Is this how I die? she wondered. Was this the pain of an old, infected amulet? She bared her teeth. If it ate her, she sure as hell wasn’t going alone. She made a grab for the Sweeper’s arm.
At once the burn in her chest redirected. The pain formed a solid bridge across both arms, up the one and straight out the fingertips of the other. The Sweeper’s hand convulsed. He tottered, dropped the grenade. Was he screaming or was that the blood boiling in her ears? No. His mouth was open. Definitely screaming. He fell back, landed on his knees, and groped at his chest and throat. He gurgled, blood pouring out his nose and ears as eyes turned red. His chest gave stunted heaves. Laura struggled to turn away, to stop looking. She forced herself away from the Pit. The pain stopped as soon as she parted with it, and all the strength left her. She fell to her hands and knees. Her vision swam. The Sweeper wheezed. He fell with a thud. She couldn’t read his number but she saw his still eyes, his bloodied teeth. He didn’t speak or move again.
The room listed left and right, but maybe that was just her. Her arms screamed agony, shaking to hold her weight. Vanilla scent clogged her throat. She could hardly breathe. She wheezed, distantly aware of tears filling up her goggles.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
More red wobbled past her fingers. Blood? Was she—? No. Glass. What killed the Sweeper had left the infestation unscathed. It headed for the Pit. If it infected the other amulets, Amicae was dead. Okane would die. Morgan, Cheryl, the Keedlers, Brecht. All gone, just like Clae.
Damn it.
Damn it.
Damn it.
She hardly realized she spoke aloud, curses falling from her lips as she forced her limbs to move.
“Not this time. Not them too.”
All she had to do was break the amulet. Destruction of the amulet meant destruction of the inhabitant. Clae had done it with the mask. She’d done it at Sundown Hills. She could do it now. If she was dying, she could do this much.
She grabbed for it, planning to smash it against the ground. As she reached, a spark started at her other hand. It zipped like a light up a fuse, up, over, and down that arm again. Light streaked from her fingers, crackling about the glass. The infestation writhed and screamed, the sound tinny through its prison before the glass shattered. The creature shuddered and dissolved into smoke, eaten up by more crackling energy. The world spun faster, colors sliding together. Laura crumpled. While she felt a stab of pain in her hand, it gave her glorious relief; the rest of her arms became cool and painless.
* * *
What felt like seconds later she blinked open her eyes. The floor remained as dark and dusty as ever. Cold, too. She shifted and groaned. Her body stiffened as if she’d been there for hours. Her outstretched hand smarted badly. Suddenly it seemed very quiet, and she realized someone had been speaking. A shuffle of clothes came from her other side.
“Careful. Take it very slowly. You’re fragile in this state.”
“What?” Her tongue felt like lead. She worked at it awhile, frowning.
“That was more magic than a body should take. I’m surprised you survived it.”
Something white leaned into her vision. She squinted through the bleariness.
“Grim? Am I dead?”
“Miraculously, no.”
Grim focused on her bloodied hand. He turned it over gingerly and she realized glass chunks stuck out of it. That should hurt. She winced more out of obligation than real feeling as he pried the pieces out.
“What happened?”
“You channeled Gin energy through yourself. It’s like electrocution in most cases, but you appear to be an anomaly.”
“Gin can’t hurt other strains,” she mumbled. If she crossed her eyes and squinted she could pretend it was Clae in that coat, listing facts. It hurt to imagine. “It recognizes you. Can’t or won’t hurt you.”
“With airborne mist, yes. Treating you as an amulet, however, has consequences.” He nodded at the fallen Sweeper. “You only survived by being a conductor. Expelled the magic as soon as you received it.”
Memories were a little foggy, but that sounded right.
“I channeled it into him.”
“He couldn’t redirect it, so it ruined him.”
The glass was out. Grim dug through his pockets again before producing a small jar and a roll of bandages. He yanked off a glove with his teeth, scooped something from the jar, and mashed it into her cuts. This time she gave a full-body shudder, straining her jaw to keep from making a sound. Whatever it was stung, and coldness seeped through her hand. He wrapped it all up in the bandage, tying lopsidedly.
“I’m no medic, but that should tide you over until we see a professional. Give me your other hand.”
“Why, so you can put more of that nasty stuff on me?”
“We need to regulate your energy. That Gin threw off your natural balance.”
Laura frowned but didn’t protest as he pulled her into a sitting position. He propped her up, then took her other hand in both of his and closed his eyes. His hands felt cold and rough as if covered in calluses. He didn’t seem willing to do anything else.
“What are you doing?”
“Stabilizing. The process is slow with a small point of contact.”
She looked pointedly at their hands. “So you want to hug instead?”
“That may be detrimental to both of us.”
She wrinkled her nose and regarded him. “Are you a Magi?”
His pale, pale eyes flicked open. “Why do you think that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Strange-eyed guy practicing magic, somehow able to get shot and live? Closest thing I’ve ever heard to that is Magi ability.”
“I suppose so, but I’m not one of them.”
“Then what are you?”
“Thracis.”
“From Thrax?” She laughed. Her ribs ached so she stopped quickly. “Thrax is a ruin.”
“So it is.”
“Is it Ranger territory now?”
“No. Just mine.” He frowned, dropping her hand. “Is it all right if I roll up your sleeve?”
“Sure.”
The cloth bunched weirdly at her elbow but she didn’t think of that—she was too preoccupied with the state of her arm. The discolored skin had a thin branching pattern, as if a phantom tree spread its limbs to overtake her arm.
“What the—”
“Rangers call them ‘lightning flowers.’ I imagine it hurts.”
Grim shrugged off his coat, rolled up his own sleeves, and pressed his forearms against hers. More chill. Laura hissed and gripped his elbow to ground herself. But this wasn’t the same minty zap as the medicine. A feeling spread up, like a soothing autumn breeze swirling under her skin. The last of the burning quieted, smoothed out in a graceful instant. The stress eased out of her muscles as the feeling filled her. Warm, cold, neither, both. A perfect balance. Harmony. The room no longer swam but lay before her in perfect clarity.
“Are you the one doing this?”
He nodded and pulled his arms away. The feeling eased out into nothing and Laura felt empty in its wake. She was relieved when he gestured for her other arm and did the same procedure.
“I was afraid to do it earlier,” he admitted. “It would balance, but it can soothe too much. I’ve accidentally lulled a heart into stopping before. The Gin magic ripped your energy out too. You were drained enough that I couldn’t risk it.”
Laura turned her free hand over, sickened by the color but grateful that it all moved properly.
“I don’t understand. You don’t have an amulet. Not even Magi can do this, as far as I know. Balance, or whatever.”
“I’m special.” He pulled away and held out his arms again. Where they’d touched her, something akin to a burn marred the pasty skin, but instead of raised welts and discoloration it gleamed and sparkled, like the surface of Gin but paler, harsher. “I suppose with some crystal, you have to break it open for it to shine.”
Crysta
l? Wait. The breath froze in her lungs. “You’re like Clae and Anselm?”
“I take it you mean the child in the river? Not exactly. He was once a normal human. This is how I was born. You could say we crystals are opposites.”
“Like opposite magnets? So you don’t get along well?”
He nodded. “He has become Gin, which produces magic. His variety of crystal has a different potency, though. It’s not a pure stone, but tainted by humanity and the residual emotions. I am not Gin. I am Niveus.”
“Like the stone they use to make amulets?”
“Correct.” He folded his arms, hiding the glittering patches. “Niveus creates nothing but holds magic in check. Too much magic is a terrible thing. It can destroy the mind, cause mutations, diseases, death. Niveus streamlines and refines it. Niveus is everywhere in the soil, diluting enough for energy to be safely used.”
“It calms people down,” she murmured.
“It dilutes stress-related energies if someone wears a piece,” Grim agreed. “Although—” He nodded at her hand. She looked down, and found only one ring. The Sweeper one rested where it always had, but the Niveus ring from Clae had gone. She looked around frantically, and paused when Grim reached out to pluck something off the floor: a fragment of white. “In contact with large amounts of magic, it becomes overwhelmed and shatters.”
The Falling Infestation flickered back to mind: Marshall dipping his hands into the fountain, his frown, Only one variety broke. It’s all the Niveus amulets. Understanding dawned.
“That’s why you looked like you died.”
Grim rolled the Niveus piece between his fingers. “Usually there are enough Niveus traces in the soil to outweigh effects of Gin. There must be a balance with Gin and Niveus if you want them to work. That child is smaller than me, but his magic is strong. I didn’t have enough mass to cancel it out. He sapped my strength. I almost broke.”
“And when he came in contact with you, he calmed down. That’s why he’d changed and looked so odd. Crystal doesn’t reshape or move on its own, after—Wait. You. You’re a talking rock?”
“I thought we’d covered that.”
“You’re a walking, talking rock.”
“Cherry believes I’m an earth spirit,” he said, slightly offended. “As a dryad is to a tree, as a sylph is to wind, I am to this stone.”
“Are you pulling the religion card on me?”
“Not really. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only one there is.”
“Then where did you come from?”
“I woke up in Thrax a little over a hundred and fifty years ago. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how. I just woke. No one was there. I’ve tried to find someone to explain it to me, but most of my findings stem from Ranger lore. It’s not the most reliable source.”
“All alone for that long? Sounds awful.”
“Not always. There are many interesting people in the wilds. Rangers like Cherry. Couriers like Okane.”
“Rexians, you mean.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” said Laura. “They’re the ones out hunting Rangers and razing satellite towns, and they’re descendants of Magi, too.”
“Couriers are Magi.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps it would’ve been easier to tell you this before, but they are dangerous to speak of. They need to ensure no news of them or their home reaches Rex. They’d sooner murder a Rexian Sweeper than help him. But that isn’t our current problem. How do you feel? Ill at all?”
Laura had to snap out of her daze. “What? No. Sore, definitely, but better. Thank you.”
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
Grim held his hands out and she grasped them (fingers of rock, she marveled) to help pull herself up. Her legs wavered and she had a little vertigo, but her head cleared quickly. She looked back to take stock of the damage.
The Pit’s metal had definitely warped. What little metal remained curled like a wrapper peeled to reveal its contents. A solid pillar of crystal, fusing directly onto a floor of solid Gin, emerged from this wreckage. Old amulets could be glimpsed inside: broken ceramics, figures, sections of larger machines jumbled tight together. Kin treatments were meant to wash out infestations, but Laura never considered what kin did once it arrived at the bottom: evaporate, perhaps, or sink into the ground. The magic must’ve soaked into the amulets themselves, over and over until the pieces could absorb no more, and then hardened around them. Over 150 years of kin treatments had sent supercharged liquid gold between them, molding the Pit and its contents into a massive magic strain, the purest form of magic that could be found. It shimmered bright, echoing all the colors of sunrise.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s powerful,” said Grim. “But more than that, it’s become its own strain, self-sufficiently. No amulets in there are susceptible to infestation.”
Laura choked out a laugh. No wonder there had been such a big effect. No wonder there had been so much light. Grim turned and pulled her uninjured arm over his shoulder.
“Let’s leave. This area is secure, and it wouldn’t do well to linger. I might break after all.”
Laura nodded and let him help her back into the mining area. They stumbled back to the battle site. The signs began gradually, some discolored walls and spots of blood giving way to bodies, dropped weapons, craters, and buckling ceilings. A few Rangers lay amid the dead, but the Rexian bodies outnumbered them. The living stepped between corpses, checking this or that in exaggerated silence. All wore drab Ranger gear.
“We won,” Laura murmured. Her eyes roved over the crowd. Rangers upon Rangers upon Rexian dead. “Where’s Okane?”
“I lost track of him earlier,” said Grim.
“He has to be here somewhere. You don’t think—”
With a rush of horror she wondered if someone saw his eyes and shot before thinking. Was he lying here among the dead?
“Calm,” Grim said evenly.
“We have to find him.”
“We will.”
“But what if he—”
“Grim!” Cherry leaned out of another passage, waving. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you.”
“I take it everything’s been settled?” said Grim.
“What Rexians aren’t dead ran away. We’ve called the upper levels, so the authorities will be here soon. In the meantime, we’re treating some of our own.”
“Maybe this will get it through their heads,” said a passing Ranger, carrying a kit of medical supplies. “Rangers aren’t mobs.”
“Have you seen Okane?” said Laura. “I haven’t seen him anywhere yet, and—”
“Sure I have.” Cherry jerked her head at the passage. “He’s right over here. Hear that, Okane? She was worried about you, too.”
Laura ran to the corner. Okane sat on the floor, arms linked around bent knees while another Ranger squatted to tend to his injuries. Bandages completely hid the right half of his face, but the visible eye was wide and bright.
“Laura!” he yelped, making to stand, but the medic shoved him right back down.
Laura let out a single bark of laughter before her knees buckled. Grim and Cherry steadied her and helped maneuver so she could sit next to him. His eye blinked at her, silver, beautiful as ever. Her own expression probably unnerved him, but she didn’t care. She was too busy drinking in a sight she’d been afraid to lose.
“Are - - - okay?” he asked.
“Me? What about you? Please tell me that doesn’t feel as bad as it looks.”
“It’s … bad. But they gave me pills.” Sure enough, as he spoke his visible skin seemed to pinch.
“That’s something at least.” She sighed, shaky. “What happened?”
“Someone brought in a machine gun.” Okane shuddered.
“It was like shooting fish in a barrel,” said Cherry, shaking her head. “We almost thought we’d hit you somewhere in the mix. Good thing you’re safe, or I’d
never forgive myself. Where did you two run off to?”
“One of them went after the Pit,” said Laura.
Okane started. The medic chided him but he whirled about, paler than ever. “They didn’t reach it, did they? What’s the damage? Is it—”
“I don’t think we need to worry about anything.”
“Laura killed the invader,” said Grim.
“And the Pit?”
“He hit it, but it didn’t do him any good,” said Laura. “It turns out there aren’t any more amulets in there. They all fused. All the washes of kin over the years stuck and made it a strain.”
“Wait. We have an entire Pit’s worth of Gin?”
“Pseudo-Gin, anyway. It packs a hell of a punch.” She raised her hands so he could see the discoloration. “It’s so pretty, though! And the Gin won’t affect you. The magic flows right around. Clae always said it was because we’re strains, but I think it’s actually hooked up to the Sweeper rings, like the armory. I have no idea what we could do with it, but—Okane?”
Okane had tuned out the moment he saw her hands. His chest rose in nervous half breaths.
“Laura,” he said again, absolutely wretched.
“I’m okay, you don’t have to cry!”
“For god’s sake, don’t force me to change this bandage,” said the medic.
“Laura,” he whispered. She threw an arm around his shoulders and leaned closer, rubbing his biceps.
“I’m good! I promise. I’m not in such bad shape as you.”
He shook his head and bowed over, shoulders shaking. Laura glanced up at the others for help.
“Don’t look at me,” said Cherry. “I don’t know how to handle heartfelt reunions.”
“Please check on her injuries too,” Grim told the medic, before straightening and tugging Cherry along with him. “We’ll give you privacy. Call for us if you need any help. We won’t be far.”
The Monstrous Citadel Page 41
