Marya listened in dull astonishment. Okner was talking about the Murdered Map-Maker, and somehow he’d remembered details from the (unfinished and unpublished) book…The Storm, he was saying, and giving the history of the name. The room just off-center under the Skye, where gangs came to choose peace or war. A neutral zone. How did the boy know all this? It might almost be possible for them to complete the impossible tasks Malcav set for them…if it weren’t that she had been set a task of her own, and she would not disobey. She knew that, now. Her friend’s blood still stained the floorboards by the device, and long after the stains were gone the echoes of her screams would haunt Marya’s head. She could not disobey again, but the guilt was destroying her from the inside out.
Elle Tonarych had never felt worse, not even when she’d pushed her brother out of their treehouse and he’d fallen and broken his arm in two places. Then she’d felt terrible for weeks, but she wished she could go back to that time. She kept wondering how things could go on, but the others talked and argued, and Zinn changed Cay’s bandages, and Leera gave orders that Elle couldn’t not follow, even though she wasn’t sure she could, either. Most of the orders were to keep walking, and then keep up, and then eat some of the bread on the way. In a way, it was easier to let herself be ordered around. But…none of the others had given up. They all seemed determined, in their own ways, to win, whatever that meant. Except Joran. He looked a bit the way Elle felt, with his head hanging drearily. When he glanced at her, she thought she saw panic in his eyes. Her grandmother had taught her to think of others when she hurt, and she’d run a hundred errands for her brother before his arm had healed. I can help someone, she thought. Even if it isn’t myself. And that will help me, too. It was odd to have to think out again something that was almost second nature to her, but she felt more grounded. It wouldn’t help to think of poor Friya now. Now Joran was the one who needed her at his side.
“Hey,” she began, stepping sideways to walk next to him. “I just…”
She’d meant to ask him for a joke, since he told so many, but the expression he turned to her was one of rigid terror, and she stopped short.
“Are you okay?” She put a hand gently on his arm. He laughed, although it sounded more like a gasp or the end of a sob.
“I- I- I’m still alive. Alive! She’s not. Friya’s not. My mother’s gone. I- I can’t do this. It’s because of me. But I’m not! Not a machine. I’m human, anyone can see that, anyone, no matter what they say. It wasn’t me; the device saved me and it was invisible, even though it sounds crazy, I know, I think maybe I- I am going crazy. They’re —!”
All six of them had stopped at that point, Leera’s brow furrowed, Okner raising his eyebrows in interest, Cay open-mouthed. Zinn started rummaging in her pouch for something, and Elle reached out gently and hugged Joran.
“It’s okay,” she whispered without letting go. “We’re working together to get through this. I’m so sorry about your mother, and we are all going to miss Friya. And Solldero. But right now, it’s okay.”
It took several minutes for him to relax and stop babbling enough to look self-conscious. Elle kept her arms around him and thought about her brother. Would it be okay for him? Would she see him again?
Zinnia Questel was going to run out of herbs in less than an hour if Joran needed them at this rate. He was so jumpy that Zinn kept looking over her shoulder, thinking he’d seen the copper orb again. But before too long Leera held up her hand for them all to stop.
“Annersap?” She queried.
Okner looked around.
“I must confess I can remember only the first letter of the street, that being a B, and in any case it is altogether possible that Alar Solldero’s daughter lives somewhere else altogether. However…”
He struck off towards a row of merchants’ stalls.
“Why are we looking for someone’s daughter?” Cay whispered. Zinnia stared at the pale green slime that bordered the cobblestones beneath their feet.
“I think that’s Solldero’s mother,” Elle whispered back.
Zinn caught a few suspicious glances from the rough, bearded men around them. From the way Leera’s stance shifted, she’d caught them as well.
“But isn’t Solldero his first name?” Cay whispered.
Leera’s slow blink probably meant that she wanted them to stop whispering and keep alert. Zinn turned toward Cay briefly.
“Got married, maybe,” she pointed out, and turned back to watch Okner’s progress towards them.
He achieved by drifting what most people did with elbows, and he never seemed to look down. Zinn tried to follow his gaze, but it ended somewhere beyond the clouds.
He kept gazing up when he reached them, and Leera finally snapped,
“Well?”
“The myth of Elkey and Swiran explains that nothing can be understood that has not been experienced,” he began, and Elle cleared her throat gently.
“Sorry, Okner, but did you manage to find out where Solldero’s family lives?”
“Ah.” He stroked his mustache.
“Bell Street, in the same house. Although I believe they rent out, as well.”
Zinn stopped listening again and looked up. Okner had been looking at the clouds, not past them; they were a heavy grey, thick over Oceanfront. There would be rain. Lots of it.
Leera Stern was determined. She was also angry, and she used her anger to focus and control her determination. Zinnia had to be motivated, Cay reassured, Okner silenced…but first Elle needed to talk to Noy’s family, which brought with it a whole host of problems. There were a number of suspicious-looking people standing about in the street, notwithstanding the rain. Leera wasn’t afraid, but she knew people, and these were not the kind who only looked scary. She managed to scout out the interior of the house and guard the rear of the group at the same time only by diverting her senses away from Okner’s explanation to whomever had opened the door. Once they were all inside, Leera briefly put one hand on Arundasi’s shoulder and the other on Questel’s, hoping the girl would take the hint. The front hall they stood in seemed relatively safe…until you looked more closely. Then you could see the bullet holes, gouge marks, etc., although they all looked fairly old. In and out, Leera thought. Honor one of his last wishes, then keep on with the rest. Annersap wouldn’t stop talking once he got started, so she gestured for him and Cay to remain with Joran and Zinnia while she and Elle followed the young woman who had opened the door into a back room.
It wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d practically grown up in a training facility, and she’d expected similar from Noy’s impressive abilities. But the small suite glowed with warmth and vibrant colors. Seated on a low couch was a woman who could only be Noy’s mother. Two young girls leaned against her.
“Mrs. Noy?” Elle smiled sadly. “I am so sorry, but we have very bad news for you.”
“My son is dead.” The woman spoke softly, her voice shaking slightly. “I know, or Adana would not have brought you here. You…knew him.”
Elle’s eyes filled with tears; she stepped forward and hugged the woman.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We all had so much respect for him. He was a good leader.”
Leera remained stiffly where she was. If she were the kind of person to shy away from unpleasant tasks, she would have regretted not sending Okner. But she was not. Raising her chin, she said,
“Your son died bravely, ma’am, an example to us all.”
One of Noy’s sisters whimpered, and the woman pulled them close as Elle stepped back.
“If there’s anything we can do…” Elle began, but Leera broke in.
“We are determined to finish what we were forced to begin, in your son’s memory.”
The woman looked up, her eyes hard behind the tears.
“You do that,” she answered quietly. “But be careful. This is not an easy place.”
Cay Vojen was scared, and unfortunately, he had good reason to be. Damp was all around them, the thick scent of mildew clinging to the moist walls and swept along in the current of the draining systems. Okner said that the structures under the river Skye had lasted for years and had been built by a famous architect…he’d started to say what had happened to said architect, but Leera gestured roughly for him to be silent, and for once Cay had to agree. There was no one in sight, but Cay had the feeling that that didn’t mean no one was around. And there were stains on the walls that he didn’t want to look at too closely, and the air smelt of blood…Cay pushed forward a little, wishing Leera hadn’t directed him to bring up the rear. He only managed to nearly trip up Elle, but she turned and patted his arm comfortingly.
“I believe we need only take the famed passageway where the fictional Young Rolly was supposed to have met his long-lost mother (whom he later discovered to be his aunt, her identical twin) and where he first realized-”
From the abrupt cut-off, Leera must have elbowed him.
The passageway was empty, although it smelled strongly of sweat and grime and something unpleasant Cay didn’t recognize. The circular room it led to smelled the same, with the addition of metal…
It took Cay several seconds to realize that they were not alone.
The rough men sauntered forward with grace that belied their bulk, their fists glinting ominously. There hadn’t seemed so many shadows, but the men just kept coming. Their little group could easily have been surrounded any number of times, but the men never entirely closed in, instead leaving gaps between groups.
“Ah, yes,” Okner whispered behind Cay. “The six factions, all represented in their hotly-disputed headquarters. One wonders-”
There was a blur of movement, and Okner stopped talking with a grunt. Cay glanced back, thinking Leera had tripped him up or something, but she was open-mouthed in shock, pressing her back against Zinnia’s and raising her hands in what looked like a knowledgeable defensive position.
By the time Cay understood what was going on, the man holding a knife to Okner’s throat was speaking menacingly, his accent so thick that Cay could barely make out the words.
“I’m not bargaining. I don’t bargain. But if you run you might just survive. Unlike this one.”
And he cut Okner’s throat.
They all gasped, and as Okner’s body fell in what felt like slow motion, they all moved forward to catch him. Cay managed to support Okner’s head before it hit the ground.
Blood welled up from the cut too fast to understand. Okner tried to say something, but the words gurgled in his mouth.
“…long been my dream…recite the hero Aldgar’s famous three-day death speech, as recorded…playwright…’Dearest companions, so faithful and true…’” The words were barely audible, but there was a spark in his eyes that made Cay smile, despite the circumstances. And then – it went out.
There was a shuddering breath from one of them; Cay was so numb that information from his senses jumbled in his mind.
“Last chance,” said a voice from somewhere above him.
The metallic smell of blood filled Cay’s nostrils. Distantly he heard a crash, and maybe running water…Leera was on her feet, face to face with the man who’d killed Okner and who still stood threatening them. Since all the other men were behind her, there was no chance she could fight.
As it turned out, there was no chance for anything.
A ringing boom so loud that it drowned out the man’s next words startled them all into a moment of horrified silence. There were successive crashes like waves in a storm, but a sudden glint of copper snatched Group Marya’s eyes to the man in front of them. His eyes had suddenly gone glassy, and Cay was sure he smelled smoke…then the man collapsed at their feet, and the teenagers turned and ran for their lives. The copper orb was floating there in the air, spitting flames at random.
Cay threw himself through the crowd of bewildered gangsters. A brief whiff of flowers told him Zinnia was right behind him. The orb was definitely following them! Perhaps just as important was the water rushing into the room behind them. As the four of them pelted up a passageway, a panicked stampede growing in their wake, Cay gradually realized that there was a tall figure running in front of them. For a soul-shaking moment he thought it was Okner, but just as they neared the staircase that led to the streets, the figure turned at the top and panted,
“Wash the rain, by order of the king. Wash the rain!”
They had barely slowed, and Cay was forcing himself into a final sprint when an explosion of flame and smoke behind them sent him staggering.
“Get down!” Leera screamed, and threw herself at Zinn, somehow kicking Cay’s feet from under him as she went.
Joran was slower, turning in confusion from the first stair just as the blast happened.
Elle pushed herself up from the floor to drag him down…they both fell…Joran twisted, his hand frantically patting her cheek…running footsteps behind them signaled a stampede of gang members, fleeing the flood.
Joran Arundasi tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened, but it was impossible.
“We have to go!” Leera’s voice had an odd quality to it, unconvincing and frail.
Elle’s eyelids flickered.
“Joran? Joran…it’s going to be ok. Don’t worry.”
“Elle!” He wanted to scream it, but he couldn’t pull air into his lungs. She hesitated.
“It’s ok. Jor? Just stick with Leera, she’ll keep you…safe…”
Leera and Cay were next to them, lifting Elle as the last of the gang members shoved past them.
She was moaning, and Zinn was shouting that she shouldn’t be moved, but Leera pointed in the direction of a rumbling sound that heralded a wave of water, and then it didn’t matter anymore.
Nothing mattered.
Elle went limp, her hand dropped from Joran’s, and he knew she was dead.
Seconds later her body had been washed away and the four surviving members of Group Marya sprawled on the street, drenched.
Before things had been bad, but they had mattered. So much so that Joran had wanted to die. He’d wanted to stop the endless fear, the rounds of panic and grief. Maybe he could join his mother, and Solldero and Friya and Okner. Maybe looking in the face of death would free him from this waking nightmare. But instead, Elle had saved him.
“You should have lived,” Jor whispered to the cobblestones beneath him. She’d actually had things to live for. Friends, parents…didn’t she have a twin brother? A pang of guilt swirled with the sorrow; Jor pounded the cobbles with his fist, begging the pain to drive away his emotions.
“Get up, Arundasi!” Leera was standing over him.
He hated her. He hated himself. Why had she saved him? He wanted to hate her, too, but that was unfair…everything was unfair. She was dead. He was not. Leera was…