The other beasts squawk at Nomvula, but this one, it almost seems tame. It presses its beak into Nomvula’s palm. Freedom, yes, it whispers into her mind, then shows Nomvula visions of blue skies and puffy white clouds.
Take my friends to safety, then, Nomvula says. And I will free you of Sydney’s chains.
The beast rears back, bares its fangs. This one cannot, it hisses. Paws slash at her, slicing up her cheek. Riya screams out, and from the corner of Nomvula’s eye, she sees Rife disappear right into nothingness. Fear once more threatens to overwhelm her, and her gut roils at the thought that there isn’t enough time.
All at once, though, her stomach churns with something new. Specks of belief come out of nowhere, building and building, whipping around inside her like a sandstorm. Hundreds of believers, thousands. Her strength is slow in coming, but it’s coming, gathering like storm clouds on the horizon.
Rife reappears for the blink of an eye, right next to Nomvula now, and touches her shoulder. Her ears pop, the world around her fades to a dull blue gray, and the beast’s strike passes right through her. But the flow of belief has been choked off, as well. It vanishes right from inside her—the worst thing she’s ever felt in her whole life.
“No!” Nomvula screams, but her voice is sucked up, like she’s been swallowed up in a bubble, cut off from the world. “Take me back! Take me back!” She pounds Rife’s chest with her fists, feeling powerless and vulnerable.
“This building will collapse,” he says. “Any moment.”
“I only need a moment! I’ll fly us out of here, if you’ll just take me back.” She looks him in the eye. “You have to believe me. Please.”
Reluctantly, Rife agrees, and their bubble bursts. Nomvula breathes in deep, almost drowning in basos as it flows into her. Her wings stiffen. They turn from wispy threads to flat, golden blades, like dozens of swords piercing from her back. Live circuits trace their way across the surfaces in a maze of light. Nomvula may be powered by the belief of bots, but she’s learned that all life is important—even that of humans, as flawed as they might be—and so she revels in the faith, wherever it comes from.
She thrusts off from the rooftop and catches herself in the air. From this angle she sees what’s become of Muzi—a mash of metal fused into the building. It takes her breath, seeing him like that, but for now her priorities must stay elsewhere.
“Sydney!” Nomvula calls out. Two of the beasts swarm around her, hissing and snapping their jaws. Sydney looks up from her diversion, her eyes flicker, a smile spreads across her face.
“At last, a godly adversary,” she says so seductively. “I grow weary of these soulless bots. Fighting with them is more pointless than getting into an argument with a soup can.”
Nomvula bites her tongue, keeping the secrets to her power locked up inside. Their prayers ring like tin in her ears but grow just the same in her heart. “I can’t allow you to cause any more destruction,” Nomvula says. “I’ll give you this chance to walk away if you promise to never lift your hand in evil again.”
“Evil? You are mistaken, sister. You think I’m doing this for my own benefit? My actions have been for the empowerment of mankind! Humans’ minds are shackled, souls lost in endless mediocrity now more than ever. It’s my burden to show them the truth, to teach them the real meaning of fear and faith and love all over again.”
The buzzing in Nomvula’s stomach grows, becoming like an itch. More painful than pleasurable, now. It’s ire, raging up. Her skin glows all over, a soft red halo. It’s fear, Nomvula decides—Sydney’s fear, even though she tries to hide it. A god’s fear. Saliva wets Nomvula’s mouth, so much more than she can hold back. It drizzles over her lips, sizzles against the burn of her skin. The god-creature inside her goes wild, gnashing and clawing and screaming for Nomvula to take Sydney’s life, to make her suffer. Pain spikes in Nomvula’s gut, twisting and burning. Acid runs through her veins, but she hangs on to her humanity. Hangs on to her basos.
Nomvula flexes her wings, causing Sydney to flinch ever so slightly. “I’m giving you this chance, Sydney. More mercy than you ever showed me.”
“Haw! I saved you from execution. What do you think your precious humans would have done with you once they discovered it was your hands that brought so much blood upon our land? What I’ve done today pales in comparison to the lives you took so cruelly.”
Nomvula recoils, visions of that bloodbath coming back to her, snapping the last thread tying her to that old life. Anger creeps out from her bones, feeding off her memories of being a victim, so powerless, so unloved, even by the woman who birthed her. Especially by the woman who birthed her. The god-creature inside breaks free, erupting from her chest with a force that knocks Nomvula back, so hard and so fast that she collides with the building behind her. Glass rains down, but goes to liquid as it nears her. Streams of ire flow from her chest like water from a broken pipe. The ire rises up into the sky, trailing wisps of white smoke behind them. It’s only a matter of time before they come raining down and obliterate everything like before. Tears stream down Nomvula’s cheeks. Sydney is right. Nomvula’s worse than a thousand Sydneys put together, because at least Sydney has reason for her destruction . . . a bigger vision. All Nomvula has is hatred buried so deep inside her that she’ll never be able to scrub herself clean.
Sirens ring from above as the balls of fire slice back down through the sky, like the sun is weeping for Nomvula’s failures.
“It’s not too late,” Sydney says calmly, as if they’ve got all the time in the world. “Together we can stop this.” She extends her hand to Nomvula. “It was unfair of Mr. Tau to leave you so ill-equipped. I can teach you,” she says. “I’ll be your family.”
Nomvula shakes her head. Not that. Anything but that.
“You still think I’m against you? I could flee here in an instant, and leave you to bear the guilt of killing thousands more. But I stand with you now. We can rule together.” Sydney slinks forward and with the broad side of her talon, she caresses Nomvula’s cheek. “I love you, my sister.”
Nomvula throws her arms around her sister, savoring those words she’s longed to hear. She imagines the two of them working together, strengths and faults balancing each other, opposite sides of the same coin. She’d have a family again.
Except she’d seen the way Sydney looked at her when she said those words—eyes intent on coming nowhere close to Nomvula’s. Not love, but fear and anxiety and cowardice. And cunning.
“I love you, my sister,” Nomvula says back, and she really does mean it. Despite everything Sydney has done, Nomvula finds it in her heart to forgive her sister, just as she’d forgiven her mother. She hugs Sydney tighter, feeling the billowy clouds of basos inside her push away the ire.
“There’s not much time left,” Sydney says, squirming. “Allow me into your mind so I can show you how to turn your ire away.”