear again, maybe because Deshi wanted to make sure I survived the acid burn but he can’t have me strong enough to cause any kind of real trouble. Not that I would. There’s no chance I’m getting out of here on my own, and winning back Deshi’s trust is the only thing I’m focused on, the only thing that can make any kind of real difference to our situation.

  We need him if we’re going to have any chance of standing against the Others, maybe figuring out how to get them off the planet and then save Earth from their environmental destruction. Our friends are out there, and in a few weeks they’ll start making their way to the cabin in Deadwood, if we don’t escape and show up before then. They can start working on the problem of the primordial elements. I need to work on Deshi.

  Still, I’m suspicious of his good mood. “So, what’s going to happen when the Prime gets back from the Harvest Site?”

  “He’s made no secret of his plan to kill all three of you.”

  I gulp, air smashing harder than a boulder into my lungs. It’s not a surprise, but to hear my future roll off Deshi’s tongue so carelessly brings the reality home. We’re going to die soon and no one will stop it. Instead of freaking out and screaming, crying, or begging—all of the things my brain would like to do at this moment—I force myself to give Deshi a disinterested smile. “What makes you think he’s not going to kill you, too? I mean, you’re one of us, you could be just as dangerous as we are. And you’ve served your purpose in luring us here.”