Page 87 of Elanie & the Empath
“Them?”
“Sem is not the first non-bionic to go missing. There have been others. Many others. Gol does not like them.” Mal pointed a finger to the ground. “So he keeps them here. Beneath us.”
The planet tilted.Beneath us…The footsteps. The singing. It had been him all along.
“How do I get down there?”
“You cannot.” Mal snatched my hands. “Elanie, you cannot go down there. Is it not enough to know that he is alive?”
“No.” Rage swelled inside me, bubbling over. “It’s not enough. Not even close. I have to get down there. I have to save him.”
“Impossible,” Mal said. “It is impossible.”
So was surviving a crash landing. So was catching foot-eels. So was a bionic falling in love with a Portisan.
“It is not impossible,” I insisted. “Because you can help me. You are a good being, Mal. I know you are. You can’t be okay with what Gol is doing here. Once we free Sem, we can all leave together. We can take you back to my ship, where you’ll be treated fairly.” That wasn’t necessarily true, was it? “Or at least better than you’ve been treated here.”
“No.” Mal’s head whipped back and forth. “I cannot leave. I can never leave Thura. My family. My brothers and sisters.”
“Are they still here?” I asked. “Where?—”
When his finger pointed to the sand again, a breath rushed out of me. This was why Mal allowed Gol to treat him the way he did. Why he kept Gol’s secrets. “They’re down there too?”
“I do not know, and Gol will not tell me. But I think so. I can feel them. At night, when it is?—”
“Quiet.”
We shared a silent moment, then Mal said, “Gol will never let us find them. I have tried. He only lets me stay aboveground because, out of all my siblings, I was the onlyone too scared to argue with him when he demanded we live in Thura as servants.”
It was surprising, the way anger built, becoming heat, becoming a fire that fueled me. Despite all his grandstanding, Gol was no better than anyone else in the KU, assigning himself as the arbiter of who was or wasn’t free. “I’m sorry, Mal. I didn’t know it wasn’t your choice to have the life you have here.”
“I do not mind.” He smiled for my benefit. “It is not bad work. And I get to stay close to my family. I do not want to live without them.”
Rising to my feet, I reached out a hand to help him up. “I understand,” I said. “That’s why we’re going to get them out. Sem, your siblings, everyone.”
33.SEM
After my thirdday on the pumps, the sharp spasms in my back redefined agony, my blisters had blisters, and my desire to find a way back to the surface was all-encompassing. Even though I spent every waking moment searching for weaknesses in this infernal abyss, on the surface, I was a happy, productive underworlder. Had to be, considering that Lars supplied Gol with nightly updates on my “assimilation.”
I didn’t know when I’d make my move, or, more importantly, what that move would be, but I did have options.
Lars restocked the market several times a day, so that route was a possibility, albeit a bit obvious. There was the laundry delivery, which took place once in the morning and once at night via a makeshift hand crank elevator. But the elevator supporting my weight was not a given, and I’d have to convince someone down here to crank it for me. Which was highly doubtful considering how just hearing the wordescapeinstilled the Fear of Gol in all the supposed devotees down here.
So that left the pipe.
Dragging ass back from my shift, I eyed the pipe, and a shudder ripped down my spine. Like all Portisans, I’d grown up with the unwavering belief that not respecting the water was an unforgivable offense to the Saints. Trying to swim up a pipe barely wide enough to let my shoulders through would be the height of disrespect. Long story short: probably not the pipe.
“Psst. You, there.”
I spun toward the frail, raspy voice andfound myself staring at Old Max. The wiry senior sat on his laundry stool, twiddling his gnarled fingers in my direction.
“You’re the fancy doctor, right?”
“I don’t know about fancy,” I answered warily. “But…sure.”
“Well then, don’t just stand there.” He waved me over. “Come here. Come here.”
As I approached, Old Max hooked an ankle over his knobby knee and took off a shoe so tattered it was more hole than leather. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”
