CHAPTER 9 KORI #2
“Fair enough,” Alpha echoes, the tone wavering, quivering, in something that is almost—but not quite—an answering laugh.
“The Diakópsei gifted me with strength,” she goes on, flexing four of her six arms for good measure, “but it blessed my younger brother’s mind, not his body.
He can move things with a thought. When the usurper sought to evolve beyond reason, to become the most monstrous of us all, my brother did not yet understand the horror of what she’d done.
In the chaos of the conflict, he reached out to the Diakópsei himself—was himself corrupted, overcome with power never meant for us. ”
Alpha pauses again, braced as if for a blow. But I’m not here to judge the nightfolk and their wars. I ask, “What happened next?”
“The Diakópsei’s power twisted all of us, to some degree.
But to touch it with an open mind, to see its surface with your own eyes …
It was overwhelming. He could not maintain contact for long.
But for long enough. The usurper’s powers were always strength and concentrated energy, so it is those that were enhanced.
But my brother moves things with his mind. So now … now he moves other minds.”
My head spins so badly, I wonder how hard I knocked it against my helmet during the crash. “You’re telling me your brother manually transferred a specific, targeted memory from your head to that sphere … by thinking about it?”
“I am.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Truth persists, regardless of what your kind, deluded by the light, choose to believe,” Alpha says, arms defiantly crossed, but then she seems to soften. “They say your people trust their eyes too much, when they see so very little. But I’m grateful, child, that you saw me. That
you came here and granted me a glimpse of your glorious sun.
” Alpha shakes her head again, overcome, her singular gray eye again glassy with tears.
“I can only hope it helps to balance my brother’s troubled mind.
It is no gentle thing, to be suddenly beset by the inner thoughts of anyone you touch.
He is overcome, writhing deep within … This may draw him back toward himself.
” Her lips lift into a little smile. “Thank you … Kori.”
At that, my whole body goes rigid, ice-cold. I nearly cry out from a fresh, unbearable wave of anguish in my shoulder.
It’s bad enough that a handful of my dayfolk trading partners learned my real name from talkative Aspect’s running commentary.
But a nightfolk trading partner? This is so, so bad.
I’ve broken so many rules this sleep cycle, I could write a dissertation of apologies and still have sins left unaddressed.
A nightfolk knows my name, has record of my agreement to this illicit transaction, and could turn me over to the Coalition at any time.
I swallow hard and steady my voice, despite knowing that the mask would flatten its tone regardless.
“I haven’t used your real name, Alpha. There are rules to the Morpheus Market.
” Rules I’ve flouted today with reckless abandon, but this is a valuable opportunity for leverage.
“I can forgive this violation, if you can only find a way to get us home.”
Aspect toddles closer to my side. “Home,” they echo in a whisper. “Aspect—will take—Kori home.”
Alpha clutches her sphere with three hands, holding it close to her chest. “Forgive me, Monarch. You have done as you promised.” But she casts her eye to the ground.
“I want to help you, truly. But our people have no need of starships. Your only way back through the Passage is on the back of a winged nightfolk.”
My stomach sinks, nearly nauseous.
“I know your presence here is already a risk,” Alpha continues. “I know showing yourself to yet another of our kind may be deeply unsettling. But if you let me take you to our resistance, surely one of
Azarii’s soldiers would be willing to carry you and your … machine … home. Uncorrupted as you are by this planet’s sickness. You could be an emblem to them, a glimpse of that to which we hope we may return.” She gestures to my mangled limb. “And one with a healing gift could attend to your injury.”
Morpheus Market transactions are supposed to be quick and clandestine, not uncomfortably personal. Despite desperately needing Alpha’s help, I feel sweaty all over inside my suit. “Alpha—”
“When you return to the Daylands,” Alpha says, heedless of my discomfort, “I see your mother holds sway there … I will not speak of this again. I swear it. But, please, if you can, tell her … tell her we are certainly people of the night. But we are not beasts. We can be better.”
My mouth has gone dry, my tongue stuck to its roof.
I don’t know what to say. Actually, I do.
I should say, Just take me to my ride home, pass the Morpheus sphere to its proud new owner, and get the hell out of the Shadowlands.
I never expected such a show of emotion from any of the nightfolk.
I meant it when I told Aspect they aren’t monsters, but only in a clinical sense—they’re sentient, after all.
But if you’d asked me yesterday whether nightfolk were people, well … I don’t know what I would’ve said. I certainly wouldn’t have said that they could cry, or that they care what we think of them, or that they care for much of anything at all.
Aspect looks at me, visual processors blinking.
Almost hopeful. They can learn hope now, in its proper form.
Maybe it’ll be enough to bring my mechanical friend to life.
I’m on the verge of tears at this point, and not just from my dislocated arm.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions.
That’s when the ground beneath me blasts apart.