The War of Elevens| Book 1 of the Space Thief Chronicles

Chapter 24| The Sinners Are No Longer Saved

Amaranth grew up with her father constantly whispering in her ear, "The sinners are no longer saved." 

It was an old saying from the indigenous peoples of Anna Mae. The story went that, when Anna Mae was a discombobulated land made up of colonies, Bria Hungrian soldiers raided the subtropical highlands and the arid desert regions. Anna Maens were under Bria Hungrian rule for forty-three years. Bria Hungary combined the colonies and made Anna Mae a nation that looked like the rest of the world: enslaved indigenous peoples, big governments in capitals much more wealthy than the rest of the land, angry and quiet civilians, fast-growing technology. 

But the ancient Anna Maens were not like the rest of the world in this respect: they had a secret weapon.

When the Anna Maens used their weapon, it was during a time when Anna Mae itself was a flourishing country under the rule of Bria Hungrians. On the forty-third year of enslavement, the Anna Maens got their secret weapon ready, whispering, "The sinners are no longer saved, the sinners are no longer saved." 

They used their secret weapon and sent the world spinning on its axis.

"The sinners are no longer saved" was the only thing that remained after the Anna Maens used that weapon—that and a very slim number of survivors. Everything else was gone gone gone. 

Amaranth knew what this secret weapon was because her great-great-great-great-great grandmother created it. 

She currently sat at the end of a long conference table in a room with the other Board Members, Stevia Corro, and Stem Sankta, the commander of the Shifter army whose power was so influential she could strike down a strategy or an idea with a single "No." The walls of the room reflected stormy skies that twisted and jerked angrily, stained blue, indigo, and a black so dark that it made Amaranth want to cry. The ceiling looked like a garden sprouting upside-down emerald saplings and bright flower buds in a sea of black soil.

"And you're positive the psychic was dead? We didn't find a body," Sankta asked Stevia. Stem Sankta could have been made of ice: Her white hair was tied back in complicated Balalaikan braids down her back, her eyes were the color of a sky right before it snows, and her skin was so flaxen it was translucent—if Amaranth focused on Sankta's cheeks and neck long enough, she'd be able to see the thin twisted roads of blue-green veins that made up her insides. 

"You wouldn't have found a body," replied Stevia softly but not gently. "I touched her to make sure she was dead after the solar wind cleared out and she disintegrated. You saw her ashes." 

"And now we have absolutely no idea where that girl is because you let her run out of the room like a scared cockroach," Sankta accused. Despite her looks, her tone was all fire. 

"I was dealing with a dead psychic," Stevia snarled. 

"We haven't been able to find the girl," Amaranth interjected, hoping to ease the mounting tension between Sankta and Stevia. "But we'll keep searching. She can't have gone far, and it's execution day, so if she went down to Faevil she'll be faced with Bloom Officials. I gave descriptions of her in an earth letter I sent to the commander of executioners before I sent letters to you. I can't get in touch with her cousin, but I spoke to a nurse at Bria Hungary Northside Hospital who said Miss Stowe should be fully conscious and able to work something out with us in a few hours." 

"Aren't you scared this kid will kill us all with solar wind like she did to the psychic?" Sankem asked Amaranth. Amaranth had never seen him more angry in the past five hours than in the past twenty-five years she'd known him. His face had turned purple when he found out there was a space thief on the loose and had yet to return to its normal color. He could have filled buckets with the amounts of perspiration he'd shed today.