The City of Zirdai

by Maria V. Snyder

  Her progress was slow and painful, but it was progress until the Heliacal Priestess’s voice sounded behind her. She froze.

  “Find her body,” the priestess ordered. “I want The Eyes.”

  Shyla glanced over her shoulder. Green-clad figures moved over the debris. They poked long poles in between the gaps. She ducked out of sight. It appeared they were close to where she had landed. Did that mean Rendor survived? Had he told the priestess where to find her? Did she dare hope?

  Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on her immediate predicament. She needed to stay hidden, but she had to keep moving. At least the deacons searching for her made enough noise to cover her own. She altered her route to keep the piles between her and the deacons, then picked up the pace.

  She skirted holes that exposed the level below. Zirdai had ninety-seven residential levels, but the black cells and the prince’s special rooms were located on level ninety-eight, and a forgotten drainage tunnel was underneath. Not completely forgotten as the vagrants knew about it. She paused. The priestess had to know about it as well. Had Jayden told her? And was there another way down there than that abandoned stairway?

  The metal grates in the floors of the special rooms would provide access to level ninety-eight from the tunnel, which connected to the prince’s level. In fact, Shyla had considered using them to sneak into the Water Prince’s complex. The priestess must have utilized them for her explosions. If that had been the case, then the black cells might be intact, which would be good news. That meant half the level was undamaged. Except, the guards’ quarters were located above the special rooms. Nausea churned as she realized the priestess must have targeted them.

  Up ahead, Shyla noticed an intact wall—a good sign for more survivors, but bad for her as it blocked her escape. She considered her options, then backtracked to the last hole. Peering into the darkness, she couldn’t judge the distance to the ground. She scanned the debris. A weak violet-hued light shone through a gap. It was a buried druk.

  Moving pieces of rock, tiles, and a shattered table, Shyla quietly uncovered the druk without alerting the deacons, who still worked diligently.

  She crept back to the hole and shone the light down. It was too far to jump. She’d need to climb down. She tied the druk to her tunic and opened it wider. The light illuminated plenty of footholds. However, the entire column could collapse when she added her weight onto it.

  No choice. She wasn’t going to stay here and be caught. At least if she was crushed by the pile, the priestess would never find her body. Somehow that wasn’t a comforting thought.

  It wasn’t a long climb, but it was harrowing. Each creak of stone, puff of dust, and rumble caused her heart to race. When she reached the bottom, her shaky legs just about gave out as she stepped onto firm ground on the bottom level of Zirdai. She shone the druk around and blew out a breath in relief. She knew where she was.

  Shyla hurried through the tunnel. Dirty water leaked from cracks in the ceiling, creating puddles in the middle. The sound of her boots on the floor echoed overly loud. She soon found the entrance to the corkscrew stairwell that went up to level seventy-eight. Not stopping to rest, she ascended.

  As she looped around the main support shaft, Shyla puffed with the effort. At least the thin wedges of steps wouldn’t collapse under her weight. When she reached the gap where an entire level of stairs was missing, she paused to catch her breath. She longed for her pack. It contained a full water skin and a few rolls of jerky, but she left it in Rendor’s office in her haste to escape. And while she was wishing for unattainable things, she included a spider kit. It would make climbing the round shaft in her current physical condition easier.

  Ignoring the multitude of aches and pains coursing through her body, she found a few toeholds and fingerholds and started up. Her arms and legs soon shook with fatigue and, when she was about halfway, her grip slipped and she slid back to the bottom. She rested her sweaty forehead on the cool column. It was a minor setback. The second time it happened, she cursed. After a moment, she tried again. This time she imagined what the Heliacal Priestess might be doing to her prisoners. It gave her the energy to reach the stairs.

  She sat on the steps, gasping and shaking with fatigue. Her fingertips were bleeding and she’d broken all her fingernails. However, that pain just blended in with all the other hurts clamoring for her attention.

  The rest of the trip to level seventy-eight was simple in comparison. She staggered out of the stairwell in triumph only to realize that she didn’t know where the guards were patrolling. And in her current blood-stained and bedraggled condition, she would attract unwanted attention. No choice but to go to Orla’s. A groan escaped her lips at the prospect of ascending another thirty-nine levels.

  It took forever. A long, painful slog, willing her legs to keep going. Repeating the consequences if she didn’t return to rescue everyone in her mind, she kept to the shadows and the abandoned tunnels. Even through her fatigue, she noted the sound of the city. It had changed. A buzz of tension, sharp voices, and a hum of fear vibrated through the air. The citizens had felt the explosions and were understandably worried.

  Once she reached the commune, she was rewarded for her efforts. Every drop of sweat and trickle of blood to get there was worth it because Mojag appeared as if by magic, followed by Gurice, and Zhek. She blinked at them, sensing a trick. All three here and safe was too good to be true. Were they real?

  “Son of a sand demon,” Gurice said. “You look like you’ve crawled through all the seven caverns of hell.”

  “What happened?” Mojag asked.

  Zhek waved them off. “Not now. Fetch her some water. Meet me in the examination room.”

  No doubt they were real.

  “Scorching sand rats, child. I will not help you re-injure yourself. You should be resting.” Zhek thrust a cup of his healing tea at her again.

  Gurice entered Shyla’s room with Mojag right behind her. “Problem?”

  “Yes,” Zhek said. “I’ve patched her up, stitched her up, cleaned her up, and she wants to run off and undo everything!”

  “Zhek, there might be survivors.” Hopefully Rendor was one of them. “I have to lead a rescue attempt. I need your restorative, but I’ll go without it if I have to.”

  He strode from the room, grumbling and muttering under his breath.

  “I guess that’s a no,” Gurice said.

  “What’s the gossip?” Shyla asked Mojag.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry,” he just about sobbed.

  “For what?”

  “The explosions! I didn’t know what the priestess was planning. I missed it! I—”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. “She surprised us all. No one expected such an attack. Such disregard for life. Such destruction.”

  “The priestess was smart to keep her real plans under tight wraps,” Gurice said to her brother. “And it’s done. Nothing to do about it now. What you can do is stop blaming yourself and help. What have you learned?”

  Mojag straightened and wiped his eyes. “Not much. The guards have told everyone to remain calm, which, of course, no one is. Everyone’s convinced there’s a major gas leak under the city. The focus is on the Water Prince—no one’s talking about the priestess being involved. A few of the wealthy citizens have tried to talk to the prince but were turned away by his guards.”

  “His guards?” Gurice asked.

  A shrug. “Probably deacons dressed in their uniforms.”

  “Do you know how many?” Shyla asked.

  “Twice as many as normally guard the entrance, although now I’m sure the gossip is saying there were dozens of guards. Rumors tend to grow with time. It’ll be hundreds by darkness.”

  So roughly twelve instead of six guards. “What about the Invisible Swords? How many are in the city?” she asked Gurice.

  “Two for each of the guard units—a total of twenty-four.”

  Almost half her people. The tight bands around her chest e
ased a fraction. “How many wielders?”

  “Twelve, except most of them are new. But the other twelve all have protective rings.”

  Still, it was good news. She had forty-eight guards, and twenty-six Invisible Swords. “Mojag, can you spread rumors as well?”

  He perked up. “Yeah. That’s easy. I can recruit a bunch of the vagrant kids and it’ll be all over the city within fifteen angles.”

  “Good. I want them telling everyone about the Heliacal Priestess. How she killed so many people to gain power. If the citizens are looking for verification, just have them mention the destruction of the guards’ quarters.”

  Gurice looked at her. “For what purpose?”

  “It’s time the citizens become more proactive. There’s still plenty of deacons in the city.”

  “Nice.”

  “I also need you to send runners to the guard units throughout the city.”

  “What should they tell them?”

  “To meet me in the common lounge on level ninety at angle ninety.”

  “Angle ninety so no one can escape the city?” Gurice half teased.

  “No. It’s when the Sun Goddess is at her strongest.”

  “I didn’t think you were the religious type.”

  “I survived an explosion, wasn’t crushed into a Shyla puddle, and escaped without major injury. I’ve gotten the hint.”

  Gurice laughed. “Just don’t rely on it. You’re not indestructible.”

  “I’m not?” Shyla pressed a hand to her chest in mock surprise.

  Another bark of laughter.

  Zhek woke Shyla at angle sixty. He stood next to her sleep cushion with his arms crossed and watched as she struggled to move. Every single muscle in her body—even her fingers!—was so stiff they were close to being inflexible. Pain pulsed with every movement. She hurt. Bad. And she’d only managed to sit up. Perhaps she should have added an extra fifteen angles to their timeline.

  Zhek raised his bushy white eyebrows.

  “Yes, you’re right. And if I didn’t have so many people in danger, I would drink your tea, crawl under the fur, and embrace your healing sleep.”

  He huffed, somewhat mollified, and left.

  At least he spared her his lecture. The colossal effort to stand left her weak and on the edge of tears. So much for being the powerful sun-kissed.

  Zhek returned holding a large glass of orange-tinted water. “Drink this.” He handed it to her.

  Not sure she trusted him, she said, “It’s orange.”

  “That’s what happens when you mix a restorative with pain medicine.”

  “Thanks.” She gulped it. Her relief was as cool as the liquid sliding down her throat.

  He grunted. “They’re my people, too. I’m coming with you.”

  She choked. “But—”

  “The survivors will need to be tended to. And you know that dolt Timin isn’t as good as me.”

  If Timin had survived, but she quickly stopped those thoughts because she knew they’d lead to her wondering about a certain other person and whether he’d survived or not.

  By the time she joined Mojag and Gurice, her pain had eased. She glanced at Zhek.

  “It’ll wear off in about eighty angles.”

  Good to know.

  They followed Mojag down to the rendezvous point. He took them on an odd route, zigzagging through the edges of Zirdai, but they encountered no one. And no one else was in the lounge on level ninety. They’d arrived early. Shyla wanted to ensure another ambush wasn’t waiting for them. She checked all the nearby tunnels and used her magic to sense if Arch Deacons were hiding inside the apartments on this level. All was quiet and rather empty. She wondered if they’d been spooked by the explosions and had gone to the higher levels just in case.

  Soon after she returned, the guards and Invisible Swords started arriving. As familiar faces filled the room, she hugged each one tight. Rae, Jaft, Lamar, Yoria, and many others. Not Elek, Lian, or Ximen. Or Rendor. Didn’t mean they were dead. Everyone was equally glad to see her as well.

  Shyla pushed her fears and doubts to the back of her mind and focused on the task at hand. She explained what they were going to do.

  “You’ve one job. Incapacitate the enemy. Wielders, team up with a fighter. You can freeze your opponent with the stop command long enough for your partner to knock him out. For the rest of you, do whatever it takes to get through. Question any thoughts that are not your own. If something appears impossible, it’s an illusion. If they disappear, attack the spot they were just at—they’re still there! Don’t stop. Understand?”

  A chorus of yes.

  “Good. I need a volunteer to be my partner.” She held up a hand. “I need someone who’s quick. I’ll be stopping multiple opponents at once.” Zhek’s fantastic potion had given her a great deal of energy.

  “Did you really need to ask?” Jaft asked with an insulted tone.

  “As long as you can pace yourself.” Did he remember their race to Tamburah’s temple?

  “I wasn’t the rotten velbloud egg,” he said dryly. “No worries. There’s no sand down here.”

  That reminded her. “But there’s rubble and debris and holes. Prepare yourselves, it’s not pretty and there are…bodies buried. There will be unpleasant odors.”

  Grim nods.

  “Jaft and I will take point. Let’s go.”

  They weren’t subtle or quiet and they didn’t care. There were seventy-six of them and they slammed into the twenty people defending the only entrance into the prince’s complex. Shyla almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

  She reached the doors first. They were closed. But they were warped and couldn’t be locked—one good thing from the explosions. Three dozen Arch Deacons armed with long knives waited on the other side. They all wore torques. Shyla didn’t slow down. Freezing a handful, she barreled between them as Jaft flitted around, delivering precise palm-heel strikes to their temples.

  However, she needed information, so she made eye contact with the next Arch Deacon that tried to stop her.

  “Where is the priestess?” she asked her.

  The woman said, “Surrender and I’ll take you to her.” But she thought, In the throne room.

  Shyla groaned. Not the throne room. Why couldn’t that place be a pile of rubble? Shyla froze the woman and continued. She fought her way toward the throne room with single-minded determination.

  When she reached it, she had the presence of mind to pause and seek the number of souls on the other side of the ornate glass doors.

  “Fifteen people are inside,” she said to Jaft.

  He inclined his head to the corridor behind them. The two of them had outpaced the rest. A clump of her people fought with the deacons at the end of the corridor. “Better wait for backup.”

  “Good idea.”

  Except the doors to the throne room suddenly opened. Two Arch Deacons grabbed Shyla’s arms and yanked her into the room. She flew forward and fell onto the floor. The doors slammed shut, blocking Jaft.

  Shyla gathered her magic as a ring of people surrounded her. She was about to freeze them when magic grabbed her, forcing her to be still.

  They were all wielders. All focused on her.

  She was trapped.

  Twenty

  “When one of my deacons came running in here with the news that you had arrived with a tiny army, I didn’t believe him,” the Heliacal Priestess said, stepping through the ring of ten people. “But my holy seers”—she swept out a hand, indicating the people who had snared Shyla with their magic—“insisted it was true, so I ordered my army to allow you to reach me but not your pathetic soldiers.”

  It was awfully quiet on the other side of the glass doors. What happened to Jaft? No wonder it’d seemed easy for her to get to the throne room. From Shyla’s prone position on the floor, the priestess loomed over her, beautiful, tall, and regal. Except Shyla made eye contact with the holy despot and, if she could move, would have recoiled at the black rot insi
de the woman. Being able to read her soul was due to The Eyes, but Shyla needed her magic to physically influence the woman.

  “I’m astounded by your ability to survive and by your incredible stupidity. Why did you return? Why not cut your losses and take your powerful eyes to another city?” the priestess asked with genuine curiosity.

  Even though she was frozen in place, Shyla could still speak. “Why? Because you need to be stopped. You just murdered a bunch of people. You say you speak for the Sun Goddess. Do you really believe she would have wanted you to kill hundreds of innocent people so you can gain power?”

  “She directed me to this course of action. She’s upset with how this city is being run. She wants me to have control of The Eyes and the city.” The priestess’s gaze lit with an inner fervor.

  The woman believed all the nonsense she’d just spouted. Her faith was rooted deep in her soul. Shyla would get nowhere appealing to the priestess’s morality or sense of decency. Instead, she focused on the seers. The ten of them concentrated on keeping Shyla locked down. She fought to deflect their magical commands, but their combined power overwhelmed hers.

  “And you are all mindlessly following this woman?” Shyla asked them. “Did you not see the bodies? Feel the vibrations? She risked the entire city with that attack. Your Blessed One is insane.”

  “Do not listen to the sun-cursed. She lies.”

  “I’ve woken the power of The Eyes. I see your soul, Bakula.”

  The priestess jolted at the mention of her given name. Her hand flew to the torque around her neck. “You can’t—”

  “I can. You do not speak for the Sun Goddess. You earned your position by poisoning the previous leader, the Heliacal Priest Uri. A very kind man who trusted you. And you got away with his murder. When you add in all the bodies under the rubble, how many more people have you murdered, Bakula?”

  “Stop.” She backed up a few steps. “Timin!”

  An Arch Deacon pushed the physician into the circle. That made thirteen people. Where were the last two?