Melt: (A TimeBend Novel - Book One) Read online

  “With pleasure.” Lowe took to the task with feather-light hands.

  Mala's heart began a frantic dance. It leapt into her throat and left her breathless. Her blood was racing. She felt out of control. She sought distraction. “You could at least tell me if it was true. I think I deserve that much.” His warm breath, which had been befuddling her blood, suddenly vanished. Mala turned to look at him.

  Lowe sat back on the raft, his hand still attached to her parted zipper. “Her name was Stelle. The Erlenders ... stole her.” He shook his head at her. “Has anyone ever told you how good you are at ruining a moment?”

  “Sorry,” Mala breathed. “Misanthrope.”

  Lowe smiled. But a sudden cracking twig onshore made him jerk his head. His eyes quickly scanned their surroundings. “Game over. We have to stop here.” He jumped off the raft and pulled it to the sandy bank. He grabbed his shirt and rifled through hidden pockets, bottles clinking under his fingers. “I’m really sorry about this Mala. But I can’t let you see anymore. You’re gonna have to sleep until we get there. And promise me one thing ...” He laid her back gently on the raft. He re-zipped her dress. He brushed back her hair. She stared up at him. His face was tender again. She nodded.

  "Don't tell anyone about how you melt until I talk to you again. Promise?"

  "But why—"

  He shook his head. "Just promise."

  "Okay."

  He tipped a small vial to her lips and she swallowed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mala awoke in the pitch dark. She squinted at her surroundings as the tranquilizer wore off. She could feel the water swaying gently beneath her. But this ... this was not the raft.

  She was on a lumpy mattress and another one lay on the planks beside her. She found herself staring at the reed walls of a windowless hut. A pile of clothing sat in a corner of the floor. She realized it was her dress. Holy— she clutched her hands to her chest. She had something on. But her necklace was gone. Her knife was gone.

  She sat up and saw she wore a long yellow wetsuit. Star-shaped cutouts in the sleeves revealed her tan arms, and as she examined herself she realized a huge cutout exposed most of her back.

  What the muck is this? Were we captured? The thought rose in her mind as bile rose in her throat. She had no time to gather her thoughts before a short door swung inward and a shadow, backlit by brilliant sun, towered over her.

  “Oh! You're awake! Ha! Lowe was wrong, he thought you’d be out another couple hours,” An elderly woman crouched to get through the door. She chuckled and plopped herself down next to Mala. “Ow, my hip,” she groaned.

  She knows Lowe. Mala's panic immediately receded. As her eyes adjusted, they drew out the features of the old woman. She had meticulously shaped eyebrows over drooping eyes. Her hair was glossy silver, pulled into a bouncy ponytail, and she was wearing an inappropriately short wetsuit that perfectly matched her lipstick—a garish shade of red. A fork was folded around the base of her left ear, the tines clinging to her earlobe.

  “So tell me,” the woman croaked, elbowing Mala playfully in the ribs, “What was it like to get recruited by Lowe?” She gave a lovesick sigh and leaned on Mala's shoulder. “He's so hot.”

  Mala shifted uncomfortably. “Um ... I'm sorry. Who are you?”

  “Oh!” the old lady giggled. “Whoops. I'm Alberna. I know, don't say anything. My name is horrible. I can't believe my mother did that. You can call me Alba.” Alba scooted over slightly on the pallet so she could face Mala. She tried to sit cross-legged but her knees wouldn't bend enough. “Damn! I can't wait until I find that trigger. Let me tell you, old age, not so great. Avoid melting to an age like this if at all possible.”

  Mala watched the silver-haired woman with interest. “You're Kreis?”

  Alba nodded impatiently. “Tell me about it. Please. I'm dying here.”

  “About what?”

  “Tell me about Lowe! He's so cute! It's so unfair you’re his first recruit.” Alba pouted a moment before her curiosity overwhelmed her again. “So, open the floodgates. Details. I want details.”

  “Um ...” Mala had never had anyone demand information within five seconds of meeting her before. Maybe she's really a twelve-year-old.

  “Was it romantic? Did he sweep you off your feet?” Alba was practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

  Better say something before she wets herself. “Um ... A guy I really don't like had forced me to dance and Lowe cut in,” she said, thinking back to the first moment she'd seen his eyes and their shocking blue.

  “Oh! That's so unfair! I would have died! Romance times ten! Ugh ... my recruiter showed up as this old git who had money. You know—mid-life-crisis kind of looking guy. I was working for this one ferry as a server; you know, I had to do something after my parents died. And he offered me a job. Totally unromantically BORING. I'll never forgive him for it,” Alba crossed her arms in a pout and tossed her silver hair.

  “Where is Lowe?” Why isn't he here?

  Alba waved her hand nonchalantly. “Filling out reports. I didn't see my recruiter for two days after I showed up here. Supposedly newbies are tons of paperwork.” She saw Mala's stricken face and tried to soften the blow. “But, look, for sure he'll be at your test ceremony. And they scheduled it for tomorrow, which is really early, in fact. You'll see him then. And I'm sure he'll make puppy eyes at you. Because you’re his first. Recruiters always fall for their firsts. It’s like a high for them. You know. To get to be a recruiter … it’s like two ranks below an Ancient. Really rare. My recruiter said it’s kinda like you just won a living trophy. And you’re Lowe’s!” she squealed.

  Alba might have hit her across the head with a plank. A high? Just some living trophy?

  “Oh my gosh, don’t get all pouty. You’ll never make it if you do. Look. Bright side: you are totally elite now, which means lots of guys will fall at your feet. And you’re Kreis, which also means lots of Erlenders will fall at your feet, preferably dead.” She giggled.

  Mala shoved her self-pity aside. She’s right. If Lowe doesn’t really like me, it doesn’t matter— her heart thumped hard in disagreement. Mala looked to Alba for an escape.

  “So … what now?”

  “Are you ready for the Grrrrrand Tourrrrr?” Alba trilled her tongue.

  “Um. A tour? Sure. Just let me grab my necklace.”

  “I wouldn’t advise that.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, there’s always combat practice for one- something to grab makes you an easy target,” Alba said. “And it’s not so good to show too much of an emotional connection around here.” Then she winked. “Kinda defeats the whole ‘unfazed assassin’ thing.”

  Mala retracted her hand. She could see Alba's point. But she didn't like it. She shifted the necklace and placed it under her pillow. But her stomach jumped a little at the thought of leaving it behind, so she shoved her hand back under, grabbed the hooks, and fixed the clasp behind her neck.

  “Ok then. Don't say I didn't warn you. Let’s get moving!” Alba tried to bounce up but her knees cracked and she jerked to a stop. “Little help, please?”

  Mala stood, bumped her head on the low ceiling, and crouched to help the old woman to her feet. “Alba, um ... how old are you really?”

  Alba laughed. “It's been so long since I've been my linear age, I almost don't know. But I'm sixteen, I think.” She began to lead the way out of the dark room onto a floating platform that stretched across sparkling water as placid as blown glass.

  Mala followed. They were smack in the middle of a vast lake. And high in the mountains. The edges of the lake were framed by jagged peaks; the entire thing looked like a giant mirror. She saw dozens of other low, windowless huts bobbing nearby. They were all woven out of reeds and shone pale gold in the sunshine. They weren't drifting so Mala assumed they must be anchored somehow. The back of each hut was covered in a rough collection of unwoven reeds, as tall as the huts themselves. At first, Mala found the mes
s confusing. But then she realized that from the distant shore, the huts must look like nothing more than a growth of weeds in a shallow part of the lake. It must keep outsiders from approaching. Simple, but clever. Each little hut had its own floating bridge leading to a platform lined with larger huts; the bridges formed spokes in a large floating wheel. It all was so primitive-looking, Mala had a hard time believing this was where the elite trained. She had an even harder time believing Alba was one of the elite as the old woman tried to skip.

  “Where are we?” Mala asked as she gawked.

  “Undisclosed location. You don’t really get to find out where until you’re through training and several missions. It’s completely hidden from the Erlenders, though.”

  A nagging thought poked around in Mala’s head. That’s what Bara had said about the island. She shoved the thought away and followed Alba out onto a bridge.

  Mala glanced down as she walked. A dark shadow rippled under the water and she saw massive steel posts disappearing into the depths. She gave a shiver and peered down. It was hard to see past the reflections on the surface of the water, but it looked as though the huts were simply a cap for a large metal structure lurking in the depths. Tilting her head, Mala could see the crossbeams and windows of an enormous skyscraper beneath her. Light poured from some of the windows, distorted by the underwater currents so that the building appeared surrounded by flecks of glitter. “Whoa. What's that?” she pointed.

  Alba stopped short and glanced carelessly down. “That's the Center,” she said.

  “But, what is it?”

  “It used to be some kind of underwater hotel or something ... before the bomb,” Alba said, clearly disinterested in the topic. “Come on, there's so many people you have to meet! Including Verrukter. The hottest of the hot! But I've called him, so hands-off!”

  Alba pulled Mala along, not letting her stay and count the stories that descended under the water. Even so, Mala had seen at least eight levels of windows before the shadows swallowed the building. The thought of being that far underwater sent fear tickling up her spine. But Alba was talking and Mala quickly refocused her thoughts.

  “...and here's where we come for meditation,” Alba pointed a gnarled finger towards a courtyard of woven reeds. “Boring. You have to go at least twice a week. And sit for hours! But at least you get combat lessons in between. Otherwise I think I would have died.”

  “How long have you been here?” Mala asked, thinking meditation wouldn't be so bad. The sun was warm and bright and she could imagine lying down out here and drifting off to sleep.

  “About two years,” Alba replied. “And I've gotten three kills in, which is awesome. Nobody's broken my record yet and you'd better not, either. Or we'll really have problems,” she teased.

  “Well,” a deep voice rumbled behind them, “guess she better not count that kill she got on the way here, then.”

  Alba turned quickly. A warm blush rose on her cheeks. Mala guessed the teenager who joined them must be Verrukter from the nervous way Alba clenched her hands. “No!” Alba sounded scandalized. She poked Mala in the ribs. “Did Lowe tell you? You did not get a kill on your way here!”

  Mala didn't know how to respond to an accusation that sounded insane. “I didn't realize there was a score ...”

  Verrukter strolled closer and put a hand on Alba's shoulder. “Everything's a score. And he made sure his newbie came in with a scratch. Gonna put you out of business, sweetheart,” he murmured in Alba's ear.

  Tall and blond and incredibly muscular under his navy wetsuit, Mala could see why Alba found him attractive, but she couldn't help noticing he had a weak chin. Alba's doe-eyed grin made Mala wonder if the girl had even heard a word Verrukter had said. Does she know she's drooling?

  Verrukter patted Alba. “You know though, you have an advantage over this newbie.”

  “Oh?” Alba practically purred at the compliment. “And what's that?”

  “Age!” Verrukter cracked up and Alba hit him playfully.

  “When I get back to one of my younger forms, I will so pound your you-know-what!”

  “When you get back to your younger form, I'll so pound your you-know-what.”

  “I meant in combat!”

  “I didn't,” he laughed and turned to Mala. “Do you know, she's been stuck like that for over a month? She had a meltdown during combat practice and now she can't melt back! I was giving it to her good. And I guess she couldn't handle it.”

  Mala watched Alba carefully, and though the other girl laughed, it was a little too high-pitched, a little too reedy to be sincere. Alba was embarrassed.

  Trying to change the subject, Mala said, “I'm guessing I don't really have to introduce myself since you seem to know all about my trip here. But I'm Mala.” She held out a hand.

  “I'm guessing I don't have to introduce myself either,” Verrukter hitched his eyebrow up and slid his eyes slyly over to Alba in a way that said he knew exactly the effect he had on her. Mala found his crudeness and smugness irritating, and she ground her teeth into a smile. She wasn't used to dealing with people—not people she liked and especially not people she didn't. But she feigned politeness and shook his hand. It looked like Verrukter saw the grimace through her smile because his grin changed and challenge flashed in his eyes.

  “We're going on a tour. Want to join?” Alba had regained her composure.

  “No, sorry. Gotta go. Chores,” he sighed dramatically, and strode off.

  “Chores?” Mala asked. “That doesn’t sound very glamorous for a secret training camp of highly trained warriors.”

  Alba shrugged. “They want us to learn a 'trade,' so they say. It helps with cover on longer missions. But you have to go on several quickies first, so you’ll get the basics: combat, espionage, meditation, all that. You only get a trade after you’ve had several successful missions. I’m the youngest with a trade right now. Well, you know what I mean.” Alba waved a wrinkled hand.

  “What trade have you got?”

  “I cook,” Alba said, with a toss of her hair. “It's for my next mission. At least there are knives. And taste-testing. But I wish I had Verrukter's job. He gets to hunt onshore. That means guns. Which probably means a sniper assignment. Which probably means a high-level kill. I'm probably gonna get stuck with some dumb mid-level Blue Nose and be forced to make it look like an accident ...” She moaned as she led Mala over to a grass hut that looked dingier than the rest. “We're going down to the real Center. The surface is just where we sleep so we can defend if there's ever an attack. The real work is all below. And some of the stuff they salvaged from pre-bomb years is a-mazing!” She sang the last word as she pulled open the door. An eerie blue light flickered inside the darkened room from the floor, which was solid glass. The walls sparkled with yellow buttons, like thousands of beetle eyes. Through the floor, Mala could see the Center's roof, glowing windows with a metal steeple that pointed ominously towards their feet. A school of red fish swam around the building and flipped down to explore the depths. It was anything but normal.

  In a corner of the hut behind Mala, Alba was checking some dials at a control station far more complex than any boat's. When she seemed satisfied, she turned back to Mala. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Ready for what?”

  “To go down,” Alba sounded impatient. She didn't wait for an answer from the dumbstruck Mala. She hobbled over and slammed the door of the hut closed. Instead of the soft thump of grass, the door gave a heavy metallic clang as it shut. Alba turned her age-spotted hands on a wheel located on the back of the door to seal it, then returned to the control panel.

  The entire hut began to descend. Mala watched in awe: the straw cover peeled away and collapsed on the surface of the water. The metal walls of the submarine became visible, like the meat under a thin layer of fish scales. Not sure what to think, Mala gave a nervous laugh.

  “Pretty cool, huh? I remember when I first came. I thought this thing was awesome,” Alba said as she caref
ully steered them toward a docking station several stories below the top floor of the glowing building.

  “My grandma told me about these,” Mala said. “I thought the submarines were all gone.”

  “Oh dearie,” Alba wagged a finger at her playfully and played up her old lady croak. “You've got a lot to learn. There's awesome stuff about being Kreis that you won't see anywhere else. And this is just the start.”

  Watching the glowing building loom in front of her like a radioactive missile, Mala felt a swell of hope. If subs still exist ... if our assassins can melt ... She closed her eyes and imagined grand houses lining the Gottermund River, kids with shoes playing in the yards. She imagined the president floating down the river on a barge, people crowding the banks with signs and banners and a rainbow of streamers. For the first time in a long time, Mala felt a flicker of optimism. Victory didn't seem so far away.

  The girls docked roughly on a metal platform outside the Center, jarring Mala from her reverie. Alba moved lazily to open the door and Mala panicked. We can’t swim this far down. But no sooner had that thought bubbled frantically in her mind than metal walls extended from the building like arms and wrapped around the sub on all sides. A giant whoosh nearly knocked Mala to the ground. Air was forced into the temporary docking room and the water was forced out in great gushes through vents in the floor. They exited the little sub just as two burly dockworkers came out a sliding door from the Center.

  “Thanks, boys!” Alba gave a tinkling laugh and grabbed Mala's hand. “I can't wait to show you my favorite place!”

  The girls passed through a set of sliding glass doors. They walked into what once must have been the lobby of the hotel. A magnificent tile mosaic spread across the floor. The mosaic was a map of local tributaries feeding the river, azure waterways edged in gold. Mala could see, at the far end of the room, the great mouth of the Gottermund, where the water spilled into blue ocean tiles, those fertile plains where the Senebal capital, DasWort, lay. And in a giant circle encapsulating the map the Senebal creed repeated: It is us. Mala couldn't read, but she knew the shapes of the letters well enough to know they were the creed Bara had flown on her flag.