Ankaran Immersion

1 “Did you hear that?” Evie pushed aside a branch and looked over the clearing. The sound was already retreating, a deep, thunderous boom—on a clear spring day. Sunlight filtered through dense leaves above, casting a greenish-yellow glow over a field of brush, and the grey metal fibers running through it. The strand lay all around here, burrowed in the earth, wrapping the trees, giving off its electric hum. Nothing unusual. Whatever had made the booming sound was too distant to trouble her. For now. Evie vaulted through the branches and landed on a spot of bare earth, then hopped eastward across a broken path of strand-free soil. It was still early morning, and if she kept a good pace, she could get to the pond where the moonseed grew, harvest the berries, and return to the safety of their home field before noon. If she kept a good pace. “Hunter!” she yelled. “Hurry up!” A rustling came from behind her, followed by a muffled “ouch” as her half-brother passed through a thorn bush she had avoided. At the edge of the clearing he leaned forward, hands on his knees, red scratches on his cheek. He closed his eyes tight and opened them again, then puffed out, “I want to rest.” “Father gave me an order. If I don’t get the berries as fast as possible, I’ll be breaking the law.” The second law of the Pure, to be exact: youngsters must follow the will of their elders. Even Hunter couldn’t argue with that. “He also said you had to…” He paused to blink hard again and swallow. “Take me with you.” Evie made no effort to hide her annoyance. She didn’t expect an eleven-year-old to be able to keep up with her at sixteen, but everyone else his age knew when it was appropriate to speak. “He said you could come, not that I had to sit around waiting for you.” She headed off, only looking back once she had left the clearing. Shoulders hunched, Hunter stepped gingerly through the high grass, avoiding the strand as she had, but taking longer to do it. Evie wiped a sweat-soaked lock of hair from her face and kept moving. The air was heavy with moisture, her leather shirt stuck to her skin. Unseasonable heat for early spring, and not a good sign. The tribe would have to migrate northward within weeks. Hence this trip for the berries—they didn’t grow in the mountains up north, and the shaman needed them to make medicine. Already their home field was swelled with neighboring families preparing for the migration. Tents, food, tools, everything had to be packed and carried. No possession could survive the coming of the silver strand. The trees thinned, and the patches of dried leaves gave way to a carpet of flexible, fibrous metal. The blight surrounded her now, patches of thistles and clovers pushing through the strand, coming up brown as if the effort had robbed them of vitality. Evie didn’t like this place. The square plots where the Ancient’s buildings had once stood lay marked in the ground, the stones long ago colonized by blue strand, turning them to flat metal plates inscribed with square-patterned designs. Gray strand grew thick between, bunched together like muscle and wet with strand-oil, forcing her to wend her way through the grid to avoid it. There was so much of it here that Evie could see slivers moving as it grew, and the whole place seemed to pulse in its mechanical rhythm. Hunter appeared at the edge of the blight behind her and let out a tired sigh. He made up time by making his way through in more or less a straight line, even if it meant his foot brushed the strand occasionally. Evie shot him a reproachful look the first time it happened, though since it was Hunter he would never notice. Touching gray or blue strand was unlikely to pose a danger, but if they did happen to come across the silver, such recklessness could spell disaster. Silver strand could slither along the ground at incredible speed, or even form itself into walking, bloodthirsty monsters. And if it caught you, it could hook its tendrils inside you, steal your spirit and make you a puppet to its will—a fate worse than death. On the far side of the blight lay the Ancient Road, a wide swath of crumbled black rock, dotted with patches of blue strand and natural detritus. The ancients had built other roads out of the same material, she knew—one often saw chunks of it half-buried in the forest—but for some reason in the Southern Pines only the Ancient Road had survived. Remembering the booming sound from earlier, Evie stared down its flat, straight length, but saw only the horizon. “Wow,” Hunter said, though his voice remained its usual monotone. He was facing the wrong direction, away from the pond. The morning haze had burned off, and far out over the road the spires of the Tainted City rose over the Riversea. Evie could only remember getting this clear a view of it a handful of times in her life. If she squinted, she could see coils of strand hanging off the leaning towers. “Look how close it is,” Hunter said. Evie put a scold in her voice. “You’re looking at people who choose to live among the strand. Even take it into their bodies. ” She suppressed a shiver. “I know.” But he stayed in place anyway, his eyes fixed to the city. She quoted the third law to him, mimicking her father. “Do not be concerned with the will of the strand.” “I’m not concerned.” After a long pause, Hunter turned to follow. “I was just…wondering.” The first time he had focused on anything that day, and it had to be that. Evie shook her head. “Just be glad they’re over there, and we’re here. Come on.” She set off at a jog down the road. Her half-wit half-brother. Everyone knew there was something wrong with him, but the adults tended to ignore it, or acted like it was something he’d grow out of. Evie knew better. He meant well, and one soon got used to his strange movements and speech, or the way he avoided eye contact in conversation. But his preoccupation with the strand—though he tried, poorly, to hide it—was going to bring them both trouble. It was only because they were the closest in age among her step-siblings that she was expected to watch over him all the time. Well, she had to do it, it was her duty as the elder, but she didn’t have to like it. The pond lay not far from the road, beyond a meadow alive with tiny white moths and winged ants. Ducks scattered at their approach, leaving expanding circles on the water’s surface. Evie got to work, kneeling in the shallows and using the knife from her belt to cut moonseed berries from their stalks. Hunter arrived and made some half-hearted efforts to help, then got distracted staring at frogs. Evie said nothing, glad to be left alone. She found a tangle of vines and pulled them apart, rough bark chafing her palm. Hunter followed a frog out to a series of rocks. He leaned forward too far, slipped and fell in. Evie yelped and wiped the splash from her face. Hunter stayed submerged for a few seconds, then rose with a confused expression, a lily pad resting on his head. Evie clucked her tongue and moved on. Another couple weeks, then a month on the trail, and she would be spending her summer in the mountains. Resting in the cool air, swimming in spring water, spending time with her older brothers, who she seldom saw now that they had moved to other fields to start families. And best of all, Hunter wouldn’t bother her there. He always seemed to wander off once they— Ka-thoom. A rumble in the distance shocked her to awareness. The same as she had heard before? It had to be. Ka-thoom. The sound grew louder. A lump formed in her throat. Hunter’s eyes were wide. Something was very wrong. She shouldn’t have come here, should have turned back to the field when she heard it before. How many times had she been told that no matter the season, life among the strand meant eternal vigilance? The air was quiet save for their breathing. If they left now, maybe she could get away with it this time. Lesson learned, she wouldn’t— Ka-THOOM. “Hunter,” she whispered. “Get over here.” A line of trees exploded, and a giant strand monster tumbled into the meadow. The thing was as tall as a full-grown pine, and the ground shook as it rolled onto its knees to face a second giant following at its heels. Evie grabbed Hunter by the wrist and splashed out of the water, then hid behind a smooth stone. The first beast was vaguely human-shaped, but bulkier, its limbs composed of lumps of rock and debris held together by silver strand. The second was more insect-like, taller, with sharp appendages extending from its shoulders and thorax. They must have come from the south—creatures like this shouldn’t have walked the pines until late summer. Hunter shook in her grasp, and she hugged tighter to still him. She had to keep her thoughts calm, resist her instincts. Just stay out of their way. Giants don’t bother much with humans. Stay hidden and wait. Another bone-jarring crash, followed by thudding vibrations. The insectoid giant had swung at the other, which had ducked out of the way. Evie peeked out enough to catch glimpses of the beasts struggling, screeching and growling. How agile they were despite their size, the strand in their limbs flexing and pulsing. The one that had retreated through the trees feinted low, then leapt forward. Its pursuer changed shape, reforming its upper body into a loop of strand, and caught its foe in mid-air, redirecting it toward the pond. Before Evie could respond, the giant smashed into the water, and the sound blasted her eardrums. A lily-filled wave rushed past her knees, nearly dragging her away from the rock. Evie opened her eyes. Her arms were empty. Panic gripped her, but then she saw Hunter a few feet away, covered in mud. “Come on!” They might not get a better opportunity to run. She grabbed Hunter and pulled him along, not daring to look behind. She had to get around the pond, head west back to their home. Thundering footsteps came from her right, followed by another crash. The human-like giant monster had been knocked over again, taking trees down with it. A blinding cloud of dust enveloped her. She jumped a brook, turned, and stopped short, too frightened to breathe. The giant was lying a few paces ahead, its face to the side, staring at her. Its eyes were massive glass orbs, and she watched in horror as smaller black circles within them shrank, focusing. She froze, trapped in its glare, but the thing did not move. Hunter gasped, and his arm shuddered in her hands. She ran, her fingers putting divots in the flesh of Hunter’s wrist. The thing’s eyes rotated to watch her flee. Ahead, an ancient stone dam lay at the pond’s outflow, its crumbling surface replaced with long stretches of gray strand. If she could just get across, then nothing would lie between her and home but a stretch of familiar forest. She stopped at the dam’s edge, habit preventing her feet from touching the metal. To her left, water trickled down a flat, strand-infested embankment to a drainage tunnel far below. Climbing down would take too long, but the law said she couldn’t cross the dam, couldn’t use the strand as a bridge. The insect giant screeched as the two resumed their battle. There was no other way; she had to cross, just this once. She gave Hunter a yank to keep him close, then set off along the narrow causeway. The fighting behind her sounded more ferocious than before. A dozen steps, and she was halfway across. Hunter puffed and wheezed, struggling to keep up with her strides. Below her feet the strand changed shape, writhing, separating. She stumbled, then lost her footing. Hunter yelled. The dam had formed into a ramp, dumping them both down the embankment. Evie tucked her limbs, but they flew apart when she slammed into the hard stone. Pain erupted through her. She tumbled and tried to call, “Hunt—” Another jarring thud, and the world went black.