“I could have a good life here,” Nasira said, tossing aside the peel from a banana she'd just eaten. “All the food I need. Beautiful scenery. Plenty of quiet to read and make new inventions.”
Argus nodded. She sounded like a woman who was trying to convince herself. After they ate they wandered back to the city outskirts. He lay down and closed his eyes, and let the evening sun warm him.
* * *
When he woke it was dark and cool. The grass opposite the fire—what was left of the fire—was empty.
She must have gone into her hut.
Argus got up and stretched his limbs. The sharpest pains were gone. Yet Nasira's powders had done little to ease the dull weariness from the killing and sailing, the climbing and praying on the Shipbreakers.
What he needed were a few more weeks with Janna, and lounging in her bed.
He wouldn't have them.
Argus found Nasira's chain and draped it over his shoulder. He'd dreamed that the tower had fallen just before he reached it, burying its secrets forever.
I can't let that happen, Argus thought. Then he wondered if he was thinking at all, or just treading down a road that insanity had laid out for him. It doesn't matter. Reality is malleable. If the Five Branches taught me anything at all, it's that.
He stepped lightly past Nasira's hut. Every footstep sounded like a firework in this desolate place. He imagined her lying awake in there, listening to him pass.
As Argus advanced toward the heart of the city, each building stood taller and more elaborate than the last. He walked back in time, into eras long forgotten, searching for little red Xs.
Finally the Xs stopped. Just beyond the last marked building stood a closed door. The building it fronted was low and narrow, an afterthought compared to the enormous ones surrounding it. But somehow it was important enough to deserve spiraling onyx columns, which flanked the entrance.
The air grew heavy.
Argus felt the weight settling in his belly. Possibility. Forbidden knowledge. He glanced into the street one last time, saw it was still empty.
Then he opened the door.
CHAPTER NINE
Argus found himself in a decrepit bakery. A row of ovens was cut into one of the walls. Soot covered them, piles of the stuff. Where there wasn't soot there was flour. It dappled the long table that snaked through the room. It covered the floor too, and even plastered the walls.
The flour on the floor was undisturbed. It reminded him how the foothills of the Riven Mountains looked after a fresh dusting of snow. His boots muddled it now, kicking up so much powder it left him in a coughing fit.
He pressed on, studying the room closely.
Nothing in there interested him but the stairs. They wound down, into a darkened space he couldn't see. Argus let out the chain beside him. He'd anchored it to one of the pillars just outside, and hoped it would be strong enough if he needed it.
He paused at the top of the stairs.
You're being foolish. Look. The street is only a few steps away. Yet the thought did nothing to slow his racing heart.
At last he worked up the courage to climb down. The stairs were steep and uneven, and after switching directions a few times on the landings, he lost all sense of direction. Each step was darker than the last. Argus kept unraveling the chain behind him, halfway through his slack.
He turned one more time, then stumbled.
Stars surrounded him. The full moon shone like it was right behind him, settling on his shoulder, just out of reach.
What in the blazes?
Argus gripped the chain tightly, wobbled and froze. No. This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all. Somehow he'd gone up when he'd meant to go down. But those stairs did slope downward, didn't they?
He looked around, blinking rapidly. Was he outside? He'd never seen the stars this close. The ground beneath him was solid, though. Solid stone.
Argus turned back and shuddered.
The stairs were still there, but they were in the wrong place. Now they spilled out of the ceiling above him—the same ceiling his chain led into. Argus stayed very still and tried to steady himself. This was worse than sailing through choppy water. This dizziness was disabling, something he'd never felt.
Once he forced down the vomit, Argus kept scanning the room. I won't fall. If I would I'd have done it already. It didn't help. Logical thought was useless. No matter how many times he looked, the ancient city of Eld remained beneath him. There wasn't a wall there, but a massive window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The only things obstructing his view were a table and wooden chair.
Everything was sideways.
Argus realized he was on the wall, like a crawling spider. He stepped and nearly fell over. It took a few tries for him to understand how walking worked in this place. His wall was bare, and so was the one across from him.
That left him with two choices: see what was on the table or try the stairs. He spotted a book on the table, but couldn't bring himself to edge down there and try to grab it.
What if I fall right through that window?
This place dwarfed the highest city spires. Argus winced, imagining the rushing wind and eventual splatter that would end it all.
He tried for the stairs. Inched his way to the top of the wall and pulled himself up through the hole. He spread his legs across the stairway and used them to push upward.
Argus swore. His head bumped against something solid. Someone—or something—had rearranged the lowest landing so it blocked the way up. He tapped it, and started pounding on it when it refused to yield. No use. The wood felt about as thick as Siggi's belly.
Argus crept back down, sweating. That window gaped beneath him like an open maw. He reminded himself he wouldn't fall, not yet at least, and dropped back down onto the wall.
He kept moving, putting all his attention on that table. There was a book there with a red leather cover. A quill and bottle of ink rested beside it.
Argus edged to the corner where his wall met the window. Holding his breath, he reached for the table. It tantalized him, just out of grasp. He thought about jumping but decided not to risk it. That glass looked thin; the slightest bump might break the window and then gods knew what would happen.
He remembered the chain.
You might not be an artificer anymore, Nasira, but you're still a genius.
Only a little slack remained. Argus collected it and threw the chain toward the table. He missed, cringing when it clattered against the window. On his second try he knocked off the book. Argus dragged it closer and smiled.
It didn't look like much. Just a simple leather cover.
He picked it up.
Regretted it.
Realized it was much more important than it seemed.
* * *
A loud cracking sound filled the room.
Argus tucked the book under his arm. He looked at the window, expecting to find chunks of shattered glass.
He was wrong.
The cracking continued, echoing in the stairway. It grew louder. So loud Argus had to cover his ears, and when he did he realized the book was on the ground and both hands were free.
The chain was gone.
He looked down and found it writhing beside him like a headless snake. Every link snapped and clinked along the floor. And still that cracking came. Fissures formed in the wall across from him, and his footing became unsteady. Beside him the window groaned, rippling a little, becoming almost liquid.
Argus ran for the stairs.
He jumped over one hole and stumbled into another. By the time he realized what was happening, his foot had disappeared. The wall swallowed it whole. He screamed and tried to pull it out, but by then it had him up to the knee. Soon enough the entire wall was sinking, that hole widening, absorbing him.
It ate his other leg next, working up to his torso.
Argus yelled. That's when he knew he was done.
Glass shattered beneath him, a waterfall of deadly shards. He watched the table an
d chair plummet toward the city, flipping end over end. He would have gone with it—if it weren't for the wall's eager mouth.
The harder he struggled the faster he sank.
His waist was encased, and then his shoulders. When his head was buried that hole closed above him. Argus couldn't see, couldn't feel a thing except a smooth circular space that reminded him of a throat.
Then that throat swallowed. He screamed again, interred somewhere beneath the stone. His voice did nothing to slow his plunge. He was falling, twisting and turning with nothing to hold on to.
This is worse than the window, he thought.
Thought slipped away, and he was mindful only that his organs were in the wrong places. His stomach fluttered where his mouth should have been. His heart was everywhere. His hair lifted high above him, suspended as if before a barber's shear.
I'm dying. Or already dead.
What happened next confused Argus even more. The giant throat twisted and leveled off; he started to spin. He closed his eyes, opened them, and noticed no difference. He spun awhile longer…
Until that throat spat him out.
Argus tumbled across wooden planks, rolling, yelling until momentum decided he'd finally had enough. The room spun—but it least it was a room. For now that seemed like an improvement. Argus turned on his side and vomited until there was nothing left. He rolled away, and gingerly tried to sit up.
His old wounds felt like new wounds again, but all things considered he was remarkably unscathed. Argus slumped against a stone wall to catch his breath. This room was low and dark, but at least it made sense. He was sitting on what looked and felt like a floor. In the corner, he saw the end of the tube down which he'd fallen.
He looked at it and shivered. With how slick its walls were, climbing up was out of the question. He'd have to find another way out.
Argus looked up. The ceiling was made from white stones. They were perfectly square, cut and laid by either the gods themselves or their finest masons. That didn't explain where the light was coming from, though. Without any windows or torches, how could he see at all?
Argus traced the ceiling with his eyes, following the stones until he had his answer. Every once in a while one of those stones was chipped or missing, allowing pinpricks of light to stream in. He was somewhere beneath the city.
The only thing left to do was wander.
He walked, and kept on until that terrible throat in the wall disappeared. The walls were the same, the endless wooden floor. The only variation was the light. Sometimes it was bright, others he had to squint and feel his way along by hand.
The passage was long and low and damp. Perfectly straight. When Argus stopped to eat some jerky and sip from his waterskin, he felt that he hadn't moved at all.
He kept going anyway. His body ached for rest, but he refused to allow it. Whenever his eyelids drooped, he slapped himself and walked faster. He endured a dark stretch that seemed endless. Finally, blinding light rewarded him.
Argus stopped right beneath it, letting his eyes adjust. A nice chunk of stones was missing—large enough to squeeze through. Grinning, he reached into the opening and jammed his fingers against something firm.
“No!” The opening looked real enough, but there was some kind of invisible barrier across it. Probably woven with some kind of thought magic. He jumped again, just to be sure, and smashed his knuckles on what felt like solid rock.
Argus swore until his throat went dry, pacing beneath the opening.
Stars peeked through the Cradle cloud. Moonlight diffused the night in gray. Even closer, the city of Eld slumbered. He spotted statues and houses with ornate glass windows.
All of them right there. All of them just out of reach.
“It isn't a ceiling, you idiot. It's a street.”
His words didn't echo like he expected them to. They strangled in the stale air.
This isn't a passage at all. It's a dungeon.
CHAPTER TEN
Before she was killed, Willow had told him about the bones of those who died in search of the Cradle's mysteries.
Argus encountered them now. First it was just an arm, then a ribcage and a skull. The farther he went the thicker they piled. He found complete skeletons too. Occasionally he saw two locked together in some kind of mortal struggle.
How much longer until I add one more to the pile?
His water was low, and only a few strips of jerky remained. He had no idea how much time had passed.
At one point the bones were so many his only choice was to step right over them. The sound of his footsteps started playing tricks on him. He whirled, his hand on Reaver's hilt, only to find a yellowed skull leering back at him.
An eternity passed before Argus found another opening like the one he'd tried to climb through earlier. Bones were stacked all the way to the top, just beneath the magic barrier. He picked through them, bracing for something living to stir, and noticed fingernail marks clawed in the stone.
Hurry, you fool. Before you end up like them.
He walked on. The light was different. Each missing stone offered more light than before. Sunrise.
Finally Argus couldn't continue anymore. He collapsed at the first boneless spot he found, promising himself just a short rest.
When he woke, the passage was brighter and his stomach grumbled. He sipped his water, which only reminded him how thirsty he was, and pressed on. He tried to use sporadic glimpses of the city streets to get his bearings. No such luck. The city was still strange to him. He didn't see the towering god statues, the only landmarks he knew.
On and on he went. Resting. Waking. Nibbling jerky. It soothed his belly but it was salty, intensifying his thirst. The sun set. Then it was back to feeling his way along the wall. He tried not to trip over all the scattered bones.
“You shouldn't have let me die, friend.”
Argus froze. Before him floated his old mercenary brother, Harun of Tokat. He drifted closer, his feet completely off the ground. He wore the same tunic and trousers he'd died in, and his thigh was still bleeding from the Calladonian's sword thrust.
“You aren't real,” Argus said.
The Tokati shrugged. “I'm real enough.” He crossed his black arms and made a tsking sound, like a mother indulging a silly child. Eyes settled on Argus, and they weren't Harun's at all. They were sandshade eyes. Blood red, and smoldering the size of coins.
Argus tried to run. He stumbled on a ribcage and scrambled for his sword. “Don't come any closer!”
Harun smiled. “Or what?” He swooped down, and, before Argus knew what was happening, passed right through him and appeared on the other side. “Just having a little fun. At least allow me that.”
This isn't real, Argus thought, clutching his chest. Then why are my insides burning just like those eyes? “I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you to die.”
Harun landed beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I know. You blame yourself. But there's nothing you could have done. A debt was owed. My debt. And paid it I did.”
Argus nodded, unable to control his quivering lips. “It's good to see you, old friend.”
Harun smiled. “Likewise. Staying away from those magic books, I hope.”
“I-I'm not doing so well. I'm not sure I'll make it out of here.” He forced himself to laugh. “Maybe I'll be seeing a lot more of you soon.”
The Tokati's face drew taut. “Perhaps. If in the sands of fate it is written, so it shall be.” He smiled again. “Keep walking, friend. Here's to the Legion of the Wind.”
“To the Legion.” Argus crossed his arms in the shape of clashing steel. The Legion salute. With that Harun floated upward, right through the stones, and disappeared.
Everything went quiet again. As he lumbered forward, Argus talked to himself and sang all the songs he knew. Was it forward? Sometimes it seemed like the passage had a slight curve to it—an almost imperceptible banking that never ended.
Maybe I'm just walking in a circle.
Argus tried to shake it off, but the nightmare thought lingered. He finished another strip of jerky, dwindling his supply to one, and an auburn-haired woman walked through the wall.
“Willow…” His voice was hoarse.
She offered him a sad smile, but said nothing. He froze as she crept toward him in her dress. She pursed her lips and her moss green eyes pierced through them, remembering something from long ago.
She isn't real, Argus thought. He'd just reminded himself of that when she walked right through him. “I'm sorry you died,” he said. “Even though you lied to us.”
Willow smiled and swept stray auburn hairs from her face. Her face wasn't quite solid, like someone had dropped a stone in a pond and her skin was collecting all the ripples.
“Can you help me get out of here? This is a terrible place.”
She shook her head. Her lips didn't move, but Argus still heard what she said. I'm sorry. I only wanted to walk with you. To keep you company while I still can.
“What do you mean while you still can?”
Willow went quiet. Either that or Argus was too exhausted to rely on hearing magic anymore. So he talked instead. He told her everything that had happened since she died in Garvahn. About the magic he'd learned. Even told her about Azmar—and what happened after the first night of the Turning.
“Everything is pulling me in a different direction,” he said. “Magic. Janna. My friends.”
Willow slipped her hand into his. Whenever he wanted to, Argus could swipe right through it. It wasn't real. But that didn't explain why he felt warmth and a pulse.
“When does this end, Willow? How much longer do I have to go on?”
She smiled one more time. As long as you have to. Goodbye, Argus of Leith.
He reached for her, but she was already gone. His hands smashed into a solid wall.
“No. No no no!” He screamed. The echo reverberated through the passageway and, after a century, finally died off. He was vaguely aware of sunlight streaming in. Instead of offering comfort that he'd survived another night, it was a lurid reminder he was that much closer to death.
Argus leaned against Willow's wall, quivering. He hurled another scream into the darkness. He was about to lie down on when that scream echoed back to him.
Fortune's Toll (The Legion of the Wind, Book Two) Page 7
