Aether (The Shadowmark Series Book 2) Read online

  Aether is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  2016 Antimatter Books ebook

  Copyright © 2016 T.M. Catron

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  www.tmcatron.com

  Book/Cover design by T.M. Catron

  “Sleeping at Last” poem by Christina Rosetti

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Free Book!

  Dedication

  - Day 83

  - Day 84

  - Day 85

  - Day 86

  - Day 89

  - Day 90

  - Day 93

  - Day 95

  - Day 97

  - Day 98

  - Day 100

  - Day 101

  - Day 102

  - Day 105

  - Day 106

  - Day 108

  - Day 109

  - Day 110 Awake

  - Day 110 Panic

  - Day 110 Fight

  - Day 110 Flight

  - Did You Like This Book?

  - About the Author

  Other Works

  Get The Mine for FREE! It tells the events before Shadowmark.

  Go to tmcatron.com/free-book

  For Dad, Mom, and Nicole:

  The first to listen to my stories.

  “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

  A Grief Observed

  ~C.S. Lewis

  Day 83

  Calla hung above the dais, suspended by the dark, smoky mask covering her face. The aether twisted around her body like a great black serpent. The adarria twisted with the aether, their deeply etched circles allowing red-hot beams of light to shock the dark stone hall. Calla’s body bent under the pressure, ribs constricting past endurance, cracking.

  She writhed in agony, but the aether only twisted further. When Calla’s spine snapped, her mouth opened in a silent scream. She wanted to shout her innocence to Condar, to remind her masters of her loyalty. But the aether wasn't going to give her that satisfaction. She had failed. Even her voice had failed. And she would die.

  No. She was loyal.

  she said.

  a voice in her head asked. The aether spun her up toward the murky ceiling.

  Dar Ceylin, she thought. The traitor. But she couldn’t accuse Doyle yet. Without proof, the Condarri would only prolong her torture.

  Her vision blurred, and she struggled to stay conscious.

 

  The aether withdrew, releasing Calla to gulp a lungful of air. Then she hurried to explain before the Condarri killed her for dawdling.

  The adarria hushed; the light disappeared. Condar was listening.

 

  Her masters made a decision, and Calla’s mask released her. She fell twenty feet onto the dais, crumpling onto the stone with a thud. Each shallow breath she took sent more agony through her body.

  The voice of the Condarri echoed inside her head.

  “No,” she whispered, her breath rising in the cold air. “No, my lords.”

  ***

  The setting sun turned the atmosphere to shimmering gold as the Nomad sped west over the Atlantic. Its speed matched the rotation of the Earth, creating a perpetual sunset. Mina smiled as the hybrid ship dipped down to skim the water. Below their feet, waves brushed the ship, leaving behind sparkling diamonds of salt spray on the crystal-clear cockpit. Doyle was showing off.

  The silence weighed heavy inside the cockpit. Mina listened to her own heartbeat and her steady, measured breaths. She sat in the comfortable metal chair to Doyle’s right, questions rolling around in her head; she sifted through them, looking for the right one. Doyle had promised to tell her anything she wanted to know, but she didn’t know what to ask. Half-formed questions turned at the back of her mind, refusing to touch her lips.

  The light faded as the Nomad slowed on its approach to land. Blue water changed to pale sandy beaches, which turned to dark green trees and brown fields. The shadowed mountains of Appalachia rose up in front of them, looming as the ship flew low over the Earth.

  Mina braced herself, expecting to be thrown forward as the Nomad stopped. But it didn’t stop. Instead it shot up into the cloud cover over the mountains. She sensed nothing as they changed direction—no acceleration or pull of gravity—as if the ship rested on solid ground.

  “The Nomad has its own gravity,” said Doyle, guessing her thoughts. “You won’t feel anything.”

  Mina turned to him, puzzled, “Where are we going?”

  Not the question she wanted.

  Doyle swiveled his own seat to look at her, his dark eyes hiding everything behind them. And nothing. He smiled. “I don’t want to land so early. Ever flown around the world?”

  Mina didn’t return the smile. “Aren't we in a hurry?”

  “The mountains aren’t going anywhere.”

  Mina turned her attention back to the view, and Doyle swiveled away from her again. They chased after the sunset, this time at a higher altitude. The clouds below cleared just in time for Mina to see the thick ribbon of the Mississippi. They raced for it. She glimpsed a twisted metal heap sticking out of the current—the remains of a massive bridge—before they left it behind.

  Then the Nomad slowed. Below them, the lights of a few brave campfires dotted the landscape in a mirror of the stars above. As they approached the Rockies, signs of civilization diminished, leaving vast swaths of darkness all around. A lone campfire shone through a stand of trees, and the ship dipped toward it. The light disappeared—doused in fear.

  “I’ve had enough,” said Mina, standing.

  Doyle shrugged. The ship turned, ascending until darkness swallowed everything below. Mina left for the darkened sleeping cabin aft of the cockpit. She went through to the bathroom and its tiny mirror. Her appearance had improved since Doyle brought her to his spaceship. The bags beneath her eyes had faded and her complexion had gained some color. She lifted her t-shirt and looked at the inch-long pink scar on her ribcage, beneath her arm. Four days ago, Doyle had saved her from being killed by an alien invader, a Glyph. Then he’d told her he was alien, too. Well, half-alien. A Condarri-human hybrid. And then he’d brought her here.

  Mina left the bathroom, tightening the drawstring on her baggy sweats, and sat on the bunk. She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and sat cross-legged with her knees against the cold window. Stars twinkled in a clear sky. Tonight the cabin felt foreign—from the stone-metal onyx bulkheads to the transparent outside wall, everything seemed cold and strange.

  She glanced down at the darkness below. It didn’t comfort her, either. Down there, humanity was starving, struggling, dying. Up here, Mina had won the lottery. Up here, she was safe.

  Feeling exposed, she shifted away from the window.

&nbs
p; After a brief knock, the door hissed open, and Doyle entered.

  “Can’t you cover the window?” she asked. That wasn’t the right question, either. But she didn't think Doyle could explain her sudden desire to hide or the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her.

  As if the window heard her wish, smoky darkness moved over the wall. Instead of a clear, glass-like material, Mina now gazed at the same dark stone that formed the rest of the ship. She shivered and turned back to face the room, drawing her legs under her on the thin mattress.

  Doyle lingered near the door, waiting for an invitation to talk.

  “Why did the Glyphs—the Condarri—invade?” she asked.

  He left the doorway to settle on the bunk next to her. “I don’t know.”

  “They didn’t tell you?”

  Doyle shook his head. “The Condarri have never explained themselves to hybrids or shared their ultimate plans. But Earth is highly valued. They even know how many trees they’ve killed.”

  Mina pulled the blanket tighter around her and scoffed. “Trees, but not people.”

  Doyle sat up straighter. “Earth is a rare type of planet—perfectly situated near the sun, an abundance of water, and a beautiful atmosphere. The Condarri need all these things, but I don’t know why. They don’t breathe oxygen, they don’t drink water, and they don’t eat trees.”

  “All they want to do is kill and burn.”

  “No, those are side effects.”

  “Side effects!” Mina stared at him. Even now, Doyle remained practical, undisturbed by her change in tone as he stared at the opposite wall. “And there’s no way to stop them?”

  Now he looked at her. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “In West Virginia—why? How’s a rag-tag group of humans going to fight the Glyphs?”

  “It’s not who, it’s where. There’s something I want to see.”

  Mina leaned forward. “And that is?”

  Doyle shook his head. “I don’t know that, either.”

  “Then how do you know you want to see it?”

  “Whispers. Rumors. I won’t know until I check it out myself.” Doyle stood to go.

  “Tell me something,” Mina said. “That woman we saw a few weeks ago after we left the cabin, the one traveling with three men. They argued and then split up. Remember?”

  Doyle paused. The soft light in the room cast a yellow glow on the right side of his face. The rest of him was hidden in shadow. “Yes.”

  “I saw her again.”

  “When?”

  “After you killed the Glyph, when you picked me up. I saw her through your adarre.” Mina thought she had imagined it at first, the image of a tall, fierce woman watching over them. Thought it was the product of a mind in distress, invented as her body went into shock. But now she’d had time to reflect, and after learning Doyle could communicate thoughts and images through the alien symbols on his chest, Mina realized her picture of the woman had been too detailed to have sprung from her imagination. When Doyle had held her close, Mina saw the woman’s face—high cheekbones and pale skin—a face that had been too far away when they’d first encountered her. The moment after he killed the Glyph, Doyle had been thinking of this woman.

  Doyle watched Mina for a long time, but she had grown accustomed to his silences and prepared herself for an explanation. If he wanted to lie, he would have already spewed out an answer. His silence either meant he would ignore the question as he had many others, or he would tell her some information, at least.

  “She’s a hybrid,” he admitted.

  “A rogue?”

  Doyle leaned on the small metal desk along the wall. “The opposite. She's extremely loyal and ambitious. She is . . .” here he paused as if searching for the right words, “a perfect example of what a hybrid is supposed to be.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Look like a human, think like a Condarri.”

  “So you have the body of a human, except for the adarre. But how do Condarri think?”

  Doyle sat on the bed again and leaned against the end wall of the bunk with his foot propped on the mattress. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  “It’s pretty straightforward.” Mina shuffled around for the right words. “You have some . . . quirks . . . but mostly you behave like a human. Are you saying it’s all an act?”

  “Nothing with you is an act,” he murmured.

  Mina shifted, embarrassed, but she’d already begun her questioning—too late to turn back. Doyle sensed he’d made her uncomfortable and continued, his voice returning to its normal tone. “But you’re right. I was created to blend in.”

  Mina frowned. “You didn’t try too hard to blend in with me. I suspected something the night I met you. Of course, I didn't understand . . .”

  “If I’d wanted to deceive you completely, I would have.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Doyle's eyes met hers. “I didn't want to.”

  “So you said.”

  The silence grew uncomfortable for a moment. When Mina decided he wasn't going to elaborate, she asked, “And what else?”

  “At many levels I am unlike humans. I heal faster, fight better, fear nothing, and above all, I take orders—because what use is the perfect weapon if it doesn't obey its master? Hybrids are cold, calculating, and power-hungry. Exactly like the Condarri.”

  “Many humans are that way. That's nothing new. Why aren’t you?”

  “Who says I’m not?”

  “I do.”

  Doyle leaned forward, resting an arm on his knee. “You barely know me.”

  “I know enough.” A faint scar stretched from his right eye into his eyebrow like a smooth piece of thread. Mina reached up to trace it with her finger. Doyle didn’t seem to mind.

  “How'd you get it?” she asked.

  “I don't remember. I've taken some hard knocks.”

  “Are you bragging?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you are.” Three days ago—or was it four?—Mina had kissed Doyle, but he hadn’t kissed her back. Now, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to. She dropped her hand and moved on.

  “What’s her name?”

  He smirked. “Calla.”

  “Like the flower?”

  “A deadly flower.”

  “And who chose your names?”

  “We did.”

  “Why'd she choose that one?”

  Doyle shrugged.

  “What’s her other name? She has two, right, like you?”

  “Dar Ceylin is a title, not a name. For command.”

  “She seemed in command of those other hybrids on the mountain.”

  “She was. And she’s the most loyal and dangerous hybrid I’ve met.”

  “Why’s she so dangerous?”

  “Because she’s willing to do anything to please the Condarri.” Doyle swung around with both feet on the floor again.

  Mina wanted to ask why he'd thought of Calla while he carried Mina to safety, but thought the question too personal. In any case, Doyle seemed to be done with answers for now. He stood and walked to the door. “You have time to sleep. We’ll land in the morning.”

  Day 84

  “FOR THE LAST TIME, SCHMIDT doesn’t want to stay there!” said Alvarez. “He’d want to come with us.”

  “But we don’t know for sure.” Nelson huffed to a stop and faced her, his hand finding a tree for support. “If he sounds the alarm, we’d never get another chance.”

  Carter came up behind them, panting from the exertion of their climb. “We’re wasting time. Keep moving, or go get him, but decide, you two.”

  Lincoln sighed at the old argument. The team had stopped midway up the trail through the dark woods. The Army camp still slept below them. Corporal Schmidt did too, the group having taken advantage of a brief lapse in supervision to steal away in the early morning hours.

  They had picked their way up the mountain with only moonlight to guide them. Not that they would get l
ost—they knew the path well enough, and their eyes had adjusted to the dark after months of living outdoors and working in the dark alien cavern beneath the mountain. But they hadn’t made as hasty an escape as they’d hoped.

  “Think about it,” Alvarez continued. “He’s helped us out more than once. Without us, the camp will dissolve anyway, and wouldn’t it be wise to have a trained soldier with us? What’s the difference if he leaves now, except that he’d come with us instead of wandering off on his own?”

  Nelson hesitated. Clouds drifted in and out through the sky. The moon was sinking behind a mountain, and a single star shone above them as dawn approached from behind the surrounding peaks. Lincoln turned to Nelson. Alvarez made a fair point. None of them were equipped to survive on their own. Schmidt could help. Nelson sighed.

  “I’ll get him,” Lincoln volunteered. “Secure our stuff, and I’ll meet you up there. If we go through the silo on the way back and take the stairs, we can catch up to you.”

  “And what if I’m right?” asked Nelson.

  Lincoln paused. The tunnel would be the first place Captain Baker looked. “Instead of meeting at the tunnel, keep going after you get our stuff, down to that creek where Carter goes fishing.” Lincoln turned to Carter. “Does anyone else know your spot?”

  Carter shook his head. “Don’t think so. I haven't been there since Baker started following us.”

  “Okay then.” Lincoln turned to pick his way back down the mountain.

  Alvarez put hand on his arm. “Wait. I should go. It was my idea.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “But—”

  “I’m already going. We don’t have time to argue about this too.” He squeezed Alvarez’s hand before turning away and going back the way they came. The mountain grew darker for a moment as the moon dipped behind the ridge. Then dawn spilled out over the valley in a rush of gray. Baker would be finishing her morning run. Had she already discovered their absence? Lincoln moved as quickly as he dared, wanting to beat her back to camp but fearing a nasty fall.