"How?" Quirin said with such vehemence Silas took a step back. "They know too much. First, they infiltrate what I designed to be an impregnable security system. Then, they wage biological warfare—novel agents the logisters have never seen before. Now they know that if they trigger the security system, the facility will blow. How? The only ones who know of this include me, the Empire's upper echelon and…"
Silas knew what he was going to say. The Covenant of Fallen Stars.
Quirin groaned, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. "It's worse than I thought. Someone from the Covenant must be leaking information to the Unspoken. Or worse, they're openly working with them. Why? Why would our own betray us like this?"
"We can fret about that later, Machinist," Vera said. Her gaze found Silas's and locked on. "We have an immediate goal: Stop the Unspoken and protect the Arboretum. Silas, can you talk to them?"
Quirin exhaled through pursed lips. "Yes. You're right, Ms. Stroud. Let's move toward the front—where the control panel is. I want to disable the system so if they break in nothing will happen." To Silas, he said, "Child, can you talk to them and walk at the same time?"
Silas hesitated. Under normal circumstances, he could. Right now, it wasn't likely. But he didn't have a choice. He nodded curtly.
"Then let's move." Quirin left their tents and supplies on the ground and strode in the direction they came last night.
Silas walked slowly at the back, struggling to gather his wispy dregs of aether. He recognized the problem. When he cracked the 'pipes' in his mind that stored his aether, it reduced his capacity to almost nothing. Silas's mind constantly produced aether, but with nothing to contain it, the substance leaked out faster than the supply could keep up with. His aether had always poured out like this, which, according to the Unspoken, was unusual and dangerous. But when the pipes were intact, it caused little harm. Now, they were nearly empty. If he disturbed his fragile aether more than it already was, Silas feared he would never recover. But if he didn't try to communicate with the Unspoken, calamity would befall humankind.
His legs carried him forward automatically as his attention slipped deeper inward. He gathered everything that he had and sent a single projection toward the Unspoken:
Silas's awareness wrenched back into his body. Intense crushing pressure built between his ears. His legs gave way and he fell to hands and knees. Tearing off his mask, he frantically wiped at the blood dripping from his nose.
Vera was beside him, saying something. Silas couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears. Frustration ground his teeth. One word was all it took to deplete him. He couldn't talk with the Unspoken. Already, he'd failed.
The ringing faded, ushering sound back. Silas could hear Vera now. She was demanding the others stop and wait. When they did, Vera returned her attention to Silas. She gripped his shoulders, staring at him intently. Silas noticed his humors smeared on the back of her hands.
"What's wrong, Silas?" She huffed. "Enough of your excuses, I'm not an imbecile. Your drowsiness and… this” —she gestured at his bloodied face— "are clearly related. So I ask you again: what is wrong?"
Silas dropped his gaze. He licked his coppery lips and reaffixed the mask to his face. Then, he rose unsteadily to his feet.
The Unspoken had heard him. Silas knew because they went quiet the moment he projected his Voice. Still, they were silent. Or maybe he couldn't hear them anymore because his aether was gone? He didn't know which possibility was worse.
"There's no time for this," Quirin snapped, narrowed eyes trained on Silas. "I need to get to the control panel. Let's continue."
Vera stepped forward. "No, Machinist. Something isn't right." She spoke over her shoulder, scrutinizing Silas. "He's hiding something, and whatever it is may determine the outcome of this mission."
Quirin scoffed. "Whatever it is he can reveal as we walk."
Vera chewed her lip. "How about this? You all go on ahead. I'll stay behind with him."
"No. I need him by my side to negotiate with the Unspoken. I need to tell him what to say to them."
"You can do that after you've turned off the security system. He can't say anything to the Unspoken if we're all blown sky-high." Under her breath, she added, "Why did the Empire even allow you to build such an explosive mechanism?"
Quirin and Vera regarded each other in a silent battle of wills. Vera's resolve was stronger. Shaking his head, Quirin turned around and trudged away. Ravelin and Oscar paused—unsure who to follow. Vera waved them on, encouraging them after Quirin. When they disappeared into a copse of trees, Vera studied Silas. He squirmed, still unable to meet her gaze.
"Silas—"
He stopped her with a raised hand and began to write. What he scribed wasn't a total lie. The Unspoken's hush evolved into chaotic whispering. Now he knew where they were going.
"The Unspoken are not here yet," he wrote. "But I can feel them underneath. They travel below ground in subterranean tunnels. Slowly, they're closing in on the Arboretum's door where the others are headed now." His next words were not entirely truthful. "It's hard to talk to them when they're so far away. Let's follow Quirin. If I get near them, it will be easier to have a conversation."
Vera hummed to herself. By her expression, Silas knew she didn't believe a word. But she didn't protest further. She returned his notepad to him—which he slipped into his pocket—and began to walk. Silas tried to match her pace but was quickly winded. The killer migraine wasn't helping either. The heat no longer felt comfortable; it was stifling. Silas lagged behind. Vera perceived this and slowed down. At one point, his balance failed. He stumbled to a tree and held on until the vertigo subsided. Vera reached for him, then stopped herself. Silas pretended not to notice.
There was commotion ahead. Yelling. Whizzing. Percussive thuds. Silas assumed it was the Unspoken at first, but then Vera froze and raised her flarepistol. Not paying attention, Silas meandered ahead. Vera inhaled sharply to alert him to the danger. He spun—but not fast enough.
A Guardswoman leapt from behind a tree, cudgel swinging. The blunt weapon arched down—straight for Silas's head.
Vera lunged. She tackled Silas, slamming him to the ground. The cudgel missed his skull by a hair. In her surprise, the Guardswoman overbalanced. Vera reacted instantly. Her shot hit the Guardswoman square in the chest. She died before she could scream.
The Guardswoman wasn't alone. Three others emerged from the thicket. The death of their comrade provoked cold rage. They advanced on Vera and Silas—their movement organized, deliberate. Silas was still on the ground, staring lamely at the sky. The weightlessness in his head convinced him he was in a dream. Vera's voice drew him back to reality.
"This conflict is meaningless!" she shouted, shielding Silas with her arms outstretched. "A group of Unspoken is advancing on the Arboretum as we speak. They intend to detonate the facility. Let us go. We're trying to stop them. Isn't that what you want?"
Silas sat up and edged backward until he rammed into a tree. A Guardsman craned his neck around Vera's shoulder. When he spotted Silas, his eyes went round.
"That's the Unspoken boy!" he said. His comrades murmured, shuffling sideways to get a look for themselves. "Apprehend this traitorous woman. I'll grab him."
Silas's hand went for his knife.
"Aren't you Vera Stroud?" The person who said this was hidden behind Vera.
"She is. I recognize her." This came from the Guardswoman to Vera's left. "She was a tremendously successful Arbiter. The Arbiter of Aberrations at that. I can't believe she turned traitor."
Silas climbed to his feet as one of the Guardsmen approached. He drew his knife and removed its pillowcase binding. The blade wavered—unsteady in his shaky grip. The Guardsman noted Silas's weakness with a victorious grin.
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"Silas, go. Run." Vera's back was to him, but her order rang loud and clear.
He hesitated, quivering knife brandished before him. The Guardsman slowly inched closer, half-crouched like he was advancing on a wounded animal.
Vera fired off two swift shots. They went wide, but she wasn't aiming for the Guards. A heavy branch plummeted from above, landing in a spray of leaves and debris. It blocked the two Guards from attacking.
"I said GO, Silas." Vera's severe tone stabbed through Silas's heart. She'd never spoken to him like that.
Blinking away tears, Silas turned and ran, not caring where his knife was pointing. As he fled, he listened to the fight behind. He heard bootsteps in rapid approach. The chase isn't what made him look back—it was the silence. Vera was no longer shooting.
Silas glanced over his shoulder, ignoring the Guardsman in close pursuit. The other two Guards had climbed around the branch and were swinging at Vera with their cudgels. Vera held her hands up, her flarepistol raised at the dome above. Silas worried she had surrendered to them, but then saw her lips moving. Still, she was trying to convince the Guards to let her and Silas deal with the Unspoken. Vera dodged a blow and tightened her grip around her flarepistol. Her endeavor to persuade them had failed.
Silas turned back around and ducked his head, sprinting as fast as he could. In his mad dash he vaguely saw Quirin's group pass by. They were also ensnared by a batch of Guards—Ravelin and Oscar protecting Quirin with their weapons. They must have been the cause of the commotion Silas heard earlier. Quirin made eye contact with Silas for a beat before Ravelin fired her crossbow. What happened next was obscured by the trunk of an immense red tree.
Desperate and out of breath, Silas projected his Voice again. A tiny bit of aether had welled up, pooling at the bottom of his fractured mind. Silas concentrated this miniscule spark of power and released a dense, strong message:
Pain exploded behind his eyes. Silas wasn't running anymore. He fell, but he didn't know where. Then he was moving again, but couldn't comprehend how. His legs weren't working. Was he floating? That made no sense. All he knew was that the Unspoken heard him. But they didn't react like he expected them to.
The Voices swelled into a cacophony of confusion. Silas couldn't make sense of it, but one phrase echoed back again and again: walking dead.
Did they even hear what I said? Silas thought. He shifted, reacquainting himself with his body. His limbs were held at an awkward angle. They're focusing not on what I said, but on how I sounded. Can they even understand me as I am now?
One last try. Silas needed to give it one last try. There wasn't any more collected aether, so Silas used the little bit dribbling down from where it always flowed. Slippery, his aether was. The substance rebelled against his attempt to capture it, but he didn't let it go. Even after he caught it, the sneaky material tried to wiggle away. Silas waited a moment, allowing a few more drops to accumulate. Then, he projected again. He knew this would be his last time.
Silas repeated what Quirin had taught him to say—the opening line of their planned negotiation. But the Unspoken only continued to argue. Had they heard him? Had they understood him? It was impossible to tell. Their Voices clashed. The power of the conflict forced Silas's awareness away, back to his body and its strange position. Moments before he returned, his mind brushed against another's.
This new mind was tiny. The creature it belonged to was small enough to fit into a narrow crevice, which is where it currently was. It scuttled around, weaving through tight turns. Branching intersections. Silas saw with the creature's eyes. He was near the Arboretum’s door. He knew that instinctively. Ducts. He—no, the creature—was scurrying through air ducts. The little thing was clever. It ran through the ducts like one of the mazes it enjoyed. Rat. It was a rat! Silas understood now. Everything made sense.
The Unspoken were controlling rats—or something like them—the same way they controlled carrion wolves. How they managed to make a connection with the rodents' minds Silas could only guess, but he could think on that later. He understood how the Unspoken were bypassing Quirin's security system. And he also knew how the Unspoken intended to detonate the Arboretum.
The rats traveled in ventilation ducts near the base of the greenhouse. These ducts maintained the balmy atmosphere inside the Arboretum by purging excessive humidity. Hidden within the sand were vents leading to these ducts. The Unspoken unleashed the rats at the grates, where they made their way into the Arboretum.
At the first two greenhouses, dispersal devices were attached to the rats' necks. When they were within range, the devices compressed, releasing the fungal blight in the same manner the virus had been released in the Western Quadrant.
This time, the rats were going to chew. They were going to crawl into the ducts near the Arboretum's control panel and chew through the device's wires. When the wrong wire was tripped, the facility would blow.
Silas didn't understand how he knew all of this from simply brushing against a rat's mind, but that didn't matter. He needed to tell Quirin what he'd learned before it was too late.
Silas attempted to control the rats—to override the orders the Unspoken had given them—but there was nothing left in his mind. A deep darkness encroached on Silas, threatening to swallow him whole. If he continued to use his abilities, he'd get lost in the darkness and never find his way back.
Reluctantly, Silas left the mind of the rat and was thrust back into his own body. He blinked, disoriented. His blurry vision focused on the ground. Green grass sped by below. Silas was looking straight at it like he was suspended by his feet, dangling head-first above the turf.
He was being carried. Someone had slung Silas over their shoulder like he was a rucksack. Silas relaxed, thinking it was Oscar at first. Then he saw the Imperial red and gold of their uniform. It was the Guardsman that had been chasing him earlier.
Silas lashed out. Where was his knife? His hands were empty. He'd have to fight bare-fisted. Silas's sudden movement startled the Guardsman, who released him in his bewilderment. Silas plopped to the ground, his limbs heavy and useless. But he didn't give up.
Silas rolled away from the Guardsman's reach. His attempt to rise to his feet was unsuccessful, so Silas remained crouched.
"Cease this pathetic struggle," snarled the Guardsman, reaching for the cudgel slung around his hip.
Silas spotted something else there too. Something shiny and sharp. His knife. When the Guardsman flung himself at Silas, the boy's hand shot out. His fingers curled around the knife's handle.
He was disarmed quickly. The knife was plucked from his trembling fingers and tossed aside. It took Silas's brain a second to register what had happened. In that second, the Guardsman was on top of him, pinning him down with his knees. He raised his cudgel overhead—about to bludgeon Silas with it—when the Arboretum erupted.
The explosion came from below. The ground split open like a gaping maw and a ball of fire belched into the sky. A wave of heat crashed into Silas, instantly drying his mouth and eyes. He clamped them shut.
More explosions followed.
One struck nearby. The force of the blast launched trees—roots and all—skyward. Splinters of wooden shrapnel spewed in all directions. The Guardsman splayed himself out, covering Silas from the deluge. His skin was sliced raw by the maelstrom of shards.
The trees that remained promptly ignited. Fire engulfed the Arboretum, spreading rapidly from tree to tree. Animals howled in pain and fear, retreating from the treetops to the ground below. Their stampede separated Silas from the Guardsman, who was trampled under the horde.
Silas's chest heaved for air. His mask protected him from the smoke, but it couldn't deliver oxygen to his lungs. The glass dome was still standing, trapping the fire within. Greedily the blaze devoured the oxygen, strengthening as air was replaced with thick black smoke.
Silas’s lungs burned. His head felt lighter than the smoke blanketing the glass dome. The sky was no longer visible, shrouded behind that opaque black shadow. Coughing and wheezing, Silas sank to his knees. Sluggishly he crawled, unaware of which direction he was going.
Silas wanted to stop. He was so tired; the only thing he had energy for was sleep. But the fire at his back forced him forward. If he rested for but a moment, the flames would sear his skin.
He wasn’t crawling anymore. Silas lay on his belly. The air near the ground was clearer, easier to breathe. He sucked it in. Voices shouted nearby. Silas couldn't tell if they were human or Unspoken. He shut his eyes.
Hands grabbed Silas, hauled him to his feet. His rescuers were Oscar and Ravelin. They dragged him away from the fire, away from the smoke. Somewhere along the way they ran into Quirin. The side of the machinist's neck was burned and blistered, but he was alive. He said something to Oscar and Ravelin that Silas didn't catch. Together, they raced for the door, for freedom. Silas felt like he had forgotten something.
Vera!
Silas planted his feet, forcing Oscar and Ravelin to a staggered halt. Weakly, he struggled, urging them to turn back. They didn't understand. Or maybe they did and they didn't care. Ignoring his feeble protests, Oscar and Ravelin tightened their grips around the boy's arms and lugged him onward.
Quirin ran ahead. He opened the door. The blast of bitterly cold air cleared Silas's head. He breathed deep, filling his lungs. The fire breathed too, blazing hotter and stronger with the added fuel. Silas was hauled through the doorway before the flames reached him.
Now it was bitterly cold. Shivering, Silas was deposited on a sand dune. His tears froze against his cheeks. Vera was still in there. She was dying. Silas needed to save her.
At last the glass shattered. One final explosion marked the volatile demise of the Arboretum. The detonation shook the ground so fiercely the sand churned and bounced beneath Silas's legs. When the Arboretum filled with air, the flames ballooned, annihilating everything in their path. Silas was no longer cold. The heat of the inferno liquified the sand surrounding the Arboretum. Still it burned, long after every tree had been reduced to ashes.
Silence wailed in Silas's ears. The Unspoken were gone—their goal met. Silas had failed. Everyone had failed. The Arboretum was gone. No alliance had been forged.
Vera was dead.
Silas curled in on himself and screamed until his voice cracked and was extinguished.