The Boi of Feather and Steel

by Adan Jerreat-Poole

  Eli swallowed the horror that rose in her gorge, and felt it slide back down into her stomach, slimy and thick as a slug.

  “Tav?”

  “Hmm?”

  The boi with the spirit of steel looked up, a flicker of confusion in their eyes.

  “We’re leaving.” She tried to speak gently.

  Tav nodded. “Yeah.” They looked around the café, and then laughed once, a hollow sound that pierced the atmosphere of quiet terror. “This place was like a second home to me. But it wasn’t real.”

  Eli pushed a flowering cactus into their arms. “Then let’s go make something that is.”

  Thirty-Six

  THE HEIR

  A girl with a sword, her hair a nest of bluegreen around her face.

  A boy on the ice, his skin studded with stones. His eyes closed.

  And underneath them, the murdered witches were rising from the grave.

  It was up to Kite now. “I’m sorry,” she told the witches. “I didn’t know.” But that was a lie. She had known, or should have — the disappearances, the rumours, her mother’s growing power. The proof that now ran through Kite’s own veins.

  She had known, at least, that the Witch Lord killed.

  She had not known how. The weight of that knowledge was heavy. The ruler of the world had the power to absorb them and had grown strong on the souls of others.

  Kite, too, now had this power. Should she use it? Should she reach out and suck the last drops of life from these wounded remnants of people?

  Was she even strong enough to? Or would they crawl over her body like bacteria, swarming her skin and turning her into an empty sack?

  She pushed away the temptation and reminded herself what she had to do: Get Cam and leave. Find the junkyard. She opened her mouth, unhinging her jaw so it hung long and wide. Fish scales spilled from Kite’s mouth, and where they touched the obsidian the witches screamed in pain.

  Even an untested Heir was dangerous.

  Carefully, deliberately, Kite let the tip of the blade scrape the surface of the stone, and this time it bit instead of freed — it was on her side now. A low moan broke through the harmonies, and the shadows skittered away like darting fish startled by footsteps in the shallows.

  A ball of light emerged from the crack, somehow sucking the bluegreen energy from Kite and turning it into shadow. The smell of hatred made Kite’s eyes water. As the light came close, carried on a dozen severed feet and hands, Kite swung the blade true. The essence split, sliding around the blade like water, and reformed around it. Kite pulled back, the essence following her like it was trying to cut in on their dance.

  The gears on the blade started to spin, capturing a strand of essence. The gentle hum of a record spinning and the dead thing was pulled through the machinery of the weapon. The undead creature spooled on the ground like a long thread.

  The blade turned ice-cold under her touch, and Kite spun around in time to see the Beast, visible once more, sever a hand from an arm.

  More witches crawled from underground, and now Kite could see obsidian teeth and fingernails. The dead couldn’t leave the Witch-Killing Fields, but they could trap Kite here forever.

  There were too many of them.

  Kite’s eyes, minnows in the shallows, darted from the ghosts to Cam lying prone outside the circle.

  Pressing her lips to the hilt, she breathed her power into the blade, which shivered at the warm sensation of her breath on its metal.

  “Ready?” she asked the Beast. His tail turned scaly and clubbed. She took that as a yes.

  And then they ran, sword and girl and creature, cutting through flesh and essence until they stood beside the boy with the stone blade.

  Kite wrenched her hair back with one hand and swung the sword with the other. Eyes closed, she sent her desire into the blade edge like a question, like a plea.

  It slid through her hair easily, and the severed strands fell to the ground, blackening and charring, the tips burnt and splitting. Her neck felt exposed and vulnerable.

  “A sacrifice for safe travel,” she murmured, as a small rip in time and space appeared before her. She bent down and wrapped Cam’s hand around the stone dagger, then stabbed the ancient sword into the seam.

  “Take us away from here, please.”

  The metal like a kiss on her wrist. A turn of a knuckle, a hiccough, and then they were gone.

  Behind them, the ghosts began eating her hair. She could feel it, even as the rest of her body was taken away from the Witch-Killing Fields.

  Thirty-Seven

  THE HEALER

  Fatigue weighed on their arm hair and eyelashes. Tav rubbed their stinging eyes and let Eli guide them out of The Sun, one of the few places they had ever felt truly safe.

  “Thanks for not killing me,” said Eli lightly. Her hand on their elbow was gentle as the wind.

  “Don’t you mean ‘repurposing you’?” Tav tried a smile, but the betrayal of their former friends darkened their mood like a packet of black cherry Kool-Aid powder in clear water.

  “Yeah. I like my current purpose.”

  “That’s too bad, I was hoping I could give you mine.” Tav flicked their hair out of their eyes. It was getting long, the dark roots making the violet more vivid by contrast.

  “And that was … to fight injustice, or to get revenge on everyone who fucked you over?”

  Tav shrugged. “A little of both.”

  “I appreciate your honesty.”

  “I didn’t think an assassin would be too judgmental.”

  “We’re a very open-minded group.”

  This time, the smile was genuine.

  “It’s okay to be angry,” said Eli, looking at the horizon rather than at Tav. “I’ve seen how it works here, what it can do. You don’t have to hide from it. It doesn’t mean you’re going to turn into her.”

  “I know that.” Irritation checkered their voice. “I don’t need you to tell me how to survive in my own world.”

  “Well, you might want to learn how to duck.”

  A surprised laugh, light as a cirrus cloud. A few more steps. Her hand on their arm, keeping them steady.

  “So, what are we doing with these? Opening a flower shop?” Tav looked down at the armful of plants, the wild magic so bright it hurt their eyes.

  “The City of Ghosts is so passé,” said Eli. “It’s time to go back to the source.”

  Tav stopped. “The journey across worlds could break you,” they said quietly. “It almost has before.”

  “I know that.”

  Tav studied Eli’s face. Her eyes flickered between yellow and black like a bumblebee.

  “Tell me.” Their voice was hoarse and gravelly.

  “Tell you what?” Eli met their gaze with wide eyes, but the hard set of her shoulders gave away the tension under her skin.

  “Eli.”

  “Tav.”

  “Please?”

  “Is that the magic word?” Eli laughed. Tav ached to hear the emptiness behind the sound, like a tin can kicked by a child.

  “In the allium field —”

  “Don’t. That’s not fair.”

  “None of this is fair. But you can’t keep acting like you’re still working alone, Eli. Because you’re not.”

  The hand fell from their elbow. Eli adjusted her glasses.

  “I’ll tell you,” she said finally. “Once we get away from here.” She let out a long sigh. “I think this experience has ruined espresso for me for good.”

  Tav shook their head. “That’s the real tragedy here.”

  At the bike, they hesitated. The desire to appear strong struggled with the desire to lean against a solid body and close their eyes. To let someone else lead for once.

  “You want to drive?” they asked.

  Eli’s eyes like yellow saucers in her face. “Is that a trick question?”

  More smiles, quick and guilty, like awkward laughter at a funeral. But they had to smile. Everything was falling apart. Every
thing was absurd.

  Eli hesitated. “Where should I take you?” She didn’t need to say it out loud — Tav knew the apartment might not be safe anymore. The number of shelters they had was dwindling.

  A memory, sweet and sharp, cut through the haze. A girl who fell out of the sky.

  Tav put a gloved hand on Eli’s shoulder and squeezed gently, then offered her the word that had gotten Eli into all this trouble in the first place.

  “Anywhere,” they said.

  Eli grinned. She revved the engine, and they tore off down the street.

  Tav wrapped their arms around her and held on tight. Eli hadn’t disappeared. Somehow, she had stayed, despite the power of the Heart that had burned with the light of a planet. Eli had trusted Tav to tear her open, and then she had saved them.

  She was incredible.

  Tav tightened their grip, as if they could keep Eli’s body together by sheer force of will. If now was all they had, they were going to hold on to it. As the engine rumbled and the tires spat out gravel from underneath them, Tav closed their eyes and focused on Eli’s heartbeat.

  Now. Now. Now.

  THE HEART

  Eli took them to the river. This was the place where everything had changed — when a human had seen through her glamour. Had really seen her. And not fled.

  Tav had never been afraid of what she was. Eli had to trust in that bravery now.

  Eli flowed over the rock like the river below them. Tav followed. The water pirouetted into eddies, shaping arabesques out of foam. Water communing with land.

  Eli could feel Tav’s eyes on hers, could feel the intensity of their gaze. For a moment she lost herself in the Heart, her body fluttering into immateriality and back like a line of laundry tossed by a cruel wind. “Don’t,” she said automatically. “Don’t look at me.”

  “Okay.” Tav turned to face the river. They waited. Eli closed her eyes and listened to the human heartbeat next to her, felt the warmth from the rock under her legs mixing with the heat from the skin beside her. So much life. So much death.

  So many things to break.

  She looked down at the river, at the split stones and the edges of land worn smooth by water. Carved into a new shape. Falling apart.

  Everything died, in the end.

  Finally, unwillingly, Eli broke the silence. She spoke quickly, forcing the words from her lungs like a surgeon deftly tugging stitches from an old wound.

  “It is repurposing me. The Heart. It’s not meant to be in a flesh-and-blood body. Even a magic one. Even a body built to be stronger than any born creature. I’m falling apart. That’s why my blades keep rejecting me. I’m scared every time I touch one that it won’t recognize me.” She swallowed. The truth left an ashy and bitter coating on her tongue.

  Tav waited.

  “I’m used to being breakable. I’ve never been invincible. I mean, I sometimes felt like I was, but I’ve been hurt before. My body is vulnerable to strong emotions. The magic that burns bright in me burns fast, and I get tired more quickly than many other people. I am fast and strong and then tired and weak. I’m thorn and glass and bone and blood. I’m all of it. All of their strengths, their weaknesses, their fragilities — that’s what I was made of.

  “I’m me, and I’ve always been me, and I’m more me now than I was when I was trapped by Circinae and the Coven. I’m her, and I’m the Heart, and I love this body. But the Heart is too much; it’s more powerful than me, and the longer I’m carrying it the more I’m losing myself. It doesn’t want to … you know? It doesn’t want to hurt me. We agreed. We joined. It came willingly. But it can’t help being what it is, and my body isn’t strong enough. I’m running out of time, Tav. And I’m worried I’m going to fall apart before we fix this. Before” — her voice cracked — “the Earth dies. And the next time I vanish, I might not come back.”

  Across the river, a leaf fell from a maple tree and into the water. It was caught up in the liveliness of the flow, and danced its way downstream, a sliver of white and silver shimmering against the dark for a brief moment, and then it was gone.

  Tav exhaled heavily. Their heart was beating faster, louder, drumming in Eli’s ears.

  What were they thinking? Weak. They’re thinking I’m weak. They’re regretting —

  “So we go back to the City of Eyes,” said Tav. They turned to face Eli. Their words rang with conviction. They gripped Eli’s shoulder, their fingernails digging into the soft skin around her clavicle. “We bring the Heart home.”

  Thirty-Eight

  THE HEIR

  The land was smooth and red as a wound.

  It was getting easier to cut into the material of the universe. Kite knew this meant that the City of Eyes was falling into ruin. Reality was becoming nothing, meaning falling into dust. A world without its Heart beginning to fall apart.

  The Beast was panting heavily, and he bled from a dozen scratches. Kite wished she had left him behind.

  “Oh no,” Cam groaned, turning onto his back. Kite could see the way his body struggled to breathe, to cling to life. Humans were nothing if not tenacious. She had learned that years ago, when a girl child had clawed her way into the Children’s Lair. “Not this again.”

  Kite leaned over him, her eyes glowing like headlamps. “Are you dying?” she asked curiously.

  Cam opened one eye, then the other, and then shut them again. “It’s creepy when you look at me like that.” His voice was thin, as if his vocal cords were vibrating through sand.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m a specimen for you to study.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I’m a person.” He opened his eyes again and glared at her. “Personal space?”

  Kite drew back, head tilted to one side. “Are all humans this touchy? I thought it was just Eli.”

  Groaning again, Cam sat up. “My pebbles are all dirty.” He frowned.

  “I didn’t know humans cared that much about cleanliness.”

  “Well, I do. I have a reputation to uphold.” He sighed deeply and then winced. “I think I cracked a piece of limestone.”

  “I expect you’ll erode away eventually,” said Kite.

  “Are you always this morbid? No wonder Eli likes you.” Cam stumbled to his feet.

  “You carry the shield.” Kite nodded at the knife in his hand. “Eli must think highly of you.”

  “Wasn’t much use back there, was it?”

  “It’s not the blade’s fault you fainted.”

  “Breaking a blood bond takes a lot out of you.”

  “I’ve never tried it. I believe it would kill me.”

  Cam stared at her. “That could have killed me?”

  “Most things can.” Kite reached up to play with her hair and found nothing. Her hand hung in mid-air like a marionette on a string. “Humans are very fragile.”

  “Well, unlucky for you, I survived.”

  “It’s not unlucky. You’re much more useful alive.”

  “Thank you?”

  “You’re welcome.” Kite smiled sunnily, her sense of existence spreading through her limbs to her extremities. Away from the obsidian plains, she felt full of life and magic and chaos again, and it was wonderful. “Does almost dying always feel this good?” she asked.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that.” Cam began polishing a pyrolite with the dirty hem of his shirt.

  “Let me.” Kite reached out and trailed a damp, slimy finger across his arm. Drops of seawater glistened where her skin touched his.

  Cam said nothing, but he held still so she could polish each individual stone. She missed nothing: not the tiny pebble of sandstone, not the cracked limestone, not the dolomite. At her touch the stones seemed to calm, as if her very touch was a lullaby.

  Under the bed of her finger Kite could feel the live-liness of the stones. She could feel the trace of their home, which, in some small way, was her home, too: the Labyrinth had sheltered her and the other children when no one else woul
d. Just being near Cam was a comfort.

  Finally, he was as clean as he was going to be. He stared at the desert around them in resignation. “So, a thousand steps in a straight line, or do you have a shortcut?”

  “A shortcut?” Her voice trilled like a sparrow’s. “To what?”

  “The junkyard? That’s how we got there last time. A thousand steps in any direction, the junkyard is the portal. Right?”

  Kite stared at him in confusion, her eyes swirling with grey mist. Then they cleared to a polished aquamarine beryl. “The sword brought us home. It would not mislead us.” Her hand stroked the blade affectionately, and it warmed to her touch.

  A silence followed her pronouncement. She looked down at her feet, cool against the sand. Her pale feet contrasted with the dull redbronze of the land.

  “This isn’t the junkyard,” said Cam. His words fell like dying stars burning through the silence. “The junkyard is gone.”

  “Nothing is ever gone,” said Kite, staring at the blade in her hand. Crimson light glinted off its strange black-and-silver surface, dazzling her eyes. She looked up.

  Desert stretched out in every direction.

  “It’s so … quiet.” Cam shivered. The stones on his body did not shiver with him. They made no sound, but instead held themselves unnaturally still as muscle and sinew moved underneath.

  He was right. Where were the buzzing trees, and angry insects, the ferocious flotsam and jetsam that had washed up on the shores of time, falling from the outskirts of victory? Where was the wind running its hands through her hair?

  Understanding unfurled itself like a plant starving for sunlight.

  Kite saw the moment his eye snagged on a speck on the sand that was black like a beetle’s carapace. Grasping it in one hand, he pulled out an umbrella. Sand poured over his feet.

  “There should be mountains of things. Before, it was —” He waved the umbrella around, shedding sand.

  “That was probably hundreds of years ago,” said Kite, trying to make her voice gentle.

  As his shoulders slumped and his eyes started to flutter shut, she realized she had used a too-gentle voice. Adjusting her voice like a musician tuning a guitar, she continued, “Time passes differently here.”