Sound of Sirens: (Tales of Skylge #1) (13 page)

“What are they doing?” I say breathlessly, still unable to believe this is really happening. “They’ll get arrested.” Nervously, I glance around. Most of the people in front of the stage are Skylgers, but I do spot some Currents in the audience on the town square, too, and they don’t look too pleased.

A deafening drum roll ends the band’s protest song in Skylgian. “Welcome to our show, all of you,” the female singer addresses us in Anglian once more. “We have an evening filled with entertainment planned for you.”

“Not if he can help it,” Dani comments, pointing at the mayor, who has finally managed to push through the gathering and is presently climbing onto the stage.

“You are to stop this travesty at once!” he blares, trying to grab the strange device the singer’s holding in her hand. This seems to be the thing that’s amplifying her voice, because Edison’s protest suddenly increases in volume too.

“What travesty?” Mirjam calmly replies.

“You are abusing St. Brandan’s Fire.” The mayor turns red in the face.

“Not at all.” She turns sideways to address the audience. “We’re not plugged into your Grid. We don’t
need
your Grid to generate electricity. We can make our own.”

A stupefied look spreads on Edison’s face. He stumbles back, like a flustered actor who has realized he’s forgotten his lines. Frantically, he starts to look around him, dashing to and fro to inspect Twarres’s instruments. Meanwhile, Mirjam hasn’t stopped talking to the crowd staring up at her from below.

“Please, don’t be servants to your Current elite anymore,” she pleads. “They’re about to lose their edge. You’ve seen what we can do. You can all be a part of this – all of you.”

I blink. Out of nowhere, she’s tackled to the ground by three police officers rushing up to grab her. I hadn’t even seen them coming. With a sickening thwack, her head hits the floor and blood starts to trickle from her nose. The other band members seem to be frozen for a split second before they sprint forward to help their friend.

“How will you stop the Sirens?” Mayor Edison hollers at the top of his voice. “You can’t! You know you can’t!” He turns toward his own people on the bleachers. “We can’t allow them to insult St. Brandan,” he continues in a dark voice. “Some people should be put back into their places.”

It’s only when I feel the crowd pushing into my back that I realize fights have broken out behind me. All of a sudden, the town square has turned into a living nightmare. Police officers are everywhere, trying to force the gathered Skylgers to leave, but my people aren’t too eager to move. Some of them are still watching the events unfolding on stage with morbid interest, others are kicking and screaming at the law enforcers dragging them away from the stage. Currents are trying to beat them into submission, spurred on by Mayor Edison’s words about our civil disobedience and disregard of their holy ancestor. A nauseating, claustrophobic fear clawing at my insides debilitates me when I suddenly feel the hands of a law enforcer on me and he yanks me away from my brother and friends. It only takes a split second to completely lose sight of them in the clamor around me.

“Let go of me!” I howl, shaking off my paralysis and trying to fight off the policeman. “You have no right.”

I lash out at him, but of course he easily dodges my punch. His face is a flinty mask. “Resisting arrest?” he growls. “Don’t make it any worse for yourself, young lady.”

“I haven’t done anything,” I gripe, but of course my protest falls on deaf ears. Amidst the violent commotion, there’s nothing I can do when the law enforcer marches me toward the left side of the stage, his hands like iron grips around my shoulders. As soon as the crowd disperses a little, though, I try to wrestle myself free and make a run for it. Bad move – this side of the stage is full of Currents, some of them already fighting the Skylgers, some of them looking for trouble. I gasp when my eyes land on a familiar face with burning, blue eyes and dark eyebrows knitted into a worried frown. He’s on a low platform behind the stage, specially erected to accommodate the artists after their performances and supply them with refreshments.

“Royce!” I call out, cupping my hands around my mouth to make myself heard over the din, to reach out to him over there, safely sequestered away in his own world.

He catches my eye, just before a cluster of hands grab me and knock me down. I taste blood on my tongue as I tumble to the ground. Desperate for help, I look up and search his eyes once more. I see his gentle mouth and remembered how he kissed me. My gaze lingers on his face. He locks eyes with me once more.

And then, he looks away. Only now do I notice his two older brothers and his father standing next to him holding glasses of champagne. They all look perplexed and slightly disgusted by the fights that have erupted everywhere. Mr. Bolton laughs awkwardly and points at me, and Royce joins in, as though he has never seen me before.

He’s pretending not to know me. After all the things we shared.

The world grinds to a stop and drains my heart of all the warmth I kept tucked away there. Cold washes over my entire body. As they start to drag me away, I don’t attempt to call out to him again.

I
hang my head in shame when
Heit
shows up a few hours later to bail both me and Sytse out. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to resist arrest and kick up a fuss. In jail, we weren’t in the same cell – I was stuck in a horrible, dark hole together with some fierce-looking Skylger women, and he was behind bars in the men’s holding cell across the hall. Every once in a while my brother smiled at me to encourage me. I could see a strange kind of admiration in his eyes. Maybe being in prison together felt like a bonding moment to him. Siblings, standing united against the Current oppressors.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sytse mumbles demurely as we follow him down the hall. “I will pay everything back. The Skelta will help.”

My father whips around and unexpectedly fixes Sytse with a fierce, blazing stare. “Why did you have to involve Enna in this? You knew what that Frisian band was up to. How they were trying to start a riot. Your sister could have been trampled to death or mortally injured.”

Sytse sighs impatiently. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, Enna needed to see Tesla’s invention. Everyone out there needs to know the truth. We’ve sat back and played at complacency for far too long.”

“You could have made sure she was nowhere near the stage,” Dad doggedly maintains.

“
She
is standing right here,” I interrupt sourly. “And she honestly doesn’t give a shit right now.” My voice suddenly cracks with the deepest sadness I have ever felt.

Dad slips an arm around my shoulder. “What happened, darling?”

“Her Current friend ignored her pleas for help,” Sytse says when I remain silent, making me flinch. So he saw what happened – he must have been behind me, escorted off the square by another policeman.

I glare at him, but I have nothing to say. He’s right. Royce was a complete jerk back there. When I think of how he was standing on the platform with his family, looking down on me from above, I suddenly seethe with anger. In troubled times, he obviously turns to the familiar comfort of his Current life instead of standing up for ‘real’ people like me. I want to hold on to this anger eating away at me, because I know what will inevitably come once it drains from my body. Misery. Disbelief. Disappointment.

Only hours ago, Dani and I were giggling about me having a Current boyfriend. What’s left now is a sickening sense of betrayal. Royce is not my boyfriend – not if this is how he acts when I’m in trouble. He’s not my friend, even.

“I told you,” Sytse says softly. “I warned you about him.” To his credit, he doesn’t sound smug about it.

Hot tears pool in my eyes as I follow my father and brother out the door. Outside, the square is deserted and strewn with litter that the cleaners haven’t picked up yet. The gas lamps on stage have been turned up, replacing the arc light that caused the whole town to get into a neighborly brawl. Well, it wasn’t just the damn light – I hope Twarres made it out unscathed under the Skelta’s protection after their provocative performance.

My vision blurs when I spot five people wheeling the grand piano off stage. No, I tell myself. No tears. This is
not
going to happen to me. What Royce did is inexcusable, and I’m going to hold him accountable for it.

“Where are you going?” Sytse exclaims in surprise when I stalk over to my lonely bike still leaned against a lamp post. “Eida is waiting for us with her carriage.”

“I’m not going home,” I bristle. “Not yet. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Well, where are you off to?”

“Upper.”

“Enna,” Dad tries to calm me down. “Don’t be foolish.”

“Foolish?” My voice shoots up. “Well, sorry to be so damn irrational,
Heit
. Guess I just wanted to believe in something for a change. Something out of the ordinary. And if Sytse is allowed to dream about changing his stars, then so am I.”

Before I can see the impact of my spiteful words on his face, I grab my bike and cycle away as fast as I can. Up, through the streets of Lower Brandaris. Past the Tower that glows with a pulsing light at night. Soon, I reach the Longway stretching out through the woods. My legs are screaming, begging me to stop and spare my acidified muscles, but I don’t heed their warning. On and on I ride, zipping past Dead Men’s Caskets and the Upper Brandaris town border. Sweat pours down my back. I’ll get to Royce’s house if it kills me. I have to speak to him – tonight.

It’s only when I’m standing at the gates of the Bolton mansion that I lose my nerve. If I ring the doorbell, will he answer? I can see the front door up ahead, illuminated by twinkling artificial lights. With a hammering heart, I press the button on the left side of the gates and wait.

“Yes?” A small box underneath the bell crackles to life. The voice sounds too old to belong to Royce.

“Can I speak to Royce Bolton, please?” I say, trying to make my Anglian sound a little bit more Current than usual.

“Who is this?”

“Enna Buwalda, Sir.” Fear constricts my throat. Do they have my name on file as one of the dissidents that was thrown into prison by now? Does news spread that fast in Upper? I have no idea. The silence stretches until I can no longer bear it. “Hello?” I say timidly.

Another full ten seconds elapse before the disembodied voice addresses me again. “Mr. Royce is presently indisposed,” it tells me. “Can I take a message?”

You coward.
My anger flares up again. What right does he have to be indisposed?
He
wasn’t dragged off to prison a few hours ago with stains of blood on his face. “He has something that belongs to me,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “And I want it back.”

“One moment, please.”

Maybe that will make him come out. I don’t even care about the record anymore – I just want to see
him
. Holding my breath and forcing back my tears, I peer at the front door. The elation I feel when it actually swings open should embarrass me, but to hell with my pride. My stomach lurches as someone comes out and starts walking down the drive, but my shoulders slump when I see it is an unfamiliar man who is approaching the gates.

“Is this what you were looking for?” he says, his eyes skimming over my haggard appearance with a mixture of incredulity and mild disapproval. Reaching out, he hands me the Jyoti LP.

Royce is too afraid to come out and face me himself. He’d rather give up this music than talk to me face to face. The realization punches me in the gut and leaves me feeling so empty that I could scream just to fill the void. “No,” I say, my voice unsteady. “He can keep that. He no longer has what I’m looking for.”

With those words, I turn around and leave.

––––––––

T
he ride home seems to take forever. All energy has drained out of me. It’s over. The tiny ray of sunshine lighting up my life is gone, and I’m back to the way things were. Except, they can never be the same.

Without thinking, I take a left turn toward Stortum. A part of me longs to see the cottage one last time, empty and dark like a distant memory. The vacant buildings of this ruined village are emblematic of a much bigger emptiness in my heart. Of course, he isn’t here, but I knock on the door all the same.

“Royce,” I finally scream against the lacquered wood, “you’re an asshole!” As long as I keep screaming, I won’t have to cry.

––––––––

W
ordlessly, I pass my grandmother, father, and brother in the kitchen when I get home at last.

“Don’t you want a hot drink?” Grandma Antje says quietly.

I turn around and smile at her. “I’m all right, Gramps,” I say, but of course I’m lying. I’m far from all right.

“Enna,” Sytse addresses me gently, imploringly grabbing my hand. “It’s for the best. Believe me. They’re the enemy, and the sooner you understand that, the better.”

I’ve never thought of the Currents that way, but I can understand my brother in this case. I’m not their biggest fan, either. “If they’re really the enemy, then why are they willing to share St. Brandan’s Fire with us?” I mumble.

“They’re not sharing.”

“But they’re protecting us from the Nixen,” I counter.

It’s my grandmother who speaks next in a fierce tone of voice. “There was a time before the Anglians came. And in that time, we didn’t need Brandan to protect us.”

“No? So what did we do? Throw our weakest members to the waves to keep the monsters at bay?”

Her brown eyes, so much like my mother’s and mine, soften. “Enna, dear. Of course not. What a silly notion. That’s not the way of the Skylgers.”

Royce and his stupid comments. “So what was our way?” I whisper. “What did we used to do?”

My question is met by silence, as expected. “We will find out,” Sytse says at last. He searches my eyes. “Will you help us?”

His trust in me almost chokes me up. “I don’t know,” I reply softly. “I need to deal with stuff first.” Giving him no time to ask me any more questions, I stalk over to my bedroom door and retreat into my little safe haven before I melt into inevitable tears.