Ashes of the Sun

by Django Wexler

  Maya nodded. “She’s not too far ahead of us. And if she expected Cyrtak to catch up, she can’t be moving too quickly.”

  “We still don’t know where she’s going.”

  “There’s a lot of things we don’t know,” Maya said. “But we’ll find out. Whatever Cyrtak did to her…”

  “You think it was him?” Beq said, finger tapping nervously against her mug. “That he was behind all of this?”

  “He was a dhakim. If not him, then who?” And now that he’s dead, will anyone be able to fix Jaedia? Maya took a long swallow of water and tried to banish the thought.

  “And what about Nicomidi? Where does he fit in?”

  “I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “Maybe we’ll get the chance to ask him.”

  “It’s…” Beq sighed. “I wish I could be… more helpful. Understanding things is supposed to be my job.”

  “Beq.” Maya put her hand across the table, fingertips on Beq’s knuckles. Even this faint contact sent shivers up her arm. “I wouldn’t be here without you. You talked Faressa into helping us, you shot that plaguespawn off my back—”

  “You could have managed,” Beq said, faintly.

  “I trust you with my life,” Maya said. “Obviously. And it’s because you’re clearly worthy of it.”

  “Oh.” Beq looked down at her hand. “Thank you.”

  There was a long pause.

  “When you told me Tanax was coming,” Beq said quietly, “I think I was angry.”

  “You were?”

  “I don’t… get angry very often. And I knew it was stupid. But I kept thinking that you had another centarch to help you now, so you wouldn’t need me.” Beq swallowed. “And that’s so utterly selfish, I know, because you’re out here trying to help Jaedia, and all I can think about is—”

  “Please,” Maya said. “It’s all right. Tanax is… Tanax.” She shook her head. “He may not be quite the plaguing asshole I thought he was, but he’s still not easy to get along with. And I will always need you.”

  Beq nodded, blinked, and shifted in her chair. Maya got the sense she was trying to work up to something.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Beq managed eventually.

  “You’re doing that,” Maya said. “So far, so good.”

  Beq gave a weak smile. “About… that night. Before you fought Tanax.”

  “Okay.”

  “I kissed you.”

  “You did.”

  “And I ran away.”

  “I wouldn’t say ran—”

  “And then we talked about it, afterward, but we haven’t… had much time since then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Beq took a deep breath. “Can I tell you something that probably makes me insane?”

  “Um. If you want?”

  “When we were down in the tunnel, and that thing was all over me, and it was trying to get in my nose and mouth and—” She shuddered again. “I thought I was going to die. And all I could think about was… why did I run away?”

  “Really?”

  “I told you it made me insane, right?” Beq pulled her hand away from Maya and hugged herself. “When we didn’t die after all, I promised myself I would come and talk to you. Only now I’m doing it and I still feel crazy and I’m kind of wishing I’d chickened out and gone to bed—”

  “Beq!” Maya said, laughing.

  “It’s not fair!” Beq glared at her. “You know what you’re doing. I hadn’t even thought about… that sort of thing, until—”

  “Wait,” Maya said. “Who says I know what I’m doing?”

  “You’re a centarch,” Beq said. “And you spent years traveling around the Republic.”

  “With my master,” Maya said. “Who is the next thing to my mother.”

  “But you…” Beq hesitated, looking down again. “You seemed to know what you wanted.”

  “I mean.” Maya felt her cheeks growing hot and was glad her darker complexion didn’t show a flush the way Beq’s did. “I’m not going to say I haven’t… imagined things. When I’m by myself. You know. But I don’t have any, um. Practical experience.”

  “Oh.” Beq sat quietly for a moment, digesting that. “You… imagined things.”

  Maya wanted to bury her head in her hands. “Yes.”

  “With me?”

  “Y… yes.”

  “And then you—”

  Maya drew her knees up, hiding her face from Beq’s gaze, and gave a tiny nod.

  “Oh,” Beq said again. Her breath seemed to come very fast, and Maya felt her own heart hammering. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t even know what to imagine.”

  Maya sucked in a breath, but when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

  “Do you. Um.” She paused and gathered her strength. “Do you want me to show you?”

  And then, somewhat later, an awful thought struck Maya like a thunderbolt. She pulled her lips away from Beq’s and sat up, very abruptly.

  Beq lay on the bed, green hair coiled beside her, hands on Maya’s flanks. Maya had undone the buttons on her uniform shirt and pulled it open, revealing the mesmerizing sweep of her collarbone and the inner slopes of her breasts, dusted with freckles like her cheeks. Maya was above her, on hands and knees, breathing like she’d just finished a sparring match.

  “What’s wrong?” Beq said. “Did I do something—”

  “No, no, no,” Maya said. “Sorry. It’s not you. I just.” She swallowed. “I realize there’s something I need to show you.” She reached, hesitantly, for the front of her bathrobe.

  “Um. Is it breasts?” Beq glanced down at herself. “Because I know I’m not experienced, but I don’t think that would be such a surprise.”

  “No, it’s not breasts,” Maya said. “I mean, it is, I have those, but… listen. You can’t tell anyone about this. Not anyone.”

  “I’m very confused,” Beq said, sitting up on her elbows.

  “Just promise me.”

  “All right.”

  Maya took a deep breath and pulled open the bathrobe, letting it fall to her waist. She felt suddenly, horribly vulnerable—not for her skin, but for the Thing, which was dug in above her breastbone like a crystal-encrusted tick.

  “Oh,” Beq said. And then, “Oh. The arcana.” Her eyes narrowed behind her lenses. “Is it—stuck there?”

  “It’s… embedded. Like part of my body.” Maya took Beq’s hand and brought it up to brush against the Thing. Beq hesitated, then explored the little arcana with her fingers, poking gently at the puffy flesh around it.

  “How long have you had it?” Beq said. “Where did it come from?”

  “Since I was about five, I think,” Maya said. “Not long after the Order took me in. I used to get… sick, all the time. I don’t remember it well, but they tell me I’d have fevers, coughs, and nothing the doctors could do would help. It was getting worse, and my parents worried I was going to die. After the Order came for me, Baselanthus examined me himself. He said I had a… a kind of continuous illness, I guess. I’ve never really understood it. But it would have killed me, for certain. To keep that from happening, he gave me this.” She tapped one of the crystals. “I call it the Thing. Basel and Jaedia know about it—and Marn, I guess—but no one else. And I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

  “I can see why not,” Beq said. Her fingers circled the Thing, raising goose bumps on Maya’s sensitive skin. “Obviously, if Baselanthus did it, it must be all right, but melding arcana and flesh is usually only possible with dhaka. If Tanax and his Dogmatic friends saw this, they might call you a heretic.”

  “Fortunately,” Maya said tartly, “the chance of Tanax seeing it is low.”

  “Do you know how it works?” Beq tweaked a dial on her lenses. “Does it have an internal power source? Have you ever tried feeding it external power? Are any of the crystals sensitive to—”

  “Beq,” Maya said.

  Beq blinked. “What?”

  Maya gestured. At the two of them, the bed, her bare
chest. “Do you think you could be a little less of an arcanist for just a few minutes?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Maya bent back down for a kiss, her breasts brushing against Beq’s. “Just… try not to get distracted.”

  And then, later still, a faint gasp.

  “Maya.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Have you tried a standard Darkwatcher diagnostic sequence to see—”

  “Beq.”

  “I’m sorry! But I think—” And then, as Maya did something with her fingers: “Oh. I’ll just… um… try it out… ah… later.”

  “Good.”

  Chapter 23

  Getting into the ghoul city of Refuge, it turned out, was a great deal easier when you didn’t try to climb through a rock ingestor. Kit led them through the tunnels under Deepfire to one of a hundred disused, dead-end sections, and Gyre watched in mild surprise as a passage that looked like it had been totally blocked by a cave-in cleared itself in seconds. Small, crab-like constructs embedded in the boulders extended legs and hauled themselves out of the way, leaving a perfectly serviceable tunnel extending on into the darkness. Another construct waited just beyond, with seats like a carriage on the back of a spidery collection of legs.

  “Let me guess,” Gyre said. “We ride that thing?”

  Kit nodded delightedly. “It’s a long way to Refuge. That’s part of how they keep the city secure—there are a lot of tunnels under these mountains, with a lot of exits, and the constructs are constantly filling them in and digging new ones. So if you don’t have a proper mount, you’d just get lost down here.”

  “Such trusting people, the ghouls,” Gyre said. He grabbed the side of the carriage-thing and hauled himself in, while Kit leapt up lightly beside him. Behind them, the crab-constructs were reassembling the pile of tumbled boulders.

  Once they were settled, the carriage-construct started moving, its legs shifting with a smooth interlocking motion that conveyed barely a shudder to its passengers. It accelerated slowly but continuously, and within a few minutes they were moving through the tunnel at a shocking rate of speed, the walls a blur on either side and their mount’s legs rippling in a rolling gallop. Kit gave a delighted shout and threw her arms in the air.

  “I love this part,” she confided.

  “Until the damn thing runs into a wall and smashes us to paste,” Gyre said, trying hard to relax his grip on the arms of his seat.

  “That’s half the fun!”

  Gyre settled for clutching his pack instead. After the fight at the Spike, they’d had to go to ground, so it was stuffed with only the bare essentials. Two extra energy bottles—the one at his side was nearly empty now, with only the faintest glow in its crystal—his pouch of alchemicals, the remote trigger, and the single remaining bomb, a rough cylinder of lumpy clay. And, of course, the Core Analytica, cube-shaped and made of interlocking metal rods, which shifted with a smooth, oily motion whenever he touched it. I just hope we haven’t damaged the damn thing.

  The wind of their passage made conversation impossible, so Gyre closed his eyes—still strange, having two to close!—and tried to relax. To his surprise, he managed a light doze, and when he woke it was because the carriage-thing was slowing. The tunnel was the same as ever, round and smooth-walled, dark enough that his natural eye could see nothing at all. His silver eye saw the gray shapes of more constructs waiting for them, and he recognized the multilegged chair that held Naumoriel.

  Elariel was there, too, standing between two spiky soldier-constructs. She looked nervous, in Gyre’s admittedly limited experience reading ghoul emotions: her long ears flat against her head, her fur rippling. Naumoriel, on the other hand, leaned forward in his chair.

  “Hello, Kitsraea. Gyre.” Elariel stepped forward as the carriage-thing came to a halt. “I’m glad you’ve returned safely.”

  “Do you have it?” Naumoriel said. “The Analytica?”

  Gyre glanced at Kit, who raised her eyebrows and gestured him on. He hopped off the carriage-construct and opened his pack, producing the intricate cube. Naumoriel held out his wizened hands, and Gyre passed the thing over for inspection.

  “Yes,” the old ghoul breathed. “Oh yes. Valthiel’s greatest work. Seventeen iterations deep.” His mouth hung slightly open, tongue running over small, sharp teeth. “There has never been anything like it in the history of the world.” His voice fell to a whisper. “The power under the mountain will be mine at last.”

  “Which means,” Kit said, stepping forward, “we did what you wanted.”

  Naumoriel looked down at her, and his face hardened. “After begging for a second chance.”

  “You owe us. You owe me.” She tapped her chest. “I want this thing fixed, remember?”

  “I remember perfectly,” Naumoriel snapped. “You want to live out your pathetic human life span, and Gyre desires the power to destroy the Twilight Order.” He turned to Gyre. “What do you think of your taste of power, boy?”

  “It’s impressive,” Gyre said, touching the hilt of his silver sword. “But it’s just a taste.”

  “So impatient.” Naumoriel clicked his tongue, ears twitching with mirth. “But there is one more task to perform, my human… friends. This”—he raised the Analytica—“must be brought to its… proper place. You will help me with this, and then everything you desire will be yours.”

  “Help you?” Kit said. “You’re coming with us?”

  “Indeed I am,” the old ghoul said with a toothy grin. “This is the last step on the path I have followed since I was a child. I intend to be there at the end.”

  Elariel conducted them to their rooms—either the same chambers as before, or others near identical—and advised them to get some sleep. Gyre expected to have trouble with this, since the last time he’d been in this chamber had been just after Naumoriel had slowly disassembled him and put him back together, and his main memory was waking over and over to mind-shattering pain. Even so, exhaustion was a powerful motivator. The fight in the Spike had taken something out of him, more than just physically. We did it. We really did it. And now… what? He wanted to talk to Kit, but she’d retired to her own room immediately and firmly closed the door.

  A construct woke him later—how long, in this sunless world, he had no idea—with a gentle tap at the door. The little thing scuttled away, leaving behind folded, clean clothes and an energy bottle with a bright white glow. The ghouls didn’t wash, as far as Gyre could tell, so he cleaned himself as best he could in the basin before dressing and settled down to wait.

  It wasn’t long before Elariel appeared, with Kit trailing behind her.

  “Are you prepared for your journey?” the ghoul said.

  “I suppose,” Gyre said. “I don’t know where we’re going. And I haven’t got food or water or any other supplies.”

  “Naumoriel has accounted for your needs,” Elariel said. “Come with me.”

  “Yeah, Gyre,” Kit said. “Of course Naumoriel has accounted for our needs. Let’s go.”

  Gyre shot her a look, and she smirked. Under Elariel’s wide-eyed gaze, he didn’t want to say anything further, so he merely fell in behind the two of them. They followed another identical-looking passage back to the large tunnel, where the rest of the expedition was waiting.

  There were the now-familiar soldier-constructs, a double rank of them, twenty in all. Another five larger versions, still humanoid but at least two and a half meters tall, and a pair of what Gyre guessed were cargo haulers, flat platforms with legs not unlike the carriage they’d ridden. Largest of all, though, was a thing like an enormous spider-crab, eight-legged, with two large, clawed arms and two smaller limbs curled in close to its ovoid body. It was easily twice Gyre’s height, and the egg-shaped central core of it was bigger than he was. The reason for this became clear a moment later, when the top of the egg, made of smooth, dark stuff like smoked glass, hinged upward. Naumoriel sat cocooned in the thing, resting in a padded chair, banks of cryst
alline, incomprehensible controls all around him.

  The monstrous thing was like his chair, Gyre realized, only on a massive scale. Built for war, he decided, looking at the gleaming, razor-sharp claws of the large arms. So who are we going to be fighting?

  “Everything is prepared,” the old ghoul said. “Humans, are you fit to play your part?”

  “You haven’t told us what our part is,” Gyre said.

  “You have proven to be skilled and resourceful,” Naumoriel said. “Our destination is a valley deep in the Shattered Peaks, known only to a few. We will certainly encounter the creatures you call plaguespawn. And, given your earlier failure, it is just possible that the Twilight Order will attempt to interfere as well. You will assist in the event of either contingency.”

  “Sounds great,” Kit said. “Let’s get to it.”

  What is she playing at? Gyre tried to catch Kit’s eye, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He hesitated, then nodded his assent. It’s not as though I have much of a choice.

  “Elariel,” the old ghoul said. “You understand your duty.”

  She inclined her head. “I do.”

  “Then take care of my city,” Naumoriel said. “Until I… return.”

  The canopy of his massive construct swung closed. At some silent command, the soldier-constructs started their march, with the others following behind in perfect time.

  “I wish you good luck,” Elariel said. She hesitated, ears drooping, then turned away.

  For most of a day, they followed a curving tunnel, walking in near-total darkness. It was enough to make Gyre miss the carriage-construct. Eventually, their path turned upward, and after a leg-cramping hour or two, they reached a set of massive doors. These slid open at Naumoriel’s approach, letting in late afternoon sunlight.

  They emerged onto the side of a mountain, sloping down to a narrow river valley. Scrub grass clung in patches to a rocky landscape, but at least they were well below the snow line. The door ground closed behind them, outward surface worked to resemble the stone all around it.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?” Gyre said to Kit, looking up at the unfamiliar peaks all around them.