The Forgotten City

by Nina D'Aleo

  Croy limped back out onto the Docks and felt twinges of pain radiating down from her scars. That shocked her. She’d just had a fix – it should leave her pain-free for several turns at least. She’d been injured before she had memory, just after her parents had died and John L had adopted her, and she’d carried the pain always, but it’d never been this bad – and it was getting worse. The thought left her shaky – but more than anything she was hungry. An all-consuming starvation threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t wait any longer. She rushed to the edge of the stores building and squeezed herself into the dark space between it and the pub next door. She ripped open the package and dragged out handfuls of overflat bread, shoving it into her mouth. The walls of the pub trembled with the sounds of music and dancing, laughter, and games of darts and darrows. Whether it was denial or a lack of understanding that made these people celebrate during their descent into a nightmare, Croy didn’t know, but if it kept them from panicking it was worthwhile.

  Urged by thirst, she stopped eating and dragged out the decanter of water. It was pitifully low. She held the bottle up and eyed the contents, her thoughts jumping to Victoria Kilner’s body floating at the end of the jetty. She lowered it without drinking and looked over the food, startled to see she had already all but demolished it. Her stomach strained uncomfortably full and yet somehow she still felt hungry. The possibility occurred to her that she was getting sick – or at least, more sick. She just wanted to go home and sleep. Croy gathered up her bag and dragged herself out of the space, stepping back into the crowd.

  A harsh, jarring sound immediately seized her attention. In the crowd up ahead, two men rushed at each other, grappling for a second before the stronger one slammed the other to the grid and started bashing his head into the steel. A boy rushed in to help the man and the attacker punched him away. A girl and a woman screamed. Croy grabbed her Firestorm from its holster and ran to the fight. She barged through the onlookers and dragged the aggressor off the victim. She kicked his legs out from under him and he went down to his knees with a clunk. Then he started to rise, glaring up at her, with a look in his eyes that chilled her nerves. He looked blind with rage, completely lost to his anger. Croy positioned herself in front of the victim as the attacker stood and drew a crudely made shank from his pocket. He started toward her and Croy aimed her Firestorm at his head.

  “This is a warning. Stop where you are. Lower your weapon or I will shoot you,” she said.

  He kept coming. Croy held her place and repeated, “Drop the weapon now or I’ll shoot you.”

  Still he kept coming, shuffling forward, past fearful onlookers, until suddenly he lunged.

  Croy pulled the trigger and blasted him back. The attacker landed dead on the ground, half his face and head missing. Croy turned immediately to the victim. His wife and children had gathered around him; the boy’s nose was broken and bleeding badly. Croy checked the man’s pulse. He was still alive, but had a terrible head wound. She didn’t like his chances, but occasionally people were surprisingly resilient. She grabbed some gauze out of her kit and pressed it to his wound.

  “Hold here,” she said to the sobbing wife.

  Croy tapped her I-Sect and connected with the Tower.

  “This is Croy. There’s been an incident at the Old Docks – one dead, one unconscious, one injured. I’m off duty.”

  “Back-up dispatched,” the switchboard informed her. She tapped out of the connection, then stood and faced the crowd.

  “Anyone see what happened?”

  No one spoke. They were all Grays – all wearing the same deliberately blank expression. They’d just seen her shoot and kill one of their own, so she didn’t blame them for not trusting her.

  “You see what happened?” she asked the victim’s son, who was holding a piece of fabric to his bleeding nose.

  “No,” he said thickly. “That guy started on Dad for nothing. Will he be alright?” He blinked back tears.

  “Who is he?” Croy nodded to the dead attacker.

  The boy shook his head. “No one we know.”

  Above them came the drone of draggers closing in fast. The Controllers burst through from the gridway above and the crowd stepped back as they lowered to land. Controllers Mirth and Sirsha touched down and jumped off their rides. Croy knew them quite well – they’d graduated the same annum from training.

  “The Saint.” Sirsha slapped her hand in a flashy way. The guy was always showing off and dropping names – harmless, but obnoxious. It was as though he’d never quite gotten over the shine of being a Controller, as though every day was his first day. Mirth was far more grounded, but unfortunately seemed to have been born without a sense of humor. She had a permanent offended scowl on her face, as though someone had just farted and she was smelling it.

  Croy indicated with her Firestorm. “This one went this one with no apparent provocation. He turned on me, I gave him two warnings – then I put him down.”

  “Got it,” Mirth said, then spoke to the crowd. “All of you back up, unless you want to join him.”

  The crowd pushed back and she went to inspect the dead man. Sirsha stayed beside Croy, standing with his arms crossed as though they were on a social outing, “There’s been a few of these random attacks this turn – people must already be twitching.”

  Croy ignored him, annoyed he was chit-chatting while the victim was bleeding out beside them. She crouched back down with the family. At most, the Controllers would drop him at the local healer, but a local wouldn’t be able to do much for him. He’d need a Tower surgeon if he was going to have any hope, but he was just a Gray and didn’t have the right to access a surgeon – unless he was part of an investigation.

  She spoke to Sirsha, “Take this man and his family to the Tower. Have him seen to immediately. Tell them I need him for a case.”

  “Whatever you say, Saint Croy,” Sirsha said. “Whatever you say.”

  Mirth returned to help her partner. As the body baggers were flying in, Croy slipped away into the crowd.

  Chapter 24

  Diega

  Praterius

  Rambeldon Forest (The Hive)

  Diega lunged into the cell and tried to break up the fight between Caesar and Shawe, but they were locked together, their hands around each other’s throats. Shawe was cursing and K-Ruz snarling, with his nose wrinkled up like a wild cat. His shadow lion paced the wall behind them, tearing at the air.

  “Stop!” Diega hissed, jumping on Christy’s back, trying to wrestle him away, but with no success. Even kneeing him in his wound did nothing. She toppled off and jumped up to try again when something caught her eye. In a patch of light thrown from the door, she saw a hand. Fear lurched through her, and she had to force herself forward, peering into the dark corner of the cell.

  She saw him then – Copernicus – slumped against the wall. His heavy muscles had eroded, his skin sagging around painful boils erupting all over his body, spreading out from the festering wound in his shoulder. His handsome face had sunken in like a skull. The sight slammed into Diega, driving her to her knees. The sounds of the fight behind her stopped and Shawe appeared at her side. He was staring at Copernicus, looking at him full in the face, not avoiding the pain. Since her sister had vanished, Diega had never felt this much agony when nothing was physically wrong with her. If she’d had any drugs on her, she would have smashed them down without hesitation. This was too much – it’s not him … it’s not him.

  “Save your tears, he’s still alive,” Shawe said.

  Shocked, Diega scrambled forward. She placed a hand to his chest and felt it rising. Copernicus stirred faintly under her touch. With an immense struggle he lifted his head and opened his eyes and she could see he was still there, still fighting. She automatically grabbed for her weapon belt, but it had been taken. She had no serums or painkillers to give him. Shawe was leaning in closely.

  “Mate, you look like you’re three quarters done,” he told him. “But apparently there’s s
ome river close by with healing plants. Me and your girlfriend here will get you there.”

  Copernicus moved as though he was trying to stand, and Shawe grabbed him by the shoulders, hauled him up and held him there. Copernicus’ boots slid out from underneath him and he staggered, fighting hard just to keep upright. It was very clear he would die fighting, but would die all the same if they didn’t get him immediate help. Diega fought her own weakness and stood, going to support Copernicus’ other side, but Caesar stepped in.

  “Don’t hold him like that,” he said. “You’ll rip the wound further open and speed up the poison.”

  “What do you care?” Shawe growled.

  “He saved my boy’s life – I owe him.”

  “You owe him now, do you?” Shawe mocked. “You’re all honor, you are.”

  Caesar snarled, flashing sharp incisors.

  “Shawe, if he wants to help, then let him,” Diega said. She looked him in the eye and said, “Please.”

  His savage expression held for a moment, but then he relented. He looked away and that was as much agreement as he was going to give.

  “K-Ruz is right. Holding him up like this is just going to speed the blood circulation and cause the wound to hemorrhage faster,” Diega said. “We have to carry him with the least amount of contact.” It felt wrong talking about Copernicus like he was a victim, but there was no other way. “If you two lock hands he can sit between you and you can carry him like that.”

  Shawe looked her up and down and said, “You’re crazy, right? You really think me and him are going to hold hands?” Both he and Caesar snorted, like two big boars.

  “Yes!” Diega said. “For Copernicus! Because you would never have found your brother without him … and your son would be dead.”

  The two gangsters stood in uncomfortable silence, staring at each with rippling animosity. Shawe made the first move and held out his hands. Caesar grabbed onto them savagely. They both flinched with disgust and fury, but kneeled down so that Diega could help Copernicus to edge back and sit on their linked arms. They lifted him up.

  Scuffing footsteps sounded outside the cell. Diega lunged for the seal while the others backed into the shadows. She inched the split open and peered out.

  “Drones,” she told the gangsters. “A lot of them.”

  “Already?” Shawe asked. He and Caesar came forward with Copernicus and peered out around her. “Trutt, there’s millions of them. How are we going to escape with that lot tagging along?”

  “More easily than if it was just us,” Caesar said. “They’ll make a good cover.” His sharp eyes moved over the scene, formulating strategy with every glance.

  Diega pulled back the seal and the others maneuvered out. She followed them, coming to stand in front of Sesame, leading a multitude of ragged, starving Neridori and a number of other random creatures.

  The drone whispered into her face, “I told them … I told them we don’t have to stay where we’re put.”

  A sudden violent roar trembled the ground and walls and everyone instinctively ducked for cover, Shawe and Caesar balancing Copernicus between them.

  “What the trutt is that?” Shawe cursed as the sound and vibration came again. Diega recognized it.

  “Snoring,” she said.

  “Rest time,” Sesame spoke up. “After the last meal, just before the Anvil sets, the queen naps and all the workers rest.

  “Good. I’m going to go cut her up,” Shawe growled and Sesame winced.

  “No,” Diega said and she turned to the drone. “Time to fly. Assemble your people.”

  “Fly?” he and the other drones chorused.

  “Yes, fly. That’s why you have wings!” she said, “Start stretching them.”

  Sesame hesitated, then whispered, “I have to go to the queen’s chamber.”

  “Why?” Diega demanded.

  “Our brothers, the chosen, we can’t leave them. We have to get them out as well.”

  “We can’t risk it,” Diega said.

  “I have to!” Sesame insisted, staring at her with fearful eyes. “Their death is worse than ours and I won’t leave without them … Neither will the others … I’m sorry.”

  Diega glanced at Shawe and Caesar. Neither offered any immediate alternative and she could think of none herself. They had no choice but to help him. They needed the drones for their escape and couldn’t risk Sesame bumbling into the chamber alone and raising the alarm before they were clear of the Hive.

  “Fine,” Diega said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Trutt that,” Shawe said. “I’m going.”

  “No, you need to carry Copernicus. If I get caught you two can still go on.”

  His face said he didn’t like it, but he saw the situation for what it was.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he told her.

  “That’s like one raindrop telling another not to be wet,” Diega snorted. It was an Ohini Fen saying that lost some of its shades of meaning in the translation.

  Shawe smirked and arched an eyebrow as though she’d just said something suggestive. “I don’t think it’s the time or the place, sunshine.”

  She just sighed and shook her head. Caesar looked like he wanted to vomit on both of them.

  “If we’re not back in five minutes, or if anything goes down, fly out without us,” she told the gangsters. She took one last look at Copernicus and saw his eyes were on her, then she turned and left.

  Chapter 25

  Silho

  Omar Montanya

  Mount Siria (The Castle Scorn)

  She didn’t just run for her life – she flew on her feet, pursued by men and fire – Omarians – crashing along the black rock corridors of the Castle Scorn. Every hallway looked the same, every turn ended in another, with nowhere to hide and no one to help her, until the last corridor narrowed to a tunnel and became a maze. Its walls were too high to climb and Silho felt like she was running in circles, with the voices of her pursuers echoing from every direction. Then one voice came through clear and sinister.

  “There’s no way out of here, and there’s nowhere to hide. I’m coming for you, Silho Brabel.”

  Lecivion – it sounded like he was right above her. Silho crashed through the maze, fleeing the feeling of his hands and the flames in his eyes. She’d seen death in that fire. Finally she found a fracture in one of the walls with a hollow space behind it big enough to crawl into. Even as she scrambled inside, she realized she was trapping herself, but her mind was spinning so fast she didn’t see any other choice.

  Silho huddled in the dark, gasping and trying to get control over the fear that had blurred out her rationality. The fierce heat of the place was terrifying, smoke and sulphur choked the air, and the sharp ache of her burns and injuries were starting to overwhelm her. A flashback flared in her mind, of when she was trapped inside the Mazurus machine, burning alive. She clutched her head, trying to block it out. Somewhere beyond her panic, she heard the Omarian voices closing in on her – it sounded like they’d formed an organized search and were moving methodically through the maze. She knew she had to move – now – but couldn’t force her body into action. Light-form, her greatest strength, was useless here and she felt completely helpless. Her mind went to the trackers, to Copernicus. For a moment she thought she heard his voice somewhere in the maze, but when she focused her listening, the words were gone, just an echo in her mind – Claude animus meus. Close my mind.

  It was the Illusionist enchant Copernicus had taught her so that she could focus her mind and survive the Skreaf. She whispered the words and as soon as she did, the sounds of the Omarian soldiers, of her rushed breaths and even the pounding of her pulse faded out, until it was silent in her mind and she felt her resolve and reasoning returning to her, her training kicking back in. She realized she was still gripping her head and lowered her hands, holding them out in front of herself. As she stared at them, a thought came clear to her – while light-form may have been her strongest skill, it wasn
’t her only skill. She could touch the walls and see what they saw and everything they’d seen in the past. She could find a way out of this maze and out of Lecivion’s castle.

  Silho placed her hand on the wall beside her, but immediately pulled away – the black rock was scorching hot. Silho forced herself to touch it again, and she found, although it was burning, she wasn’t burning. It actually didn’t hurt at all, and her burns from Lecivion had stopped aching, already healed. Silho breathed in deeply and easily despite the smoke. She’d been too panicked to realize before, but it occurred to her now that her body was made for this environment – and here she was stronger, not weaker. She’d said to Lecivion that he had thought too little of her – now she had to believe that herself. Instead of letting the memories of being trapped and burning cripple her with fear, she focused on that fact that she had defeated the Skreaf – and if she could destroy an army of demons, she could survive one crazy Prince.

  Silho focused on her hand touching the rock and allowed her skills to channel in. Through her mind, she sprang from her hiding space, out to another wall and all along that, searching for a way out, until she found something that made her pause the flow of images. It was a break in the maze, a hidden doorway. She ventured through it in her mind and found it led out into a wide corridor, lit by globes of lava embedded in the rock. It was her escape. Silho zoomed backward, plotting the path that she needed to run to get there. It wasn’t far, but the Omarians were closing in fast. She only had the briefest window of opportunity.

  Silho smashed out of the hollow and tore through the maze, two turns, three … halfway along the fourth she came to a sharp stop in front of the hidden doorway. Omarian voices sounded just beyond where she stood. The wall in front of her looked completely solid, but she trusted what she’d seen and stepped into it and through, out of the maze and into a corridor made of the same porous black rock. It stretched into the distance on both sides. Silho pressed her hand against one wall and jumped along in her mind, checking which way to go. On one side she found Omarian soldiers heading toward her, but the other way was clear.