“It won’t hurt you.”
“That is not what I asked.” She scoots Fluffy away with her toe. It squirms, chortles, and wobbles back to where it started.
“That’s Fluffy. It’s—I think it’s the forest.”
“The—”
“Or part of the forest, anyway. It might be tree-creature spawn, or just, like, a part of the tree creature that moves on its own, or . . . I don’t really know, actually. The forest wasn’t super clear about it.”
Ange leans over and pokes Fluffy doubtfully. Fluffy lifts a silky twist and pokes back. She shrugs and allows it to clamber up her arm then onto her shoulder, where it amuses itself by winding tendrils into her hair. “What else did I miss?”
The answer is long, involved, and occasionally teary. More on my part than hers, though she does mist up briefly when I confirm her sister and niece both made it out of the city safely and currently are being looked after in Nine Peaks.
She keeps circling back to the other survivors, frustrated and disbelieving when I insist I don’t know exactly which refugees Ravel managed to haul across the border. Not as many as were slaughtered by the Mara or captured by Refuge’s enforcers, I know that much. But she keeps coming up with new descriptions to try to jog my memory. Do I recall one with this nose or that hairstyle? Did I notice if—?
It’s okay if she wants to play guessing games, though. Almost anything would be okay. She’s alive. She can talk to me—though, of course, there’s no guarantee she’ll remember anything we’ve talked about when she wakes up. Haynfyv doesn’t seem to have been able to.
“You’re being too rigid about that.” Ange digs a hand into the concrete beneath us, tears out a chunk of it, and crunches it in her fist.
She’s been much faster to grasp the possibilities of the dreamscape than Haynfyv. Although, maybe she’s just more inclined to think the world should bow to her wishes in the first place.
“Pay attention.” She holds up the resulting gravel in cupped hands. “I’m you in the dreamscape. The gravel is information—what you experience, what you say, what you do. Hold your hands out, together, like mine.”
She pours the gravel into the bowl I make of my upturned hands. “You’re Haynfyv in the dreamscape. Now spread your fingers.”
The pebble-sized bits of concrete patter to the floor, leaving me with gritty hands covered in dust.
She taps my palm. “This. Haynfyv just woke up. He can’t hold onto everything, but maybe a bit of what you gave him sticks. Make sense?”
I shrug. “It’s possible, I guess. It’s not like I know how any of this works either. But if he’s trying to act on—on—” I hold up my palms in illustration.
“Information dust? Dream residue?”
“Uh, sure. That. But it’s not enough. Even if I can get a little bit of information to stick after he wakes up, and after you wake up, and after—I mean, there’s only so much time, right? Say I could talk to even a dozen different people while they’re sleeping; get them to remember a tenth or a hundredth of what I tell them. It’s not enough to really make a difference.”
“So you’re going to give up? Fine. Go wallow somewhere else.” She dusts her hands off and gets to her feet. The room warps dizzily around us.
“What was that?”
She shrugs, looking away. “I thought you were leaving. Because you can’t win against Maryam and your evil little twin. Boo hoo.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not right now. Stop trying to distract me.”
Ange reaches up and kneads Fluffy, who rumbles in pleasure. She starts working its tendrils free of her hair, still without looking at me.
Strange to be the one pushing her instead of the other way around. “You’re sick, aren’t you? What did Maryam do? Are you dying?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s hardly that bad. I’m just a little feverish. You’re lucky there aren’t purple sewer rats dancing on the ceiling right now.”
I can’t stop myself from looking up. Ange coughs a laugh. Then she heaves a sigh—and finally meets my gaze straight on.
“You’ve got to stop worrying about all the things you can’t control, kiddo. So everything’s not going your way. What else is new? Do what you can while you can. Run into a wall you can’t walk through? Turn and look for a corner. Haynfyv can’t follow simple instructions? Maybe he’s just unusually dense. Or, maybe, you’ve got to hustle and get a few more pawns out there wandering around and making trouble.”
The room stretches and sags around us. Ange kneads her forehead. “Speaking of which, I’m not the most useful person to be hanging out with at the moment. Not much I can do to help the cause from the glitter-goddess’s prison cell. Why don’t you toddle off and see if you can’t nudge a few more players to action while I get some rest?”
It can’t be a good sign that even in her dreams, her eyes shine with fever.
“I’m getting you out of here.”
She waves a limp hand. “Not a priority. You’ve got the world to save, monsters to destroy, and baby doppelganger to put back in her place. I’d get on that if I were you. Speaking of which—”
If I hadn’t spent my relatively brief working career as a drone in the surveillance department, the list of names and locations she rattles off would be utterly useless. As it is, more than half are scattered across the warren of underground service corridors, abandoned halls, hidden rooms, and half-drowned tunnels below Refuge that I never really did learn to navigate.
Here’s hoping being able to pass through walls will speed up my search because Ange has clearly given me about all the help she can manage. Her words slow, her movements growing more and more lethargic. Her dreamscape is melting, fading by the minute.
Fluffy strokes a gentle loop against her sadly but uncoils when I reach for it. Ange moans at its absence, but even here, her eyes have drifted closed. Her body floats limp in the now-formless void.
Her ghosts have drawn near, too, groaning and shifting uncertainly, flames guttering. Ash’s memory snags at my sleeve in passing, but it takes no effort at all to shake him off. I push through the boundaries of Ange’s shrinking inner world and out to the other side, where her body shivers on a thin cot in a cold cell.
And there’s nothing I can do but leave her there to suffer and fight for survival. At least for now.
Chapter 17: Liwan
Haynfyv has worked his way down into the tunnels much farther than I expected. Is he headed straight to the damaged spot in the barrier I told him about? Does he remember he needs to watch out for Maryam and her guards? Or is he just going about whatever he originally planned for today, and it just so happens to be investigating the maze of semi-abandoned spaces down here?
It would really be useful to know how much he remembers—not to mention how typical or not his reaction will prove. Refuge runs in shifts, so, in theory, it should be possible to dream-hop at all hours—if I can find more people to work with in the first place.
I need an army, but not just foot soldiers. Captains. Generals. If I just throw people in Maryam’s way one by one without a plan, she can get rid of them without lifting a finger. I’ll need the kind of people who can gather and motivate others: strategists, and those skilled in frustrating Maryam without getting silenced, permanently. I need Ange—but she’s in no shape to help.
Did Ravel ever struggle with finding the right people? Did he have to save his energy and study his targets to figure out what lever could move them? Or did he just naturally draw everyone who crossed his path into his gravity? He had always made it look so effortless . . .
Maybe I shouldn’t be so frustrated with Haynfyv. He’s slow, and not very communicative, and was working for Maryam up until . . . Actually, it is possible he’s still working for her. In general, he seems to be a pretty devoted rule-follower. But last night, he’d also proven insightful when he hadn’t been distracted by the wrong details. Even if he is useless awake, maybe I can pick his brain when he’s asleep and use that intelligence
to my benefit.
That said, he has already proven somewhat useful. He led me to Ange, after all, although that wasn’t part of the plan. He also had a list of suggestions for me. Who might be useful based on their role, or background, or record of behaviour, where to seek them out.
His and Ange’s lists overlapped on more than a few counts. One possibility isn’t far from here, so I leave Haynfyv poking around a dusty mechanical room two tunnels and a half-dozen turns away from where he should be investigating and start a search of my own.
Since Refuge’s training—and retraining—dorms seem to be crammed full of prisoners, I tamp down any hopes of finding anyone useful left free in the Underground. The Mara have been pushing deeper than ever before in their growing hunger and strength. Even if a few of Ange’s people had managed to evade Maryam’s raids, they’d have had the monsters to contend with.
I push my awareness out to its limits, peering through doors and walls and floors to inspect every corner, checking behind every caved-in ceiling and hidden space in the walls for signs of life.
I would never have found them if I had to navigate on foot—yet another advantage to being able to walk through walls. I knew Cadence always had it good. Except for the whole, you know, being powerless to actually do anything part.
The survivors are mostly young. In Refuge, I’d expect to see them on the Training Floor or apprenticing in work units. Some bear the ruddy, acid-etched marks of a childhood spent in the corrosive smog of the city, while others look less worn. Those ones would have found shelter earlier in life, either with Ange’s people deep underground or when they were ripped from their families by Maryam’s enforcers. Liwan, as I’d experienced so vividly in his very nearly deadly nightmares, was one of the latter.
There are a few older adults in the group as well, probably Ange’s people. They look vaguely familiar—maybe from the parade of artisans, cultivators, and engineers she subjected me to while I was recovering from saving Freedom? At the time, I thought she was trying to nudge me into choosing a work division Under-style and hadn’t paid that much attention. But now, I have to figure out which people are worth trying to reach when they fall asleep.
Liwan is a given—he already has a little cluster of eager followers emulating his prickly determination. Not that I'd actually use a kid like that as a soldier. Besides, he’s still limping from the damage he took at the hands of the Mara the first time they tried to take him. I just need to test if there’s some kind of extra connection between me and those I’ve previously dreamwalked with, back when that wasn’t the limit to my abilities and the sum of my existence.
I didn’t notice it so much with Haynfyv or Ange, but Liwan has a kind of shine to him, like the light is brighter just where he is, his edges sharper. His eyes are dark, not molten gold, and his movements tight and reserved, not extravagant, but there is something of Ravel’s larger-than-life feel to him.
I drift closer. A little too close. When another boy fumbles a jar, Liwan lunges right through me to catch it before it can shatter on the dusty concrete. It’s awkward for me but not useful in any way. There is no brush of illuminating threads, no dizzy tumble into his inner world. I’ll have to wait for him to fall asleep to talk to him.
In the meantime, I should check on Haynfyv’s progress before trying some of the other leads he and Ange suggested. And soon, it’ll be time for Cadence to tear away a few more chunks of the barrier. I should be able to watch from a distance. As long as I don’t speak to her, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Other than the part where she’s steadily working toward the end of the world, of course.
Fluffy tugs at me, making one of its odd rumbling noises.
“What? There’s something here you want?”
It wriggles.
“I don’t suppose you can be more specific?”
It flops over and lets out a sort of puff.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Maybe it’s bored. Just in case, I pause to scan the hidden enclave once more. This time, a few others stand out to me. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light down here—spliced wires and ancient equipment making it flicker and pulse. Or maybe Liwan isn’t the only one with a little extra shine.
Two of the girls and one of the boys seem just a touch crisper. It’s barely noticeable, not as pronounced as with Liwan, but they seem more vivid. And the teens aren’t the only ones who glimmer no matter where they go. One adult woman, showing a pair of kids how to position a growing lamp over a box of seedlings, and an older one, scolding her trio of charges as they play around with the ingredients for a meal instead of mirroring her efficient movements. And one of the older men, quietly showing a pair of intently focused girls how to run a freshly repaired wire to a dark bulb.
Liwan first, when they sleep. Then I’ll try contacting the adults.
“Satisfied?”
Fluffy rumbles contentedly.
“Well, as long as you’re happy.”
I find another three adults and five teens with that extra little spark that may or may not mean anything at all before I have to check on Haynfyv. There are more clusters of survivors hiding in remote corners of the tunnels than I expected. Even pushing the limits of my perception, I can’t finish exploring in time. And what I really want is to go back to Ange and find her awake and well enough to boss me around. But Maryam will be bringing Cadence down to chip away at the barrier any minute now, and . . .
It’s not like I can stop her dragging the trapped fragments of stolen lives from that filthy wall, nor to protect Haynfyv if he stumbles into their path. But I can’t just stay away and pretend it’s not eating at me, either. By the time I finish wrestling with myself, it’s too late.
Haynfyv is mid-argument, insisting that he is on a legitimate investigation and outranks the pair of enforcers doing their level best to shoo him away. Maryam, Cadence in tow, is catching up quickly. The guards tasked with clearing her path get more physical the nearer she approaches, concern with failing her overruling their trained respect for superior officers.
“Wait, isn’t this the one that was demoted?” They crowd Haynfyv back toward the nearest doorway.
He retreats into a torrent of increasingly large and obscure words that all come around to meaning “yes, but,” while backpedalling.
Maryam glides around the nearest corner and laughs. “How delightful. I had thought you dead, but here you are after all.”
Three pairs of knees hit the concrete. Her guards stammer apologies, which Maryam ignores on her way past.
“I seem to have overlooked your last few reports, Inspector. Perhaps you could bring fresh copies in person?” She doesn’t turn to look at him in passing.
I have a feeling that Haynfyv’s usefulness isn’t going to last much longer, even if he shows up at her feet in an hour, paperwork in order and all accounted for. Which isn’t likely to happen, since he’s been holed up in his room obsessing over connections between people he really has no business knowing about.
Cadence wanders after Maryam, yawning.
“You’re . . . You seem familiar.” She squints at Haynfyv.
“Inspector 09-Hayne-05,” he rattles off without elaborating.
She blinks sleepily and trails off down the hallway without further comment. She has met him, of course. Maybe he just never made much of an impression? There’s no particular reason she should think anything of this encounter, either. So as long as he can steer clear of Maryam, he’ll be okay.
“Surveillance worker 18-Cole-,” he murmurs.
The guards wince.
“I wouldn’t call her that to her face, nor to Her Worship’s, if you know what’s good for you,” one says, making shooing motions at Haynfyv. “Now clear off. Her Worship wants this area cleared.”
Haynfyv shrugs and heads down the hallway in the direction Maryam and Cadence have just come as if heading back to Refuge. But when the two enforcers race off to resume their efforts to clear Maryam’s path, he turns around and
stares after them.
“Cadence Cole,” he says, holding up a pinched hand as if pushing a pin into a board. He repeats the motion with his other hand. “And Her Worship. In the tunnels . . .”
Is he starting to remember? Or is it just his compulsive need to investigate the mysteries that surround him that sends him pacing with soft steps after Maryam and her entourage?
But there’s no time to worry about the fate of one dangerously curious man just now. I watch Cadence tear her first handful of the day free from its writhing body. Maryam has her working on a fresh section on the opposite side of the subterranean maze. Apparently, the mayor’s not concerned about cleaning up the tiny patches where Cadence’s blood recharged the surface yesterday.
There’s something about that scene—a nagging, plucking sort of thing at the back of my mind—but I can’t quite grasp hold of it yet. And the sight of the shattering sky pushes it out of mind entirely.
After Cadence tears a second double-handful free from the barrier without showing signs of slowing, I shoot up through all the hidden layers, and further, through the cloying, dense fog, to the topmost levels of the tower where the air is almost clear—and the view of the barrier is unobstructed.
It shudders with every blow, fresh cracks splintering across the increasingly opaque surface. Its churning oscillates between sluggish and frantic. Cadence has destroyed hardly more than a single wall’s worth at its base, and it’s already looking like this?
I have no way of knowing how thick the barrier is or how much of a crack the Mara need to escape. Maybe they’re squeezing out into the open already?
I wonder . . .
Unlike me, the Mara can manifest a sort of physical presence. As far as I know, that’s a new trick of theirs, though, a sort of power-up skill. Originally, they weren’t embodied any more than I am. So there is no reason they couldn’t squeeze through the tiniest of cracks in the barrier. And if there’s no reason they can’t escape right now, then is there anything keeping me here?
I waft into the air, higher than Refuge’s roof, higher than I’ve ever been. The crumbling, smog-choked city spreads out below me, the barrier close enough to touch.
Burn the Skies Page 11
