Cadence lifts a hand, examines her nails—and then drops it to her side.
I narrate every turn and choke point the enforcers pass, but Cadence doesn’t even hesitate to consider her moment, much less signal the start of her attack. And then she’s standing at the end of a tunnel bisected by the long arc of the barrier, reaching out for the frantic churn of the still-living portion.
This is not happening. “What are you doing? You can’t risk—”
She flinches at my shriek.
“Problem?” Maryam’s studied casualness does little to hide the fanatical gleam in her eye.
Cadence shakes out her hand. “Cole’s a little shriller than usual. Really won’t take the hint.”
She reaches again.
She’s acting as if nothing has changed. As if Ash and very nearly all of her old friends didn’t just lose their lives trying to stop this from happening. As if—six dead—as if the news hadn’t affected her at all. Or as if our conversation had never happened . . .
Cadence raises shaking hands to her head, hunching over.
“What is it?” Maryam is oddly gentle. She puts her arms around Cadence as if holding her up instead of holding her in place. “What’s wrong?”
Cadence blinks, her pupils jittering as if searching for something in thin air. “I don’t—I can’t—” She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I just . . . I don’t know. I thought I’d forgotten something. Or lost something. It’s gone now.”
Maryam pats her shoulder. Cadence gives her a fragile smile—and stabs her hand wrist-deep into the barrier, tearing a handful free and letting it splat on the floor. She steps into the mess even as it shrivels to dust to seize a double handful next.
This isn’t . . . It’s not an act. It’s not some plot to goad Maryam into complacency so she can escape. It’s—she’s—
I scream, pushing the sound out in waves of force that rock Maryam on her sparkly heels and flatten Cadence’s choppy hair against her skull. Her eyes widen, her lips pinch, and the next squirming fistful of shredded souls and gold dust she raises above her head, brandishing her grisly prize in midair.
“Stop trying to control me.” She cups her hands together to catch the dust as it decays. “You can’t stop me. Even with whatever this new trick is, I won’t let you. Stop it. Go away.”
She blows, sending the lifeless residue out in a cloud as if throwing it in my face. I blow back, first gleeful, then sickened at the way it clings to her skin. She doesn’t even try to wipe the gritty film away, just turns back to her task.
“I’m not sure she understands, dear,” Maryam says from some distance, having retreated quickly to avoid the worst of the mess. “Why don’t you keep up the good work, and I’ll have a little chat with the other one, see if I can’t make things a little easier for you?”
“I don’t like you talking to her.” But Cadence keeps tearing at the barrier, crouching to reach closer to the floor.
“You’re doing such a good job,” Maryam soothes. “Almost done here. I’ll just go make sure the next patch is clear for us while you finish up.”
Cadence nods, white-lipped, tearing wriggling threads free by the handful.
Maryam crooks a finger and cocks her head then turns on her heel and swishes out of view.
Despite myself, I follow.
“I did tell you,” she says over one elegantly lifted shoulder. “You can’t stop us. I’ll admit I was a little worried there for a moment, but you really can’t reach her anymore, can you? She is frozen in time. You’ve moved on. You’re a future she will never touch, and nothing you say or do can change that. You’ll only make things harder on her, poor child, with your stories and your pestering and your delightfully refreshing little breezes.”
“What have you done to her?”
She wanders deeper into an adjacent, pipe-filled space, turning sideways to keep from smudging her dress on untold years worth of grime. “You’ll wear yourself out fighting her, you know. Though she’s not quite as strong as I hoped. It’s a shame I wasn’t able to get my hands on any of the adults. Or even you, when you were still useful. Are there many like her, do you know? Is she strong for your kind?”
Her manicured nails hover over the patch of barrier that cuts us off from what would have once been the far wall. Her lilting tones flatten. “Never should have built this so big. If I had known how much work it would be to break it, I would never have tried to surround so much of the city. Let that be a lesson to you: don’t ever let your dreams run away with you. Of course, if I had known the future, I might never have tried walling us in to begin with.”
Cadence’s energy is flagging, her nails ragged from tearing at the barrier where it bisects the walls, and floor, and ceiling. And on the other side of one of those walls, the mayor of the Towers of Refuge sighs and gives the sickly churning mass a rueful look.
“You’re still there, darling? Of course you are. What else do you have to do? Pester that poor child? Don’t you see it’s hard enough on her as it is? We all must play our part. These ones provide shelter,” she flutters her fingers at the barrier. “Well. Provided shelter. I was the architect, the maker of the plans and the one who brought them to life. Now my time, too, is nearly at its end. And when that child has finished destroying this foolish shelter—and not a heartbeat before—she will be freed from her work as well.”
Maryam rolls her head, loosening her shoulders. “You’re the lucky one, you know?”
Cadence stretches, runs her fingers along the ceiling where it meets the rough, cracked surface of the barrier, searching for any squirming signs of life she might have missed. Then she scrapes down the seam of the wall, across the floor, and back up, leaving a thin trail of blood. The red stains lose colour, leaching to a sickly yellowish tone as the stone-hard surface pulses to life in the wake of the tiny drips and blotches.
On our side of the wall, the undamaged section of the barrier churns faster, glimmering with a ruddy light for just a moment. Maryam covers her mouth, eyes staring, taut golden flesh taking on an ashen cast.
She whirls and dashes back to Cadence, snatching her away from the barrier. They land in a tangled heap on the floor, Cadence trembling with exhaustion and confusion, Maryam’s brows knotted. She almost looks sorry.
But all she says is: “Don’t feed it, dear.”
Chapter 11: Allies
“How could you?” I clamp down on the urge to scream in frustration. I’d nearly burst trying to hold it in until she was alone again in her room. “I thought you understood. You agreed—you said you would handle it.”
“I think I’m handling things pretty well,” Cadence says, peeling off filthy clothes with hands made clumsy with exhaustion. “Not my fault I couldn’t finish today—no one told me blood could undo my work.”
“That’s not—what about Ash? And—”
“What about him?” She examines her cracked fingertips and frowns. “I know he didn’t want to be left behind, but it’s not like it’s my fault. I begged mom to let him come.”
“What are you talking about? Ash is dead, Cadence. Your mom has nothing to do with it.”
She shakes her head. “You’re wrong. Ash is fine. He’s at home training with dad’s second-best blades. He’s gonna grow up big and strong. He promised to practice every day. When dad gets back, bet he’ll even help him train so next time he can come, too.”
She grins, miming a swipe with an imaginary blade. “I’m still gonna be better, of course. Betcha he’s so jealous. But I would’ve brought him if it were up to me. I’m generous like that.”
She frowns at her fingers again, muttering, “When did this happen?” She licks one and grimaces, spitting.
I gag. “Don’t do that. There’s probably still—” The thought of the dusty grime that had been alive and squirming in those hands not an hour ago makes me queasy. “Ugh. Just don’t. You need to—”
“Stop telling me what to do. Go away. I don’t know you. Go away or I’ll tell mom a
nd dad on you.”
What is going on? Her—our—parents have been dead for years.
“No, they haven’t,” she shrieks, launching herself out of bed. “Stop saying everyone is dead! I don’t like you. I’ll tell if you won’t leave me alone. I’ll tell on you.”
Did Maryam do something to her? Was it the barrier? Or is she doing this on purpose?
“Go away,” she swats at the air, chanting: “Go away, go away, away, away.”
She’s acting like a kid. And talking like one. And— “Cadence, you’re scaring me. This isn’t funny. Ash died yesterday, and you’re playing games. It’s not okay. And it’s not bringing him back.”
“Ash isn’t dead. Stop saying that. Stop saying everyone is dead.”
Maryam appears in the doorway as if summoned. Which, based on the amount of yelling going on, is probably the case. “What’s wrong, dear? Who’s dead?”
Cadence stops cold. “Who are you? Where’s mom?”
Maryam blinks. And smiles. “Your mother is busy with her mission, remember? When she’s finished, she’ll come back. That’s why you’ve been doing such a marvellous job helping out—so your parents can return sooner. But why aren’t you in bed? You should be resting.”
Maryam straightens the rumpled bedding and pats it invitingly.
“There’s a ghost saying scary things.” Cadence sits obediently. “She won’t leave me alone.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that.” Maryam strokes Cadence’s hair and tucks her in like a sleepy toddler. “Those pesky ghosts are always getting in the way, aren’t they? Let me think. How about a send-the-ghosts away ritual?”
“Bad idea,” I warn. Maryam’s rituals generally boil down to some variation on monster summoning. “Cadence, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you need to cut it out before you make things worse.”
She whimpers, scrunching lower under the covers. “It’s yelling at me again.”
Maryam cocks her head. “Is it? What a naughty little ghost. Okay, let’s try this.”
She makes a sort of triangle shape with her thumbs and first two fingers, peering through the window at Cadence, and waggles her remaining fingers while solemnly intoning, “Bye bye ghostie, fly away home.”
Cadence giggles and copies her.
“Did it work?” Maryam whispers, fluttering those long, elegant fingers in midair as if feeling for ghosts.
Cadence bites her lip and scans the room. Her chin drops. “It did! The ghost is all gone!”
“Are you serious right now?” My frustration escapes in a puff of force that ruffles Cadence’s hair, making her squeal, and sets Maryam’s glimmering chains and baubles jangling.
She puts a protective arm around Cadence. “Oh well. It wasn’t a very strong ritual. How about I set up a better one for tomorrow? We’ll chase that ghost of yours away, don’t you worry.”
“But it won’t let me sleep,” Cadence whines, cuddling closer. “I want you to get rid of it tonight. I can’t rest if you don’t.”
Maryam’s lashes sweep in a slow, languid blink that ought to send any sane person diving for cover. She’d said Cadence was ‘frozen in time,’ but this is more like regressing . . .
“Please?” Cadence wheedles in the same strange, babyish tones. “Make it go away now, okay?”
“As you wish, dear.”
Maryam must have been planning for just this moment because she has hardly ushered Cadence to her seat in the golden audience chamber when the enforcers show up. There are six—two to each prisoner.
The enforcers are, of course, fully masked and uniformed. Anonymous in their sameness.
The prisoners are not.
All three are grimy and, I suspect but am not equipped to confirm, reeking. One is draped in a threadbare worker’s uniform without hood or mask. Another is barely dressed at all in a skimpy costume from Freedom, the sort of thing that was never meant for prolonged wear. The last clutches the rags of a dark cloak over once sturdy fabric. She’s one of Ange’s, I’m almost certain of it.
The armed escort seems to be there mostly to keep them upright and moving. The prisoners shuffle, heads down, faces slack. Drugged, most likely. But there’s no time to worry about them, because I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next. And if I can’t get Cadence to stop it somehow . . .
But no matter how much I yell or plead or invoke the names of the lost, Cadence just shakes her head and stops her ears and huddles into Maryam’s shadow.
“It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?” Maryam says sympathetically, motioning to the enforcers.
The first pair haul the uniformed worker forward, pushing the ashen-faced man to his knees at Maryam’s feet.
I shudder. “You know what this is, Cadence. You were there with me when Ravel did this. When he made me be a part of sending—sacrificing—lives to the Mara. You don’t want that. You don’t need to be a part of that. Don’t do this—”
Maryam guides Cadence’s unresisting hand to the head of the first victim. Cadence pales but repeats the words without faltering, intoning the ritual sacrifice that summons the Mara. And they come, their greasy malevolence slicking the air around me.
I am compressed, suffocated by their massing. They’re ravenous, so empty there is a weight to their presence, a kind of hollow suction that tears at the fabric of the world.
I don’t have a choice. I flee to the other side of the tower, stretching my awareness to watch, helpless, as the worker’s terrified eyes hazily find Cadence’s. Powerless, as she blinks back startled tears and completes the ritual. Despairing, as the empty body slumps at her feet and the Mara pulse, momentary satisfaction at the kill instantly engulfed in yet greater hunger.
An expression of such horror, such anguished guilt crosses Cadence’s face that I dare to come nearer and plead with her again. She can say Maryam made her do it. A memory lapse, a drug, some kind of hypnosis—she can’t undo what has been done, but she could stop it from happening again—
But when Maryam asks her with a knowing look if the ghost has been banished yet, Cadence hesitates.
“Will you help me take down the dome?” She juts her jaw mutinously.
“Of course, dear,” Maryam says. “As soon as we deal with your ghost problem so you can rest.”
And at the same time: “Of course not,” I say, ignoring the filthy press of the Mara, that gnawing hunger that tears at my edges, seeking to draw me in. “Never.”
“The ghost won’t leave me alone.” Cadence looks at the second prisoner, the dancer, and then at the body at her feet. “It won’t let me rest.”
Maryam gestures to the enforcers. The body is dragged away—they don’t bother lifting it. The next victim is hauled into place. He’s sweating, mouth slack and drooling. His pupils jitter, tiny amidst the panic-stretched whites.
He is fully aware of what’s about to come.
“Don’t,” I whisper desperately.
Cadence studies the man’s face before positioning her hand so she won’t have to see it as she feeds him to the monsters.
This man would have seen Ravel offer sacrifices to the Mara in Freedom’s ritual Exchange, maybe even seen me at Ravel’s side, pointing out the next victim, my hand feeling the warmth leave a human form as the monsters sucked it dry. He had probably seen the Mara take lives unoffered, too. They stopped waiting for sacrifices to be presented some time ago.
None of that knowing seems to have made a difference. He manages a single, strangled cry as Cadence completes the ritual. I fight to keep my place as the Mara surge, again snatching the merest taste before being overwhelmed by a new surge of hunger.
“Will you help me?” Cadence says again, staring into the middle distance. She wipes her hand slowly on her thigh. “Will you help me end it?”
“I promise you, the barrier will fall.” Maryam wraps long fingers over Cadence’s shoulders from behind. “I will not leave you until it is destroyed.”
Cadence shudders.
&nb
sp; “Mom and dad would hate this.” I don't truly remember them, not like she does. Or did—her memory is clearly confused unless this has all been some elaborate scheme. “They wouldn’t have wanted this for you. They wouldn’t want you to dirty yourself like this.”
“What do you know? You don’t know anything about them. You don’t care about them. You don’t want to save them like I do—”
“Cady, they’re dead. Finishing their mission can’t change that.”
“You’re wrong,” she shrieks, shaking Maryam off and stepping over the prone form at her feet.
The waiting mass of the Mara roils with hunger—and pleasure at her misery. They’re—I think they’re feeding off it.
“The ghost,” Maryam murmurs, beckoning the enforcers.
One pair circles wide around Cadence’s raging to collect their burden. The last two start forward with the final victim, but Cadence stomps up and shoves them back to the far end of the room.
“Wait,” she growls. “I didn’t answer yet.”
“Did we solve your ghost problem after all, dear?” Maryam trills.
“I don’t know, did we? What do you say, ghost? Are you finished? Or should we keep going?” Cadence grabs the Underfolk woman by the collar, pulling so her head tips back. “There are more where this came from.”
“You don’t mean that. You don’t want this.” I can barely force the words out. The pressure in this place is crushing, the darkness heavy and thick around us, just waiting, practically salivating in anticipation of another meal. The only thing that keeps it at bay seems to be Cadence’s turmoil—and mine.
The growing weight bearing down on me isn’t just my imagination. It’s not just a natural side effect of the Mara’s concentrated presence, either. Not entirely. They’re . . . they’re feeding off me right now, off the horror and fear and anger and need to stop this. And as soon as I am aware of what’s happening, the drain intensifies, each new dimension of horror giving them more purchase on my soul.
Burn the Skies Page 7
