by Evan Fuller
16
Fire
Had his life ended a moment ago, Emery would have had many regrets, but he would never have been able to complain for a dearth of bizarre experience. But the sight that heralded his rescue was perhaps more outlandish than any he had witnessed before. Two of the tunnel people before him fell to the ground, groaning quietly as enchanted flames consumed their flesh. By that light Emery saw Green, pushing through the horde in his fine wool coat. Green's head jerked backward as if some invisible hand had seized his hair from behind. His eyes lolled back into his head, and their whites were glowing like hot coals. Then his head cocked forward, and the gateman breathed fire again.
Everywhere the magicked flames touched, they took hold: even the dirt and pavement of the tunnel floor were ablaze. The four tunnel people before Emery who had not fallen in the first assault were hit by Green's second volley, and they too collapsed, emitting sounds that did not begin to convey the pain they must feel. When Emery turned, the tunnel people behind him were already in flight.
For a moment he was as afraid of Green as he'd been of the tunnel dwellers, but he remembered the words of the woman he'd met in the cavern. Indebted to forces he despised, indeed. “How'd you find me?” he shouted.
“Out first,” Green replied breathlessly, “then talk.” He seized Emery's hand and began running through the maze of tunnels.
“Are they gone?” Emery gasped as he struggled to keep up.
Green shook his head. “Regrouping.” As if on cue, the echoes of countless clicks and chirps resounded behind them.
“How the hell did you end up over here?” Green asked.
Emery struggled for words, but his panic would not abate; Green glanced at his face and seemed to understand that any questions would be best left for when they were above ground.
They ran until Emery was sure that his makeshift bandage had slipped and the bleeding had started again. “Here we are,” Green said finally, “just around this—”
They rounded the last corner to see that the tunnel dwellers had indeed regrouped. At least a dozen of them were blocking the entrance now, and as Emery came to a sudden halt, he heard more approaching from behind.
“What can we do?” Emery asked frantically.
“No bitching about magic?” Green asked.
Emery turned from the line of cannibals before them to the pitch blackness behind and back again. “Just get us out!”
Green drew up his left sleeve and dug the fingernails of his other hand into a fresh cut along his forearm. He winced as he tore at the tender flesh, ripping through the scabs that were just beginning to form, and blood began flowing in earnest down his arm and pooling on the ground. “That should do it,” he muttered. “Now get behind me.” Emery obeyed, staying close to the gateman's back.
“You might wanna move your asses,” Green shouted at the tunnel people. “Don't make me do what I'm about to!” It was a futile effort: if the tunnel people even understood his words, they gave no sign of reply. Just as well. If Emery could, he would have spat the fire himself.
Green's eyes began to glow again. “This is gonna be a big one,” he said. “Watch out.”
His head and hands and then his whole body trembled; he looked skyward and groaned. Then Green bellowed, and with the sound, a river of fire poured from his throat. The flames towered higher than the bonfire in Three Dogs' cavern had, advancing on the tunnel people until those who did not scatter were consumed. “Now,” Green gasped, “we run.” They sprinted through the gap the fire had made, even as the legion of tunnel dwellers behind continued to pursue them. And finally, they emerged from beneath the earth.
Though the sun was setting already, its light was enough to blind Emery for a moment after hours of darkness. The guards who had greeted them at the tunnel entrance before were gone; in fact, there were no other people in sight now. And then Emery realized that he had survived, and he fell to the ground, shaking as relief and pain and exhaustion and dizziness and spent fear all hit him at once.
To his surprise, Green lay down beside him, one hand casting his massive backpack aside. “Well,” he said weakly, “it looks like my magic just saved your sorry ass.”
“Thanks,” Emery said, and this time he meant it wholeheartedly. He craned his neck, trying to look around without sitting up. “Where did everyone go?” he asked. “When we came earlier—”
“This ain't where we came earlier, kid.” Green made a broad motion with his bloodied arm, directing Emery's gaze to their surroundings. A brief survey of the terrain confirmed this: they were surrounded not by slums but by uninterrupted forest; the only structures in sight were the long-vacant remains of pre-extinction houses. A narrow river cut a path through the trees, passing a stone's throw from where they stood.
“You musta done something to piss Three Dogs' gang off. I tried to come back to the same entrance to look for you, and everyone was struttin' around on high alert.” Green sat up, grunting with the effort. “Now come on. You gotta get back to your pals, and I've gotta get out of here.”
Emery could barely comprehend the idea of standing. “Give me a minute.”
“Might not have a minute.” Green was growing restless. “There's gonna be people out lookin' for you all over the place. 'Sides, you're not the one who just spat hell out from your stomach, and I'm already—”
Green paused as Emery raised a hand warm with blood from his abdomen. “Three Dogs shot me,” Emery said shakily. “Everything went fine, and then he came after me on my way out.”
“What do you mean, shot you?” Green sounded incredulous.
“He had a gun. The same sort we have in Rittenhouse, a Vorteil revolver.”
“Horseshit,” the gateman replied. “Nobody out here can get their paws on something like that, not even Zakarova's favorite pet.”
Emery lifted his shirt to reveal his wound. “I've seen guns before. This looked and sounded like a gun, and it damn well felt like a gun when it hit me. Unless Three Dogs has some unique talent for throwing rocks.”
Green's eyes went wide. “Hell, kid, that doesn't look too good.” His reaction reminded Emery of the severity of the wound, and the pain of it began to return. He knew it would only hurt worse as terror and excitement subsided. Green reached a sluggish arm towards his backpack and fished out a small vial with a worn label reading vavnilla extract. “Drink this. Should keep you on your feet until you can get home.”
“Thanks,” Emery said, taking the vial. “Actually, you don't look too great yourself.” The gateman's face was even paler and more drawn than it had been after whisking Emery and the others from Rittenhouse, and Emery could only guess what saving him from the tunnel dwellers must have cost Green. He held himself together remarkably well, but Emery knew the man's strength must have some limit.
“I've been worse,” Green said. He tried to stand, aborted the attempt, and lay on his back again. “At the moment I can't quite recall when, but I've been worse.” He took another look at Emery's wound. “At least now we know what was in that package you were carrying.”
Emery had been too intent on surviving to make the connection, but once Green said it, it seemed obvious.
The gateman made another attempt to rise, this time climbing slowly to his feet. “Your friends are less'n a hundred yards away,” he said, offering Emery a hand. Emery's head spun as he rose; he wondered how much of his strength had seeped out through the hole in his side. “They're in a clearing right past these trees. As for me, I'm getting outta here before you guys get me into another mess.”
That idea was an unappealing one: last time he had left, it was only Green's return that had saved Emery. “Are you sure?” he asked. “We could all travel together until our paths split.”
Green sighed. “Listen, kid. My job was just to get you here. I stuck around longer than the king told me I had to—chalk it up to curiosity. And I feel bad for you, having to get home with that hole blown in you, but I'd trade with you in a se
cond. You wouldn't know, but that little trick I did back there takes it out of you. I'm not walking to get where I need to go, and I'm sure not whisking myself there.”
“Then how are you getting home?” Emery asked.
“Calling in a favor,” Green said. “Speaking of which, seeing how I just saved your ass back there, if I ever come calling, you owe me.”
It wasn't a question, and Emery certainly couldn't disagree. “Green,” he said. “Thanks.”
The gateman shook Emery's hand with surprising vigor and grinned, and for once the smile wasn't at Emery's expense. “Don't mention it,” he said. “Actually, you can mention it all you want. Tell your pureblood buddies inside the city that mutts can breathe fire. I bet they'll get a kick outta that.”
With that, the gateman turned and strode to the stream. Producing yet another vial, he emptied its contents. It was a coarse dust that disturbed the surface of the water, and when the reflection came into focus again, it was no longer Green's own face but that of a woman. It was hard to make out, but Emery thought she was the one he had passed in the palace.
“Violet,” Green said to the reflection. “I'm gonna need a lift.”
“What have you gotten yourself into this time?” the river replied.
“I'll tell you all about it when I get there, darlin',” Green said. “Make it fast, will you?”
The gateman waited for a moment, and then he winced at some invisible pain. “That's my ride,” he said. “Seeya, kid.” Green waved as he dissolved into ash.
