The Fifth City

by Liz Delton

  The Lady wore a striking black gown, the depth of the shade like the night sky; and it was littered with bits of gold, which glowed like stars. A golden necklace lay high upon the Lady’s throat, and she turned her long neck as Sylvia approached.

  A slow grin rose to the Lady’s lips. “Well done, my dear,” she said, and Sylvia bowed her head slightly. A hint of heat crept up Sylvia’s cheeks as she noticed people around them turning to watch.

  “Thank you, Lady Blackwater,” she replied, her eyes focused on the Lady’s entrancing gown.

  “Though, I knew you would excel at that particular Trial,” the Lady said with a grin; making Sylvia writhe in anger.

  Quite suddenly, the globes at the ceiling dimmed, all except for a circle directly above the throne.

  “Oh, excuse me Sylvia,” Lady Naomi whispered as she stood. “We’re about to begin.”

  Oliver took hold of Sylvia’s elbow and they backed away from the throne. The Lady prepared to speak to the crowd that was now turning in their direction.

  Thousands of faces were looking their way, and Sylvia was glad their attention was on the Lady, who, even with her height, was also wearing spiky black high-heeled shoes, and could not be missed.

  Sylvia recognized some of the other initiates who had gathered at the edge of the crowd. Two girls whose names she couldn’t recall were pressed together, whispering excitedly. Mela stood by herself, looking as uncomfortable as Sylvia felt, in a fine plum gown. Atlan lounged in the corner by the throne, dressed in a fine black vest and grey shirt, his black hair still looking wind-blown from the day on the shore. He alone among the initiates looked unimpressed with the fanfare. Leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, he looked almost bored.

  His bright grey eyes flickered to meet Sylvia’s—as if he had felt her watching—and she looked away, back toward Lady Naomi, trying to suppress the blush that warmed her cheeks. She could still feel Atlan’s curious gaze on her, but she kept her eyes on the Lady, waiting for her to speak. The crowd quieted.

  “Good evening,” the Lady began. “Tonight our initiates are given their first right—inclusion—by receiving their first earlink.”

  The crowd erupted in applause and Sylvia’s heart began to thump in her ears over the noise. They were going to give her an earlink? All the things she could do with it….

  A man appeared behind Lady Naomi and offered her a tray, stacked with tiny silver boxes. She selected the one on top and read the name written on it.

  “Atlan,” her voice boomed through the ballroom, and she turned to face the grey-eyed boy now approaching the throne. He grinned at the applause from the crowd, but his smile faded as he met eyes with Lady Naomi.

  She held the box out to him, and murmured a few words, grinning slyly. He didn’t answer, but took the box and held it up high in his fist, and the crowd cheered raucously.

  Initiate after initiate received their boxes, though the crowd didn’t cheer nearly as much for anyone else than they had for Atlan—he seemed to be rather popular. Sylvia’s curiosity was getting the better of her, and she wanted to find out who he was. It had been gnawing at her since he had stumbled into her tea.

  Finally Lady Naomi called Sylvia’s name, and the crowd became still. Sylvia stepped forward and took the box from Lady Naomi’s outstretched hand, returning the Lady’s grin with one of her own. She had already beaten one task. She would beat the rest.

  The crowd erupted as she took the box, though she didn’t know why.

  She couldn’t help but grin as people she didn’t know slapped her on the back or offered their congratulations.

  One last name was called, and then the tray was empty. The initiates had all received their earlinks. Sylvia didn’t dare open her box just yet. She wanted to wait until she returned to her rooms to examine it thoroughly.

  The celebration renewed as an opulent feast was brought out into the ballroom, and the globes at the ceiling sprung to life once more. Men and women dressed in red navigated though the crowd, offering trays of food and sweets. Music sprung up from out of nowhere, and Sylvia wondered if her head might actually split in two at all the noise.

  Now she was clutching Oliver’s arm so as not to get lost in the increasingly rowdy celebration. Oliver steered them through the crowd and flagged down an attendant. Sylvia was about to wave away whatever they were offering, but Oliver handed her a simple glass of water. It was far too noisy to hear anything, so she mouthed thank you to the kind man.

  From where she stood, glued to Oliver’s side, sipping her water, she spied a group of initiates standing in a circle, animatedly talking over one another. There were the two girls again—they seemed inseparable—and four others.

  Sylvia didn’t quite feel comfortable approaching the other initiates yet. She knew she wasn’t competing against them exactly, but she was an outsider, thrown into the competition at the will of Lady Naomi. The Trials seemed to have quite a history about them, and Sylvia didn’t want to overstep her bounds. After all, when Governor Greyling had come to Seascape, he had been turned away. Sylvia was lucky to be here at all.

  After several more stolen glances at the group, she supposed she should work on learning their names at least. She didn’t want to come off as a snobbish foreigner, either.

  She thought the two inseparable girls might be Nerissa and Sirena, but she didn’t know who was who. She recognized Mela again, the girl who had been next to her on the stage. Then there were two boys she didn’t know. One was almost as tall as Lady Naomi, but muscles made up his bulk, and he looked quite uncomfortable in his fitted vest and tie. The boy talking with Mela was slight, yet tall, and he wore a deep brown jacket that complemented his ochre skin.

  A girl with wispy blonde hair only listened to the others, never speaking, but taking in every word. The boy talking to Mela had already taken his earlink out of the box and put it in his ear. Sylvia had tucked hers into her bodice in fear of losing it.

  The artificial light in the ballroom began to grow dim again. Her headache had grown exquisitely painful, and she wondered how the other initiates could handle the noise. She had to get out of here, soon.

  “Can I go now?” she shouted in Oliver’s direction, leaning to his ear.

  He gave her a sad smile. “Soon—you’ll want to see this, trust me.” He pointed to the center of the ballroom.

  The room had become dark again, leaving only a column of light in the center of the ballroom. Raised on a small circular platform stood Lady Blackwater in her night-black dress, which sparkled with golden stars. She grinned at the silent crowd.

  “A new year begins!” she said, her deep voice echoing across the ballroom.

  “Our initiates have done well today. They will have one week until their next Trial, which will take place on the southern shore, where they will prove their connectivity.”

  Whispers wove through the crowd like wind through the trees.

  “To a new year!” the Lady shouted, and instantly burst into a column of flames. The flames morphed and grew fiery wings that spread far over the crowd, then disappeared. The platform was empty.

  Sylvia screamed, and so did a few others. The rest clapped and cheered. Oliver simply leaned over and said, “Alright, come on,” as if nothing had happened, and took her arm to lead her through the crowd.

  Mouth agape, she blinked heavily as they entered a brightly lit corridor. She shook her head.

  “What was that?” she demanded as he led her to her rooms.

  To her surprise, Oliver grinned and said, “Just an illusion—a projection actually—”

  Just then, another figure nearly collided with them, heading down an intersecting hallway.

  “Sorry,” the boy said.

  “Atlan!” Oliver exclaimed, and Sylvia looked up out of her cloudy confusion to see the ruffled black hair of her fellow initiate. No one was escorting him through the corridors.

  Atlan grinned and Oliver clapped him on the back, and said, “Well done, ma
te.” Atlan bobbed his head and muttered a thanks. Then he turned his gaze to Sylvia. Warmth flooded her cheeks as she imagined him appraising her deep blue gown with its golden ribbons, her iron-straight hair, and finally settled on her face, which felt rather hot.

  “Atlan, this is Sylvia Thorne,” Oliver said.

  “Sylvia, meet Atlan Blackwater.”

  Twenty One

  She wasn’t here.

  Ven was sure of it.

  He was starting to panic that Sylvia had been taken by the Scouts—either to Skycity, or perhaps to go to work in Riftcity—because there was no sign of her in the city of light.

  It hadn’t taken long for Dahlia, Thom, and Jet to quietly track down some fellow Riders once they were inside the city; and it quickly became evident that Greyling had fooled Lightcity into playing their part in the war. The citizens were oblivious to the man’s sinister plans and actions.

  But the Riders they spoke to had sensed a certain oddness to the facts that had been presented by Greyling, which was why they agreed to meet with Ven and the other Defenders in an unused storehouse on the edge of the city, and pass along information when they could.

  Getting inside the city had been surprisingly easy—they had simply climbed over the wall the first night, and taken refuge in one of the storehouses normally used to hold what came out of the quarry east of the city.

  Most regular work had been stopped, so the storehouse was full of stone cut to various sizes, from as large as a villa to stones as small as Ven’s fist, all stacked neatly in columns and rows.

  As Ven knew quite intimately, Riftcity was handling all of the mining of stone, whose powder was used to produce the explosives. And Lightcity was in charge of production.

  The Defenders had set up camp in the darkest corner of the storehouse. They were close to the city’s wall, and the surrounding buildings all seemed to be empty as well. Not a single unwanted Lightcitizen or Scout had come near the building since they had claimed it. All of the citizens were busy with their assigned part in the production of the orbs.

  Though the area was quiet, they kept a constant watch rotation on the storehouse. They patrolled the open upper floor, which was just a wooden catwalk that circled the interior. They guessed it was used to access the lifting equipment that hung from the ceiling.

  A hollowness had been growing in Ven’s stomach each time they received a report from one of the Riders who ventured out into the city.

  Now that they were actually here in Lightcity, he realized he must have been thinking that they would find Sylvia right away, that she must have gotten entangled in some scheme to help Lightcity oust Greyling’s influence, and hadn’t been able to return home. But there was no sign of her.

  Ven had a hard time concentrating on the second part of their mission, which was to see if they could convince anyone in Lightcity to switch sides. Aside from the fact that the citizens didn’t know they were even on the wrong side, the Defenders also had to work to avoid the notice of the Scouts.

  For the two days they had been in the city, they had spoken to people that were easy to sway—people who had already believed something wasn’t right with Greyling’s story. The Riders they had recruited were helping them sniff out other citizens since they had more connections. Word was beginning to spread.

  They couldn’t contact Governor Estella, nor anyone else involved in the city’s affairs, not yet anyway. Since Estella had given in to Greyling’s threats, they couldn’t trust her.

  Until they got to more people, and gained a further understanding of how the citizens felt, they had to tread lightly.

  On the third night, Tems, one of the Lightcity Riders, came to the storehouse accompanied by a glassworker. The stout man walked in to the dimly lit storehouse with his fists in his pockets. Grey stubble flocked his face, which was lined in worry.

  They had been trying to gather evidence they could use to help Lightcity break its bonds, or to learn of Greyling’s plans. They had already learned about the contract with Greyling to assemble the explosives, but the Governor had told the citizens it was for defense against the outside enemy.

  This man had another story.

  They had gathered in the back corner of the storehouse, with Arden on watch above. The Hunter held his bow at the ready as he slowly paced around the catwalk, and peered out the small windows onto the dark street. The storehouse was lit by only one small orb lamp, and it threw just enough light for the group to see each others faces, and the newcomer’s.

  Flint came back from peering out the door to sit with the group, which had gathered by a short stack of stones they liked to sit around as if it were a table. Flint sat down next to Ven and gave him a nod in greeting.

  Ven had been wise to bring Flint with him. The Riftcity native might be quick to speak, but he was reliable and nearly fearless; not to mention he helped Ven keep his head clear when he began to worry.

  It was something he was doing a lot lately. The guilt at having let Sylvia come here alone before he could tell her how much she meant to him haunted him constantly. And now she had disappeared.

  Flint had covered for him as he began to lose his drive and became nearly useless. Each time anyone returned to the storehouse with news, Ven had sunk further and further into melancholy until he finally came to the conclusion that she wasn’t here.

  They went around the circle and introduced themselves to the stranger.

  “Stoughton,” the man said. “Harry Stoughton.”

  Harry made eye contact with each of the Defenders in turn, perhaps waiting for someone to ask him a question. The hands that rested on his knees were gnarled with age, and years of handling hot glass and metal.

  Flint was on top of it as usual.

  “Tems said you might know something that could help us?” He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair and leaned forward, taking the lead.

  Harry shifted in his seat—an empty crate—and cleared his throat.

  “My niece, Neve, left Lightcity ‘bout a month ago.”

  The circle was silent. Lightcity had already been locked down before then.

  “She left me a note,” Harry said, then cleared his throat. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a well-worn piece of paper. He handed it across the circle to Flint.

  Ven leaned over to read the crumpled note in Flint’s hands. It looked like it had been folded and unfolded many times over. It read:

  Uncle,

  I am so, so sorry.

  Skycity has been lying to us. The Scouts are traveling to an island in the south. I met a Rider from Meadowcity, and we are following them.

  Don’t trust them. I love you.

  -Neve

  Ven’s mouth fell open. A Rider from Meadowcity. Sylvia wasn’t here, but she had left on purpose to track the Scouts! He nearly jumped up off his crate.

  Flint passed the note around for the others to read. Harry took it back and tucked it in his pocket.

  Suddenly Ven was full of energy. He finally knew why Sylvia wasn’t here! Now maybe they could starting helping Lightcity…

  “There’s something else,” Harry hedged.

  His rough hands wrung together as he looked back to Flint. “The orbs. Neve and I had an accident at our shop a while back. Whole workshop blown up and burnt, even the stone walls. Then a man came to see us. He wanted the chemical recipe to recreate it.”

  A heavy stone seemed to have dropped into Ven’s stomach. He already knew what Harry was going to say next.

  “Said he was from Skycity, willing to pay—quite a bit. So we did it, didn’t think much of it, just a little odd. But a few weeks later, Greyling himself comes to speak about some enemy; and Estella tells us she’s signed a contract for the city to manufacture something that’ll protect us. The orbs.”

  The Defenders sat in stunned silence. Ven’s mind was spinning.

  Greyling had wanted weapons in place before he had made any advances, and having a weapon would make it easier for him if the other cities d
eclined his proposition when the time came. Which had worked, with varying results.

  The whole group was deep in thought as each Defender pieced the puzzle together. The storehouse was silent but for the soft creak of floorboards as Arden made his rounds above.

  This was the best information they had gotten since they had entered the city and realized that Lightcity wasn’t their enemy. It had always been Greyling, manipulating them all into fighting his war, one way or another.

  But not Meadowcity. They hadn’t stood for Greyling’s threats, and they had defended against his attack. It was only right that they help the other cities, the ones that couldn’t stand for themselves, even the ones that wouldn’t. It wasn’t the Lightcitizens’ fault that their Governor had been coward enough to give in.

  Flint lifted his head suddenly in thought. “Now that we know Sylvia’s not here, we can really start doing something.”

  Ven turned to grin at him.

  “We need to take out Greyling’s advantage,” Flint insisted. “We need to get rid of the orbs.”

  Twenty Two

  Sylvia was quiet as Medina methodically unlaced her gown in the orange glow of the dying firelight. The only sound that reached Sylvia’s ears was the whisper of ribbons as Medina pulled each one out of its place, loosening the heavy dress. Sylvia’s limbs felt heavier by the moment as the enormity of all that happened today caught up with her.

  Upon returning to her suite, she had pulled the small silver box from her bodice and placed it on the mantle, to examine in the morning. She still couldn’t believe they had given her an earlink.

  She had a week until the next Trial—a week to recover, to test the earlink, and to ponder the oddity of Atlan Blackwater. She had never imagined the Lady might have a son, nor that he would turn out to be the boy who she treated so oddly.