Lincoln

by Christina Bauer

  The mountainous effigy raises his sword high, ready to attack. I glare at him straight on.

  If this is how I die, I’ll do so with my eyes open.

  Then I hear it.

  The telltale pops of stone cracking. The man-mountain effigy above me pauses, then brings his sword down toward my neck. The blow never connects. Instead, the effigy’s body shatters into countless pieces. The other warriors who held me down all suffer the same fate. Their bodies burst apart. Below me, thousands of warriors crumble and are no more. The chips of their stone forms cascade from the spiral walkway, tumbling into the center of the tower’s floor. I exhale.

  That was close.

  I hop to stand, kicking the extra stone bits from my path. The thought hits me that, although I almost lost my life, it’s still been rather easy to reach Myla. After all, the warlock wields considerable magic. Is this all he can throw at me?

  Shaking my head, I set such thoughts aside and focus on the heavy wooden door at the top of the winding walkway. A thick metal slider locks everything in place. Pulling out my baculum, I ignite them into a long sword and slice through the steel bar like paper. Leaning on my back foot, I kick the wooden slats into fragments.

  The door is open.

  It’s time to get my girl.

  47

  I rush into the chamber. It’s a small stone room with a conical roof, just as the ghostly version of Myla described. Tiny barred windows cast thin beams on moonlight across the scene. The walls are lined with scribblings in chalk. Myla lays huddled on the floor, shivering. I scoop her body into my arms. Every inch of her feels chilled through. Pressing her against my chest, I turn for the door.

  The spirit version of Myla blocks my exit. Like the physical Myla, the ghostly version is barefoot and in sweats. “If you take us from this room,” she says. “We’ll die. Which for the record, I’d rather have happen than turn into an immortal Barbie doll made of rock.”

  “How? Why?” Then I see it. The writing is literally on the wall. I’ve seen those kind of markings before. They’re on every charm that Striga creates. The patterns are meant to look random, but if you know what to search for, the meaning of the spell is clear.

  Still holding Myla in my arms, I step around the room, scanning the marks on the walls. While at first glance, they seemed to be made from chalk, the writing is actually carved into the rock itself. Most likely, the Tithe used his enchanted mallet and chisel.

  “The spell says you can’t leave,” I read. “Unless you’re one.”

  “One what?” asks Ghost-Myla.

  “You must become one person again, both spirit and body.”

  “Let me guess.” Ghost-Myla points to a specific spot on the wall. “Those numbers? They’re a clock that says we’ve got four minutes left to bring me back together, or I become an effigy forever. ”

  I scan the runes. Sure enough, there’s a bit written in Latin. And it’s changing. Counting down. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess,” says Ghost-Myla. “I could read the countdown part because it’s in Latin numerals, but the rest? That’s just how my life sucks. If nothing else, my existence is consistent.” She’s smiling, my there’s no missing the pain in her eyes. My girl is hurting.

  “No,” I lean over, pressing my cheek against physical-Myla’s forehead. “There must be something.” My eyes widen. “What about your powers? Can you summon igni?”

  “Sha. I’ve been sitting here alone for-fucking-ever. Summoning my igni was the first thing I did. No go. Turns out, they’re unreliable little lightning bolt shaped bastards.”

  “Did you try summoning them from other places?”

  “Sure, ghost-me can move around. I float-walked to a ton of different places. Still didn’t work.” She hisses as she leans over. “That’s an owie. Damn.”

  Still holding the physical Myla, I scan the walls again. There must be something I’m missing. My muscles tighten with nervous energy. I scan the numeral-clock on the wall.

  Three minutes.

  “Let me try my igni again.” The ghostly Myla closes her eyes and raises her hand. It’s a movement I’ve seen a number of times. I press the physical Myla more closely against me. Her slow heartbeat thumps against my chest.

  Please, let this work.

  No igni appear.

  “Ugh,” groans Ghost-Myla. “They really are supernatural prima donnas.”

  A rhythmic sound fills the air. Clapping. It’s the Tithe. He steps into the room, passing directly through the ghostly Myla in the process. She shivers.

  “Eew, eew, eew,” sneers Ghost-Myla. “There’s a thing called deodorant, buddy.”

  Even though we’re trapped in a cell with an arguably evil thrax … and possibly about to die … and definitely about to get into trouble … I can’t stop my smile.

  Everything is better with Myla nearby. Even this.

  The Tithe limps toward me. His right leg is a solid log of ice. His false arm popped off thanks to the ice spell, so there’s that. Light patches of frost cover his skin. I make a mental note to thank Lucas for his excellent freezing charms. That is, if we survive this encounter.

  “How lovely to have lured you both here,” says the Tithe. “You did notice that was my plan, I hope?”

  “I noticed you’re a dick,” says Ghost-Myla.

  I nod. “What she said.”

  The Tithe focuses on me. “All the effigies I sent after the you, my little princeling. Yes, I wanted to see if you’d disavow the demon girl.”

  “I have a name,” snaps Ghost-Myla.

  The Tithe glares at her. “We’ll get to that in a moment.” He returns his focus on me. “But what I really wanted to see was how a Citadel-trained warrior stood up against my effigies. And I’m happy to report that—despite a few stone-related specialty attacks that you came up with—my warriors are invincible.”

  Myla raises her hand. “Not sure if you saw, but my man popped all your warriors with ice. And your arm is gone, too. So not sure where you’re getting the invincible stuff from.”

  The Tithe rounds on her. “Because when I reform my army again, they’ll have new runes that protect from ice. You two …” The Tithe gestures to me and Myla with his remaining arm. “You’re creating my perfect army.”

  Myla bites back a pained moan. “I hate this. And you.” She glances at the wall clock. So do I.

  Two minutes.

  “This is all your father’s fault,” snarls the Tithe. “Xavier should have seen my greatness. He should have allowed me to run the Citadel!”

  “That’s what this is about?” asks Ghost-Myla. “The Citadel? And you have some thousand-year-old grudge against my dad?” She looks to me. “Really?”

  I shrug. “Afraid so. I’m pretty sure he wants to break into Heaven, empty out the Citadel, and replace it with his creations.”

  The Tithe points at me with his good hand. “You said it perfectly. You see, the archangel Aquila gave me the power to create effigies. My magic forms unstoppable warriors. Xavier had no business limiting my greatness. Only five effigies a year? Bah! It slowed my plans to a crawl, and yet I persevered. With you, Myla, I will have enough souls to power my plan.” The Tithe steps closer to Ghost-Myla. “Which means you’re going to suffer as my slave.”

  “Fuuuuuuuuck.” Ghost-Myla grits her teeth. “I just got done being slave to the ghouls. Not doing it again. Especially not for some thrax hobo who hasn’t washed in a generation.”

  The Tithe gasps. “How dare you speak in such a way to me?”

  Ghost-Myla shrugs. “It’s what I do. The fact that it bothers you? Well, that just makes life worthwhile.” She blinks her eyes in pretend fascination. “Tell me again how awesome you are, despite the fact that all your effigies are now a pile of rock chips.”

  “Impertinence!” cries the Tithe. “My effigies may be down, but that is nothing to me. I can merely reform them all again. And when I reshape them next time, I will create into the perfect beings to ruin the Citadel.” Th
e Tithe pats his leather satchel for emphasis. “I am the only one with the power to do so.”

  “How fascinating.” Myla winces in pain. “You suck.”

  My gaze locks on the numeral clock.

  One minute remains.

  While Ghost-Myla keeps the Tithe distracted, I keep scanning the walls, looking for any hint of how to get Myla’s body and soul back together. The symbols for magic and tools keep appearing. I glance at the leather satchel the Tithe carries on his shoulder.

  The enchanted mallet and chisel. Perfect.

  Kneeling down, I rest the physical Myla against the floor. It hurts my heart to set her down, but I must get my hands on that mallet and chisel. Ghost-Myla gives me a sideways glance. The question is there if unasked, what are you doing?

  I fix Ghost-Myla with a steady gaze while I speak to the Tithe. “I can read these runes, you know. They tell me exactly how to destroy your effigy army.”

  “They do not.” Yet the way the Tithe says these three words, it’s more of a question than a statement.

  “Look for yourself if you don’t believe me.” I gesture to a far wall.

  The Tithe takes the bait. Turning his back to me and the Mylas, the Tithe strides over for a closer look. With Myla’s physical body on the ground, I make eye contact with the ghostly version. My pulse pounds so hard, I feel the whoosh of blood in my ears.

  This simply must work. Only seconds remain.

  Once I have Ghost-Myla’s attention, I set my hands above the Myla’s physical body. I mime holding a chisel in one hand, and a mallet in the other, the way I’ve seen the Tithe do before. With a swoop of my arm, I pretend to strike the mallet and chisel into Myla’s physical shoulder.

  Ghost-Myla nods. She points to the Tithe while mouthing the word, distract?

  I nod. Yes.

  Ghost-Myla hisses in a pained breath and saunters over to the Tithe. “Hey, douchebag.”

  I pat my pockets. There are no charms left. I must rely on my hunter’s skills. With silent steps, I steal up behind the Tithe, who’s still staring at the rune-covered walls. Once I’m directly behind him, I reach into his satchel. The Tithe pauses.

  Does he sense I’m behind him?

  Ghost-Myla pops up in front of the Tithe. “I can read these, too.” She points to a section of wall. “This part here says you have a totally limp dick.”

  That’s an attention grabber. “What?” howls the Tithe.

  The warlock is so enraged, he doesn’t feel me pull the mallet and chisel from his satchel. Ghost-Myla goes on to list the ways his manhood is probably diseased, and I use the opportunity to race over to the physical version of Myla on the floor. Leaning over her body, I set the chisel against her shoulder and pound it with the mallet, just as I’d seen the Tithe do before.

  Nothing happens.

  Is it too late?

  A chill of despair settles into my heart. I fought her, found her, loved her. And now, I really will lose her. I look over to ghost-Myla. She stops speaking.

  This is it. The moment she becomes an immortal slave to the Tithe.

  All of a sudden, a burst of light flares out from Myla’s physical body. Tiny particles swirl through the air. Ghost-Myla’s form exudes white brightness as well.

  “Hells, yeah!” cries Ghost-Myla.

  Bands of white light whip across the room, creating cords between the spirit and physical Mylas. A deep roll of thunder sounds as the two halves of my woman get drawn back together again. Another burst of light and energy erupts. Then all is silent. After so much light, the shadows feel like utter darkness.

  I blink hard, forcing my eyes to adjust to the light.

  There she is, standing before me. My Myla, body and soul together once more.

  She grins. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I reply.

  Myla turns to the Tithe. “Guess what? Buh-bye, revenge.”

  “This ends nothing!” yells the Tithe. “You think you’ve seen the full scope of my power? The Tower of Wonders isn’t just home to effigies. It is effigies.”

  Around us, the walls transform. The etchings and runes disappear. Murals of more warriors appear in their place.

  After that, the fighters in the walls step out. No longer are they raised images on stone panels. Now, thirty stone warriors surround me and Myla. Plus, new runes and markings have been craved into their faces. This time, the spells include protection from ice. I have to hand it to the Tithe. He works quickly. I grip the mallet and chisel more tightly. These are our best and last weapons.

  The Tithe rounds on Myla. “My plan was for you to be the last effigy. But now? It seems that joy will fall to me.”

  A chill crawls up my limbs. All along, I’ve had a sneaking suspicion that the Tithe has far more to his master plan than I could ever guess.

  And now? That same suspicion tells me that his full scheme is about to be revealed.

  48

  The Tithe snaps his fingers. The enchanted mallet and chisel fly out of my palms and return to the Tithe’s satchel. With a howl of pain, the Tithe then jams the sharp end of the chisel into his chest, right at his own heat. Not what I expected, that. He grasps the mallet next, and drives the chisel deeper into his flesh. A burst of magical light erupts from his body. The Tithe transforms into an effigy, but not like any I’d ever seen before. He’s a mixture of flesh and stone, a mottled being covered in a patchwork of runes.

  “And now, my friends?” asks the Tithe. “You shall witness my revenge.”

  My thoughts race. I’m out of charms. I’m surrounded my effigies. My weapons and attacks—cracking, burning, freezing—they’ve all been discovered and counteracted. I set my hand by my mouth. “Walker, if you’re going to show up, now would be another great time.”

  “What he said,” adds Myla.

  Moments pass.

  No Walker.

  At least, Myla and I are together. That simply has to be enough.

  The Tower of Wonders rumbles beneath our feet. Long cracks form along the walls. Ear-splitting booms echo through the air. Myla’s eyes widen. “What’s happening right now?”

  “The whole place is collapsing,” I explain.

  “Oh, okay. Because I thought we were about to be really fucked over again. Guess I’m right. Gah!”

  The Tithe watches us and grins. “Soon you’ll be crushed to death. I’ve heard it’s an awful way to die.” He mock-pants. “Ugh, ugh. I can’t breathe.”

  Myla points at his nose. “You can just shut the Hell up.”

  A large chunk of wall tumbles out of place, leaving a gaping hole in the chamber. Myla and I share a long and questioning look that says, how do we get out of this?

  I’ve got nothing.

  Myla’s eyes widen. My girl has a plan. “What about the Tumtum tree?” Myla asks. “Only, you know, we slice our way down the trunk.”

  “I love this idea,” I reply.

  And I’m not kidding. Not only do I absolutely understand what Myla is going for here, but I also think it’s brilliant. My girl can think on her feet like nobody’s business.

  Hand in hand, Myla and I then race toward the new gap in the wall. Behind us, I hear the Tithe’s laugher.

  “Death by falling,” he chuckles. “It’s not much better.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to correct him. Myla and I aren’t killing ourselves, we’re escaping. But the Tithe is keeping his soldiers back, so there’s no point in contradicting him.

  Plus, there’s a very large hole in the wall and I’m about to jump through it.

  That’s rather distracting.

  As we close in on the opening, I pull out my baculum, igniting them as a long sword. Myla arcs her tail over her shoulder. Once we step out into the air, Myla jams her tail into the tower’s exterior. Flipping about, I thrust my baculum into the stone as well. The friction from my blade slows my fall. The same happens with Myla’s tail. Nothing stops dragonscales.

  My muscles strain to keep a firm grip on my baculum. Trouble is, huge c
hunks of the tower break away as we descend. The trick is to dodge falling debris while keeping your blade—or in Myla’s case, her tail—firmly lodged to slow us down. We call out directives to each other. This is a team sport.

  A massive chunk of tumbles toward me.

  “Veer left!” Myla cries.

  I shift my grip and avoid getting squashed.

  An entire floor implodes. “Go right,” I call to Myla.

  Myla leaps in a new direction, her tail catching a fresh section of solid wall.

  At last, we reach the ocean floor again. There’s no time to celebrate, though. A series of ear-splitting blasts sound as the tower fully collapses on itself. Rubble lies in a messy pile on the center of the cleared ocean floor. It reminds me of what happened when I first defeated Devak. Only now the pile of chipped stone is far higher. And atop that small hill, there stands the Tithe. Moonlight reflects off the stone parts of his body, making him seem luminescent.

  “What do you think he’s up to now?” asks Myla.

  “Nothing good,” I reply. Turning, I look her over carefully. My girl’s been through a lot. “Do you want to leave now? I wouldn’t blame you. There are some mermaids nearby. We can make a run for it.”

  Myla scrunches up her face into a look that says, are you crazy? “I’m not going anywhere. The Tithe wants to invade Heaven. I think we should stick around. Plus, you totally vowed to kill him if he wasn’t nice to me.”

  I shake my head and smile. My Myla. “Yes, that’s true. We should hang out and see what happens.”

  “Oh.” Myla points. “He’s on the move.”

  Atop the rubble pile, the Tithe raises his arms. Beneath him, the chips of effigies shimmy and twist. Then they take form. A whirlwind of rubble swirls around the Tithe, stretching far above the ocean floor.

  It takes a new form.

  Myla tilts her head. “Is that looking, you know…”

  “Humanoid?” I ask.

  She snaps her fingers. “That’s the word.”

  “He said something about it taking a specific shape to attack heaven.”