The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Read online

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  For Caelan C., Skyler M., Dallas G., the Lufkin High School Book Club, and the rest of my amazing young fans. Thank you all for believing in me, for being my Light on the darker days we all face. Knowing you love my work gives me hope and fuels my passion for my craft even more. In return, know that I believe in you, too, that you can achieve great and tremendous things. Your lives are open books with blank pages spread before you. Write the life stories only you can write. Be true to yourselves. Let your lights shine always, especially in the darkness that may surround you from time to time.

  And always remember:

  Fear is the greatest illusion of all.

  Face it, fight it, and be free.

  With a long, crooked branch, I trace a circle in the sand, then peer into the dusky sky. A squawking flock of black birds flutters through the streaked palette of colors while a warm wind caresses me.

  I’m at peace.

  “You’ve made it, my dear. I always knew you would.”

  I stiffen, feet planted, and tear up before I even see his face. But it’s in my mind: the sideburns that accent the chiseled jawline; the thin mustache that offsets his handsome features with a boyish charm. I don’t want to discover it’s just my imagination, a voice in the wind. A far-fetched wish or a dream that’ll never come true.

  He rests a hand on my shoulder, turns me around until we’re face to face. Dazzling and soft, kind and mysterious—the eyes of Zephyr the Magnificent, Greenleigh’s only living magic.

  “Daddy?”

  He pulls me to his chest, enfolding me in an embrace I’ve yearned for, needed, for so long.

  “How—?”

  “Never mind the how, my daughter.” He lifts me up and spins me, his sleek, black cape twirling around us. “You’re here with me now. That’s all that matters.” He sets me on the ground, then crouches before me, traces the scar on my cheek. His eyes glisten with deep emotion, mirroring the darkening ocean. “So”—he places a hand on my belly—“I’m going to be a Papa, eh?”

  “Yes.” I nod through a whirlpool of emotions, both joy and devastation. “I’ll name him after you, Daddy. If he’s a boy.”

  “When will you tell Jax? Won’t he be overjoyed at this news?”

  “I can’t tell him. Not yet.”

  My daddy stands, smoothes my short, brown hair back from my face.

  “Please, don’t leave me again,” I beg.

  “Joy . . . you know what this is—”

  “If it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up! I want to stay with you!”

  “You must stop this, my girl. Be strong. Now isn’t the time for weakness. You’ve come so far, but your journey hasn’t ended yet.”

  “But I don’t know what’s real. Or who to trust.”

  Dark water rushes in around our feet, the sky has grown black. Nightfall, with not a single star in sight. Even the moon has disappeared, obscuring my daddy’s face. “You will always find the answers you seek inside of you. Trust your inner light to guide you, my daughter. And trust those who are awake, both human and not.”

  “You mean the machine people Raffai helped? Like Smudge?”

  “Yes. They have their secrets, but . . .” He pinches the end of his mustache with a wink. “Don’t we all?”

  The water has risen waist-high now, the air thick, stifling. He’s ripped away from me, a swirling coal wave surging between us.

  “Dad!”

  With arms outstretched, the ocean steals him into oblivion. “Be the light, Joy . . .” A fading echo.

  “No!” The water rises over my head, my mouth fills with it. Water everywhere, filling up the sky, drowning the horizon. I surrender to the ocean floor, welcoming that eternal solitude.

  I’ve lost him again.

  There’s no reason left to live.

  I gasp awake in a safe, warm bed, my nightmare fresh, alarming. It was so real—how he held me, spinning us around like when I was little, after a winning streak or a good show. And the words he said . . . as if he’d been observing this tragedy called my life for the past seven years since his death. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I wipe at them, both solaced and distraught by his nightmare-visit. I clutch my belly where my tiny child grows. If only my daddy were really here, then maybe I wouldn’t be so terrified. But this precious, fragile being, oblivious to our fake paradise beneath the Earth, will be here in a few months, and I can’t help feeling guilty and inadequate. Our life was supposed to be better now that we’re free from the Tree Factory and the saltmine, but it’s not. And other than Smudge, I’m the only one from our group who knows the truth—that Zentao is deep inside the Earth, surrounded by illusions of paradise made possible by top-of-the-line technology. A well-camouflaged nightmare.

  Beside me, Baby Lou coos and babbles from her crib.

  My dream-self was wrong, though. My father may be gone, but I have many other reasons to live. It’s not the fantasy-land beyond The Wall I had in mind, but it is a home with Baby Lou, and the other ex-treemakers and saltminers. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep all of these secrets, though.

  In the two weeks since we arrived, it’s been easier to shut myself off from everyone. I don’t know how to tell them Zentao isn’t what they think. And Momma Joy—the hero? I’m not who they think I am. I’m a liar, and I’ve failed them. With each day that passes, telling them the truth terrifies me even more. I should’ve already told Jax, my best friend for seven years—the father to my unborn child—but things haven’t been the same between us since I found him and Aby together. They may never be the same again.

  Zentao’s digital sun has risen, painting the lavender curtains a rich burgundy. No alarm sounds, hurrying me to the chopper by the only window at the Tree Factory. No voices crackle over the intercom, threatening starvation while foul odors waft to my nose. No metal clanks, no machines screech, warming up for the dreadful day ahead. Aby, my sweet sister who I never forgave, doesn’t smile at me from her bed next to mine. Thanks to Arianna Superior, she never will again.

  This is my new life.

  Baby Lou sits up in her crib, clutches the bars to stand, and peer over at me. “Ma-ma!”

  “Morning, big girl.”

  I peel myself from my sweaty sheets, scoop her up, and kiss her all over her face, much to her giggly delight. She’s already gained weight, and her hair and skin have taken on a healthy luster. Her brown eyes are glossy and bright, which says she’s finally getting the care and life she deserves. Guess that justifies the lie. I snuggle with her for a moment, rock her in my arms, then change her into one of Zentao’s diapers, handmade in the factory beneath us.

  A week ago, I didn’t even know it was there. But then the haze of escaping the Tree Factory and the Subterrane cleared, and I dared to ask Raffai questions about this place. They make a variety of things in the two-level factory here: paper, toilet tissue, matches, soap, furniture, building materials, diapers, cans for food, etcetera. Raffai offered a tour, but I refused. Knowing Zentao is already so deep underground is enough. At least there’s the illusion of freedom. The thought of going any deeper doesn’t bring curiosity, but a strong opposition and intense distress. Though the memories of the Greenleigh bunker exploration with Jax have a comforting tinge, they bring to mind that despair, a soul-piercing ache to be free. It’s still there, and always will be, it seems.

  So I ref
use to settle, to go farther down here. Instead, there’s the urge to shatter the mirrors of mirage and rise above ground, to search for the paradise owed us. Because it’s not here.

  I have to tell them.

  I will. Soon.

  I ready myself and Baby Lou for the day, all while fighting a fierce nausea that’s welcomed me every morning for the past week. When we emerge from our room, Smudge and Vila stand chatting at the top of the stairs. I smile, though only Smudge returns it. Looks like today’s one of those “Vila hates me” days again. There’ve been quite a few of those since we met her, Emerson, and Mateo at Gomorrah Grande after they escaped from the saltmine. But that’s okay. No one could ever take Aby’s place, but Smudge—my “not entirely human,” part-machine, new addition to our family—does make Aby’s death and Vila’s contempt easier to bear.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs.” Vila waves to Smudge, then disappears into the shadows.

  Smudge tickles Baby Lou’s belly. “Hello, sweetheart, did you sleep okay?” She zips her hooded jacket up to the serial number on her neck, and slips the hood over her short, sandy brown hair.

  “She slept okay,” I say.

  “You did not?”

  “No. I haven’t been. Nightmares, nausea, and—”

  Tiny feet patter down the stairs from the third floor and from behind, as a flood of hungry children exit their rooms and pass between us, headed to breakfast. Chloe, my littlest sister from the Tree Factory; Raven, Raffai’s granddaughter; and Pia, Mateo’s little sister, all wear matching dresses. Ms. Ruby, our caretaker here, made them a few days ago, with an ease and nimbleness that would’ve made my mother proud.

  I give each girl a peck on the cheek, then send them on their way. “I need to wash those dresses today, girls,” I call down the stairs. “You’ve been wearing them for three days—they’re dirty.”

  Chloe plucks her thumb from her mouth long enough to speak. “Okay, Momma Joy!” And they disappear together down the bend, giggling behind a trio of little boys.

  “Continue,” Smudge says.

  “I have to tell them. This secret’s eating me alive.”

  “What secret?” Mateo’s voice startles me from the shadows of the third-floor stairwell, where he sits, tying a shoe.

  “Oh . . . hey. I . . . didn’t see you there.”

  He stands, gripping his walking stick. “You’ve been ignoring me since we got here. Did I do something?”

  “No, Mateo, I . . . I’ve had stuff on my mind and—”

  “Like secrets?”

  I stare at him, heat building in my face. Ever since the night we met at Gomorrah, and that instant attraction that came at such a strange time, I’ve had conflicting emotions. There’s too much swirling around in my head at once for me to make sense of any of it. The truth about Zentao, the baby, Jax—I don’t know him or Mateo under normal circumstances. What I thought was love with them . . . was it a temporary need for solace in someone? I have no clue. These things are too complex to name.

  Smudge comes to my rescue. “Joy and I have things to share with the group when the time is right.”

  “Okay, well . . . I’ll save you a seat at breakfast. Though I have for the past two weeks, and you haven’t sat with me once.” The hurt in his voice further twists the guilty knife in my gut, and I stare at the floor. “The invitation’s open.” He limps down the stairs with not a glimpse back.

  “Eeee?” Baby Lou squeezes my cheek.

  “Yes”—I kiss her—“we’re going to eat.”

  Smudge removes the hood from her head. “When do you want to tell them, Joy?”

  “I don’t know, never? I wish I had already. It’ll devastate them. Now I understand why you told me right away.”

  “Nothing will change, besides their perception. They’ll still be free—”

  “Free?” I shake my head. “It’s a chained box.”

  “They may not . . . think of it that way. They’re resilient. If they are fed, loved, and have playtime . . . they are happy.”

  Oh, how I wish things would stay that simple.

  “I thought you might want these back.” Smudge raises her arm, releasing folded-up cloth held there. She places the neat stack into my free hand. “Ms. Ruby scrubbed the blood out with her miracle mixture: salt, lemon juice, and Kalzeene, a mineral found here.”

  I recognize the two fabrics without even unfolding them: my daddy’s work shirt and my mother’s jeans. The clothes I wore the night the Reaper attacked and slaughtered our brother, Miguel, as we escaped the Tree Factory into the underground jungle. Though I may never wear these clothes again, at least I still have these remaining pieces of my parents. A bittersweet victory. If only the memory of Miguel’s brutal death could be erased with a miracle mixture.

  At breakfast, I sit in the common area with Smudge at a table for two, Baby Lou strapped in a highchair beside us. To my right is a large bay window dotted with tiny, dusty fingerprints that bring back memories of the window by the chopper at the Tree Factory. Through it, I observe the people of Zentao and the Awakened Organic Artificial Intelligences—the AOAIs, or “machine people” as my brother, Johnny, says when he’s teasing Smudge. Zentao’s mix of human and partial-human townspeople mill about, tending to their yard plants or strolling along the beach, chatting. It’s a Wednesday sky, dotted with “faraway” puffs of small white clouds and a giant, “closer” one I remember from last Wednesday. The program is on a seven-day loop, with a light rain every Sunday.

  To my left, toward the center of the common area, Mateo slumps in his chair near Emerson, picking at his food with a fork. The white of Mateo’s hair gleams in contrast to the deep, warm brown of Emerson’s skin and eyes, as Mateo’s blue ones glance at me periodically. Across the table from them is Pedro, my one-handed brother we rescued from the cannibals and the evil queen at the Subterrane.

  A few tables over, Jax tucks his straight, black hair behind his ears and peeks at me from behind his hand of poker. He plays against Vila; Suellen, the food server; and Morris, the cook, whose facial scar is eerily similar to Emmanuel Superior’s. Rumor has it he escaped a Reaper attack. Everyone here has scars, it seems, both inside and out, due to life in Alzanei. Suellen has one on her right wrist, which must embarrass her, since she keeps it hidden with two wide bracelets, always fidgeting to keep the bands in place.

  Beside Jax are Tristan, his apprentice from the Tree Factory, and a few more boys. They all now learn from Jax, their forever mentor, the art of bluff. Jax lays his cards down, and the others groan; they deliver their antes, comprised of various edible treats and curious trinkets. Jax gives me a slight wink and a grin. I taught him everything he knows, everything my daddy taught me. They keep trying to get me to play, but . . . I’m uninterested in playing games. Could also be the confusion I feel about Jax.

  Now, I pick at my food. Nausea and jumbled thoughts form an irritating wall that hunger can’t break through. I do miss Jax, but I’m not sure he’s the same Jax from the Tree Factory. That’s the one I miss, my best friend, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be back.

  But I’m not the same Joy I was then, either. Maybe if I told him I was pregnant with his child . . .

  No. That might make things worse.

  Raffai enters the room, scratching his white beard, and taps Ms. Ruby on the shoulder. He mumbles something in her ear, and she nods, then Raffai stands before us.

  “May I have your attention, please?” He removes his hat, waves it over his head with one hand. The crowd grows silent but for the littlest ones who continue their conversations in a murmur. Raffai drops his hat down into place on his whitish-gray hair. “You’ve all been through a lot, but there’s something important I need to discuss with the olders among you.” He clears his throat.

  “For those of you who want to learn how to use weapons, and other forms of self-defense, training will begin after
breakfast today. Far as we know, there’s no immediate threat to Zentao, but there’s always the possibility of a surprise attack. And if that were to happen, we’d need every able-bodied person trained to defend themselves and others.” He surveys the faces in the room for a moment, blotting away wetness from his forehead with a handkerchief before going on.

  “So . . . that said, any interested parties can meet me down on the beach by the bunker. And any of you younger children who’d enjoy learning various crafts—sewing, weaving, paper-and soap-making, and the like—may join Ms. Ruby for a tour of the factory. After that, there’s a performance at the amphitheatre. It’s been a long time since we’ve had children to entertain, so the theatre group is very much looking forward to this new audience.” He exaggerates a wink, and the youngers cheer, excited for the promise of fun, learning, and exploration.

  But me? . . . I’m still ready for war.

  My fingers curl around the grip of a huge semi-automatic weapon and I steady myself in the sand. I tamp down the dread that accompanies the adrenaline, picturing the tiny seed sprouting in my belly. The weapon’s heavy; my hands, shaky, weak from lack of sleep and nourishment. Fear peeks its ugly head out from where it’s lain somewhat dormant—resting, perhaps—for the past week. I summon the courage of Zephyr the Magnificent to put it in its place, but even that’s a flimsy reed in light of my current circumstances.

  “All right.” Raffai mops his brow with his handkerchief and squints through thick glasses. “Before we begin, I need to know you’re all certain about this.”

  From my right, Smudge frowns at me, while next to her, Johnny cracks his knuckles and winks at her. “I’m sure.” He readjusts Old Jonesy’s hat and cringes, stretching out his sore back.

  On the other side of him, Emerson cleans the last specks of meat from a slender fish, and gives Raffai an okay signal with his forefinger and thumb.

  A trio of AOAIs races past, laughing, and dives into the waves. They know the truth about this place, but don’t seem too concerned about being prisoners in an illusion. Without the Nirvonic System control over their brains, forced to serve Lord Daumier above us somewhere in Alzanei, they are freer than they’ve ever been. Free, yet still not free. Same as us.